From 7a73162607544204032aa66cce755daf21edebda Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Matt Strapp Date: Tue, 24 May 2022 11:18:46 -0500 Subject: Graduate Signed-off-by: Matt Strapp --- OLD/csci1913/Java/project3/warAndPeace.txt | 66055 --------------------------- 1 file changed, 66055 deletions(-) delete mode 100644 OLD/csci1913/Java/project3/warAndPeace.txt (limited to 'OLD/csci1913/Java/project3/warAndPeace.txt') diff --git a/OLD/csci1913/Java/project3/warAndPeace.txt b/OLD/csci1913/Java/project3/warAndPeace.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9ad28f9..0000000 --- a/OLD/csci1913/Java/project3/warAndPeace.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,66055 +0,0 @@ - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use -it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: War and Peace - -Author: Leo Tolstoy - -Translators: Louise and Aylmer Maude - -Posting Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2600] - -Last Updated: December 17, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR AND PEACE *** - - - - -An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger - - - - - - -WAR AND PEACE - - -By Leo Tolstoy/Tolstoi - - - - - - CONTENTS - - - BOOK ONE: 1805 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - CHAPTER XXIII - - CHAPTER XXIV - - CHAPTER XXV - - CHAPTER XXVI - - CHAPTER XXVII - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - - BOOK TWO: 1805 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - - BOOK THREE: 1805 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - - BOOK FOUR: 1806 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - - BOOK FIVE: 1806 - 07 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - - BOOK SIX: 1808 - 10 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - CHAPTER XXIII - - CHAPTER XXIV - - CHAPTER XXV - - CHAPTER XXVI - - - BOOK SEVEN: 1810 - 11 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - - BOOK EIGHT: 1811 - 12 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - - BOOK NINE: 1812 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - CHAPTER XXIII - - - BOOK TEN: 1812 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - CHAPTER XXIII - - CHAPTER XXIV - - CHAPTER XXV - - CHAPTER XXVI - - CHAPTER XXVII - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - CHAPTER XXIX - - CHAPTER XXX - - CHAPTER XXXI - - CHAPTER XXXII - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - CHAPTER XXXV - - CHAPTER XXXVI - - CHAPTER XXXVII - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - - CHAPTER XXXIX - - - BOOK ELEVEN: 1812 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - CHAPTER XXI - - CHAPTER XXII - - CHAPTER XXIII - - CHAPTER XXIV - - CHAPTER XXV - - CHAPTER XXVI - - CHAPTER XXVII - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - CHAPTER XXIX - - CHAPTER XXX - - CHAPTER XXXI - - CHAPTER XXXII - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - - BOOK TWELVE: 1812 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - - BOOK THIRTEEN: 1812 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - - BOOK FOURTEEN: 1812 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - - BOOK FIFTEEN: 1812 - 13 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - CHAPTER XVII - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHAPTER XIX - - CHAPTER XX - - - FIRST EPILOGUE: 1813 - 20 - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - CHAPTER XIII - - CHAPTER XIV - - CHAPTER XV - - CHAPTER XVI - - - SECOND EPILOGUE - - CHAPTER I - - CHAPTER II - - CHAPTER III - - CHAPTER IV - - CHAPTER V - - CHAPTER VI - - CHAPTER VII - - CHAPTER VIII - - CHAPTER IX - - CHAPTER X - - CHAPTER XI - - CHAPTER XII - - - - - - - - - - -BOOK ONE: 1805 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the -Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, -if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that -Antichrist—I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing -more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my -‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see I -have frightened you—sit down and tell me all the news.” - -It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pávlovna -Schérer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Márya Fëdorovna. -With these words she greeted Prince Vasíli Kurágin, a man of high -rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna -Pávlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering -from la grippe; grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used -only by the elite. - -All her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered -by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows: - -“If you have nothing better to do, Count (or Prince), and if the -prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible, -I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10—Annette -Schérer.” - -“Heavens! what a virulent attack!” replied the prince, not in the -least disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an -embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on -his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that -refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and -with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance -who had grown old in society and at court. He went up to Anna Pávlovna, -kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head, -and complacently seated himself on the sofa. - -“First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend’s -mind at rest,” said he without altering his tone, beneath the -politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony -could be discerned. - -“Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times -like these if one has any feeling?” said Anna Pávlovna. “You are -staying the whole evening, I hope?” - -“And the fete at the English ambassador’s? Today is Wednesday. I -must put in an appearance there,” said the prince. “My daughter is -coming for me to take me there.” - -“I thought today’s fete had been canceled. I confess all these -festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome.” - -“If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have -been put off,” said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force -of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed. - -“Don’t tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosíltsev’s -dispatch? You know everything.” - -“What can one say about it?” replied the prince in a cold, listless -tone. “What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has -burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours.” - -Prince Vasíli always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale -part. Anna Pávlovna Schérer on the contrary, despite her forty years, -overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had -become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not -feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the -expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it -did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed, -as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect, -which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to -correct. - -In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pávlovna burst -out: - -“Oh, don’t speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don’t understand -things, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She -is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign -recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is the one -thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform -the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will -not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of -revolution, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of -this murderer and villain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just -one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England with her commercial -spirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexander’s -loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to -find, and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer -did Novosíltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot -understand the self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for -himself, but only desires the good of mankind. And what have they -promised? Nothing! And what little they have promised they will not -perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and -that all Europe is powerless before him.... And I don’t believe a -word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian -neutrality is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty -destiny of our adored monarch. He will save Europe!” - -She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity. - -“I think,” said the prince with a smile, “that if you had been -sent instead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the King -of Prussia’s consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me -a cup of tea?” - -“In a moment. À propos,” she added, becoming calm again, “I am -expecting two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who -is connected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of the best -French families. He is one of the genuine émigrés, the good ones. And -also the Abbé Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He has been -received by the Emperor. Had you heard?” - -“I shall be delighted to meet them,” said the prince. “But -tell me,” he added with studied carelessness as if it had only just -occurred to him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief -motive of his visit, “is it true that the Dowager Empress wants -Baron Funke to be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all -accounts is a poor creature.” - -Prince Vasíli wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were -trying through the Dowager Empress Márya Fëdorovna to secure it for -the baron. - -Anna Pávlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor -anyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or was -pleased with. - -“Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her -sister,” was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone. - -As she named the Empress, Anna Pávlovna’s face suddenly assumed an -expression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with -sadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious -patroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke -beaucoup d’estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness. - -The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the womanly and -courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pávlovna -wished both to rebuke him (for daring to speak as he had done of a man -recommended to the Empress) and at the same time to console him, so she -said: - -“Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came -out everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly -beautiful.” - -The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude. - -“I often think,” she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer -to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political -and social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate -conversation—“I often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life -are distributed. Why has fate given you two such splendid children? -I don’t speak of Anatole, your youngest. I don’t like him,” she -added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising her eyebrows. -“Two such charming children. And really you appreciate them less than -anyone, and so you don’t deserve to have them.” - -And she smiled her ecstatic smile. - -“I can’t help it,” said the prince. “Lavater would have said I -lack the bump of paternity.” - -“Don’t joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know -I am dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves” (and her -face assumed its melancholy expression), “he was mentioned at Her -Majesty’s and you were pitied....” - -The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly, -awaiting a reply. He frowned. - -“What would you have me do?” he said at last. “You know I did all -a father could for their education, and they have both turned out fools. -Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That -is the only difference between them.” He said this smiling in a way -more natural and animated than usual, so that the wrinkles round -his mouth very clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarse and -unpleasant. - -“And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a -father there would be nothing I could reproach you with,” said Anna -Pávlovna, looking up pensively. - -“I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my -children are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That -is how I explain it to myself. It can’t be helped!” - -He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a -gesture. Anna Pávlovna meditated. - -“Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?” she -asked. “They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and though I -don’t feel that weakness in myself as yet, I know a little person who -is very unhappy with her father. She is a relation of yours, Princess -Mary Bolkónskaya.” - -Prince Vasíli did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and -perception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a movement of -the head that he was considering this information. - -“Do you know,” he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad -current of his thoughts, “that Anatole is costing me forty thousand -rubles a year? And,” he went on after a pause, “what will it be in -five years, if he goes on like this?” Presently he added: “That’s -what we fathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours -rich?” - -“Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He is -the well-known Prince Bolkónski who had to retire from the army under -the late Emperor, and was nicknamed ‘the King of Prussia.’ He is -very clever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. -She has a brother; I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately. -He is an aide-de-camp of Kutúzov’s and will be here tonight.” - -“Listen, dear Annette,” said the prince, suddenly taking Anna -Pávlovna’s hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. “Arrange -that affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slave-slafe -with an f, as a village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich -and of good family and that’s all I want.” - -And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised the -maid of honor’s hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and fro -as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction. - -“Attendez,” said Anna Pávlovna, reflecting, “I’ll speak to -Lise, young Bolkónski’s wife, this very evening, and perhaps the -thing can be arranged. It shall be on your family’s behalf that I’ll -start my apprenticeship as old maid.” - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -Anna Pávlovna’s drawing room was gradually filling. The highest -Petersburg society was assembled there: people differing widely in age -and character but alike in the social circle to which they belonged. -Prince Vasíli’s daughter, the beautiful Hélène, came to take her -father to the ambassador’s entertainment; she wore a ball dress and -her badge as maid of honor. The youthful little Princess Bolkónskaya, -known as la femme la plus séduisante de Pétersbourg, * was also there. -She had been married during the previous winter, and being pregnant did -not go to any large gatherings, but only to small receptions. Prince -Vasíli’s son, Hippolyte, had come with Mortemart, whom he introduced. -The Abbé Morio and many others had also come. - - * The most fascinating woman in Petersburg. - -To each new arrival Anna Pávlovna said, “You have not yet seen my -aunt,” or “You do not know my aunt?” and very gravely conducted -him or her to a little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in her -cap, who had come sailing in from another room as soon as the guests -began to arrive; and slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her -aunt, Anna Pávlovna mentioned each one’s name and then left them. - -Each visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whom not -one of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one of them -cared about; Anna Pávlovna observed these greetings with mournful and -solemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each of them in -the same words, about their health and her own, and the health of Her -Majesty, “who, thank God, was better today.” And each visitor, -though politeness prevented his showing impatience, left the old woman -with a sense of relief at having performed a vexatious duty and did not -return to her the whole evening. - -The young Princess Bolkónskaya had brought some work in a -gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which a -delicate dark down was just perceptible, was too short for her teeth, -but it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially charming when she -occasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is always the case -with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defect—the shortness of her -upper lip and her half-open mouth—seemed to be her own special and -peculiar form of beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight of this pretty -young woman, so soon to become a mother, so full of life and health, and -carrying her burden so lightly. Old men and dull dispirited young ones -who looked at her, after being in her company and talking to her a -little while, felt as if they too were becoming, like her, full of life -and health. All who talked to her, and at each word saw her bright smile -and the constant gleam of her white teeth, thought that they were in a -specially amiable mood that day. - -The little princess went round the table with quick, short, swaying -steps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out her dress sat -down on a sofa near the silver samovar, as if all she was doing was a -pleasure to herself and to all around her. “I have brought my work,” -said she in French, displaying her bag and addressing all present. -“Mind, Annette, I hope you have not played a wicked trick on me,” -she added, turning to her hostess. “You wrote that it was to be quite -a small reception, and just see how badly I am dressed.” And she -spread out her arms to show her short-waisted, lace-trimmed, dainty gray -dress, girdled with a broad ribbon just below the breast. - -“Soyez tranquille, Lise, you will always be prettier than anyone -else,” replied Anna Pávlovna. - -“You know,” said the princess in the same tone of voice and still in -French, turning to a general, “my husband is deserting me? He is going -to get himself killed. Tell me what this wretched war is for?” she -added, addressing Prince Vasíli, and without waiting for an answer she -turned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Hélène. - -“What a delightful woman this little princess is!” said Prince -Vasíli to Anna Pávlovna. - -One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with -close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable -at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stout -young man was an illegitimate son of Count Bezúkhov, a well-known -grandee of Catherine’s time who now lay dying in Moscow. The young man -had not yet entered either the military or civil service, as he had only -just returned from abroad where he had been educated, and this was his -first appearance in society. Anna Pávlovna greeted him with the nod she -accorded to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room. But in spite of -this lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety and fear, as at the sight -of something too large and unsuited to the place, came over her face -when she saw Pierre enter. Though he was certainly rather bigger than -the other men in the room, her anxiety could only have reference to -the clever though shy, but observant and natural, expression which -distinguished him from everyone else in that drawing room. - -“It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come and visit a poor -invalid,” said Anna Pávlovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with her -aunt as she conducted him to her. - -Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued to look round as -if in search of something. On his way to the aunt he bowed to the little -princess with a pleased smile, as to an intimate acquaintance. - -Anna Pávlovna’s alarm was justified, for Pierre turned away from the -aunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majesty’s health. -Anna Pávlovna in dismay detained him with the words: “Do you know the -Abbé Morio? He is a most interesting man.” - -“Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it is very -interesting but hardly feasible.” - -“You think so?” rejoined Anna Pávlovna in order to say something -and get away to attend to her duties as hostess. But Pierre now -committed a reverse act of impoliteness. First he had left a lady before -she had finished speaking to him, and now he continued to speak to -another who wished to get away. With his head bent, and his big feet -spread apart, he began explaining his reasons for thinking the abbé’s -plan chimerical. - -“We will talk of it later,” said Anna Pávlovna with a smile. - -And having got rid of this young man who did not know how to behave, she -resumed her duties as hostess and continued to listen and watch, ready -to help at any point where the conversation might happen to flag. As -the foreman of a spinning mill, when he has set the hands to work, goes -round and notices here a spindle that has stopped or there one that -creaks or makes more noise than it should, and hastens to check the -machine or set it in proper motion, so Anna Pávlovna moved about her -drawing room, approaching now a silent, now a too-noisy group, and by a -word or slight rearrangement kept the conversational machine in steady, -proper, and regular motion. But amid these cares her anxiety about -Pierre was evident. She kept an anxious watch on him when he approached -the group round Mortemart to listen to what was being said there, and -again when he passed to another group whose center was the abbé. - -Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna -Pávlovna’s was the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all -the intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, like a -child in a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid of missing -any clever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing the self-confident -and refined expression on the faces of those present he was always -expecting to hear something very profound. At last he came up to Morio. -Here the conversation seemed interesting and he stood waiting for an -opportunity to express his own views, as young people are fond of doing. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -Anna Pávlovna’s reception was in full swing. The spindles hummed -steadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt, -beside whom sat only one elderly lady, who with her thin careworn face -was rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole company had -settled into three groups. One, chiefly masculine, had formed round -the abbé. Another, of young people, was grouped round the beautiful -Princess Hélène, Prince Vasíli’s daughter, and the little Princess -Bolkónskaya, very pretty and rosy, though rather too plump for her age. -The third group was gathered round Mortemart and Anna Pávlovna. - -The vicomte was a nice-looking young man with soft features and polished -manners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity but out of -politeness modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle in -which he found himself. Anna Pávlovna was obviously serving him up as -a treat to her guests. As a clever maître d’hôtel serves up as a -specially choice delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had seen it in -the kitchen would have cared to eat, so Anna Pávlovna served up to -her guests, first the vicomte and then the abbé, as peculiarly choice -morsels. The group about Mortemart immediately began discussing the -murder of the Duc d’Enghien. The vicomte said that the Duc d’Enghien -had perished by his own magnanimity, and that there were particular -reasons for Buonaparte’s hatred of him. - -“Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte,” said Anna Pávlovna, -with a pleasant feeling that there was something à la Louis XV in the -sound of that sentence: “Contez nous çela, Vicomte.” - -The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingness to -comply. Anna Pávlovna arranged a group round him, inviting everyone to -listen to his tale. - -“The vicomte knew the duc personally,” whispered Anna Pávlovna to -one of the guests. “The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur,” said she -to another. “How evidently he belongs to the best society,” said she -to a third; and the vicomte was served up to the company in the choicest -and most advantageous style, like a well-garnished joint of roast beef -on a hot dish. - -The vicomte wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile. - -“Come over here, Hélène, dear,” said Anna Pávlovna to the -beautiful young princess who was sitting some way off, the center of -another group. - -The princess smiled. She rose with the same unchanging smile with which -she had first entered the room—the smile of a perfectly beautiful -woman. With a slight rustle of her white dress trimmed with moss -and ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, and sparkling -diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her, not looking -at any of them but smiling on all, as if graciously allowing each the -privilege of admiring her beautiful figure and shapely shoulders, -back, and bosom—which in the fashion of those days were very much -exposed—and she seemed to bring the glamour of a ballroom with her as -she moved toward Anna Pávlovna. Hélène was so lovely that not only -did she not show any trace of coquetry, but on the contrary she even -appeared shy of her unquestionable and all too victorious beauty. She -seemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminish its effect. - -“How lovely!” said everyone who saw her; and the vicomte lifted his -shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by something extraordinary -when she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him also with her -unchanging smile. - -“Madame, I doubt my ability before such an audience,” said he, -smilingly inclining his head. - -The princess rested her bare round arm on a little table and considered -a reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All the time the story was -being told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautiful round arm, -altered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her still more -beautiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamond necklace. From time -to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story -produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pávlovna, at once adopted just -the expression she saw on the maid of honor’s face, and again relapsed -into her radiant smile. - -The little princess had also left the tea table and followed Hélène. - -“Wait a moment, I’ll get my work.... Now then, what are you -thinking of?” she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyte. “Fetch me my -workbag.” - -There was a general movement as the princess, smiling and talking -merrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in her -seat. - -“Now I am all right,” she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, she -took up her work. - -Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circle and -moving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her. - -Le charmant Hippolyte was surprising by his extraordinary resemblance -to his beautiful sister, but yet more by the fact that in spite of -this resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His features were like his -sister’s, but while in her case everything was lit up by a joyous, -self-satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation, and by the -wonderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the contrary -was dulled by imbecility and a constant expression of sullen -self-confidence, while his body was thin and weak. His eyes, nose, and -mouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied grimace, and his arms -and legs always fell into unnatural positions. - -“It’s not going to be a ghost story?” said he, sitting down beside -the princess and hastily adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this -instrument he could not begin to speak. - -“Why no, my dear fellow,” said the astonished narrator, shrugging -his shoulders. - -“Because I hate ghost stories,” said Prince Hippolyte in a tone -which showed that he only understood the meaning of his words after he -had uttered them. - -He spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers could not be sure -whether what he said was very witty or very stupid. He was dressed in -a dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of the color of cuisse de nymphe -effrayée, as he called it, shoes, and silk stockings. - -The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, then current, -to the effect that the Duc d’Enghien had gone secretly to Paris to -visit Mademoiselle George; that at her house he came upon Bonaparte, -who also enjoyed the famous actress’ favors, and that in his presence -Napoleon happened to fall into one of the fainting fits to which he was -subject, and was thus at the duc’s mercy. The latter spared him, and -this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by death. - -The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point -where the rivals suddenly recognized one another; and the ladies looked -agitated. - -“Charming!” said Anna Pávlovna with an inquiring glance at the -little princess. - -“Charming!” whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into -her work as if to testify that the interest and fascination of the story -prevented her from going on with it. - -The vicomte appreciated this silent praise and smiling gratefully -prepared to continue, but just then Anna Pávlovna, who had kept a -watchful eye on the young man who so alarmed her, noticed that he was -talking too loudly and vehemently with the abbé, so she hurried to the -rescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation with the abbé about -the balance of power, and the latter, evidently interested by the young -man’s simple-minded eagerness, was explaining his pet theory. Both -were talking and listening too eagerly and too naturally, which was why -Anna Pávlovna disapproved. - -“The means are ... the balance of power in Europe and the rights of -the people,” the abbé was saying. “It is only necessary for one -powerful nation like Russia—barbaric as she is said to be—to place -herself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for its object -the maintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it would save the -world!” - -“But how are you to get that balance?” Pierre was beginning. - -At that moment Anna Pávlovna came up and, looking severely at Pierre, -asked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. The Italian’s -face instantly changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary -expression, evidently habitual to him when conversing with women. - -“I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the -society, more especially of the feminine society, in which I have had -the honor of being received, that I have not yet had time to think of -the climate,” said he. - -Not letting the abbé and Pierre escape, Anna Pávlovna, the more -conveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into the -larger circle. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Just then another visitor entered the drawing room: Prince Andrew -Bolkónski, the little princess’ husband. He was a very handsome young -man, of medium height, with firm, clearcut features. Everything about -him, from his weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured step, -offered a most striking contrast to his quiet, little wife. It was -evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had -found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to -them. And among all these faces that he found so tedious, none seemed -to bore him so much as that of his pretty wife. He turned away from -her with a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed Anna -Pávlovna’s hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company. - -“You are off to the war, Prince?” said Anna Pávlovna. - -“General Kutúzov,” said Bolkónski, speaking French and stressing -the last syllable of the general’s name like a Frenchman, “has been -pleased to take me as an aide-de-camp....” - -“And Lise, your wife?” - -“She will go to the country.” - -“Are you not ashamed to deprive us of your charming wife?” - -“André,” said his wife, addressing her husband in the same -coquettish manner in which she spoke to other men, “the vicomte has -been telling us such a tale about Mademoiselle George and Buonaparte!” - -Prince Andrew screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who from -the moment Prince Andrew entered the room had watched him with glad, -affectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Before he looked round -Prince Andrew frowned again, expressing his annoyance with whoever was -touching his arm, but when he saw Pierre’s beaming face he gave him an -unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile. - -“There now!... So you, too, are in the great world?” said he to -Pierre. - -“I knew you would be here,” replied Pierre. “I will come to supper -with you. May I?” he added in a low voice so as not to disturb the -vicomte who was continuing his story. - -“No, impossible!” said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing -Pierre’s hand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He -wished to say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasíli and his -daughter got up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass. - -“You must excuse me, dear Vicomte,” said Prince Vasíli to the -Frenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent -his rising. “This unfortunate fete at the ambassador’s deprives me -of a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to leave -your enchanting party,” said he, turning to Anna Pávlovna. - -His daughter, Princess Hélène, passed between the chairs, lightly -holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone still more -radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed at her with rapturous, -almost frightened, eyes as she passed him. - -“Very lovely,” said Prince Andrew. - -“Very,” said Pierre. - -In passing Prince Vasíli seized Pierre’s hand and said to Anna -Pávlovna: “Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me -a whole month and this is the first time I have seen him in society. -Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the society of clever -women.” - - -Anna Pávlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knew his -father to be a connection of Prince Vasíli’s. The elderly lady who -had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook Prince -Vasíli in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had assumed -had left her kindly and tear-worn face and it now expressed only anxiety -and fear. - -“How about my son Borís, Prince?” said she, hurrying after him into -the anteroom. “I can’t remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what -news I may take back to my poor boy.” - -Although Prince Vasíli listened reluctantly and not very politely -to the elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him an -ingratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he might not go -away. - -“What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he -would be transferred to the Guards at once?” said she. - -“Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can,” answered Prince -Vasíli, “but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I should -advise you to appeal to Rumyántsev through Prince Golítsyn. That would -be the best way.” - -The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskáya, belonging to one of the -best families in Russia, but she was poor, and having long been out of -society had lost her former influential connections. She had now come to -Petersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son. -It was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasíli that she had obtained an -invitation to Anna Pávlovna’s reception and had sat listening to -the vicomte’s story. Prince Vasíli’s words frightened her, an -embittered look clouded her once handsome face, but only for a moment; -then she smiled again and clutched Prince Vasíli’s arm more tightly. - -“Listen to me, Prince,” said she. “I have never yet asked you -for anything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of my -father’s friendship for you; but now I entreat you for God’s sake to -do this for my son—and I shall always regard you as a benefactor,” -she added hurriedly. “No, don’t be angry, but promise! I have asked -Golítsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always were,” -she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes. - -“Papa, we shall be late,” said Princess Hélène, turning her -beautiful head and looking over her classically molded shoulder as she -stood waiting by the door. - -Influence in society, however, is a capital which has to be economized -if it is to last. Prince Vasíli knew this, and having once realized -that if he asked on behalf of all who begged of him, he would soon be -unable to ask for himself, he became chary of using his influence. But -in Princess Drubetskáya’s case he felt, after her second appeal, -something like qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of what was -quite true; he had been indebted to her father for the first steps in -his career. Moreover, he could see by her manners that she was one of -those women—mostly mothers—who, having once made up their minds, -will not rest until they have gained their end, and are prepared if -necessary to go on insisting day after day and hour after hour, and even -to make scenes. This last consideration moved him. - -“My dear Anna Mikháylovna,” said he with his usual familiarity and -weariness of tone, “it is almost impossible for me to do what you -ask; but to prove my devotion to you and how I respect your father’s -memory, I will do the impossible—your son shall be transferred to the -Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?” - -“My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from you—I knew your -kindness!” He turned to go. - -“Wait—just a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards...” -she faltered. “You are on good terms with Michael Ilariónovich -Kutúzov ... recommend Borís to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at -rest, and then...” - -Prince Vasíli smiled. - -“No, I won’t promise that. You don’t know how Kutúzov is pestered -since his appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that -all the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons as -adjutants.” - -“No, but do promise! I won’t let you go! My dear benefactor...” - -“Papa,” said his beautiful daughter in the same tone as before, -“we shall be late.” - -“Well, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?” - -“Then tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?” - -“Certainly; but about Kutúzov, I don’t promise.” - -“Do promise, do promise, Vasíli!” cried Anna Mikháylovna as he -went, with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably -came naturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn face. - -Apparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habit employed -all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince had gone her face -resumed its former cold, artificial expression. She returned to the -group where the vicomte was still talking, and again pretended to -listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was -accomplished. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -“And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation at -Milan?” asked Anna Pávlovna, “and of the comedy of the people of -Genoa and Lucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, and -Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions of -the nations? Adorable! It is enough to make one’s head whirl! It is as -if the whole world had gone crazy.” - -Prince Andrew looked Anna Pávlovna straight in the face with a -sarcastic smile. - -“‘Dieu me la donne, gare à qui la touche!’’ * They say he was -very fine when he said that,” he remarked, repeating the words in -Italian: “‘Dio mi l’ha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!’’ - - * God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware! - -“I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the glass run -over,” Anna Pávlovna continued. “The sovereigns will not be able to -endure this man who is a menace to everything.” - -“The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia,” said the vicomte, polite -but hopeless: “The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis -XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!” and he became -more animated. “And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their -betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they are sending -ambassadors to compliment the usurper.” - -And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position. - -Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time -through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the -little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Condé -coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity -as if she had asked him to do it. - -“Bâton de gueules, engrêlé de gueules d’azur—maison Condé,” -said he. - -The princess listened, smiling. - -“If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer,” the -vicomte continued, with the air of a man who, in a matter with which -he is better acquainted than anyone else, does not listen to others but -follows the current of his own thoughts, “things will have gone too -far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, French society—I -mean good French society—will have been forever destroyed, and -then....” - -He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished to -make a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pávlovna, -who had him under observation, interrupted: - -“The Emperor Alexander,” said she, with the melancholy which -always accompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family, “has -declared that he will leave it to the French people themselves to choose -their own form of government; and I believe that once free from the -usurper, the whole nation will certainly throw itself into the arms -of its rightful king,” she concluded, trying to be amiable to the -royalist emigrant. - -“That is doubtful,” said Prince Andrew. “Monsieur le Vicomte quite -rightly supposes that matters have already gone too far. I think it will -be difficult to return to the old regime.” - -“From what I have heard,” said Pierre, blushing and breaking into -the conversation, “almost all the aristocracy has already gone over to -Bonaparte’s side.” - -“It is the Buonapartists who say that,” replied the vicomte without -looking at Pierre. “At the present time it is difficult to know the -real state of French public opinion.” - -“Bonaparte has said so,” remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcastic -smile. - -It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his -remarks at him, though without looking at him. - -“‘I showed them the path to glory, but they did not follow -it,’” Prince Andrew continued after a short silence, again quoting -Napoleon’s words. “‘I opened my antechambers and they crowded -in.’ I do not know how far he was justified in saying so.” - -“Not in the least,” replied the vicomte. “After the murder of the -duc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some -people,” he went on, turning to Anna Pávlovna, “he ever was a hero, -after the murder of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven and one -hero less on earth.” - -Before Anna Pávlovna and the others had time to smile their -appreciation of the vicomte’s epigram, Pierre again broke into the -conversation, and though Anna Pávlovna felt sure he would say something -inappropriate, she was unable to stop him. - -“The execution of the Duc d’Enghien,” declared Monsieur Pierre, -“was a political necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon -showed greatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole -responsibility of that deed.” - -“Dieu! Mon Dieu!” muttered Anna Pávlovna in a terrified whisper. - -“What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination shows -greatness of soul?” said the little princess, smiling and drawing her -work nearer to her. - -“Oh! Oh!” exclaimed several voices. - -“Capital!” said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping his -knee with the palm of his hand. - -The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnly at his -audience over his spectacles and continued. - -“I say so,” he continued desperately, “because the Bourbons fled -from the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleon alone -understood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for the general good, -he could not stop short for the sake of one man’s life.” - -“Won’t you come over to the other table?” suggested Anna -Pávlovna. - -But Pierre continued his speech without heeding her. - -“No,” cried he, becoming more and more eager, “Napoleon is great -because he rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abuses, -preserved all that was good in it—equality of citizenship and freedom -of speech and of the press—and only for that reason did he obtain -power.” - -“Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself of it to -commit murder he had restored it to the rightful king, I should have -called him a great man,” remarked the vicomte. - -“He could not do that. The people only gave him power that he might -rid them of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was a great -man. The Revolution was a grand thing!” continued Monsieur Pierre, -betraying by this desperate and provocative proposition his extreme -youth and his wish to express all that was in his mind. - -“What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well, after that... -But won’t you come to this other table?” repeated Anna Pávlovna. - -“Rousseau’s Contrat Social,” said the vicomte with a tolerant -smile. - -“I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas.” - -“Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide,” again interjected an -ironical voice. - -“Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is most -important. What is important are the rights of man, emancipation from -prejudices, and equality of citizenship, and all these ideas Napoleon -has retained in full force.” - -“Liberty and equality,” said the vicomte contemptuously, as if at -last deciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his words -were, “high-sounding words which have long been discredited. Who does -not love liberty and equality? Even our Saviour preached liberty and -equality. Have people since the Revolution become happier? On the -contrary. We wanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed it.” - -Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre to the -vicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first moment of -Pierre’s outburst Anna Pávlovna, despite her social experience, was -horror-struck. But when she saw that Pierre’s sacrilegious words -had not exasperated the vicomte, and had convinced herself that it was -impossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in -a vigorous attack on the orator. - -“But, my dear Monsieur Pierre,” said she, “how do you explain the -fact of a great man executing a duc—or even an ordinary man who—is -innocent and untried?” - -“I should like,” said the vicomte, “to ask how monsieur explains -the 18th Brumaire; was not that an imposture? It was a swindle, and not -at all like the conduct of a great man!” - -“And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horrible!” said the -little princess, shrugging her shoulders. - -“He’s a low fellow, say what you will,” remarked Prince Hippolyte. - -Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them all and smiled. His -smile was unlike the half-smile of other people. When he smiled, -his grave, even rather gloomy, look was instantaneously replaced by -another—a childlike, kindly, even rather silly look, which seemed to -ask forgiveness. - -The vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw clearly that -this young Jacobin was not so terrible as his words suggested. All were -silent. - -“How do you expect him to answer you all at once?” said Prince -Andrew. “Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguish -between his acts as a private person, as a general, and as an emperor. -So it seems to me.” - -“Yes, yes, of course!” Pierre chimed in, pleased at the arrival of -this reinforcement. - -“One must admit,” continued Prince Andrew, “that Napoleon as a man -was great on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaffa where he -gave his hand to the plague-stricken; but ... but there are other acts -which it is difficult to justify.” - -Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down the awkwardness of -Pierre’s remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it was time to -go. - -Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone to attend, -and asking them all to be seated began: - -“I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you to it. -Excuse me, Vicomte—I must tell it in Russian or the point will be -lost....” And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in such Russian -as a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia. -Everyone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their -attention to his story. - -“There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. She must -have two footmen behind her carriage, and very big ones. That was her -taste. And she had a lady’s maid, also big. She said....” - -Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his ideas with -difficulty. - -“She said.... Oh yes! She said, ‘Girl,’ to the maid, ‘put on a -livery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while I make some -calls.’” - -Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing long before his -audience, which produced an effect unfavorable to the narrator. Several -persons, among them the elderly lady and Anna Pávlovna, did however -smile. - -“She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl lost her hat and -her long hair came down....” Here he could contain himself no -longer and went on, between gasps of laughter: “And the whole world -knew....” - -And so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligible why he had told -it, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pávlovna and the -others appreciated Prince Hippolyte’s social tact in so agreeably -ending Pierre’s unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote -the conversation broke up into insignificant small talk about the last -and next balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom, and when and -where. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Having thanked Anna Pávlovna for her charming soiree, the guests began -to take their leave. - -Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, with huge -red hands; he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a drawing -room and still less how to leave one; that is, how to say something -particularly agreeable before going away. Besides this he was -absent-minded. When he rose to go, he took up instead of his own, the -general’s three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at the plume, -till the general asked him to restore it. All his absent-mindedness and -inability to enter a room and converse in it was, however, redeemed by -his kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna Pávlovna turned toward -him and, with a Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness of his -indiscretion, nodded and said: “I hope to see you again, but I also -hope you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.” - -When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but again everybody -saw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, “Opinions are -opinions, but you see what a capital, good-natured fellow I am.” And -everyone, including Anna Pávlovna, felt this. - -Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning his shoulders -to the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listened -indifferently to his wife’s chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had also -come into the hall. Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, pregnant -princess, and stared fixedly at her through his eyeglass. - -“Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold,” said the little princess, -taking leave of Anna Pávlovna. “It is settled,” she added in a low -voice. - -Anna Pávlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the match she -contemplated between Anatole and the little princess’ sister-in-law. - -“I rely on you, my dear,” said Anna Pávlovna, also in a low tone. -“Write to her and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Au -revoir! ”—and she left the hall. - -Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his face -close to her, began to whisper something. - -Two footmen, the princess’ and his own, stood holding a shawl and -a cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened to -the French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air of -understanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess as usual -spoke smilingly and listened with a laugh. - -“I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador’s,” said Prince -Hippolyte “—so dull—. It has been a delightful evening, has it -not? Delightful!” - -“They say the ball will be very good,” replied the princess, drawing -up her downy little lip. “All the pretty women in society will be -there.” - -“Not all, for you will not be there; not all,” said Prince Hippolyte -smiling joyfully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, whom he -even pushed aside, he began wrapping it round the princess. Either from -awkwardness or intentionally (no one could have said which) after the -shawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a long time, as -though embracing her. - -Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and glancing at her -husband. Prince Andrew’s eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy did he -seem. - -“Are you ready?” he asked his wife, looking past her. - -Prince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in the latest fashion -reached to his very heels, and, stumbling in it, ran out into the porch -following the princess, whom a footman was helping into the carriage. - -“Princesse, au revoir,” cried he, stumbling with his tongue as well -as with his feet. - -The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in the dark -carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber; Prince Hippolyte, under -pretense of helping, was in everyone’s way. - -“Allow me, sir,” said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold, -disagreeable tone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his path. - -“I am expecting you, Pierre,” said the same voice, but gently and -affectionately. - -The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyte -laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomte -whom he had promised to take home. - -“Well, mon cher,” said the vicomte, having seated himself beside -Hippolyte in the carriage, “your little princess is very nice, very -nice indeed, quite French,” and he kissed the tips of his fingers. -Hippolyte burst out laughing. - -“Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your innocent airs,” -continued the vicomte. “I pity the poor husband, that little officer -who gives himself the airs of a monarch.” - -Hippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, “And you were -saying that the Russian ladies are not equal to the French? One has to -know how to deal with them.” - -Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew’s study like -one quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa, took -from the shelf the first book that came to his hand (it was Caesar’s -Commentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading it in the middle. - -“What have you done to Mlle Schérer? She will be quite ill now,” -said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small white -hands. - -Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his eager -face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand. - -“That abbé is very interesting but he does not see the thing in the -right light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is possible but—I do not -know how to express it ... not by a balance of political power....” - -It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in such abstract -conversation. - -“One can’t everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well, have -you at last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or a -diplomatist?” asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence. - -Pierre sat up on the sofa, with his legs tucked under him. - -“Really, I don’t yet know. I don’t like either the one or the -other.” - -“But you must decide on something! Your father expects it.” - -Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbé as tutor, -and had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow -his father dismissed the abbé and said to the young man, “Now go -to Petersburg, look round, and choose your profession. I will agree to -anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasíli, and here is money. Write -to me all about it, and I will help you in everything.” Pierre had -already been choosing a career for three months, and had not decided -on anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew was speaking. -Pierre rubbed his forehead. - -“But he must be a Freemason,” said he, referring to the abbé whom -he had met that evening. - -“That is all nonsense.” Prince Andrew again interrupted him, “let -us talk business. Have you been to the Horse Guards?” - -“No, I have not; but this is what I have been thinking and wanted -to tell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it were a war for -freedom I could understand it and should be the first to enter the army; -but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world is -not right.” - -Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierre’s childish words. -He put on the air of one who finds it impossible to reply to such -nonsense, but it would in fact have been difficult to give any other -answer than the one Prince Andrew gave to this naïve question. - -“If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be no -wars,” he said. - -“And that would be splendid,” said Pierre. - -Prince Andrew smiled ironically. - -“Very likely it would be splendid, but it will never come about....” - -“Well, why are you going to the war?” asked Pierre. - -“What for? I don’t know. I must. Besides that I am going....” He -paused. “I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit -me!” - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -The rustle of a woman’s dress was heard in the next room. Prince -Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it -had had in Anna Pávlovna’s drawing room. Pierre removed his feet from -the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown for a house -dress as fresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew rose and politely -placed a chair for her. - -“How is it,” she began, as usual in French, settling down briskly -and fussily in the easy chair, “how is it Annette never got married? -How stupid you men all are not to have married her! Excuse me for saying -so, but you have no sense about women. What an argumentative fellow you -are, Monsieur Pierre!” - -“And I am still arguing with your husband. I can’t understand why he -wants to go to the war,” replied Pierre, addressing the princess -with none of the embarrassment so commonly shown by young men in their -intercourse with young women. - -The princess started. Evidently Pierre’s words touched her to the -quick. - -“Ah, that is just what I tell him!” said she. “I don’t -understand it; I don’t in the least understand why men can’t live -without wars. How is it that we women don’t want anything of the kind, -don’t need it? Now you shall judge between us. I always tell him: Here -he is Uncle’s aide-de-camp, a most brilliant position. He is so -well known, so much appreciated by everyone. The other day at the -Apráksins’ I heard a lady asking, ‘Is that the famous Prince -Andrew?’ I did indeed.” She laughed. “He is so well received -everywhere. He might easily become aide-de-camp to the Emperor. You know -the Emperor spoke to him most graciously. Annette and I were speaking of -how to arrange it. What do you think?” - -Pierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not like the -conversation, gave no reply. - -“When are you starting?” he asked. - -“Oh, don’t speak of his going, don’t! I won’t hear it spoken -of,” said the princess in the same petulantly playful tone in which -she had spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was so plainly -ill-suited to the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member. -“Today when I remembered that all these delightful associations -must be broken off ... and then you know, André...” (she looked -significantly at her husband) “I’m afraid, I’m afraid!” she -whispered, and a shudder ran down her back. - -Her husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides -Pierre and himself was in the room, and addressed her in a tone of -frigid politeness. - -“What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I don’t understand,” said he. - -“There, what egotists men all are: all, all egotists! Just for a whim -of his own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me and locks me up alone -in the country.” - -“With my father and sister, remember,” said Prince Andrew gently. - -“Alone all the same, without my friends.... And he expects me not to -be afraid.” - -Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving her not a -joyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if she -felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the -gist of the matter lay in that. - -“I still can’t understand what you are afraid of,” said Prince -Andrew slowly, not taking his eyes off his wife. - -The princess blushed, and raised her arms with a gesture of despair. - -“No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have....” - -“Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier,” said Prince Andrew. -“You had better go.” - -The princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered. -Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the room. - -Pierre looked over his spectacles with naïve surprise, now at him and -now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind. - -“Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?” exclaimed the little -princess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful -grimace. “I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed -so to me? What have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no -pity for me. Why is it?” - -“Lise!” was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed -an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself -regret her words. But she went on hurriedly: - -“You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave -like that six months ago?” - -“Lise, I beg you to desist,” said Prince Andrew still more -emphatically. - -Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to -all this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the -sight of tears and was ready to cry himself. - -“Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because.... I assure you -I myself have experienced ... and so ... because ... No, excuse me! -An outsider is out of place here.... No, don’t distress yourself.... -Good-by!” - -Prince Andrew caught him by the hand. - -“No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind to wish to deprive me of -the pleasure of spending the evening with you.” - -“No, he thinks only of himself,” muttered the princess without -restraining her angry tears. - -“Lise!” said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch -which indicates that patience is exhausted. - -Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess’ pretty -face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful eyes -glanced askance at her husband’s face, and her own assumed the timid, -deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its -drooping tail. - -“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!” she muttered, and lifting her dress with one -hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead. - -“Good night, Lise,” said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand -as he would have done to a stranger. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. Pierre -continually glanced at Prince Andrew; Prince Andrew rubbed his forehead -with his small hand. - -“Let us go and have supper,” he said with a sigh, going to the door. - -They entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxurious dining room. -Everything from the table napkins to the silver, china, and glass bore -that imprint of newness found in the households of the newly married. -Halfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and, -with a look of nervous agitation such as Pierre had never before seen on -his face, began to talk—as one who has long had something on his mind -and suddenly determines to speak out. - -“Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That’s my advice: never marry -till you can say to yourself that you have done all you are capable of, -and until you have ceased to love the woman of your choice and have seen -her plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and irrevocable -mistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothing—or all that is -good and noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted on trifles. -Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t look at me with such surprise. If you marry -expecting anything from yourself in the future, you will feel at every -step that for you all is ended, all is closed except the drawing -room, where you will be ranged side by side with a court lackey and an -idiot!... But what’s the good?...” and he waved his arm. - -Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different and -the good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend -in amazement. - -“My wife,” continued Prince Andrew, “is an excellent woman, one -of those rare women with whom a man’s honor is safe; but, O God, what -would I not give now to be unmarried! You are the first and only one to -whom I mention this, because I like you.” - -As he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Bolkónski -who had lolled in Anna Pávlovna’s easy chairs and with half-closed -eyes had uttered French phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of his -thin face was now quivering with nervous excitement; his eyes, in which -the fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with brilliant -light. It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed at ordinary -times, the more impassioned he became in these moments of almost morbid -irritation. - -“You don’t understand why I say this,” he continued, “but it is -the whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career,” said -he (though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte), “but Bonaparte when -he worked went step by step toward his goal. He was free, he had nothing -but his aim to consider, and he reached it. But tie yourself up with -a woman and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom! And all you -have of hope and strength merely weighs you down and torments you with -regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, and triviality—these are -the enchanted circle I cannot escape from. I am now going to the war, -the greatest war there ever was, and I know nothing and am fit for -nothing. I am very amiable and have a caustic wit,” continued Prince -Andrew, “and at Anna Pávlovna’s they listen to me. And that stupid -set without whom my wife cannot exist, and those women.... If you only -knew what those society women are, and women in general! My father is -right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial in everything—that’s what -women are when you see them in their true colors! When you meet them -in society it seems as if there were something in them, but there’s -nothing, nothing, nothing! No, don’t marry, my dear fellow; don’t -marry!” concluded Prince Andrew. - -“It seems funny to me,” said Pierre, “that you, you should -consider yourself incapable and your life a spoiled life. You have -everything before you, everything. And you....” - -He did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly he -thought of his friend and how much he expected of him in the future. - -“How can he talk like that?” thought Pierre. He considered his -friend a model of perfection because Prince Andrew possessed in the -highest degree just the very qualities Pierre lacked, and which might -be best described as strength of will. Pierre was always astonished at -Prince Andrew’s calm manner of treating everybody, his extraordinary -memory, his extensive reading (he had read everything, knew everything, -and had an opinion about everything), but above all at his capacity for -work and study. And if Pierre was often struck by Andrew’s lack -of capacity for philosophical meditation (to which he himself was -particularly addicted), he regarded even this not as a defect but as a -sign of strength. - -Even in the best, most friendly and simplest relations of life, praise -and commendation are essential, just as grease is necessary to wheels -that they may run smoothly. - -“My part is played out,” said Prince Andrew. “What’s the use of -talking about me? Let us talk about you,” he added after a silence, -smiling at his reassuring thoughts. - -That smile was immediately reflected on Pierre’s face. - -“But what is there to say about me?” said Pierre, his face relaxing -into a careless, merry smile. “What am I? An illegitimate son!” -He suddenly blushed crimson, and it was plain that he had made a great -effort to say this. “Without a name and without means... And it -really...” But he did not say what “it really” was. “For the -present I am free and am all right. Only I haven’t the least idea what -I am to do; I wanted to consult you seriously.” - -Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glance—friendly and -affectionate as it was—expressed a sense of his own superiority. - -“I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man among our -whole set. Yes, you’re all right! Choose what you will; it’s all the -same. You’ll be all right anywhere. But look here: give up visiting -those Kurágins and leading that sort of life. It suits you so -badly—all this debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of it!” - -“What would you have, my dear fellow?” answered Pierre, shrugging -his shoulders. “Women, my dear fellow; women!” - -“I don’t understand it,” replied Prince Andrew. “Women who are -comme il faut, that’s a different matter; but the Kurágins’ set of -women, ‘women and wine’ I don’t understand!” - -Pierre was staying at Prince Vasíli Kurágin’s and sharing the -dissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning to -reform by marrying him to Prince Andrew’s sister. - -“Do you know?” said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happy -thought, “seriously, I have long been thinking of it.... Leading such -a life I can’t decide or think properly about anything. One’s head -aches, and one spends all one’s money. He asked me for tonight, but I -won’t go.” - -“You give me your word of honor not to go?” - -“On my honor!” - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -It was past one o’clock when Pierre left his friend. It was a -cloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab intending -to drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the more he -felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It was light -enough to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemed more like -morning or evening than night. On the way Pierre remembered that Anatole -Kurágin was expecting the usual set for cards that evening, after which -there was generally a drinking bout, finishing with visits of a kind -Pierre was very fond of. - -“I should like to go to Kurágin’s,” thought he. - -But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to go -there. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired so -passionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was so accustomed to -that he decided to go. The thought immediately occurred to him that his -promise to Prince Andrew was of no account, because before he gave it -he had already promised Prince Anatole to come to his gathering; -“besides,” thought he, “all such ‘words of honor’ are -conventional things with no definite meaning, especially if -one considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, or something so -extraordinary may happen to one that honor and dishonor will be all the -same!” Pierre often indulged in reflections of this sort, nullifying -all his decisions and intentions. He went to Kurágin’s. - -Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards’ barracks, in which -Anatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs, -and went in at the open door. There was no one in the anteroom; empty -bottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about; there was a smell of -alcohol, and sounds of voices and shouting in the distance. - -Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yet dispersed. -Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room, in which were the -remains of supper. A footman, thinking no one saw him, was drinking on -the sly what was left in the glasses. From the third room came sounds of -laughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of a bear, and -general commotion. Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously -round an open window. Three others were romping with a young bear, one -pulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others. - -“I bet a hundred on Stevens!” shouted one. - -“Mind, no holding on!” cried another. - -“I bet on Dólokhov!” cried a third. “Kurágin, you part our -hands.” - -“There, leave Bruin alone; here’s a bet on.” - -“At one draught, or he loses!” shouted a fourth. - -“Jacob, bring a bottle!” shouted the host, a tall, handsome fellow -who stood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his fine -linen shirt unfastened in front. “Wait a bit, you fellows.... Here is -Pétya! Good man!” cried he, addressing Pierre. - -Another voice, from a man of medium height with clear blue eyes, -particularly striking among all these drunken voices by its sober -ring, cried from the window: “Come here; part the bets!” This was -Dólokhov, an officer of the Semënov regiment, a notorious gambler and -duelist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking about him -merrily. - -“I don’t understand. What’s it all about?” - -“Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here,” said Anatole, and -taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre. - -“First of all you must drink!” - -Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his brows at -the tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, and listening -to their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre’s glass while -explaining that Dólokhov was betting with Stevens, an English naval -officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge -of the third floor window with his legs hanging out. - -“Go on, you must drink it all,” said Anatole, giving Pierre the last -glass, “or I won’t let you go!” - -“No, I won’t,” said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up -to the window. - -Dólokhov was holding the Englishman’s hand and clearly and distinctly -repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himself particularly to -Anatole and Pierre. - -Dólokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes. He -was about twenty-five. Like all infantry officers he wore no mustache, -so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly -seen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle -of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closed firmly on the firm -lower one, and something like two distinct smiles played continually -round the two corners of the mouth; this, together with the resolute, -insolent intelligence of his eyes, produced an effect which made it -impossible not to notice his face. Dólokhov was a man of small means -and no connections. Yet, though Anatole spent tens of thousands of -rubles, Dólokhov lived with him and had placed himself on such a -footing that all who knew them, including Anatole himself, respected him -more than they did Anatole. Dólokhov could play all games and nearly -always won. However much he drank, he never lost his clearheadedness. -Both Kurágin and Dólokhov were at that time notorious among the rakes -and scapegraces of Petersburg. - -The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which prevented anyone -from sitting on the outer sill was being forced out by two footmen, who -were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directions and shouts of -the gentlemen around. - -Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window. He wanted to -smash something. Pushing away the footmen he tugged at the frame, but -could not move it. He smashed a pane. - -“You have a try, Hercules,” said he, turning to Pierre. - -Pierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and wrenched the oak frame out with -a crash. - -“Take it right out, or they’ll think I’m holding on,” said -Dólokhov. - -“Is the Englishman bragging?... Eh? Is it all right?” said Anatole. - -“First-rate,” said Pierre, looking at Dólokhov, who with a bottle -of rum in his hand was approaching the window, from which the light of -the sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible. - -Dólokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto the window -sill. “Listen!” cried he, standing there and addressing those in the -room. All were silent. - -“I bet fifty imperials”—he spoke French that the Englishman might -understand him, but he did not speak it very well—“I bet fifty -imperials ... or do you wish to make it a hundred?” added he, -addressing the Englishman. - -“No, fifty,” replied the latter. - -“All right. Fifty imperials ... that I will drink a whole bottle of -rum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window on this -spot” (he stooped and pointed to the sloping ledge outside the window) -“and without holding on to anything. Is that right?” - -“Quite right,” said the Englishman. - -Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one of the buttons -of his coat and looking down at him—the Englishman was short—began -repeating the terms of the wager to him in English. - -“Wait!” cried Dólokhov, hammering with the bottle on the window -sill to attract attention. “Wait a bit, Kurágin. Listen! If -anyone else does the same, I will pay him a hundred imperials. Do you -understand?” - -The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended to -accept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, and though -he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating -Dólokhov’s words into English. A thin young lad, an hussar of the -Life Guards, who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window -sill, leaned over, and looked down. - -“Oh! Oh! Oh!” he muttered, looking down from the window at the -stones of the pavement. - -“Shut up!” cried Dólokhov, pushing him away from the window. The -lad jumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs. - -Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach it easily, -Dólokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the window and lowered -his legs. Pressing against both sides of the window, he adjusted himself -on his seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to the right and then to -the left, and took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and -placed them on the window sill, though it was already quite light. -Dólokhov’s back in his white shirt, and his curly head, were lit -up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, the Englishman in -front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One man, older than the others -present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared and angry look and wanted -to seize hold of Dólokhov’s shirt. - -“I say, this is folly! He’ll be killed,” said this more sensible -man. - -Anatole stopped him. - -“Don’t touch him! You’ll startle him and then he’ll be killed. -Eh?... What then?... Eh?” - -Dólokhov turned round and, again holding on with both hands, arranged -himself on his seat. - -“If anyone comes meddling again,” said he, emitting the words -separately through his thin compressed lips, “I will throw him down -there. Now then!” - -Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took the bottle -and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head, and raised his free hand -to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some -broken glass remained in that position without taking his eyes from the -window and from Dólokhov’s back. Anatole stood erect with staring -eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing up his lips. The man -who had wished to stop the affair ran to a corner of the room and threw -himself on a sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, from -which a faint smile forgot to fade though his features now expressed -horror and fear. All were still. Pierre took his hands from his eyes. -Dólokhov still sat in the same position, only his head was thrown -further back till his curly hair touched his shirt collar, and the hand -holding the bottle was lifted higher and higher and trembled with the -effort. The bottle was emptying perceptibly and rising still higher -and his head tilting yet further back. “Why is it so long?” thought -Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had elapsed. -Suddenly Dólokhov made a backward movement with his spine, and his arm -trembled nervously; this was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip -as he sat on the sloping ledge. As he began slipping down, his head and -arm wavered still more with the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch -the window sill, but refrained from touching it. Pierre again covered -his eyes and thought he would never open them again. Suddenly he was -aware of a stir all around. He looked up: Dólokhov was standing on the -window sill, with a pale but radiant face. - -“It’s empty.” - -He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dólokhov -jumped down. He smelt strongly of rum. - -“Well done!... Fine fellow!... There’s a bet for you!... Devil take -you!” came from different sides. - -The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out the money. -Dólokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped upon the -window sill. - -“Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I’ll do the same thing!” -he suddenly cried. “Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me a -bottle. I’ll do it.... Bring a bottle!” - -“Let him do it, let him do it,” said Dólokhov, smiling. - -“What next? Have you gone mad?... No one would let you!... Why, you go -giddy even on a staircase,” exclaimed several voices. - -“I’ll drink it! Let’s have a bottle of rum!” shouted Pierre, -banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to -climb out of the window. - -They seized him by his arms; but he was so strong that everyone who -touched him was sent flying. - -“No, you’ll never manage him that way,” said Anatole. “Wait a -bit and I’ll get round him.... Listen! I’ll take your bet tomorrow, -but now we are all going to ——’s.” - -“Come on then,” cried Pierre. “Come on!... And we’ll take Bruin -with us.” - -And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from the ground, -and began dancing round the room with it. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Prince Vasíli kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubetskáya -who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Borís on the evening of -Anna Pávlovna’s soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an -exception made, and Borís transferred into the regiment of Semënov -Guards with the rank of cornet. He received, however, no appointment -to Kutúzov’s staff despite all Anna Mikháylovna’s endeavors and -entreaties. Soon after Anna Pávlovna’s reception Anna Mikháylovna -returned to Moscow and went straight to her rich relations, the -Rostóvs, with whom she stayed when in the town and where her darling -Bóry, who had only just entered a regiment of the line and was being -at once transferred to the Guards as a cornet, had been educated from -childhood and lived for years at a time. The Guards had already left -Petersburg on the tenth of August, and her son, who had remained in -Moscow for his equipment, was to join them on the march to Radzivílov. - -It was St. Natalia’s day and the name day of two of the Rostóvs—the -mother and the youngest daughter—both named Nataly. Ever since -the morning, carriages with six horses had been coming and going -continually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostóva’s big house on -the Povarskáya, so well known to all Moscow. The countess herself and -her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing room with the visitors -who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in -relays. - -The countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin Oriental type -of face, evidently worn out with childbearing—she had had twelve. -A languor of motion and speech, resulting from weakness, gave her a -distinguished air which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mikháylovna -Drubetskáya, who as a member of the household was also seated in the -drawing room, helped to receive and entertain the visitors. The young -people were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to -take part in receiving the visitors. The count met the guests and saw -them off, inviting them all to dinner. - -“I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher,” or “ma chère”—he -called everyone without exception and without the slightest variation -in his tone, “my dear,” whether they were above or below him in -rank—“I thank you for myself and for our two dear ones whose name -day we are keeping. But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended, -ma chère! On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come, mon cher!” -These words he repeated to everyone without exception or variation, and -with the same expression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven face, the -same firm pressure of the hand and the same quick, repeated bows. As -soon as he had seen a visitor off he returned to one of those who were -still in the drawing room, drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily -spreading out his legs and putting his hands on his knees with the air -of a man who enjoys life and knows how to live, he swayed to and -fro with dignity, offered surmises about the weather, or touched on -questions of health, sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad but -self-confident French; then again, like a man weary but unflinching in -the fulfillment of duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, stroking -his scanty gray hairs over his bald patch, also asked them to dinner. -Sometimes on his way back from the anteroom he would pass through the -conservatory and pantry into the large marble dining hall, where tables -were being set out for eighty people; and looking at the footmen, who -were bringing in silver and china, moving tables, and unfolding damask -table linen, he would call Dmítri Vasílevich, a man of good family and -the manager of all his affairs, and while looking with pleasure at the -enormous table would say: “Well, Dmítri, you’ll see that things are -all as they should be? That’s right! The great thing is the serving, -that’s it.” And with a complacent sigh he would return to the -drawing room. - -“Márya Lvóvna Karágina and her daughter!” announced the -countess’ gigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the drawing -room. The countess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold -snuffbox with her husband’s portrait on it. - -“I’m quite worn out by these callers. However, I’ll see her and -no more. She is so affected. Ask her in,” she said to the footman in a -sad voice, as if saying: “Very well, finish me off.” - -A tall, stout, and proud-looking woman, with a round-faced smiling -daughter, entered the drawing room, their dresses rustling. - -“Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up, poor child ... -at the Razumóvski’s ball ... and Countess Apráksina ... I was -so delighted...” came the sounds of animated feminine voices, -interrupting one another and mingling with the rustling of dresses and -the scraping of chairs. Then one of those conversations began which last -out until, at the first pause, the guests rise with a rustle of dresses -and say, “I am so delighted... Mamma’s health... and Countess -Apráksina...” and then, again rustling, pass into the anteroom, put -on cloaks or mantles, and drive away. The conversation was on the chief -topic of the day: the illness of the wealthy and celebrated beau of -Catherine’s day, Count Bezúkhov, and about his illegitimate son -Pierre, the one who had behaved so improperly at Anna Pávlovna’s -reception. - -“I am so sorry for the poor count,” said the visitor. “He is in -such bad health, and now this vexation about his son is enough to kill -him!” - -“What is that?” asked the countess as if she did not know what the -visitor alluded to, though she had already heard about the cause of -Count Bezúkhov’s distress some fifteen times. - -“That’s what comes of a modern education,” exclaimed the visitor. -“It seems that while he was abroad this young man was allowed to do -as he liked, now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terrible -things that he has been expelled by the police.” - -“You don’t say so!” replied the countess. - -“He chose his friends badly,” interposed Anna Mikháylovna. -“Prince Vasíli’s son, he, and a certain Dólokhov have, it is said, -been up to heaven only knows what! And they have had to suffer for it. -Dólokhov has been degraded to the ranks and Bezúkhov’s son sent -back to Moscow. Anatole Kurágin’s father managed somehow to get his -son’s affair hushed up, but even he was ordered out of Petersburg.” - -“But what have they been up to?” asked the countess. - -“They are regular brigands, especially Dólokhov,” replied the -visitor. “He is a son of Márya Ivánovna Dólokhova, such a worthy -woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewhere, -put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The -police tried to interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied -a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka -Canal. And there was the bear swimming about with the policeman on his -back!” - -“What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear!” shouted -the count, dying with laughter. - -“Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at it, Count?” - -Yet the ladies themselves could not help laughing. - -“It was all they could do to rescue the poor man,” continued the -visitor. “And to think it is Cyril Vladímirovich Bezúkhov’s son -who amuses himself in this sensible manner! And he was said to be so -well educated and clever. This is all that his foreign education has -done for him! I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him, in -spite of his money. They wanted to introduce him to me, but I quite -declined: I have my daughters to consider.” - -“Why do you say this young man is so rich?” asked the countess, -turning away from the girls, who at once assumed an air of inattention. -“His children are all illegitimate. I think Pierre also is -illegitimate.” - -The visitor made a gesture with her hand. - -“I should think he has a score of them.” - -Princess Anna Mikháylovna intervened in the conversation, evidently -wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what went on in -society. - -“The fact of the matter is,” said she significantly, and also in a -half whisper, “everyone knows Count Cyril’s reputation.... He has -lost count of his children, but this Pierre was his favorite.” - -“How handsome the old man still was only a year ago!” remarked the -countess. “I have never seen a handsomer man.” - -“He is very much altered now,” said Anna Mikháylovna. “Well, as -I was saying, Prince Vasíli is the next heir through his wife, but the -count is very fond of Pierre, looked after his education, and wrote to -the Emperor about him; so that in the case of his death—and he is -so ill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorrain has come from -Petersburg—no one knows who will inherit his immense fortune, Pierre -or Prince Vasíli. Forty thousand serfs and millions of rubles! I know -it all very well for Prince Vasíli told me himself. Besides, Cyril -Vladímirovich is my mother’s second cousin. He’s also my Bóry’s -godfather,” she added, as if she attached no importance at all to the -fact. - -“Prince Vasíli arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he has come on -some inspection business,” remarked the visitor. - -“Yes, but between ourselves,” said the princess, “that is a -pretext. The fact is he has come to see Count Cyril Vladímirovich, -hearing how ill he is.” - -“But do you know, my dear, that was a capital joke,” said the count; -and seeing that the elder visitor was not listening, he turned to the -young ladies. “I can just imagine what a funny figure that policeman -cut!” - -And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portly form -again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one who always eats -well and, in particular, drinks well. “So do come and dine with us!” -he said. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling affably, -but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if they -now rose and took their leave. The visitor’s daughter was already -smoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when -suddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girls -running to the door and the noise of a chair falling over, and a girl -of thirteen, hiding something in the folds of her short muslin frock, -darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It was evident -that she had not intended her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in -the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer -of the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short -jacket. - -The count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide -and threw them round the little girl who had run in. - -“Ah, here she is!” he exclaimed laughing. “My pet, whose name day -it is. My dear pet!” - -“Ma chère, there is a time for everything,” said the countess with -feigned severity. “You spoil her, Ilyá,” she added, turning to her -husband. - -“How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of your name -day,” said the visitor. “What a charming child,” she added, -addressing the mother. - -This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of life—with -childish bare shoulders which after her run heaved and shook her -bodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, little legs -in lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slippers—was just at that -charming age when a girl is no longer a child, though the child is not -yet a young woman. Escaping from her father she ran to hide her flushed -face in the lace of her mother’s mantilla—not paying the least -attention to her severe remark—and began to laugh. She laughed, and in -fragmentary sentences tried to explain about a doll which she produced -from the folds of her frock. - -“Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see...” was all Natásha -managed to utter (to her everything seemed funny). She leaned against -her mother and burst into such a loud, ringing fit of laughter that even -the prim visitor could not help joining in. - -“Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you,” said the -mother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning -to the visitor she added: “She is my youngest girl.” - -Natásha, raising her face for a moment from her mother’s mantilla, -glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her face. - -The visitor, compelled to look on at this family scene, thought it -necessary to take some part in it. - -“Tell me, my dear,” said she to Natásha, “is Mimi a relation of -yours? A daughter, I suppose?” - -Natásha did not like the visitor’s tone of condescension to childish -things. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously. - -Meanwhile the younger generation: Borís, the officer, Anna -Mikháylovna’s son; Nicholas, the undergraduate, the count’s eldest -son; Sónya, the count’s fifteen-year-old niece, and little Pétya, -his youngest boy, had all settled down in the drawing room and were -obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement -and mirth that shone in all their faces. Evidently in the back rooms, -from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had -been more amusing than the drawing room talk of society scandals, the -weather, and Countess Apráksina. Now and then they glanced at one -another, hardly able to suppress their laughter. - -The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, -were of the same age and both handsome fellows, though not alike. Borís -was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular, delicate -features. Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression. -Dark hairs were already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face -expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicholas blushed when he entered -the drawing room. He evidently tried to find something to say, but -failed. Borís on the contrary at once found his footing, and related -quietly and humorously how he had known that doll Mimi when she was -still quite a young lady, before her nose was broken; how she had aged -during the five years he had known her, and how her head had cracked -right across the skull. Having said this he glanced at Natásha. -She turned away from him and glanced at her younger brother, who was -screwing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed laughter, and unable -to control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed from the room as -fast as her nimble little feet would carry her. Borís did not laugh. - -“You were meaning to go out, weren’t you, Mamma? Do you want the -carriage?” he asked his mother with a smile. - -“Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready,” she answered, -returning his smile. - -Borís quietly left the room and went in search of Natásha. The plump -boy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program had been -disturbed. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -The only young people remaining in the drawing room, not counting the -young lady visitor and the countess’ eldest daughter (who was four -years older than her sister and behaved already like a grown-up person), -were Nicholas and Sónya, the niece. Sónya was a slender little -brunette with a tender look in her eyes which were veiled by long -lashes, thick black plaits coiling twice round her head, and a tawny -tint in her complexion and especially in the color of her slender but -graceful and muscular arms and neck. By the grace of her movements, -by the softness and flexibility of her small limbs, and by a certain -coyness and reserve of manner, she reminded one of a pretty, half-grown -kitten which promises to become a beautiful little cat. She evidently -considered it proper to show an interest in the general conversation by -smiling, but in spite of herself her eyes under their thick long lashes -watched her cousin who was going to join the army, with such passionate -girlish adoration that her smile could not for a single instant impose -upon anyone, and it was clear that the kitten had settled down only to -spring up with more energy and again play with her cousin as soon as -they too could, like Natásha and Borís, escape from the drawing room. - -“Ah yes, my dear,” said the count, addressing the visitor and -pointing to Nicholas, “his friend Borís has become an officer, and -so for friendship’s sake he is leaving the university and me, his -old father, and entering the military service, my dear. And there was a -place and everything waiting for him in the Archives Department! Isn’t -that friendship?” remarked the count in an inquiring tone. - -“But they say that war has been declared,” replied the visitor. - -“They’ve been saying so a long while,” said the count, “and -they’ll say so again and again, and that will be the end of it. My -dear, there’s friendship for you,” he repeated. “He’s joining -the hussars.” - -The visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head. - -“It’s not at all from friendship,” declared Nicholas, flaring -up and turning away as if from a shameful aspersion. “It is not from -friendship at all; I simply feel that the army is my vocation.” - -He glanced at his cousin and the young lady visitor; and they were both -regarding him with a smile of approbation. - -“Schubert, the colonel of the Pávlograd Hussars, is dining with us -today. He has been here on leave and is taking Nicholas back with him. -It can’t be helped!” said the count, shrugging his shoulders and -speaking playfully of a matter that evidently distressed him. - -“I have already told you, Papa,” said his son, “that if you -don’t wish to let me go, I’ll stay. But I know I am no use anywhere -except in the army; I am not a diplomat or a government clerk.—I -don’t know how to hide what I feel.” As he spoke he kept glancing -with the flirtatiousness of a handsome youth at Sónya and the young -lady visitor. - -The little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, seemed ready at any moment -to start her gambols again and display her kittenish nature. - -“All right, all right!” said the old count. “He always flares up! -This Buonaparte has turned all their heads; they all think of how he -rose from an ensign and became Emperor. Well, well, God grant it,” he -added, not noticing his visitor’s sarcastic smile. - -The elders began talking about Bonaparte. Julie Karágina turned to -young Rostóv. - -“What a pity you weren’t at the Arkhárovs’ on Thursday. It was so -dull without you,” said she, giving him a tender smile. - -The young man, flattered, sat down nearer to her with a coquettish -smile, and engaged the smiling Julie in a confidential conversation -without at all noticing that his involuntary smile had stabbed the heart -of Sónya, who blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst of his talk -he glanced round at her. She gave him a passionately angry glance, and -hardly able to restrain her tears and maintain the artificial smile -on her lips, she got up and left the room. All Nicholas’ animation -vanished. He waited for the first pause in the conversation, and then -with a distressed face left the room to find Sónya. - -“How plainly all these young people wear their hearts on their -sleeves!” said Anna Mikháylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he went out. -“Cousinage—dangereux voisinage,” * she added. - - * Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood. - -“Yes,” said the countess when the brightness these young people had -brought into the room had vanished; and as if answering a question no -one had put but which was always in her mind, “and how much suffering, -how much anxiety one has had to go through that we might rejoice in -them now! And yet really the anxiety is greater now than the joy. One is -always, always anxious! Especially just at this age, so dangerous both -for girls and boys.” - -“It all depends on the bringing up,” remarked the visitor. - -“Yes, you’re quite right,” continued the countess. “Till now I -have always, thank God, been my children’s friend and had their full -confidence,” said she, repeating the mistake of so many parents who -imagine that their children have no secrets from them. “I know I shall -always be my daughters’ first confidante, and that if Nicholas, with -his impulsive nature, does get into mischief (a boy can’t help it), he -will all the same never be like those Petersburg young men.” - -“Yes, they are splendid, splendid youngsters,” chimed in the count, -who always solved questions that seemed to him perplexing by deciding -that everything was splendid. “Just fancy: wants to be an hussar. -What’s one to do, my dear?” - -“What a charming creature your younger girl is,” said the visitor; -“a little volcano!” - -“Yes, a regular volcano,” said the count. “Takes after me! And -what a voice she has; though she’s my daughter, I tell the truth -when I say she’ll be a singer, a second Salomoni! We have engaged an -Italian to give her lessons.” - -“Isn’t she too young? I have heard that it harms the voice to train -it at that age.” - -“Oh no, not at all too young!” replied the count. “Why, our -mothers used to be married at twelve or thirteen.” - -“And she’s in love with Borís already. Just fancy!” said the -countess with a gentle smile, looking at Borís and went on, evidently -concerned with a thought that always occupied her: “Now you see if I -were to be severe with her and to forbid it ... goodness knows what they -might be up to on the sly” (she meant that they would be kissing), -“but as it is, I know every word she utters. She will come running to -me of her own accord in the evening and tell me everything. Perhaps I -spoil her, but really that seems the best plan. With her elder sister I -was stricter.” - -“Yes, I was brought up quite differently,” remarked the handsome -elder daughter, Countess Véra, with a smile. - -But the smile did not enhance Véra’s beauty as smiles generally do; -on the contrary it gave her an unnatural, and therefore unpleasant, -expression. Véra was good-looking, not at all stupid, quick at -learning, was well brought up, and had a pleasant voice; what she said -was true and appropriate, yet, strange to say, everyone—the visitors -and countess alike—turned to look at her as if wondering why she had -said it, and they all felt awkward. - -“People are always too clever with their eldest children and try to -make something exceptional of them,” said the visitor. - -“What’s the good of denying it, my dear? Our dear countess was too -clever with Véra,” said the count. “Well, what of that? She’s -turned out splendidly all the same,” he added, winking at Véra. - -The guests got up and took their leave, promising to return to dinner. - -“What manners! I thought they would never go,” said the countess, -when she had seen her guests out. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -When Natásha ran out of the drawing room she only went as far as the -conservatory. There she paused and stood listening to the conversation -in the drawing room, waiting for Borís to come out. She was already -growing impatient, and stamped her foot, ready to cry at his not coming -at once, when she heard the young man’s discreet steps approaching -neither quickly nor slowly. At this Natásha dashed swiftly among the -flower tubs and hid there. - -Borís paused in the middle of the room, looked round, brushed a little -dust from the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to a mirror examined -his handsome face. Natásha, very still, peered out from her ambush, -waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the -glass, smiled, and walked toward the other door. Natásha was about to -call him but changed her mind. “Let him look for me,” thought she. -Hardly had Borís gone than Sónya, flushed, in tears, and muttering -angrily, came in at the other door. Natásha checked her first impulse -to run out to her, and remained in her hiding place, watching—as -under an invisible cap—to see what went on in the world. She was -experiencing a new and peculiar pleasure. Sónya, muttering to herself, -kept looking round toward the drawing room door. It opened and Nicholas -came in. - -“Sónya, what is the matter with you? How can you?” said he, running -up to her. - -“It’s nothing, nothing; leave me alone!” sobbed Sónya. - -“Ah, I know what it is.” - -“Well, if you do, so much the better, and you can go back to her!” - -“Só-o-onya! Look here! How can you torture me and yourself like that, -for a mere fancy?” said Nicholas taking her hand. - -Sónya did not pull it away, and left off crying. Natásha, not stirring -and scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush with sparkling eyes. -“What will happen now?” thought she. - -“Sónya! What is anyone in the world to me? You alone are -everything!” said Nicholas. “And I will prove it to you.” - -“I don’t like you to talk like that.” - -“Well, then, I won’t; only forgive me, Sónya!” He drew her to him -and kissed her. - -“Oh, how nice,” thought Natásha; and when Sónya and Nicholas had -gone out of the conservatory she followed and called Borís to her. - -“Borís, come here,” said she with a sly and significant look. “I -have something to tell you. Here, here!” and she led him into the -conservatory to the place among the tubs where she had been hiding. - -Borís followed her, smiling. - -“What is the something?” asked he. - -She grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she had thrown -down on one of the tubs, picked it up. - -“Kiss the doll,” said she. - -Borís looked attentively and kindly at her eager face, but did not -reply. - -“Don’t you want to? Well, then, come here,” said she, and -went further in among the plants and threw down the doll. “Closer, -closer!” she whispered. - -She caught the young officer by his cuffs, and a look of solemnity and -fear appeared on her flushed face. - -“And me? Would you like to kiss me?” she whispered almost inaudibly, -glancing up at him from under her brows, smiling, and almost crying from -excitement. - -Borís blushed. - -“How funny you are!” he said, bending down to her and blushing still -more, but he waited and did nothing. - -Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced him so -that both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, and, tossing -back her hair, kissed him full on the lips. - -Then she slipped down among the flowerpots on the other side of the tubs -and stood, hanging her head. - -“Natásha,” he said, “you know that I love you, but....” - -“You are in love with me?” Natásha broke in. - -“Yes, I am, but please don’t let us do like that.... In another four -years ... then I will ask for your hand.” - -Natásha considered. - -“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,” she counted on her slender -little fingers. “All right! Then it’s settled?” - -A smile of joy and satisfaction lit up her eager face. - -“Settled!” replied Borís. - -“Forever?” said the little girl. “Till death itself?” - -She took his arm and with a happy face went with him into the adjoining -sitting room. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -After receiving her visitors, the countess was so tired that she gave -orders to admit no more, but the porter was told to be sure to invite to -dinner all who came “to congratulate.” The countess wished to have -a tête-à-tête talk with the friend of her childhood, Princess Anna -Mikháylovna, whom she had not seen properly since she returned from -Petersburg. Anna Mikháylovna, with her tear-worn but pleasant face, -drew her chair nearer to that of the countess. - -“With you I will be quite frank,” said Anna Mikháylovna. “There -are not many left of us old friends! That’s why I so value your -friendship.” - -Anna Mikháylovna looked at Véra and paused. The countess pressed her -friend’s hand. - -“Véra,” she said to her eldest daughter who was evidently not a -favorite, “how is it you have so little tact? Don’t you see you are -not wanted here? Go to the other girls, or...” - -The handsome Véra smiled contemptuously but did not seem at all hurt. - -“If you had told me sooner, Mamma, I would have gone,” she replied -as she rose to go to her own room. - -But as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couples sitting, -one pair at each window. She stopped and smiled scornfully. Sónya was -sitting close to Nicholas who was copying out some verses for her, the -first he had ever written. Borís and Natásha were at the other window -and ceased talking when Véra entered. Sónya and Natásha looked at -Véra with guilty, happy faces. - -It was pleasant and touching to see these little girls in love; but -apparently the sight of them roused no pleasant feeling in Véra. - -“How often have I asked you not to take my things?” she said. “You -have a room of your own,” and she took the inkstand from Nicholas. - -“In a minute, in a minute,” he said, dipping his pen. - -“You always manage to do things at the wrong time,” continued Véra. -“You came rushing into the drawing room so that everyone felt ashamed -of you.” - -Though what she said was quite just, perhaps for that very reason no one -replied, and the four simply looked at one another. She lingered in the -room with the inkstand in her hand. - -“And at your age what secrets can there be between Natásha and -Borís, or between you two? It’s all nonsense!” - -“Now, Véra, what does it matter to you?” said Natásha in defense, -speaking very gently. - -She seemed that day to be more than ever kind and affectionate to -everyone. - -“Very silly,” said Véra. “I am ashamed of you. Secrets indeed!” - -“All have secrets of their own,” answered Natásha, getting warmer. -“We don’t interfere with you and Berg.” - -“I should think not,” said Véra, “because there can never be -anything wrong in my behavior. But I’ll just tell Mamma how you are -behaving with Borís.” - -“Natálya Ilyníchna behaves very well to me,” remarked Borís. “I -have nothing to complain of.” - -“Don’t, Borís! You are such a diplomat that it is really -tiresome,” said Natásha in a mortified voice that trembled slightly. -(She used the word “diplomat,” which was just then much in vogue -among the children, in the special sense they attached to it.) “Why -does she bother me?” And she added, turning to Véra, “You’ll -never understand it, because you’ve never loved anyone. You have no -heart! You are a Madame de Genlis and nothing more” (this nickname, -bestowed on Véra by Nicholas, was considered very stinging), “and -your greatest pleasure is to be unpleasant to people! Go and flirt with -Berg as much as you please,” she finished quickly. - -“I shall at any rate not run after a young man before visitors...” - -“Well, now you’ve done what you wanted,” put in Nicholas—“said -unpleasant things to everyone and upset them. Let’s go to the -nursery.” - -All four, like a flock of scared birds, got up and left the room. - -“The unpleasant things were said to me,” remarked Véra, “I said -none to anyone.” - -“Madame de Genlis! Madame de Genlis!” shouted laughing voices -through the door. - -The handsome Véra, who produced such an irritating and unpleasant -effect on everyone, smiled and, evidently unmoved by what had been -said to her, went to the looking glass and arranged her hair and scarf. -Looking at her own handsome face she seemed to become still colder and -calmer. - - -In the drawing room the conversation was still going on. - -“Ah, my dear,” said the countess, “my life is not all roses -either. Don’t I know that at the rate we are living our means won’t -last long? It’s all the Club and his easygoing nature. Even in the -country do we get any rest? Theatricals, hunting, and heaven knows what -besides! But don’t let’s talk about me; tell me how you managed -everything. I often wonder at you, Annette—how at your age you -can rush off alone in a carriage to Moscow, to Petersburg, to those -ministers and great people, and know how to deal with them all! It’s -quite astonishing. How did you get things settled? I couldn’t possibly -do it.” - -“Ah, my love,” answered Anna Mikháylovna, “God grant you never -know what it is to be left a widow without means and with a son you love -to distraction! One learns many things then,” she added with a certain -pride. “That lawsuit taught me much. When I want to see one of those -big people I write a note: ‘Princess So-and-So desires an interview -with So and-So,’ and then I take a cab and go myself two, three, or -four times—till I get what I want. I don’t mind what they think of -me.” - -“Well, and to whom did you apply about Bóry?” asked the countess. -“You see yours is already an officer in the Guards, while my Nicholas -is going as a cadet. There’s no one to interest himself for him. To -whom did you apply?” - -“To Prince Vasíli. He was so kind. He at once agreed to everything, -and put the matter before the Emperor,” said Princess Anna -Mikháylovna enthusiastically, quite forgetting all the humiliation she -had endured to gain her end. - -“Has Prince Vasíli aged much?” asked the countess. “I have not -seen him since we acted together at the Rumyántsovs’ theatricals. I -expect he has forgotten me. He paid me attentions in those days,” said -the countess, with a smile. - -“He is just the same as ever,” replied Anna Mikháylovna, -“overflowing with amiability. His position has not turned his head -at all. He said to me, ‘I am sorry I can do so little for you, dear -Princess. I am at your command.’ Yes, he is a fine fellow and a very -kind relation. But, Nataly, you know my love for my son: I would do -anything for his happiness! And my affairs are in such a bad way that my -position is now a terrible one,” continued Anna Mikháylovna, sadly, -dropping her voice. “My wretched lawsuit takes all I have and makes no -progress. Would you believe it, I have literally not a penny and don’t -know how to equip Borís.” She took out her handkerchief and began to -cry. “I need five hundred rubles, and have only one twenty-five-ruble -note. I am in such a state.... My only hope now is in Count Cyril -Vladímirovich Bezúkhov. If he will not assist his godson—you know -he is Bóry’s godfather—and allow him something for his maintenance, -all my trouble will have been thrown away.... I shall not be able to -equip him.” - -The countess’ eyes filled with tears and she pondered in silence. - -“I often think, though, perhaps it’s a sin,” said the princess, -“that here lives Count Cyril Vladímirovich Bezúkhov so rich, all -alone... that tremendous fortune... and what is his life worth? It’s a -burden to him, and Bóry’s life is only just beginning....” - -“Surely he will leave something to Borís,” said the countess. - -“Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees are so selfish. -Still, I will take Borís and go to see him at once, and I shall speak -to him straight out. Let people think what they will of me, it’s -really all the same to me when my son’s fate is at stake.” The -princess rose. “It’s now two o’clock and you dine at four. There -will just be time.” - -And like a practical Petersburg lady who knows how to make the most of -time, Anna Mikháylovna sent someone to call her son, and went into the -anteroom with him. - -“Good-by, my dear,” said she to the countess who saw her to the -door, and added in a whisper so that her son should not hear, “Wish me -good luck.” - -“Are you going to Count Cyril Vladímirovich, my dear?” said the -count coming out from the dining hall into the anteroom, and he added: -“If he is better, ask Pierre to dine with us. He has been to the -house, you know, and danced with the children. Be sure to invite him, my -dear. We will see how Tarás distinguishes himself today. He says Count -Orlóv never gave such a dinner as ours will be!” - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -“My dear Borís,” said Princess Anna Mikháylovna to her son as -Countess Rostóva’s carriage in which they were seated drove over the -straw covered street and turned into the wide courtyard of Count Cyril -Vladímirovich Bezúkhov’s house. “My dear Borís,” said the -mother, drawing her hand from beneath her old mantle and laying -it timidly and tenderly on her son’s arm, “be affectionate and -attentive to him. Count Cyril Vladímirovich is your godfather after -all, and your future depends on him. Remember that, my dear, and be nice -to him, as you so well know how to be.” - -“If only I knew that anything besides humiliation would come of -it...” answered her son coldly. “But I have promised and will do it -for your sake.” - -Although the hall porter saw someone’s carriage standing at the -entrance, after scrutinizing the mother and son (who without asking to -be announced had passed straight through the glass porch between the -rows of statues in niches) and looking significantly at the lady’s old -cloak, he asked whether they wanted the count or the princesses, and, -hearing that they wished to see the count, said his excellency was worse -today, and that his excellency was not receiving anyone. - -“We may as well go back,” said the son in French. - -“My dear!” exclaimed his mother imploringly, again laying her hand -on his arm as if that touch might soothe or rouse him. - -Borís said no more, but looked inquiringly at his mother without taking -off his cloak. - -“My friend,” said Anna Mikháylovna in gentle tones, addressing -the hall porter, “I know Count Cyril Vladímirovich is very ill... -that’s why I have come... I am a relation. I shall not disturb him, -my friend... I only need see Prince Vasíli Sergéevich: he is staying -here, is he not? Please announce me.” - -The hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs, and turned -away. - -“Princess Drubetskáya to see Prince Vasíli Sergéevich,” he called -to a footman dressed in knee breeches, shoes, and a swallow-tail coat, -who ran downstairs and looked over from the halfway landing. - -The mother smoothed the folds of her dyed silk dress before a large -Venetian mirror in the wall, and in her trodden-down shoes briskly -ascended the carpeted stairs. - -“My dear,” she said to her son, once more stimulating him by a -touch, “you promised me!” - -The son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly. - -They entered the large hall, from which one of the doors led to the -apartments assigned to Prince Vasíli. - -Just as the mother and son, having reached the middle of the hall, were -about to ask their way of an elderly footman who had sprung up as they -entered, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned and Prince Vasíli -came out—wearing a velvet coat with a single star on his breast, -as was his custom when at home—taking leave of a good-looking, -dark-haired man. This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain. - -“Then it is certain?” said the prince. - -“Prince, humanum est errare, * but...” replied the doctor, -swallowing his r’s, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French -accent. - - * To err is human. - -“Very well, very well...” - -Seeing Anna Mikháylovna and her son, Prince Vasíli dismissed the -doctor with a bow and approached them silently and with a look of -inquiry. The son noticed that an expression of profound sorrow suddenly -clouded his mother’s face, and he smiled slightly. - -“Ah, Prince! In what sad circumstances we meet again! And how is our -dear invalid?” said she, as though unaware of the cold offensive look -fixed on her. - -Prince Vasíli stared at her and at Borís questioningly and perplexed. -Borís bowed politely. Prince Vasíli without acknowledging the bow -turned to Anna Mikháylovna, answering her query by a movement of the -head and lips indicating very little hope for the patient. - -“Is it possible?” exclaimed Anna Mikháylovna. “Oh, how awful! -It is terrible to think.... This is my son,” she added, indicating -Borís. “He wanted to thank you himself.” - -Borís bowed again politely. - -“Believe me, Prince, a mother’s heart will never forget what you -have done for us.” - -“I am glad I was able to do you a service, my dear Anna -Mikháylovna,” said Prince Vasíli, arranging his lace frill, and in -tone and manner, here in Moscow to Anna Mikháylovna whom he had placed -under an obligation, assuming an air of much greater importance than he -had done in Petersburg at Anna Schérer’s reception. - -“Try to serve well and show yourself worthy,” added he, addressing -Borís with severity. “I am glad.... Are you here on leave?” he went -on in his usual tone of indifference. - -“I am awaiting orders to join my new regiment, your excellency,” -replied Borís, betraying neither annoyance at the prince’s brusque -manner nor a desire to enter into conversation, but speaking so quietly -and respectfully that the prince gave him a searching glance. - -“Are you living with your mother?” - -“I am living at Countess Rostóva’s,” replied Borís, again -adding, “your excellency.” - -“That is, with Ilyá Rostóv who married Nataly Shinshiná,” said -Anna Mikháylovna. - -“I know, I know,” answered Prince Vasíli in his monotonous voice. -“I never could understand how Nataly made up her mind to marry that -unlicked bear! A perfectly absurd and stupid fellow, and a gambler too, -I am told.” - -“But a very kind man, Prince,” said Anna Mikháylovna with a -pathetic smile, as though she too knew that Count Rostóv deserved this -censure, but asked him not to be too hard on the poor old man. “What -do the doctors say?” asked the princess after a pause, her worn face -again expressing deep sorrow. - -“They give little hope,” replied the prince. - -“And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his kindness to me -and Borís. He is his godson,” she added, her tone suggesting that -this fact ought to give Prince Vasíli much satisfaction. - -Prince Vasíli became thoughtful and frowned. Anna Mikháylovna saw that -he was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezúkhov’s fortune, -and hastened to reassure him. - -“If it were not for my sincere affection and devotion to Uncle,” -said she, uttering the word with peculiar assurance and unconcern, “I -know his character: noble, upright ... but you see he has no one with -him except the young princesses.... They are still young....” She bent -her head and continued in a whisper: “Has he performed his final duty, -Prince? How priceless are those last moments! It can make things no -worse, and it is absolutely necessary to prepare him if he is so ill. -We women, Prince,” and she smiled tenderly, “always know how to say -these things. I absolutely must see him, however painful it may be for -me. I am used to suffering.” - -Evidently the prince understood her, and also understood, as he had done -at Anna Pávlovna’s, that it would be difficult to get rid of Anna -Mikháylovna. - -“Would not such a meeting be too trying for him, dear Anna -Mikháylovna?” said he. “Let us wait until evening. The doctors are -expecting a crisis.” - -“But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a moment! Consider that the -welfare of his soul is at stake. Ah, it is awful: the duties of a -Christian...” - -A door of one of the inner rooms opened and one of the princesses, the -count’s niece, entered with a cold, stern face. The length of her -body was strikingly out of proportion to her short legs. Prince Vasíli -turned to her. - -“Well, how is he?” - -“Still the same; but what can you expect, this noise...” said the -princess, looking at Anna Mikháylovna as at a stranger. - -“Ah, my dear, I hardly knew you,” said Anna Mikháylovna with a -happy smile, ambling lightly up to the count’s niece. “I have come, -and am at your service to help you nurse my uncle. I imagine what you -have gone through,” and she sympathetically turned up her eyes. - -The princess gave no reply and did not even smile, but left the room as -Anna Mikháylovna took off her gloves and, occupying the position she -had conquered, settled down in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasíli to -take a seat beside her. - -“Borís,” she said to her son with a smile, “I shall go in to see -the count, my uncle; but you, my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhile -and don’t forget to give him the Rostóvs’ invitation. They ask him -to dinner. I suppose he won’t go?” she continued, turning to the -prince. - -“On the contrary,” replied the prince, who had plainly become -depressed, “I shall be only too glad if you relieve me of that young -man.... Here he is, and the count has not once asked for him.” - -He shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted Borís down one flight of -stairs and up another, to Pierre’s rooms. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Pierre, after all, had not managed to choose a career for himself in -Petersburg, and had been expelled from there for riotous conduct and -sent to Moscow. The story told about him at Count Rostóv’s was true. -Pierre had taken part in tying a policeman to a bear. He had now been -for some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at his father’s -house. Though he expected that the story of his escapade would be -already known in Moscow and that the ladies about his father—who were -never favorably disposed toward him—would have used it to turn the -count against him, he nevertheless on the day of his arrival went to -his father’s part of the house. Entering the drawing room, where the -princesses spent most of their time, he greeted the ladies, two of whom -were sitting at embroidery frames while a third read aloud. It was the -eldest who was reading—the one who had met Anna Mikháylovna. The -two younger ones were embroidering: both were rosy and pretty and they -differed only in that one had a little mole on her lip which made her -much prettier. Pierre was received as if he were a corpse or a leper. -The eldest princess paused in her reading and silently stared at him -with frightened eyes; the second assumed precisely the same expression; -while the youngest, the one with the mole, who was of a cheerful and -lively disposition, bent over her frame to hide a smile probably evoked -by the amusing scene she foresaw. She drew her wool down through the -canvas and, scarcely able to refrain from laughing, stooped as if trying -to make out the pattern. - -“How do you do, cousin?” said Pierre. “You don’t recognize -me?” - -“I recognize you only too well, too well.” - -“How is the count? Can I see him?” asked Pierre, awkwardly as usual, -but unabashed. - -“The count is suffering physically and mentally, and apparently you -have done your best to increase his mental sufferings.” - -“Can I see the count?” Pierre again asked. - -“Hm.... If you wish to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see -him... Olga, go and see whether Uncle’s beef tea is ready—it is -almost time,” she added, giving Pierre to understand that they were -busy, and busy making his father comfortable, while evidently he, -Pierre, was only busy causing him annoyance. - -Olga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters; then he bowed and -said: “Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I can see -him.” - -And he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter of the -sister with the mole. - -Next day Prince Vasíli had arrived and settled in the count’s house. -He sent for Pierre and said to him: “My dear fellow, if you are going -to behave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end very badly; that -is all I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill, and you must -not see him at all.” - -Since then Pierre had not been disturbed and had spent the whole time in -his rooms upstairs. - -When Borís appeared at his door Pierre was pacing up and down his room, -stopping occasionally at a corner to make menacing gestures at the wall, -as if running a sword through an invisible foe, and glaring savagely -over his spectacles, and then again resuming his walk, muttering -indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating. - -“England is done for,” said he, scowling and pointing his finger -at someone unseen. “Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the -rights of man, is sentenced to...” But before Pierre—who at that -moment imagined himself to be Napoleon in person and to have just -effected the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and captured -London—could pronounce Pitt’s sentence, he saw a well-built and -handsome young officer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had left -Moscow when Borís was a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgotten him, -but in his usual impulsive and hearty way he took Borís by the hand -with a friendly smile. - -“Do you remember me?” asked Borís quietly with a pleasant smile. -“I have come with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is not -well.” - -“Yes, it seems he is ill. People are always disturbing him,” -answered Pierre, trying to remember who this young man was. - -Borís felt that Pierre did not recognize him but did not consider -it necessary to introduce himself, and without experiencing the least -embarrassment looked Pierre straight in the face. - -“Count Rostóv asks you to come to dinner today,” said he, after a -considerable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable. - -“Ah, Count Rostóv!” exclaimed Pierre joyfully. “Then you are his -son, Ilyá? Only fancy, I didn’t know you at first. Do you remember -how we went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot?... It’s such an -age...” - -“You are mistaken,” said Borís deliberately, with a bold and -slightly sarcastic smile. “I am Borís, son of Princess Anna -Mikháylovna Drubetskáya. Rostóv, the father, is Ilyá, and his son is -Nicholas. I never knew any Madame Jacquot.” - -Pierre shook his head and arms as if attacked by mosquitoes or bees. - -“Oh dear, what am I thinking about? I’ve mixed everything up. One -has so many relatives in Moscow! So you are Borís? Of course. Well, now -we know where we are. And what do you think of the Boulogne expedition? -The English will come off badly, you know, if Napoleon gets across the -Channel. I think the expedition is quite feasible. If only Villeneuve -doesn’t make a mess of things!” - -Borís knew nothing about the Boulogne expedition; he did not read the -papers and it was the first time he had heard Villeneuve’s name. - -“We here in Moscow are more occupied with dinner parties and scandal -than with politics,” said he in his quiet ironical tone. “I know -nothing about it and have not thought about it. Moscow is chiefly busy -with gossip,” he continued. “Just now they are talking about you and -your father.” - -Pierre smiled in his good-natured way as if afraid for his companion’s -sake that the latter might say something he would afterwards regret. -But Borís spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly, looking straight into -Pierre’s eyes. - -“Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip,” Borís went on. -“Everybody is wondering to whom the count will leave his fortune, -though he may perhaps outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he will...” - -“Yes, it is all very horrid,” interrupted Pierre, “very horrid.” - -Pierre was still afraid that this officer might inadvertently say -something disconcerting to himself. - -“And it must seem to you,” said Borís flushing slightly, but not -changing his tone or attitude, “it must seem to you that everyone is -trying to get something out of the rich man?” - -“So it does,” thought Pierre. - -“But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you are -quite mistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people. We are -very poor, but for my own part at any rate, for the very reason that -your father is rich, I don’t regard myself as a relation of his, and -neither I nor my mother would ever ask or take anything from him.” - -For a long time Pierre could not understand, but when he did, he jumped -up from the sofa, seized Borís under the elbow in his quick, clumsy -way, and, blushing far more than Borís, began to speak with a feeling -of mingled shame and vexation. - -“Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I... who could think?... I know -very well...” - -But Borís again interrupted him. - -“I am glad I have spoken out fully. Perhaps you did not like it? You -must excuse me,” said he, putting Pierre at ease instead of being put -at ease by him, “but I hope I have not offended you. I always make it -a rule to speak out... Well, what answer am I to take? Will you come to -dinner at the Rostóvs’?” - -And Borís, having apparently relieved himself of an onerous duty and -extricated himself from an awkward situation and placed another in it, -became quite pleasant again. - -“No, but I say,” said Pierre, calming down, “you are a wonderful -fellow! What you have just said is good, very good. Of course you -don’t know me. We have not met for such a long time... not since we -were children. You might think that I... I understand, quite understand. -I could not have done it myself, I should not have had the courage, but -it’s splendid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. It’s -queer,” he added after a pause, “that you should have suspected -me!” He began to laugh. “Well, what of it! I hope we’ll get better -acquainted,” and he pressed Borís’ hand. “Do you know, I have not -once been in to see the count. He has not sent for me.... I am sorry for -him as a man, but what can one do?” - -“And so you think Napoleon will manage to get an army across?” asked -Borís with a smile. - -Pierre saw that Borís wished to change the subject, and being of the -same mind he began explaining the advantages and disadvantages of the -Boulogne expedition. - -A footman came in to summon Borís—the princess was going. Pierre, in -order to make Borís’ better acquaintance, promised to come to dinner, -and warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately over his spectacles -into Borís’ eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacing up and -down the room for a long time, no longer piercing an imaginary foe with -his imaginary sword, but smiling at the remembrance of that pleasant, -intelligent, and resolute young man. - -As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads a lonely -life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young man and made up -his mind that they would be friends. - -Prince Vasíli saw the princess off. She held a handkerchief to her eyes -and her face was tearful. - -“It is dreadful, dreadful!” she was saying, “but cost me what it -may I shall do my duty. I will come and spend the night. He must not be -left like this. Every moment is precious. I can’t think why his nieces -put it off. Perhaps God will help me to find a way to prepare him!... -Adieu, Prince! May God support you...” - -“Adieu, ma bonne,” answered Prince Vasíli turning away from her. - -“Oh, he is in a dreadful state,” said the mother to her son when -they were in the carriage. “He hardly recognizes anybody.” - -“I don’t understand, Mamma—what is his attitude to Pierre?” -asked the son. - -“The will will show that, my dear; our fate also depends on it.” - -“But why do you expect that he will leave us anything?” - -“Ah, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so poor!” - -“Well, that is hardly a sufficient reason, Mamma...” - -“Oh, Heaven! How ill he is!” exclaimed the mother. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -After Anna Mikháylovna had driven off with her son to visit Count Cyril -Vladímirovich Bezúkhov, Countess Rostóva sat for a long time all -alone applying her handkerchief to her eyes. At last she rang. - -“What is the matter with you, my dear?” she said crossly to the maid -who kept her waiting some minutes. “Don’t you wish to serve me? Then -I’ll find you another place.” - -The countess was upset by her friend’s sorrow and humiliating poverty, -and was therefore out of sorts, a state of mind which with her always -found expression in calling her maid “my dear” and speaking to her -with exaggerated politeness. - -“I am very sorry, ma’am,” answered the maid. - -“Ask the count to come to me.” - -The count came waddling in to see his wife with a rather guilty look as -usual. - -“Well, little countess? What a sauté of game au madère we are to -have, my dear! I tasted it. The thousand rubles I paid for Tarás were -not ill-spent. He is worth it!” - -He sat down by his wife, his elbows on his knees and his hands ruffling -his gray hair. - -“What are your commands, little countess?” - -“You see, my dear... What’s that mess?” she said, pointing to his -waistcoat. “It’s the sauté, most likely,” she added with a smile. -“Well, you see, Count, I want some money.” - -Her face became sad. - -“Oh, little countess!” ... and the count began bustling to get out -his pocketbook. - -“I want a great deal, Count! I want five hundred rubles,” and taking -out her cambric handkerchief she began wiping her husband’s waistcoat. - -“Yes, immediately, immediately! Hey, who’s there?” he called out -in a tone only used by persons who are certain that those they call will -rush to obey the summons. “Send Dmítri to me!” - -Dmítri, a man of good family who had been brought up in the count’s -house and now managed all his affairs, stepped softly into the room. - -“This is what I want, my dear fellow,” said the count to the -deferential young man who had entered. “Bring me...” he reflected -a moment, “yes, bring me seven hundred rubles, yes! But mind, don’t -bring me such tattered and dirty notes as last time, but nice clean ones -for the countess.” - -“Yes, Dmítri, clean ones, please,” said the countess, sighing -deeply. - -“When would you like them, your excellency?” asked Dmítri. “Allow -me to inform you... But, don’t be uneasy,” he added, noticing that -the count was beginning to breathe heavily and quickly which was always -a sign of approaching anger. “I was forgetting... Do you wish it -brought at once?” - -“Yes, yes; just so! Bring it. Give it to the countess.” - -“What a treasure that Dmítri is,” added the count with a smile when -the young man had departed. “There is never any ‘impossible’ with -him. That’s a thing I hate! Everything is possible.” - -“Ah, money, Count, money! How much sorrow it causes in the world,” -said the countess. “But I am in great need of this sum.” - -“You, my little countess, are a notorious spendthrift,” said the -count, and having kissed his wife’s hand he went back to his study. - -When Anna Mikháylovna returned from Count Bezúkhov’s the money, all -in clean notes, was lying ready under a handkerchief on the countess’ -little table, and Anna Mikháylovna noticed that something was agitating -her. - -“Well, my dear?” asked the countess. - -“Oh, what a terrible state he is in! One would not know him, he is so -ill! I was only there a few moments and hardly said a word...” - -“Annette, for heaven’s sake don’t refuse me,” the countess -began, with a blush that looked very strange on her thin, dignified, -elderly face, and she took the money from under the handkerchief. - -Anna Mikháylovna instantly guessed her intention and stooped to be -ready to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment. - -“This is for Borís from me, for his outfit.” - -Anna Mikháylovna was already embracing her and weeping. The countess -wept too. They wept because they were friends, and because they were -kindhearted, and because they—friends from childhood—had to think -about such a base thing as money, and because their youth was over.... -But those tears were pleasant to them both. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -Countess Rostóva, with her daughters and a large number of guests, was -already seated in the drawing room. The count took the gentlemen into -his study and showed them his choice collection of Turkish pipes. From -time to time he went out to ask: “Hasn’t she come yet?” They -were expecting Márya Dmítrievna Akhrosímova, known in society as le -terrible dragon, a lady distinguished not for wealth or rank, but for -common sense and frank plainness of speech. Márya Dmítrievna was known -to the Imperial family as well as to all Moscow and Petersburg, and both -cities wondered at her, laughed privately at her rudenesses, and told -good stories about her, while none the less all without exception -respected and feared her. - -In the count’s room, which was full of tobacco smoke, they talked -of the war that had been announced in a manifesto, and about the -recruiting. None of them had yet seen the manifesto, but they all knew -it had appeared. The count sat on the sofa between two guests who were -smoking and talking. He neither smoked nor talked, but bending his head -first to one side and then to the other watched the smokers with evident -pleasure and listened to the conversation of his two neighbors, whom he -egged on against each other. - -One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin and wrinkled -face, already growing old, though he was dressed like a most fashionable -young man. He sat with his legs up on the sofa as if quite at home and, -having stuck an amber mouthpiece far into his mouth, was inhaling the -smoke spasmodically and screwing up his eyes. This was an old bachelor, -Shinshín, a cousin of the countess’, a man with “a sharp tongue” -as they said in Moscow society. He seemed to be condescending to -his companion. The latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, -irreproachably washed, brushed, and buttoned, held his pipe in the -middle of his mouth and with red lips gently inhaled the smoke, letting -it escape from his handsome mouth in rings. This was Lieutenant Berg, an -officer in the Semënov regiment with whom Borís was to travel to join -the army, and about whom Natásha had teased her elder sister Véra, -speaking of Berg as her “intended.” The count sat between them and -listened attentively. His favorite occupation when not playing boston, a -card game he was very fond of, was that of listener, especially when he -succeeded in setting two loquacious talkers at one another. - -“Well, then, old chap, mon très honorable Alphonse Kárlovich,” -said Shinshín, laughing ironically and mixing the most ordinary Russian -expressions with the choicest French phrases—which was a peculiarity -of his speech. “Vous comptez vous faire des rentes sur l’état; * -you want to make something out of your company?” - - * You expect to make an income out of the government. - -“No, Peter Nikoláevich; I only want to show that in the cavalry -the advantages are far less than in the infantry. Just consider my own -position now, Peter Nikoláevich...” - -Berg always spoke quietly, politely, and with great precision. His -conversation always related entirely to himself; he would remain calm -and silent when the talk related to any topic that had no direct bearing -on himself. He could remain silent for hours without being at all put -out of countenance himself or making others uncomfortable, but as -soon as the conversation concerned himself he would begin to talk -circumstantially and with evident satisfaction. - -“Consider my position, Peter Nikoláevich. Were I in the cavalry I -should get not more than two hundred rubles every four months, even -with the rank of lieutenant; but as it is I receive two hundred and -thirty,” said he, looking at Shinshín and the count with a joyful, -pleasant smile, as if it were obvious to him that his success must -always be the chief desire of everyone else. - -“Besides that, Peter Nikoláevich, by exchanging into the Guards -I shall be in a more prominent position,” continued Berg, “and -vacancies occur much more frequently in the Foot Guards. Then just think -what can be done with two hundred and thirty rubles! I even manage to -put a little aside and to send something to my father,” he went on, -emitting a smoke ring. - -“La balance y est... * A German knows how to skin a flint, as the -proverb says,” remarked Shinshín, moving his pipe to the other side -of his mouth and winking at the count. - - * So that squares matters. - -The count burst out laughing. The other guests seeing that Shinshín -was talking came up to listen. Berg, oblivious of irony or indifference, -continued to explain how by exchanging into the Guards he had already -gained a step on his old comrades of the Cadet Corps; how in wartime -the company commander might get killed and he, as senior in the company, -might easily succeed to the post; how popular he was with everyone in -the regiment, and how satisfied his father was with him. Berg evidently -enjoyed narrating all this, and did not seem to suspect that others, -too, might have their own interests. But all he said was so prettily -sedate, and the naïveté of his youthful egotism was so obvious, that -he disarmed his hearers. - -“Well, my boy, you’ll get along wherever you go—foot or -horse—that I’ll warrant,” said Shinshín, patting him on the -shoulder and taking his feet off the sofa. - -Berg smiled joyously. The count, followed by his guests, went into the -drawing room. - -It was just the moment before a big dinner when the assembled guests, -expecting the summons to zakúska, * avoid engaging in any long -conversation but think it necessary to move about and talk, in order -to show that they are not at all impatient for their food. The host and -hostess look toward the door, and now and then glance at one another, -and the visitors try to guess from these glances who, or what, they are -waiting for—some important relation who has not yet arrived, or a dish -that is not yet ready. - - * Hors d’oeuvres. - -Pierre had come just at dinnertime and was sitting awkwardly in the -middle of the drawing room on the first chair he had come across, -blocking the way for everyone. The countess tried to make him talk, -but he went on naïvely looking around through his spectacles as if in -search of somebody and answered all her questions in monosyllables. He -was in the way and was the only one who did not notice the fact. Most of -the guests, knowing of the affair with the bear, looked with curiosity -at this big, stout, quiet man, wondering how such a clumsy, modest -fellow could have played such a prank on a policeman. - -“You have only lately arrived?” the countess asked him. - -“Oui, madame,” replied he, looking around him. - -“You have not yet seen my husband?” - -“Non, madame.” He smiled quite inappropriately. - -“You have been in Paris recently, I believe? I suppose it’s very -interesting.” - -“Very interesting.” - -The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mikháylovna. The latter -understood that she was being asked to entertain this young man, and -sitting down beside him she began to speak about his father; but he -answered her, as he had the countess, only in monosyllables. The other -guests were all conversing with one another. “The Razumóvskis... It -was charming... You are very kind... Countess Apráksina...” was heard -on all sides. The countess rose and went into the ballroom. - -“Márya Dmítrievna?” came her voice from there. - -“Herself,” came the answer in a rough voice, and Márya Dmítrievna -entered the room. - -All the unmarried ladies and even the married ones except the very -oldest rose. Márya Dmítrievna paused at the door. Tall and stout, -holding high her fifty-year-old head with its gray curls, she stood -surveying the guests, and leisurely arranged her wide sleeves as if -rolling them up. Márya Dmítrievna always spoke in Russian. - -“Health and happiness to her whose name day we are keeping and to her -children,” she said, in her loud, full-toned voice which drowned all -others. “Well, you old sinner,” she went on, turning to the count -who was kissing her hand, “you’re feeling dull in Moscow, I daresay? -Nowhere to hunt with your dogs? But what is to be done, old man? Just -see how these nestlings are growing up,” and she pointed to the girls. -“You must look for husbands for them whether you like it or not....” - -“Well,” said she, “how’s my Cossack?” (Márya Dmítrievna -always called Natásha a Cossack) and she stroked the child’s arm as -she came up fearless and gay to kiss her hand. “I know she’s a scamp -of a girl, but I like her.” - -She took a pair of pear-shaped ruby earrings from her huge reticule and, -having given them to the rosy Natásha, who beamed with the pleasure -of her saint’s-day fete, turned away at once and addressed herself to -Pierre. - -“Eh, eh, friend! Come here a bit,” said she, assuming a soft high -tone of voice. “Come here, my friend...” and she ominously tucked -up her sleeves still higher. Pierre approached, looking at her in a -childlike way through his spectacles. - -“Come nearer, come nearer, friend! I used to be the only one to tell -your father the truth when he was in favor, and in your case it’s my -evident duty.” She paused. All were silent, expectant of what was to -follow, for this was clearly only a prelude. - -“A fine lad! My word! A fine lad!... His father lies on his deathbed -and he amuses himself setting a policeman astride a bear! For shame, -sir, for shame! It would be better if you went to the war.” - -She turned away and gave her hand to the count, who could hardly keep -from laughing. - -“Well, I suppose it is time we were at table?” said Márya -Dmítrievna. - -The count went in first with Márya Dmítrievna, the countess followed -on the arm of a colonel of hussars, a man of importance to them because -Nicholas was to go with him to the regiment; then came Anna Mikháylovna -with Shinshín. Berg gave his arm to Véra. The smiling Julie Karágina -went in with Nicholas. After them other couples followed, filling the -whole dining hall, and last of all the children, tutors, and governesses -followed singly. The footmen began moving about, chairs scraped, the -band struck up in the gallery, and the guests settled down in their -places. Then the strains of the count’s household band were replaced -by the clatter of knives and forks, the voices of visitors, and the -soft steps of the footmen. At one end of the table sat the countess with -Márya Dmítrievna on her right and Anna Mikháylovna on her left, the -other lady visitors were farther down. At the other end sat the count, -with the hussar colonel on his left and Shinshín and the other male -visitors on his right. Midway down the long table on one side sat the -grown-up young people: Véra beside Berg, and Pierre beside Borís; and -on the other side, the children, tutors, and governesses. From behind -the crystal decanters and fruit vases, the count kept glancing at his -wife and her tall cap with its light-blue ribbons, and busily filled -his neighbors’ glasses, not neglecting his own. The countess in turn, -without omitting her duties as hostess, threw significant glances from -behind the pineapples at her husband whose face and bald head seemed -by their redness to contrast more than usual with his gray hair. At the -ladies’ end an even chatter of voices was heard all the time, at the -men’s end the voices sounded louder and louder, especially that of the -colonel of hussars who, growing more and more flushed, ate and drank so -much that the count held him up as a pattern to the other guests. Berg -with tender smiles was saying to Véra that love is not an earthly but -a heavenly feeling. Borís was telling his new friend Pierre who the -guests were and exchanging glances with Natásha, who was sitting -opposite. Pierre spoke little but examined the new faces, and ate a -great deal. Of the two soups he chose turtle with savory patties and -went on to the game without omitting a single dish or one of the wines. -These latter the butler thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped in a -napkin, from behind the next man’s shoulders and whispered: “Dry -Madeira”... “Hungarian”... or “Rhine wine” as the case might -be. Of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count’s monogram -that stood before his plate, Pierre held out one at random and drank -with enjoyment, gazing with ever-increasing amiability at the other -guests. Natásha, who sat opposite, was looking at Borís as girls of -thirteen look at the boy they are in love with and have just kissed for -the first time. Sometimes that same look fell on Pierre, and that funny -lively little girl’s look made him inclined to laugh without knowing -why. - -Nicholas sat at some distance from Sónya, beside Julie Karágina, to -whom he was again talking with the same involuntary smile. Sónya wore -a company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy; now she turned -pale, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear what Nicholas -and Julie were saying to one another. The governess kept looking round -uneasily as if preparing to resent any slight that might be put upon the -children. The German tutor was trying to remember all the dishes, wines, -and kinds of dessert, in order to send a full description of the dinner -to his people in Germany; and he felt greatly offended when the butler -with a bottle wrapped in a napkin passed him by. He frowned, trying to -appear as if he did not want any of that wine, but was mortified because -no one would understand that it was not to quench his thirst or from -greediness that he wanted it, but simply from a conscientious desire for -knowledge. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -At the men’s end of the table the talk grew more and more animated. -The colonel told them that the declaration of war had already appeared -in Petersburg and that a copy, which he had himself seen, had that day -been forwarded by courier to the commander in chief. - -“And why the deuce are we going to fight Bonaparte?” remarked -Shinshín. “He has stopped Austria’s cackle and I fear it will be -our turn next.” - -The colonel was a stout, tall, plethoric German, evidently devoted to -the service and patriotically Russian. He resented Shinshín’s remark. - -“It is for the reasson, my goot sir,” said he, speaking with a -German accent, “for the reasson zat ze Emperor knows zat. He -declares in ze manifessto zat he cannot fiew wiz indifference ze danger -vreatening Russia and zat ze safety and dignity of ze Empire as vell -as ze sanctity of its alliances...” he spoke this last word with -particular emphasis as if in it lay the gist of the matter. - -Then with the unerring official memory that characterized him he -repeated from the opening words of the manifesto: - -... and the wish, which constitutes the Emperor’s sole and absolute -aim—to establish peace in Europe on firm foundations—has now decided -him to despatch part of the army abroad and to create a new condition -for the attainment of that purpose. - -“Zat, my dear sir, is vy...” he concluded, drinking a tumbler of -wine with dignity and looking to the count for approval. - -“Connaissez-vous le Proverbe:* ‘Jerome, Jerome, do not roam, but -turn spindles at home!’?” said Shinshín, puckering his brows and -smiling. “Cela nous convient à merveille.*(2) Suvórov now—he knew -what he was about; yet they beat him à plate couture,*(3) and where -are we to find Suvórovs now? Je vous demande un peu,” *(4) said he, -continually changing from French to Russian. - - *Do you know the proverb? - - *(2) That suits us down to the ground. - - *(3) Hollow. - - *(4) I just ask you that. - -“Ve must vight to the last tr-r-op of our plood!” said the colonel, -thumping the table; “and ve must tie for our Emperor, and zen all vill -pe vell. And ve must discuss it as little as po-o-ossible”... he dwelt -particularly on the word possible... “as po-o-ossible,” he ended, -again turning to the count. “Zat is how ve old hussars look at it, and -zere’s an end of it! And how do you, a young man and a young hussar, -how do you judge of it?” he added, addressing Nicholas, who when he -heard that the war was being discussed had turned from his partner with -eyes and ears intent on the colonel. - -“I am quite of your opinion,” replied Nicholas, flaming up, turning -his plate round and moving his wineglasses about with as much decision -and desperation as though he were at that moment facing some great -danger. “I am convinced that we Russians must die or conquer,” he -concluded, conscious—as were others—after the words were uttered -that his remarks were too enthusiastic and emphatic for the occasion and -were therefore awkward. - -“What you said just now was splendid!” said his partner Julie. - -Sónya trembled all over and blushed to her ears and behind them and -down to her neck and shoulders while Nicholas was speaking. - -Pierre listened to the colonel’s speech and nodded approvingly. - -“That’s fine,” said he. - -“The young man’s a real hussar!” shouted the colonel, again -thumping the table. - -“What are you making such a noise about over there?” Márya -Dmítrievna’s deep voice suddenly inquired from the other end of the -table. “What are you thumping the table for?” she demanded of the -hussar, “and why are you exciting yourself? Do you think the French -are here?” - -“I am speaking ze truce,” replied the hussar with a smile. - -“It’s all about the war,” the count shouted down the table. “You -know my son’s going, Márya Dmítrievna? My son is going.” - -“I have four sons in the army but still I don’t fret. It is all -in God’s hands. You may die in your bed or God may spare you in a -battle,” replied Márya Dmítrievna’s deep voice, which easily -carried the whole length of the table. - -“That’s true!” - -Once more the conversations concentrated, the ladies’ at the one end -and the men’s at the other. - -“You won’t ask,” Natásha’s little brother was saying; “I know -you won’t ask!” - -“I will,” replied Natásha. - -Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. She half -rose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what -was coming, and turning to her mother: - -“Mamma!” rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish voice, -audible the whole length of the table. - -“What is it?” asked the countess, startled; but seeing by her -daughter’s face that it was only mischief, she shook a finger at her -sternly with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head. - -The conversation was hushed. - -“Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?” and Natásha’s voice -sounded still more firm and resolute. - -The countess tried to frown, but could not. Márya Dmítrievna shook her -fat finger. - -“Cossack!” she said threateningly. - -Most of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked at the -elders. - -“You had better take care!” said the countess. - -“Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?” Natásha again cried -boldly, with saucy gaiety, confident that her prank would be taken in -good part. - -Sónya and fat little Pétya doubled up with laughter. - -“You see! I have asked,” whispered Natásha to her little brother -and to Pierre, glancing at him again. - -“Ice pudding, but you won’t get any,” said Márya Dmítrievna. - -Natásha saw there was nothing to be afraid of and so she braved even -Márya Dmítrievna. - -“Márya Dmítrievna! What kind of ice pudding? I don’t like ice -cream.” - -“Carrot ices.” - -“No! What kind, Márya Dmítrievna? What kind?” she almost screamed; -“I want to know!” - -Márya Dmítrievna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the -guests joined in. Everyone laughed, not at Márya Dmítrievna’s answer -but at the incredible boldness and smartness of this little girl who had -dared to treat Márya Dmítrievna in this fashion. - -Natásha only desisted when she had been told that there would be -pineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was served round. The band -again struck up, the count and countess kissed, and the guests, leaving -their seats, went up to “congratulate” the countess, and reached -across the table to clink glasses with the count, with the children, and -with one another. Again the footmen rushed about, chairs scraped, and -in the same order in which they had entered but with redder faces, the -guests returned to the drawing room and to the count’s study. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -The card tables were drawn out, sets made up for boston, and the -count’s visitors settled themselves, some in the two drawing rooms, -some in the sitting room, some in the library. - -The count, holding his cards fanwise, kept himself with difficulty from -dropping into his usual after-dinner nap, and laughed at everything. -The young people, at the countess’ instigation, gathered round the -clavichord and harp. Julie by general request played first. After she -had played a little air with variations on the harp, she joined the -other young ladies in begging Natásha and Nicholas, who were noted for -their musical talent, to sing something. Natásha, who was treated as -though she were grown up, was evidently very proud of this but at the -same time felt shy. - -“What shall we sing?” she said. - -“‘The Brook,’” suggested Nicholas. - -“Well, then, let’s be quick. Borís, come here,” said Natásha. -“But where is Sónya?” - -She looked round and seeing that her friend was not in the room ran to -look for her. - -Running into Sónya’s room and not finding her there, Natásha ran to -the nursery, but Sónya was not there either. Natásha concluded that -she must be on the chest in the passage. The chest in the passage was -the place of mourning for the younger female generation in the Rostóv -household. And there in fact was Sónya lying face downward on Nurse’s -dirty feather bed on the top of the chest, crumpling her gauzy pink -dress under her, hiding her face with her slender fingers, and sobbing -so convulsively that her bare little shoulders shook. Natásha’s -face, which had been so radiantly happy all that saint’s day, suddenly -changed: her eyes became fixed, and then a shiver passed down her broad -neck and the corners of her mouth drooped. - -“Sónya! What is it? What is the matter?... Oo... Oo... Oo...!” And -Natásha’s large mouth widened, making her look quite ugly, and she -began to wail like a baby without knowing why, except that Sónya was -crying. Sónya tried to lift her head to answer but could not, and -hid her face still deeper in the bed. Natásha wept, sitting on the -blue-striped feather bed and hugging her friend. With an effort Sónya -sat up and began wiping her eyes and explaining. - -“Nicholas is going away in a week’s time, his... papers... have -come... he told me himself... but still I should not cry,” and she -showed a paper she held in her hand—with the verses Nicholas had -written, “still, I should not cry, but you can’t... no one can -understand... what a soul he has!” - -And she began to cry again because he had such a noble soul. - -“It’s all very well for you... I am not envious... I love you and -Borís also,” she went on, gaining a little strength; “he is nice... -there are no difficulties in your way.... But Nicholas is my cousin... -one would have to... the Metropolitan himself... and even then it -can’t be done. And besides, if she tells Mamma” (Sónya looked upon -the countess as her mother and called her so) “that I am spoiling -Nicholas’ career and am heartless and ungrateful, while truly... God -is my witness,” and she made the sign of the cross, “I love her so -much, and all of you, only Véra... And what for? What have I done -to her? I am so grateful to you that I would willingly sacrifice -everything, only I have nothing....” - -Sónya could not continue, and again hid her face in her hands and in -the feather bed. Natásha began consoling her, but her face showed that -she understood all the gravity of her friend’s trouble. - -“Sónya,” she suddenly exclaimed, as if she had guessed the true -reason of her friend’s sorrow, “I’m sure Véra has said something -to you since dinner? Hasn’t she?” - -“Yes, these verses Nicholas wrote himself and I copied some others, -and she found them on my table and said she’d show them to Mamma, and -that I was ungrateful, and that Mamma would never allow him to marry -me, but that he’ll marry Julie. You see how he’s been with her all -day... Natásha, what have I done to deserve it?...” - -And again she began to sob, more bitterly than before. Natásha lifted -her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting -her. - -“Sónya, don’t believe her, darling! Don’t believe her! Do you -remember how we and Nicholas, all three of us, talked in the sitting -room after supper? Why, we settled how everything was to be. I don’t -quite remember how, but don’t you remember that it could all be -arranged and how nice it all was? There’s Uncle Shinshín’s brother -has married his first cousin. And we are only second cousins, you know. -And Borís says it is quite possible. You know I have told him all about -it. And he is so clever and so good!” said Natásha. “Don’t -you cry, Sónya, dear love, darling Sónya!” and she kissed her and -laughed. “Véra’s spiteful; never mind her! And all will come right -and she won’t say anything to Mamma. Nicholas will tell her himself, -and he doesn’t care at all for Julie.” - -Natásha kissed her on the hair. - -Sónya sat up. The little kitten brightened, its eyes shone, and it -seemed ready to lift its tail, jump down on its soft paws, and begin -playing with the ball of worsted as a kitten should. - -“Do you think so?... Really? Truly?” she said, quickly smoothing her -frock and hair. - -“Really, truly!” answered Natásha, pushing in a crisp lock that had -strayed from under her friend’s plaits. - -Both laughed. - -“Well, let’s go and sing ‘The Brook.’” - -“Come along!” - -“Do you know, that fat Pierre who sat opposite me is so funny!” said -Natásha, stopping suddenly. “I feel so happy!” - -And she set off at a run along the passage. - -Sónya, shaking off some down which clung to her and tucking away the -verses in the bosom of her dress close to her bony little chest, ran -after Natásha down the passage into the sitting room with flushed face -and light, joyous steps. At the visitors’ request the young people -sang the quartette, “The Brook,” with which everyone was delighted. -Then Nicholas sang a song he had just learned: - - At nighttime in the moon’s fair glow - How sweet, as fancies wander free, - To feel that in this world there’s one - Who still is thinking but of thee! - - That while her fingers touch the harp - Wafting sweet music o’er the lea, - It is for thee thus swells her heart, - Sighing its message out to thee... - - A day or two, then bliss unspoilt, - But oh! till then I cannot live!... - -He had not finished the last verse before the young people began to -get ready to dance in the large hall, and the sound of the feet and the -coughing of the musicians were heard from the gallery. - - -Pierre was sitting in the drawing room where Shinshín had engaged him, -as a man recently returned from abroad, in a political conversation in -which several others joined but which bored Pierre. When the music began -Natásha came in and walking straight up to Pierre said, laughing and -blushing: - -“Mamma told me to ask you to join the dancers.” - -“I am afraid of mixing the figures,” Pierre replied; “but if you -will be my teacher...” And lowering his big arm he offered it to the -slender little girl. - -While the couples were arranging themselves and the musicians tuning up, -Pierre sat down with his little partner. Natásha was perfectly happy; -she was dancing with a grown-up man, who had been abroad. She was -sitting in a conspicuous place and talking to him like a grown-up lady. -She had a fan in her hand that one of the ladies had given her to hold. -Assuming quite the pose of a society woman (heaven knows when and where -she had learned it) she talked with her partner, fanning herself and -smiling over the fan. - -“Dear, dear! Just look at her!” exclaimed the countess as she -crossed the ballroom, pointing to Natásha. - -Natásha blushed and laughed. - -“Well, really, Mamma! Why should you? What is there to be surprised -at?” - - -In the midst of the third écossaise there was a clatter of chairs being -pushed back in the sitting room where the count and Márya Dmítrievna -had been playing cards with the majority of the more distinguished and -older visitors. They now, stretching themselves after sitting so long, -and replacing their purses and pocketbooks, entered the ballroom. First -came Márya Dmítrievna and the count, both with merry countenances. The -count, with playful ceremony somewhat in ballet style, offered his -bent arm to Márya Dmítrievna. He drew himself up, a smile of debonair -gallantry lit up his face and as soon as the last figure of the -écossaise was ended, he clapped his hands to the musicians and shouted -up to their gallery, addressing the first violin: - -“Semën! Do you know the Daniel Cooper?” - -This was the count’s favorite dance, which he had danced in his youth. -(Strictly speaking, Daniel Cooper was one figure of the anglaise.) - -“Look at Papa!” shouted Natásha to the whole company, and quite -forgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner she bent her -curly head to her knees and made the whole room ring with her laughter. - -And indeed everybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasure at the -jovial old gentleman, who standing beside his tall and stout partner, -Márya Dmítrievna, curved his arms, beat time, straightened his -shoulders, turned out his toes, tapped gently with his foot, and, by -a smile that broadened his round face more and more, prepared the -onlookers for what was to follow. As soon as the provocatively gay -strains of Daniel Cooper (somewhat resembling those of a merry peasant -dance) began to sound, all the doorways of the ballroom were suddenly -filled by the domestic serfs—the men on one side and the women on -the other—who with beaming faces had come to see their master making -merry. - -“Just look at the master! A regular eagle he is!” loudly remarked -the nurse, as she stood in one of the doorways. - -The count danced well and knew it. But his partner could not and did not -want to dance well. Her enormous figure stood erect, her powerful arms -hanging down (she had handed her reticule to the countess), and only her -stern but handsome face really joined in the dance. What was expressed -by the whole of the count’s plump figure, in Márya Dmítrievna found -expression only in her more and more beaming face and quivering nose. -But if the count, getting more and more into the swing of it, charmed -the spectators by the unexpectedness of his adroit maneuvers and -the agility with which he capered about on his light feet, Márya -Dmítrievna produced no less impression by slight exertions—the least -effort to move her shoulders or bend her arms when turning, or stamp -her foot—which everyone appreciated in view of her size and habitual -severity. The dance grew livelier and livelier. The other couples could -not attract a moment’s attention to their own evolutions and did not -even try to do so. All were watching the count and Márya Dmítrievna. -Natásha kept pulling everyone by sleeve or dress, urging them to -“look at Papa!” though as it was they never took their eyes off the -couple. In the intervals of the dance the count, breathing deeply, waved -and shouted to the musicians to play faster. Faster, faster, and faster; -lightly, more lightly, and yet more lightly whirled the count, flying -round Márya Dmítrievna, now on his toes, now on his heels; until, -turning his partner round to her seat, he executed the final pas, -raising his soft foot backwards, bowing his perspiring head, smiling -and making a wide sweep with his arm, amid a thunder of applause and -laughter led by Natásha. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily -and wiping their faces with their cambric handkerchiefs. - -“That’s how we used to dance in our time, ma chère,” said the -count. - -“That was a Daniel Cooper!” exclaimed Márya Dmítrievna, tucking up -her sleeves and puffing heavily. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -While in the Rostóvs’ ballroom the sixth anglaise was being danced, -to a tune in which the weary musicians blundered, and while tired -footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezúkhov had a -sixth stroke. The doctors pronounced recovery impossible. After a mute -confession, communion was administered to the dying man, preparations -made for the sacrament of unction, and in his house there was the bustle -and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house, beyond -the gates, a group of undertakers, who hid whenever a carriage drove up, -waited in expectation of an important order for an expensive funeral. -The Military Governor of Moscow, who had been assiduous in sending -aides-de-camp to inquire after the count’s health, came himself -that evening to bid a last farewell to the celebrated grandee of -Catherine’s court, Count Bezúkhov. - -The magnificent reception room was crowded. Everyone stood up -respectfully when the Military Governor, having stayed about half an -hour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly acknowledging their -bows and trying to escape as quickly as possible from the glances fixed -on him by the doctors, clergy, and relatives of the family. Prince -Vasíli, who had grown thinner and paler during the last few days, -escorted him to the door, repeating something to him several times in -low tones. - -When the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasíli sat down all alone -on a chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the other, -leaning his elbow on his knee and covering his face with his hand. After -sitting so for a while he rose, and, looking about him with frightened -eyes, went with unusually hurried steps down the long corridor leading -to the back of the house, to the room of the eldest princess. - -Those who were in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervous -whispers, and, whenever anyone went into or came from the dying man’s -room, grew silent and gazed with eyes full of curiosity or expectancy at -his door, which creaked slightly when opened. - -“The limits of human life ... are fixed and may not be -o’erpassed,” said an old priest to a lady who had taken a seat -beside him and was listening naïvely to his words. - -“I wonder, is it not too late to administer unction?” asked the -lady, adding the priest’s clerical title, as if she had no opinion of -her own on the subject. - -“Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament,” replied the priest, passing -his hand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across his -bald head. - -“Who was that? The Military Governor himself?” was being asked at -the other side of the room. “How young-looking he is!” - -“Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count no longer recognizes -anyone. They wished to administer the sacrament of unction.” - -“I knew someone who received that sacrament seven times.” - -The second princess had just come from the sickroom with her eyes red -from weeping and sat down beside Dr. Lorrain, who was sitting in a -graceful pose under a portrait of Catherine, leaning his elbow on a -table. - -“Beautiful,” said the doctor in answer to a remark about the -weather. “The weather is beautiful, Princess; and besides, in Moscow -one feels as if one were in the country.” - -“Yes, indeed,” replied the princess with a sigh. “So he may have -something to drink?” - -Lorrain considered. - -“Has he taken his medicine?” - -“Yes.” - -The doctor glanced at his watch. - -“Take a glass of boiled water and put a pinch of cream of tartar,” -and he indicated with his delicate fingers what he meant by a pinch. - -“Dere has neffer been a gase,” a German doctor was saying to an -aide-de-camp, “dat one liffs after de sird stroke.” - -“And what a well-preserved man he was!” remarked the aide-de-camp. -“And who will inherit his wealth?” he added in a whisper. - -“It von’t go begging,” replied the German with a smile. - -Everyone again looked toward the door, which creaked as the second -princess went in with the drink she had prepared according to -Lorrain’s instructions. The German doctor went up to Lorrain. - -“Do you think he can last till morning?” asked the German, -addressing Lorrain in French which he pronounced badly. - -Lorrain, pursing up his lips, waved a severely negative finger before -his nose. - -“Tonight, not later,” said he in a low voice, and he moved away -with a decorous smile of self-satisfaction at being able clearly to -understand and state the patient’s condition. - -Meanwhile Prince Vasíli had opened the door into the princess’ room. - -In this room it was almost dark; only two tiny lamps were burning before -the icons and there was a pleasant scent of flowers and burnt pastilles. -The room was crowded with small pieces of furniture, whatnots, -cupboards, and little tables. The quilt of a high, white feather bed was -just visible behind a screen. A small dog began to bark. - -“Ah, is it you, cousin?” - -She rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremely smooth -that it seemed to be made of one piece with her head and covered with -varnish. - -“Has anything happened?” she asked. “I am so terrified.” - -“No, there is no change. I only came to have a talk about business, -Catiche,” * muttered the prince, seating himself wearily on the chair -she had just vacated. “You have made the place warm, I must say,” he -remarked. “Well, sit down: let’s have a talk.” - - *Catherine. - -“I thought perhaps something had happened,” she said with her -unchanging stonily severe expression; and, sitting down opposite the -prince, she prepared to listen. - -“I wished to get a nap, mon cousin, but I can’t.” - -“Well, my dear?” said Prince Vasíli, taking her hand and bending it -downwards as was his habit. - -It was plain that this “well?” referred to much that they both -understood without naming. - -The princess, who had a straight, rigid body, abnormally long for her -legs, looked directly at Prince Vasíli with no sign of emotion in her -prominent gray eyes. Then she shook her head and glanced up at the icons -with a sigh. This might have been taken as an expression of sorrow -and devotion, or of weariness and hope of resting before long. Prince -Vasíli understood it as an expression of weariness. - -“And I?” he said; “do you think it is easier for me? I am as worn -out as a post horse, but still I must have a talk with you, Catiche, a -very serious talk.” - -Prince Vasíli said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, -now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant -expression which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room. His eyes -too seemed strange; at one moment they looked impudently sly and at the -next glanced round in alarm. - -The princess, holding her little dog on her lap with her thin bony -hands, looked attentively into Prince Vasíli’s eyes evidently -resolved not to be the first to break silence, if she had to wait till -morning. - -“Well, you see, my dear princess and cousin, Catherine Semënovna,” -continued Prince Vasíli, returning to his theme, apparently not -without an inner struggle; “at such a moment as this one must think -of everything. One must think of the future, of all of you... I love you -all, like children of my own, as you know.” - -The princess continued to look at him without moving, and with the same -dull expression. - -“And then of course my family has also to be considered,” Prince -Vasíli went on, testily pushing away a little table without looking at -her. “You know, Catiche, that we—you three sisters, Mámontov, and -my wife—are the count’s only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard -it is for you to talk or think of such matters. It is no easier for -me; but, my dear, I am getting on for sixty and must be prepared for -anything. Do you know I have sent for Pierre? The count,” pointing to -his portrait, “definitely demanded that he should be called.” - -Prince Vasíli looked questioningly at the princess, but could not make -out whether she was considering what he had just said or whether she was -simply looking at him. - -“There is one thing I constantly pray God to grant, mon cousin,” she -replied, “and it is that He would be merciful to him and would allow -his noble soul peacefully to leave this...” - -“Yes, yes, of course,” interrupted Prince Vasíli impatiently, -rubbing his bald head and angrily pulling back toward him the little -table that he had pushed away. “But... in short, the fact is... you -know yourself that last winter the count made a will by which he left -all his property, not to us his direct heirs, but to Pierre.” - -“He has made wills enough!” quietly remarked the princess. “But he -cannot leave the estate to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.” - -“But, my dear,” said Prince Vasíli suddenly, clutching the little -table and becoming more animated and talking more rapidly: “what if -a letter has been written to the Emperor in which the count asks for -Pierre’s legitimation? Do you understand that in consideration of the -count’s services, his request would be granted?...” - -The princess smiled as people do who think they know more about the -subject under discussion than those they are talking with. - -“I can tell you more,” continued Prince Vasíli, seizing her hand, -“that letter was written, though it was not sent, and the Emperor knew -of it. The only question is, has it been destroyed or not? If not, then -as soon as all is over,” and Prince Vasíli sighed to intimate what he -meant by the words all is over, “and the count’s papers are opened, -the will and letter will be delivered to the Emperor, and the petition -will certainly be granted. Pierre will get everything as the legitimate -son.” - -“And our share?” asked the princess smiling ironically, as if -anything might happen, only not that. - -“But, my poor Catiche, it is as clear as daylight! He will then be the -legal heir to everything and you won’t get anything. You must know, -my dear, whether the will and letter were written, and whether they have -been destroyed or not. And if they have somehow been overlooked, you -ought to know where they are, and must find them, because...” - -“What next?” the princess interrupted, smiling sardonically and not -changing the expression of her eyes. “I am a woman, and you think we -are all stupid; but I know this: an illegitimate son cannot inherit... -un bâtard!”* she added, as if supposing that this translation of the -word would effectively prove to Prince Vasíli the invalidity of his -contention. - - * A bastard. - -“Well, really, Catiche! Can’t you understand! You are so -intelligent, how is it you don’t see that if the count has written a -letter to the Emperor begging him to recognize Pierre as legitimate, it -follows that Pierre will not be Pierre but will become Count Bezúkhov, -and will then inherit everything under the will? And if the will and -letter are not destroyed, then you will have nothing but the consolation -of having been dutiful et tout ce qui s’ensuit!* That’s certain.” - - * And all that follows therefrom. - -“I know the will was made, but I also know that it is invalid; -and you, mon cousin, seem to consider me a perfect fool,” said the -princess with the expression women assume when they suppose they are -saying something witty and stinging. - -“My dear Princess Catherine Semënovna,” began Prince Vasíli -impatiently, “I came here not to wrangle with you, but to talk about -your interests as with a kinswoman, a good, kind, true relation. And I -tell you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the -will in Pierre’s favor are among the count’s papers, then, my dear -girl, you and your sisters are not heiresses! If you don’t believe me, -then believe an expert. I have just been talking to Dmítri Onúfrich” -(the family solicitor) “and he says the same.” - -At this a sudden change evidently took place in the princess’ ideas; -her thin lips grew white, though her eyes did not change, and her voice -when she began to speak passed through such transitions as she herself -evidently did not expect. - -“That would be a fine thing!” said she. “I never wanted anything -and I don’t now.” - -She pushed the little dog off her lap and smoothed her dress. - -“And this is gratitude—this is recognition for those who have -sacrificed everything for his sake!” she cried. “It’s splendid! -Fine! I don’t want anything, Prince.” - -“Yes, but you are not the only one. There are your sisters...” -replied Prince Vasíli. - -But the princess did not listen to him. - -“Yes, I knew it long ago but had forgotten. I knew that I could expect -nothing but meanness, deceit, envy, intrigue, and ingratitude—the -blackest ingratitude—in this house...” - -“Do you or do you not know where that will is?” insisted Prince -Vasíli, his cheeks twitching more than ever. - -“Yes, I was a fool! I still believed in people, loved them, and -sacrificed myself. But only the base, the vile succeed! I know who has -been intriguing!” - -The princess wished to rise, but the prince held her by the hand. She -had the air of one who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race. -She gave her companion an angry glance. - -“There is still time, my dear. You must remember, Catiche, that it was -all done casually in a moment of anger, of illness, and was afterwards -forgotten. Our duty, my dear, is to rectify his mistake, to ease his -last moments by not letting him commit this injustice, and not to let -him die feeling that he is rendering unhappy those who...” - -“Who sacrificed everything for him,” chimed in the princess, who -would again have risen had not the prince still held her fast, “though -he never could appreciate it. No, mon cousin,” she added with a sigh, -“I shall always remember that in this world one must expect no reward, -that in this world there is neither honor nor justice. In this world one -has to be cunning and cruel.” - -“Now come, come! Be reasonable. I know your excellent heart.” - -“No, I have a wicked heart.” - -“I know your heart,” repeated the prince. “I value your friendship -and wish you to have as good an opinion of me. Don’t upset yourself, -and let us talk sensibly while there is still time, be it a day or be it -but an hour.... Tell me all you know about the will, and above all where -it is. You must know. We will take it at once and show it to the -count. He has, no doubt, forgotten it and will wish to destroy it. -You understand that my sole desire is conscientiously to carry out his -wishes; that is my only reason for being here. I came simply to help him -and you.” - -“Now I see it all! I know who has been intriguing—I know!” cried -the princess. - -“That’s not the point, my dear.” - -“It’s that protégé of yours, that sweet Princess Drubetskáya, -that Anna Mikháylovna whom I would not take for a housemaid... the -infamous, vile woman!” - -“Do not let us lose any time...” - -“Ah, don’t talk to me! Last winter she wheedled herself in here and -told the count such vile, disgraceful things about us, especially about -Sophie—I can’t repeat them—that it made the count quite ill and he -would not see us for a whole fortnight. I know it was then he wrote this -vile, infamous paper, but I thought the thing was invalid.” - -“We’ve got to it at last—why did you not tell me about it -sooner?” - -“It’s in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow,” -said the princess, ignoring his question. “Now I know! Yes; if I have -a sin, a great sin, it is hatred of that vile woman!” almost shrieked -the princess, now quite changed. “And what does she come worming -herself in here for? But I will give her a piece of my mind. The time -will come!” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -While these conversations were going on in the reception room and the -princess’ room, a carriage containing Pierre (who had been sent for) -and Anna Mikháylovna (who found it necessary to accompany him) was -driving into the court of Count Bezúkhov’s house. As the wheels -rolled softly over the straw beneath the windows, Anna Mikháylovna, -having turned with words of comfort to her companion, realized that -he was asleep in his corner and woke him up. Rousing himself, Pierre -followed Anna Mikháylovna out of the carriage, and only then began -to think of the interview with his dying father which awaited him. He -noticed that they had not come to the front entrance but to the back -door. While he was getting down from the carriage steps two men, who -looked like tradespeople, ran hurriedly from the entrance and hid in the -shadow of the wall. Pausing for a moment, Pierre noticed several other -men of the same kind hiding in the shadow of the house on both sides. -But neither Anna Mikháylovna nor the footman nor the coachman, who -could not help seeing these people, took any notice of them. “It seems -to be all right,” Pierre concluded, and followed Anna Mikháylovna. -She hurriedly ascended the narrow dimly lit stone staircase, calling to -Pierre, who was lagging behind, to follow. Though he did not see why it -was necessary for him to go to the count at all, still less why he had -to go by the back stairs, yet judging by Anna Mikháylovna’s air -of assurance and haste, Pierre concluded that it was all absolutely -necessary. Halfway up the stairs they were almost knocked over by -some men who, carrying pails, came running downstairs, their boots -clattering. These men pressed close to the wall to let Pierre and Anna -Mikháylovna pass and did not evince the least surprise at seeing them -there. - -“Is this the way to the princesses’ apartments?” asked Anna -Mikháylovna of one of them. - -“Yes,” replied a footman in a bold loud voice, as if anything were -now permissible; “the door to the left, ma’am.” - -“Perhaps the count did not ask for me,” said Pierre when he reached -the landing. “I’d better go to my own room.” - -Anna Mikháylovna paused and waited for him to come up. - -“Ah, my friend!” she said, touching his arm as she had done her -son’s when speaking to him that afternoon, “believe me I suffer no -less than you do, but be a man!” - -“But really, hadn’t I better go away?” he asked, looking kindly at -her over his spectacles. - -“Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have been done you. -Think that he is your father ... perhaps in the agony of death.” She -sighed. “I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust yourself to -me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.” - -Pierre did not understand a word, but the conviction that all this had -to be grew stronger, and he meekly followed Anna Mikháylovna who was -already opening a door. - -This door led into a back anteroom. An old man, a servant of the -princesses, sat in a corner knitting a stocking. Pierre had never been -in this part of the house and did not even know of the existence of -these rooms. Anna Mikháylovna, addressing a maid who was hurrying past -with a decanter on a tray as “my dear” and “my sweet,” asked -about the princess’ health and then led Pierre along a stone passage. -The first door on the left led into the princesses’ apartments. The -maid with the decanter in her haste had not closed the door (everything -in the house was done in haste at that time), and Pierre and Anna -Mikháylovna in passing instinctively glanced into the room, where -Prince Vasíli and the eldest princess were sitting close together -talking. Seeing them pass, Prince Vasíli drew back with obvious -impatience, while the princess jumped up and with a gesture of -desperation slammed the door with all her might. - -This action was so unlike her usual composure and the fear depicted on -Prince Vasíli’s face so out of keeping with his dignity that Pierre -stopped and glanced inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide. Anna -Mikháylovna evinced no surprise, she only smiled faintly and sighed, as -if to say that this was no more than she had expected. - -“Be a man, my friend. I will look after your interests,” said she in -reply to his look, and went still faster along the passage. - -Pierre could not make out what it was all about, and still less what -“watching over his interests” meant, but he decided that all these -things had to be. From the passage they went into a large, dimly -lit room adjoining the count’s reception room. It was one of those -sumptuous but cold apartments known to Pierre only from the front -approach, but even in this room there now stood an empty bath, and water -had been spilled on the carpet. They were met by a deacon with a censer -and by a servant who passed out on tiptoe without heeding them. They -went into the reception room familiar to Pierre, with two Italian -windows opening into the conservatory, with its large bust and full -length portrait of Catherine the Great. The same people were still -sitting here in almost the same positions as before, whispering to one -another. All became silent and turned to look at the pale tear-worn Anna -Mikháylovna as she entered, and at the big stout figure of Pierre who, -hanging his head, meekly followed her. - -Anna Mikháylovna’s face expressed a consciousness that the decisive -moment had arrived. With the air of a practical Petersburg lady she now, -keeping Pierre close beside her, entered the room even more boldly than -that afternoon. She felt that as she brought with her the person the -dying man wished to see, her own admission was assured. Casting a rapid -glance at all those in the room and noticing the count’s confessor -there, she glided up to him with a sort of amble, not exactly bowing yet -seeming to grow suddenly smaller, and respectfully received the blessing -first of one and then of another priest. - -“God be thanked that you are in time,” said she to one of the -priests; “all we relatives have been in such anxiety. This young -man is the count’s son,” she added more softly. “What a terrible -moment!” - -Having said this she went up to the doctor. - -“Dear doctor,” said she, “this young man is the count’s son. Is -there any hope?” - -The doctor cast a rapid glance upwards and silently shrugged his -shoulders. Anna Mikháylovna with just the same movement raised her -shoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, sighed, and moved away -from the doctor to Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectful and -tenderly sad voice, she said: - -“Trust in His mercy!” and pointing out a small sofa for him to sit -and wait for her, she went silently toward the door that everyone was -watching and it creaked very slightly as she disappeared behind it. - -Pierre, having made up his mind to obey his monitress implicitly, moved -toward the sofa she had indicated. As soon as Anna Mikháylovna had -disappeared he noticed that the eyes of all in the room turned to him -with something more than curiosity and sympathy. He noticed that they -whispered to one another, casting significant looks at him with a kind -of awe and even servility. A deference such as he had never before -received was shown him. A strange lady, the one who had been talking to -the priests, rose and offered him her seat; an aide-de-camp picked up -and returned a glove Pierre had dropped; the doctors became respectfully -silent as he passed by, and moved to make way for him. At first Pierre -wished to take another seat so as not to trouble the lady, and also to -pick up the glove himself and to pass round the doctors who were not -even in his way; but all at once he felt that this would not do, and -that tonight he was a person obliged to perform some sort of awful -rite which everyone expected of him, and that he was therefore bound -to accept their services. He took the glove in silence from the -aide-de-camp, and sat down in the lady’s chair, placing his huge hands -symmetrically on his knees in the naïve attitude of an Egyptian statue, -and decided in his own mind that all was as it should be, and that in -order not to lose his head and do foolish things he must not act on his -own ideas tonight, but must yield himself up entirely to the will of -those who were guiding him. - -Not two minutes had passed before Prince Vasíli with head erect -majestically entered the room. He was wearing his long coat with three -stars on his breast. He seemed to have grown thinner since the morning; -his eyes seemed larger than usual when he glanced round and noticed -Pierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he never used to do), -and drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertain whether it was firmly -fixed on. - -“Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to see you. That is -well!” and he turned to go. - -But Pierre thought it necessary to ask: “How is...” and hesitated, -not knowing whether it would be proper to call the dying man “the -count,” yet ashamed to call him “father.” - -“He had another stroke about half an hour ago. Courage, my -friend...” - -Pierre’s mind was in such a confused state that the word “stroke” -suggested to him a blow from something. He looked at Prince Vasíli -in perplexity, and only later grasped that a stroke was an attack of -illness. Prince Vasíli said something to Lorrain in passing and went -through the door on tiptoe. He could not walk well on tiptoe and his -whole body jerked at each step. The eldest princess followed him, and -the priests and deacons and some servants also went in at the door. -Through that door was heard a noise of things being moved about, and -at last Anna Mikháylovna, still with the same expression, pale but -resolute in the discharge of duty, ran out and touching Pierre lightly -on the arm said: - -“The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unction is about to be -administered. Come.” - -Pierre went in at the door, stepping on the soft carpet, and noticed -that the strange lady, the aide-de-camp, and some of the servants, all -followed him in, as if there were now no further need for permission to -enter that room. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -Pierre well knew this large room divided by columns and an arch, its -walls hung round with Persian carpets. The part of the room behind the -columns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one side and -on the other an immense case containing icons, was brightly illuminated -with red light like a Russian church during evening service. Under -the gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and in that chair -on snowy-white smooth pillows, evidently freshly changed, Pierre -saw—covered to the waist by a bright green quilt—the familiar, -majestic figure of his father, Count Bezúkhov, with that gray mane of -hair above his broad forehead which reminded one of a lion, and the deep -characteristically noble wrinkles of his handsome, ruddy face. He lay -just under the icons; his large thick hands outside the quilt. Into the -right hand, which was lying palm downwards, a wax taper had been thrust -between forefinger and thumb, and an old servant, bending over from -behind the chair, held it in position. By the chair stood the priests, -their long hair falling over their magnificent glittering vestments, -with lighted tapers in their hands, slowly and solemnly conducting the -service. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding -handkerchiefs to their eyes, and just in front of them their eldest -sister, Catiche, with a vicious and determined look steadily fixed on -the icons, as though declaring to all that she could not answer for -herself should she glance round. Anna Mikháylovna, with a meek, -sorrowful, and all-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door -near the strange lady. Prince Vasíli in front of the door, near the -invalid chair, a wax taper in his left hand, was leaning his left arm on -the carved back of a velvet chair he had turned round for the purpose, -and was crossing himself with his right hand, turning his eyes upward -each time he touched his forehead. His face wore a calm look of piety -and resignation to the will of God. “If you do not understand these -sentiments,” he seemed to be saying, “so much the worse for you!” - -Behind him stood the aide-de-camp, the doctors, and the menservants; -the men and women had separated as in church. All were silently crossing -themselves, and the reading of the church service, the subdued chanting -of deep bass voices, and in the intervals sighs and the shuffling of -feet were the only sounds that could be heard. Anna Mikháylovna, with -an air of importance that showed that she felt she quite knew what she -was about, went across the room to where Pierre was standing and gave -him a taper. He lit it and, distracted by observing those around him, -began crossing himself with the hand that held the taper. - -Sophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest princess with the mole, -watched him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and remained -with it hidden for awhile; then looking up and seeing Pierre she -again began to laugh. She evidently felt unable to look at him -without laughing, but could not resist looking at him: so to be out of -temptation she slipped quietly behind one of the columns. In the midst -of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, they whispered -to one another, and the old servant who was holding the count’s hand -got up and said something to the ladies. Anna Mikháylovna stepped -forward and, stooping over the dying man, beckoned to Lorrain from -behind her back. The French doctor held no taper; he was leaning -against one of the columns in a respectful attitude implying that he, -a foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith, understood the full -importance of the rite now being performed and even approved of it. He -now approached the sick man with the noiseless step of one in full vigor -of life, with his delicate white fingers raised from the green quilt the -hand that was free, and turning sideways felt the pulse and reflected -a moment. The sick man was given something to drink, there was a -stir around him, then the people resumed their places and the service -continued. During this interval Pierre noticed that Prince Vasíli -left the chair on which he had been leaning, and—with an air -which intimated that he knew what he was about and if others did not -understand him it was so much the worse for them—did not go up to the -dying man, but passed by him, joined the eldest princess, and moved -with her to the side of the room where stood the high bedstead with its -silken hangings. On leaving the bed both Prince Vasíli and the princess -passed out by a back door, but returned to their places one after the -other before the service was concluded. Pierre paid no more attention -to this occurrence than to the rest of what went on, having made up his -mind once for all that what he saw happening around him that evening was -in some way essential. - -The chanting of the service ceased, and the voice of the priest was -heard respectfully congratulating the dying man on having received the -sacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Around -him everyone began to stir: steps were audible and whispers, among which -Anna Mikháylovna’s was the most distinct. - -Pierre heard her say: - -“Certainly he must be moved onto the bed; here it will be -impossible...” - -The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses, and servants -that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray -mane—which, though he saw other faces as well, he had not lost sight -of for a single moment during the whole service. He judged by the -cautious movements of those who crowded round the invalid chair that -they had lifted the dying man and were moving him. - -“Catch hold of my arm or you’ll drop him!” he heard one of the -servants say in a frightened whisper. “Catch hold from underneath. -Here!” exclaimed different voices; and the heavy breathing of the -bearers and the shuffling of their feet grew more hurried, as if the -weight they were carrying were too much for them. - -As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mikháylovna, passed the young man -he caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of the dying -man’s high, stout, uncovered chest and powerful shoulders, raised by -those who were holding him under the armpits, and of his gray, curly, -leonine head. This head, with its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones, -its handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majestic expression, was -not disfigured by the approach of death. It was the same as Pierre -remembered it three months before, when the count had sent him to -Petersburg. But now this head was swaying helplessly with the uneven -movements of the bearers, and the cold listless gaze fixed itself upon -nothing. - -After a few minutes’ bustle beside the high bedstead, those who had -carried the sick man dispersed. Anna Mikháylovna touched Pierre’s -hand and said, “Come.” Pierre went with her to the bed on which the -sick man had been laid in a stately pose in keeping with the ceremony -just completed. He lay with his head propped high on the pillows. His -hands were symmetrically placed on the green silk quilt, the palms -downward. When Pierre came up the count was gazing straight at him, but -with a look the significance of which could not be understood by mortal -man. Either this look meant nothing but that as long as one has eyes -they must look somewhere, or it meant too much. Pierre hesitated, -not knowing what to do, and glanced inquiringly at his guide. Anna -Mikháylovna made a hurried sign with her eyes, glancing at the sick -man’s hand and moving her lips as if to send it a kiss. Pierre, -carefully stretching his neck so as not to touch the quilt, followed her -suggestion and pressed his lips to the large boned, fleshy hand. Neither -the hand nor a single muscle of the count’s face stirred. Once more -Pierre looked questioningly at Anna Mikháylovna to see what he was to -do next. Anna Mikháylovna with her eyes indicated a chair that stood -beside the bed. Pierre obediently sat down, his eyes asking if he were -doing right. Anna Mikháylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell -into the naïvely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently -distressed that his stout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing -his utmost to look as small as possible. He looked at the count, who -still gazed at the spot where Pierre’s face had been before he sat -down. Anna Mikháylovna indicated by her attitude her consciousness of -the pathetic importance of these last moments of meeting between the -father and son. This lasted about two minutes, which to Pierre seemed an -hour. Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the count’s face began -to twitch. The twitching increased, the handsome mouth was drawn to one -side (only now did Pierre realize how near death his father was), and -from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct, hoarse sound. Anna -Mikháylovna looked attentively at the sick man’s eyes, trying to -guess what he wanted; she pointed first to Pierre, then to some drink, -then named Prince Vasíli in an inquiring whisper, then pointed to the -quilt. The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience. He made an -effort to look at the servant who stood constantly at the head of the -bed. - -“Wants to turn on the other side,” whispered the servant, and got up -to turn the count’s heavy body toward the wall. - -Pierre rose to help him. - -While the count was being turned over, one of his arms fell back -helplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pull it forward. Whether he -noticed the look of terror with which Pierre regarded that lifeless arm, -or whether some other thought flitted across his dying brain, at any -rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre’s terror-stricken -face, and again at the arm, and on his face a feeble, piteous smile -appeared, quite out of keeping with his features, that seemed to deride -his own helplessness. At sight of this smile Pierre felt an unexpected -quivering in his breast and a tickling in his nose, and tears dimmed his -eyes. The sick man was turned on to his side with his face to the wall. -He sighed. - -“He is dozing,” said Anna Mikháylovna, observing that one of the -princesses was coming to take her turn at watching. “Let us go.” - -Pierre went out. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -There was now no one in the reception room except Prince Vasíli and the -eldest princess, who were sitting under the portrait of Catherine the -Great and talking eagerly. As soon as they saw Pierre and his companion -they became silent, and Pierre thought he saw the princess hide -something as she whispered: - -“I can’t bear the sight of that woman.” - -“Catiche has had tea served in the small drawing room,” said Prince -Vasíli to Anna Mikháylovna. “Go and take something, my poor Anna -Mikháylovna, or you will not hold out.” - -To Pierre he said nothing, merely giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze -below the shoulder. Pierre went with Anna Mikháylovna into the small -drawing room. - -“There is nothing so refreshing after a sleepless night as a cup -of this delicious Russian tea,” Lorrain was saying with an air of -restrained animation as he stood sipping tea from a delicate Chinese -handleless cup before a table on which tea and a cold supper were laid -in the small circular room. Around the table all who were at Count -Bezúkhov’s house that night had gathered to fortify themselves. -Pierre well remembered this small circular drawing room with its mirrors -and little tables. During balls given at the house Pierre, who did not -know how to dance, had liked sitting in this room to watch the ladies -who, as they passed through in their ball dresses with diamonds and -pearls on their bare shoulders, looked at themselves in the brilliantly -lighted mirrors which repeated their reflections several times. Now -this same room was dimly lighted by two candles. On one small table tea -things and supper dishes stood in disorder, and in the middle of the -night a motley throng of people sat there, not merrymaking, but somberly -whispering, and betraying by every word and movement that they none -of them forgot what was happening and what was about to happen in the -bedroom. Pierre did not eat anything though he would very much have -liked to. He looked inquiringly at his monitress and saw that she was -again going on tiptoe to the reception room where they had left Prince -Vasíli and the eldest princess. Pierre concluded that this also was -essential, and after a short interval followed her. Anna Mikháylovna -was standing beside the princess, and they were both speaking in excited -whispers. - -“Permit me, Princess, to know what is necessary and what is not -necessary,” said the younger of the two speakers, evidently in the -same state of excitement as when she had slammed the door of her room. - -“But, my dear princess,” answered Anna Mikháylovna blandly but -impressively, blocking the way to the bedroom and preventing the other -from passing, “won’t this be too much for poor Uncle at a moment -when he needs repose? Worldly conversation at a moment when his soul is -already prepared...” - -Prince Vasíli was seated in an easy chair in his familiar attitude, -with one leg crossed high above the other. His cheeks, which were so -flabby that they looked heavier below, were twitching violently; but -he wore the air of a man little concerned in what the two ladies were -saying. - -“Come, my dear Anna Mikháylovna, let Catiche do as she pleases. You -know how fond the count is of her.” - -“I don’t even know what is in this paper,” said the younger of -the two ladies, addressing Prince Vasíli and pointing to an inlaid -portfolio she held in her hand. “All I know is that his real will is -in his writing table, and this is a paper he has forgotten....” - -She tried to pass Anna Mikháylovna, but the latter sprang so as to bar -her path. - -“I know, my dear, kind princess,” said Anna Mikháylovna, seizing -the portfolio so firmly that it was plain she would not let go easily. -“Dear princess, I beg and implore you, have some pity on him! Je vous -en conjure...” - -The princess did not reply. Their efforts in the struggle for the -portfolio were the only sounds audible, but it was evident that if -the princess did speak, her words would not be flattering to Anna -Mikháylovna. Though the latter held on tenaciously, her voice lost none -of its honeyed firmness and softness. - -“Pierre, my dear, come here. I think he will not be out of place in a -family consultation; is it not so, Prince?” - -“Why don’t you speak, cousin?” suddenly shrieked the princess so -loud that those in the drawing room heard her and were startled. “Why -do you remain silent when heaven knows who permits herself to -interfere, making a scene on the very threshold of a dying man’s room? -Intriguer!” she hissed viciously, and tugged with all her might at the -portfolio. - -But Anna Mikháylovna went forward a step or two to keep her hold on the -portfolio, and changed her grip. - -Prince Vasíli rose. “Oh!” said he with reproach and surprise, -“this is absurd! Come, let go I tell you.” - -The princess let go. - -“And you too!” - -But Anna Mikháylovna did not obey him. - -“Let go, I tell you! I will take the responsibility. I myself will go -and ask him, I!... does that satisfy you?” - -“But, Prince,” said Anna Mikháylovna, “after such a solemn -sacrament, allow him a moment’s peace! Here, Pierre, tell them your -opinion,” said she, turning to the young man who, having come quite -close, was gazing with astonishment at the angry face of the princess -which had lost all dignity, and at the twitching cheeks of Prince -Vasíli. - -“Remember that you will answer for the consequences,” said Prince -Vasíli severely. “You don’t know what you are doing.” - -“Vile woman!” shouted the princess, darting unexpectedly at Anna -Mikháylovna and snatching the portfolio from her. - -Prince Vasíli bent his head and spread out his hands. - -At this moment that terrible door, which Pierre had watched so long -and which had always opened so quietly, burst noisily open and banged -against the wall, and the second of the three sisters rushed out -wringing her hands. - -“What are you doing!” she cried vehemently. “He is dying and you -leave me alone with him!” - -Her sister dropped the portfolio. Anna Mikháylovna, stooping, quickly -caught up the object of contention and ran into the bedroom. The eldest -princess and Prince Vasíli, recovering themselves, followed her. A few -minutes later the eldest sister came out with a pale hard face, again -biting her underlip. At sight of Pierre her expression showed an -irrepressible hatred. - -“Yes, now you may be glad!” said she; “this is what you have -been waiting for.” And bursting into tears she hid her face in her -handkerchief and rushed from the room. - -Prince Vasíli came next. He staggered to the sofa on which Pierre was -sitting and dropped onto it, covering his face with his hand. Pierre -noticed that he was pale and that his jaw quivered and shook as if in an -ague. - -“Ah, my friend!” said he, taking Pierre by the elbow; and there was -in his voice a sincerity and weakness Pierre had never observed in it -before. “How often we sin, how much we deceive, and all for what? I am -near sixty, dear friend... I too... All will end in death, all! Death is -awful...” and he burst into tears. - -Anna Mikháylovna came out last. She approached Pierre with slow, quiet -steps. - -“Pierre!” she said. - -Pierre gave her an inquiring look. She kissed the young man on his -forehead, wetting him with her tears. Then after a pause she said: - -“He is no more....” - -Pierre looked at her over his spectacles. - -“Come, I will go with you. Try to weep, nothing gives such relief as -tears.” - -She led him into the dark drawing room and Pierre was glad no one could -see his face. Anna Mikháylovna left him, and when she returned he was -fast asleep with his head on his arm. - -In the morning Anna Mikháylovna said to Pierre: - -“Yes, my dear, this is a great loss for us all, not to speak of you. -But God will support you: you are young, and are now, I hope, in command -of an immense fortune. The will has not yet been opened. I know you -well enough to be sure that this will not turn your head, but it imposes -duties on you, and you must be a man.” - -Pierre was silent. - -“Perhaps later on I may tell you, my dear boy, that if I had not been -there, God only knows what would have happened! You know, Uncle promised -me only the day before yesterday not to forget Borís. But he had -no time. I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out your father’s -wish?” - -Pierre understood nothing of all this and coloring shyly looked in -silence at Princess Anna Mikháylovna. After her talk with Pierre, Anna -Mikháylovna returned to the Rostóvs’ and went to bed. On waking in -the morning she told the Rostóvs and all her acquaintances the details -of Count Bezúkhov’s death. She said the count had died as she would -herself wish to die, that his end was not only touching but edifying. As -to the last meeting between father and son, it was so touching that she -could not think of it without tears, and did not know which had behaved -better during those awful moments—the father who so remembered -everything and everybody at last and had spoken such pathetic words to -the son, or Pierre, whom it had been pitiful to see, so stricken was he -with grief, though he tried hard to hide it in order not to sadden his -dying father. “It is painful, but it does one good. It uplifts the -soul to see such men as the old count and his worthy son,” said she. -Of the behavior of the eldest princess and Prince Vasíli she spoke -disapprovingly, but in whispers and as a great secret. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -At Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Andréevich Bolkónski’s estate, the -arrival of young Prince Andrew and his wife was daily expected, but -this expectation did not upset the regular routine of life in the old -prince’s household. General in Chief Prince Nicholas Andréevich -(nicknamed in society, “the King of Prussia”) ever since the Emperor -Paul had exiled him to his country estate had lived there continuously -with his daughter, Princess Mary, and her companion, Mademoiselle -Bourienne. Though in the new reign he was free to return to the -capitals, he still continued to live in the country, remarking that -anyone who wanted to see him could come the hundred miles from Moscow to -Bald Hills, while he himself needed no one and nothing. He used to -say that there are only two sources of human vice—idleness and -superstition, and only two virtues—activity and intelligence. He -himself undertook his daughter’s education, and to develop these two -cardinal virtues in her gave her lessons in algebra and geometry -till she was twenty, and arranged her life so that her whole time was -occupied. He was himself always occupied: writing his memoirs, solving -problems in higher mathematics, turning snuffboxes on a lathe, working -in the garden, or superintending the building that was always going on -at his estate. As regularity is a prime condition facilitating activity, -regularity in his household was carried to the highest point of -exactitude. He always came to table under precisely the same conditions, -and not only at the same hour but at the same minute. With those about -him, from his daughter to his serfs, the prince was sharp and invariably -exacting, so that without being a hardhearted man he inspired such fear -and respect as few hardhearted men would have aroused. Although he was -in retirement and had now no influence in political affairs, every high -official appointed to the province in which the prince’s estate lay -considered it his duty to visit him and waited in the lofty antechamber -just as the architect, gardener, or Princess Mary did, till the prince -appeared punctually to the appointed hour. Everyone sitting in this -antechamber experienced the same feeling of respect and even fear when -the enormously high study door opened and showed the figure of a rather -small old man, with powdered wig, small withered hands, and bushy gray -eyebrows which, when he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of his shrewd, -youthfully glittering eyes. - -On the morning of the day that the young couple were to arrive, Princess -Mary entered the antechamber as usual at the time appointed for the -morning greeting, crossing herself with trepidation and repeating a -silent prayer. Every morning she came in like that, and every morning -prayed that the daily interview might pass off well. - -An old powdered manservant who was sitting in the antechamber rose -quietly and said in a whisper: “Please walk in.” - -Through the door came the regular hum of a lathe. The princess timidly -opened the door which moved noiselessly and easily. She paused at the -entrance. The prince was working at the lathe and after glancing round -continued his work. - -The enormous study was full of things evidently in constant use. -The large table covered with books and plans, the tall glass-fronted -bookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk for writing while -standing up, on which lay an open exercise book, and the lathe with -tools laid ready to hand and shavings scattered around—all indicated -continuous, varied, and orderly activity. The motion of the small foot -shod in a Tartar boot embroidered with silver, and the firm pressure -of the lean sinewy hand, showed that the prince still possessed the -tenacious endurance and vigor of hardy old age. After a few more turns -of the lathe he removed his foot from the pedal, wiped his chisel, -dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and, approaching -the table, summoned his daughter. He never gave his children a blessing, -so he simply held out his bristly cheek (as yet unshaven) and, regarding -her tenderly and attentively, said severely: - -“Quite well? All right then, sit down.” He took the exercise book -containing lessons in geometry written by himself and drew up a chair -with his foot. - -“For tomorrow!” said he, quickly finding the page and making a -scratch from one paragraph to another with his hard nail. - -The princess bent over the exercise book on the table. - -“Wait a bit, here’s a letter for you,” said the old man suddenly, -taking a letter addressed in a woman’s hand from a bag hanging above -the table, onto which he threw it. - -At the sight of the letter red patches showed themselves on the -princess’ face. She took it quickly and bent her head over it. - -“From Héloïse?” asked the prince with a cold smile that showed his -still sound, yellowish teeth. - -“Yes, it’s from Julie,” replied the princess with a timid glance -and a timid smile. - -“I’ll let two more letters pass, but the third I’ll read,” said -the prince sternly; “I’m afraid you write much nonsense. I’ll read -the third!” - -“Read this if you like, Father,” said the princess, blushing still -more and holding out the letter. - -“The third, I said the third!” cried the prince abruptly, pushing -the letter away, and leaning his elbows on the table he drew toward him -the exercise book containing geometrical figures. - -“Well, madam,” he began, stooping over the book close to his -daughter and placing an arm on the back of the chair on which she sat, -so that she felt herself surrounded on all sides by the acrid scent of -old age and tobacco, which she had known so long. “Now, madam, these -triangles are equal; please note that the angle ABC...” - -The princess looked in a scared way at her father’s eyes glittering -close to her; the red patches on her face came and went, and it was -plain that she understood nothing and was so frightened that her -fear would prevent her understanding any of her father’s further -explanations, however clear they might be. Whether it was the -teacher’s fault or the pupil’s, this same thing happened every day: -the princess’ eyes grew dim, she could not see and could not hear -anything, but was only conscious of her stern father’s withered face -close to her, of his breath and the smell of him, and could think only -of how to get away quickly to her own room to make out the problem in -peace. The old man was beside himself: moved the chair on which he was -sitting noisily backward and forward, made efforts to control himself -and not become vehement, but almost always did become vehement, scolded, -and sometimes flung the exercise book away. - -The princess gave a wrong answer. - -“Well now, isn’t she a fool!” shouted the prince, pushing the book -aside and turning sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced up and -down, lightly touched his daughter’s hair and sat down again. - -He drew up his chair, and continued to explain. - -“This won’t do, Princess; it won’t do,” said he, when Princess -Mary, having taken and closed the exercise book with the next day’s -lesson, was about to leave: “Mathematics are most important, madam! -I don’t want to have you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and -you’ll like it,” and he patted her cheek. “It will drive all the -nonsense out of your head.” - -She turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture and took an uncut -book from the high desk. - -“Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries that your Héloïse has -sent you. Religious! I don’t interfere with anyone’s belief... I -have looked at it. Take it. Well, now go. Go.” - -He patted her on the shoulder and himself closed the door after her. - -Princess Mary went back to her room with the sad, scared expression that -rarely left her and which made her plain, sickly face yet plainer. She -sat down at her writing table, on which stood miniature portraits and -which was littered with books and papers. The princess was as untidy as -her father was tidy. She put down the geometry book and eagerly broke -the seal of her letter. It was from her most intimate friend from -childhood; that same Julie Karágina who had been at the Rostóvs’ -name-day party. - -Julie wrote in French: - -Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a thing is -separation! Though I tell myself that half my life and half my happiness -are wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distance separating us -our hearts are united by indissoluble bonds, my heart rebels against -fate and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot -overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in my heart ever since -we parted. Why are we not together as we were last summer, in your big -study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why cannot I now, as -three months ago, draw fresh moral strength from your look, so gentle, -calm, and penetrating, a look I loved so well and seem to see before me -as I write? - -Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed and glanced into the mirror -which stood on her right. It reflected a weak, ungraceful figure and -thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked with particular hopelessness -at her reflection in the glass. “She flatters me,” thought the -princess, turning away and continuing to read. But Julie did not flatter -her friend, the princess’ eyes—large, deep and luminous (it seemed -as if at times there radiated from them shafts of warm light)—were -so beautiful that very often in spite of the plainness of her face -they gave her an attraction more powerful than that of beauty. But the -princess never saw the beautiful expression of her own eyes—the look -they had when she was not thinking of herself. As with everyone, her -face assumed a forced unnatural expression as soon as she looked in a -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 their march -to the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg and it is thought -intends to expose his precious person to the chances of war. God grant -that the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of Europe may -be overthrown by the angel whom it has pleased the Almighty, in His -goodness, to give us as sovereign! To say nothing of my brothers, this -war has deprived me of one of the associations nearest my heart. I mean -young Nicholas Rostóv, who with his enthusiasm could not bear to remain -inactive and has left the university to join the army. I will confess to -you, dear Mary, that in spite of his extreme youth his departure for -the army was a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you -last summer, is so noble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which -one seldom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty and, particularly, -he is so frank and has so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that -my relations with him, transient as they were, have been one of the -sweetest comforts to my poor heart, which has already suffered so much. -Someday I will tell you about our parting and all that was said then. -That is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are happy not to know -these poignant joys and sorrows. You are fortunate, for the latter are -generally the stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too -young ever to be more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship, -this poetic and pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But enough of -this! The chief news, about which all Moscow gossips, is the death of -old Count Bezúkhov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three princesses -have received very little, Prince Vasíli nothing, and it is Monsieur -Pierre who has inherited all the property and has besides been -recognized as legitimate; so that he is now Count Bezúkhov and -possessor of the finest fortune in Russia. It is rumored that Prince -Vasíli played a very despicable part in this affair and that he -returned to Petersburg quite crestfallen. - -I confess I understand very little about all these matters of wills and -inheritance; but I do know that since this young man, whom we all used -to know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become Count Bezúkhov and the -owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to -watch the change in the tone and manners of the mammas burdened by -marriageable daughters, and of the young ladies themselves, toward -him, though, between you and me, he always seemed to me a poor sort -of fellow. As for the past two years people have amused themselves -by finding husbands for me (most of whom I don’t even know), the -matchmaking chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as the future Countess -Bezúkhova. But you will understand that I have no desire for the post. -À propos of marriages: do you know that a while ago that universal -auntie Anna Mikháylovna told me, under the seal of strict secrecy, of -a plan of marriage for you. It is neither more nor less than with Prince -Vasíli’s son Anatole, whom they wish to reform by marrying him to -someone rich and distinguée, and it is on you that his relations’ -choice has fallen. I don’t know what you will think of it, but -I consider it my duty to let you know of it. He is said to be very -handsome and a terrible scapegrace. That is all I have been able to find -out about him. - -But enough of gossip. I am at the end of my second sheet of paper, and -Mamma has sent for me to go and dine at the Apráksins’. Read the -mystical book I am sending you; it has an enormous success here. Though -there are things in it difficult for the feeble human mind to grasp, it -is an admirable book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu! Give -my respects to monsieur your father and my compliments to Mademoiselle -Bourienne. I embrace you as I love you. - -JULIE - -P.S. Let me have news of your brother and his charming little wife. - -The princess pondered awhile with a thoughtful smile and her luminous -eyes lit up so that her face was entirely transformed. Then she suddenly -rose and with her heavy tread went up to the table. She took a sheet of -paper and her hand moved rapidly over it. This is the reply she wrote, -also in French: - -Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 13th has given me great -delight. So you still love me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of which -you say so much that is bad, does not seem to have had its usual effect -on you. You complain of our separation. What then should I say, if I -dared complain, I who am 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 severely on your affection for that young -man? On such matters I am only severe with myself. I understand such -feelings in others, and if never having felt them I cannot approve of -them, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian -love, love of one’s neighbor, love of one’s enemy, is worthier, -sweeter, and better than the feelings which the beautiful eyes of a -young man can inspire in a romantic and loving young girl like yourself. - -The news of Count Bezúkhov’s death reached us before your letter -and my father was much affected by it. He says the count was the last -representative but one of the great century, and that it is his own -turn now, but that he will do all he can to let his turn come as late as -possible. God preserve us from that terrible misfortune! - -I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. He always -seemed to me to have an excellent heart, and that is the quality I value -most in people. As to his inheritance and the part played by Prince -Vasíli, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine -Saviour’s words, that it is easier for a camel to go through the -eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God, are -terribly true. I pity Prince Vasíli but am still more sorry for Pierre. -So young, and burdened with such riches—to what temptations he will be -exposed! If I were asked what I desire most on earth, it would be to be -poorer than the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the -volume you have sent me and which has such success in Moscow. Yet since -you tell me that among some good things it contains others which our -weak human understanding cannot grasp, it seems to me rather useless to -spend time in reading what is unintelligible and can therefore bear -no fruit. I never could understand the fondness some people have for -confusing their minds by dwelling on mystical books that merely awaken -their doubts and excite their imagination, giving them a bent for -exaggeration quite contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us rather read -the Epistles and Gospels. Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries -they contain; for how can we, miserable sinners that we are, know the -terrible and holy secrets of Providence while we remain in this flesh -which forms an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Let us -rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime rules which our -divine Saviour has left for our guidance here below. Let us try to -conform to them and follow them, and let us be persuaded that the less -we let our feeble human minds roam, the better we shall please God, who -rejects all knowledge that does not come from Him; and the less we seek -to fathom what He has been pleased to conceal from us, the sooner will -He vouchsafe its revelation to us through His divine Spirit. - -My father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but has only told me that he -has received a letter and is expecting a visit from Prince Vasíli. In -regard to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you, dear sweet -friend, that I look on marriage as a divine institution to which we must -conform. However painful it may be to me, should the Almighty lay -the duties of wife and mother upon me I shall try to perform them as -faithfully as I can, without disquieting myself by examining my feelings -toward him whom He may give me for husband. - -I have had a letter from my brother, who announces his speedy arrival -at Bald Hills with his wife. This pleasure will be but a brief one, -however, for he will leave us again to take part in this unhappy war -into which we have been drawn, God knows how or why. Not only where you -are—at the heart of affairs and of the world—is the talk all of -war, even here amid fieldwork and the calm of nature—which townsfolk -consider characteristic of the country—rumors of war are heard -and painfully felt. My father talks of nothing but marches and -countermarches, things of which I understand nothing; and the day -before yesterday during my daily walk through the village I witnessed a -heartrending scene.... It was a convoy of conscripts enrolled from our -people and starting to join the army. You should have seen the state of -the mothers, wives, and children of the men who were going and should -have heard the sobs. It seems as though mankind has forgotten the -laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love and forgiveness of -injuries—and that men attribute the greatest merit to skill in killing -one another. - -Adieu, dear and kind friend; may our divine Saviour and His most Holy -Mother keep you in their holy and all-powerful care! - -MARY - -“Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I have already dispatched -mine. I have written to my poor mother,” said the smiling Mademoiselle -Bourienne rapidly, in her pleasant mellow tones and with guttural r’s. -She brought into Princess Mary’s strenuous, mournful, and gloomy -world a quite different atmosphere, careless, lighthearted, and -self-satisfied. - -“Princess, I must warn you,” she added, lowering her voice and -evidently listening to herself with pleasure, and speaking with -exaggerated grasseyement, “the prince has been scolding Michael -Ivánovich. He is in a very bad humor, very morose. Be prepared.” - -“Ah, dear friend,” replied Princess Mary, “I have asked you never -to warn me of the humor my father is in. I do not allow myself to judge -him and would not have others do so.” - -The princess glanced at her watch and, seeing that she was five minutes -late in starting her practice on the clavichord, went into the sitting -room with a look of alarm. Between twelve and two o’clock, as the -day was mapped out, the prince rested and the princess played the -clavichord. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -The gray-haired valet was sitting drowsily listening to the snoring of -the prince, who was in his large study. From the far side of the house -through the closed doors came the sound of difficult passages—twenty -times repeated—of a sonata by Dussek. - -Just then a closed carriage and another with a hood drove up to the -porch. Prince Andrew got out of the carriage, helped his little wife to -alight, and let her pass into the house before him. Old Tíkhon, wearing -a wig, put his head out of the door of the antechamber, reported in -a whisper that the prince was sleeping, and hastily closed the door. -Tíkhon knew that neither the son’s arrival nor any other unusual -event must be allowed to disturb the appointed order of the day. Prince -Andrew apparently knew this as well as Tíkhon; he looked at his watch -as if to ascertain whether his father’s habits had changed since he -was at home last, and, having assured himself that they had not, he -turned to his wife. - -“He will get up in twenty minutes. Let us go across to Mary’s -room,” he said. - -The little princess had grown stouter during this time, but her eyes -and her short, downy, smiling lip lifted when she began to speak just as -merrily and prettily as ever. - -“Why, this is a palace!” she said to her husband, looking around -with the expression with which people compliment their host at a ball. -“Let’s come, quick, quick!” And with a glance round, she smiled at -Tíkhon, at her husband, and at the footman who accompanied them. - -“Is that Mary practicing? Let’s go quietly and take her by -surprise.” - -Prince Andrew followed her with a courteous but sad expression. - -“You’ve grown older, Tíkhon,” he said in passing to the old man, -who kissed his hand. - -Before they reached the room from which the sounds of the clavichord -came, the pretty, fair-haired Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Bourienne, -rushed out apparently beside herself with delight. - -“Ah! what joy for the princess!” exclaimed she: “At last! I must -let her know.” - -“No, no, please not... You are Mademoiselle Bourienne,” said -the little princess, kissing her. “I know you already through my -sister-in-law’s friendship for you. She was not expecting us?” - -They went up to the door of the sitting room from which came the sound -of the oft-repeated passage of the sonata. Prince Andrew stopped and -made a grimace, as if expecting something unpleasant. - -The little princess entered the room. The passage broke off in the -middle, a cry was heard, then Princess Mary’s heavy tread and the -sound of kissing. When Prince Andrew went in the two princesses, who -had only met once before for a short time at his wedding, were in -each other’s arms warmly pressing their lips to whatever place they -happened to touch. Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them pressing her -hand to her heart, with a beatific smile and obviously equally ready to -cry or to laugh. Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders and frowned, as -lovers of music do when they hear a false note. The two women let go -of one another, and then, as if afraid of being too late, seized each -other’s hands, kissing them and pulling them away, and again began -kissing each other on the face, and then to Prince Andrew’s surprise -both began to cry and kissed again. Mademoiselle Bourienne also began to -cry. Prince Andrew evidently felt ill at ease, but to the two women -it seemed quite natural that they should cry, and apparently it never -entered their heads that it could have been otherwise at this meeting. - -“Ah! my dear!... Ah! Mary!...” they suddenly exclaimed, and then -laughed. “I dreamed last night...”—“You were not expecting -us?...” “Ah! Mary, you have got thinner?...” “And you have grown -stouter!...” - -“I knew the princess at once,” put in Mademoiselle Bourienne. - -“And I had no idea!...” exclaimed Princess Mary. “Ah, Andrew, I -did not see you.” - -Prince Andrew and his sister, hand in hand, kissed one another, and -he told her she was still the same crybaby as ever. Princess Mary had -turned toward her brother, and through her tears the loving, warm, -gentle look of her large luminous eyes, very beautiful at that moment, -rested on Prince Andrew’s face. - -The little princess talked incessantly, her short, downy upper lip -continually and rapidly touching her rosy nether lip when necessary -and drawing up again next moment when her face broke into a smile of -glittering teeth and sparkling eyes. She told of an accident they had -had on the Spásski Hill which might have been serious for her in her -condition, and immediately after that informed them that she had left -all her clothes in Petersburg and that heaven knew what she would have -to dress in here; and that Andrew had quite changed, and that Kitty -Odýntsova had married an old man, and that there was a suitor for Mary, -a real one, but that they would talk of that later. Princess Mary was -still looking silently at her brother and her beautiful eyes were full -of love and sadness. It was plain that she was following a train of -thought independent of her sister-in-law’s words. In the midst of a -description of the last Petersburg fete she addressed her brother: - -“So you are really going to the war, Andrew?” she said sighing. - -Lise sighed too. - -“Yes, and even tomorrow,” replied her brother. - -“He is leaving me here, God knows why, when he might have had -promotion...” - -Princess Mary did not listen to the end, but continuing her train of -thought turned to her sister-in-law with a tender glance at her figure. - -“Is it certain?” she said. - -The face of the little princess changed. She sighed and said: “Yes, -quite certain. Ah! it is very dreadful...” - -Her lip descended. She brought her face close to her sister-in-law’s -and unexpectedly again began to cry. - -“She needs rest,” said Prince Andrew with a frown. “Don’t you, -Lise? Take her to your room and I’ll go to Father. How is he? Just the -same?” - -“Yes, just the same. Though I don’t know what your opinion will -be,” answered the princess joyfully. - -“And are the hours the same? And the walks in the avenues? And the -lathe?” asked Prince Andrew with a scarcely perceptible smile which -showed that, in spite of all his love and respect for his father, he was -aware of his weaknesses. - -“The hours are the same, and the lathe, and also the mathematics and -my geometry lessons,” said Princess Mary gleefully, as if her lessons -in geometry were among the greatest delights of her life. - -When the twenty minutes had elapsed and the time had come for the old -prince to get up, Tíkhon came to call the young prince to his father. -The old man made a departure from his usual routine in honor of his -son’s arrival: he gave orders to admit him to his apartments while -he dressed for dinner. The old prince always dressed in old-fashioned -style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair; and when Prince Andrew -entered his father’s dressing room (not with the contemptuous look and -manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which -he talked to Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large leather-covered -chair, wrapped in a powdering mantle, entrusting his head to Tíkhon. - -“Ah! here’s the warrior! Wants to vanquish Buonaparte?” said the -old man, shaking his powdered head as much as the tail, which Tíkhon -was holding fast to plait, would allow. - -“You at least must tackle him properly, or else if he goes on like -this he’ll soon have us, too, for his subjects! How are you?” And he -held out his cheek. - -The old man was in a good temper after his nap before dinner. (He -used to say that a nap “after dinner was silver—before dinner, -golden.”) He cast happy, sidelong glances at his son from under his -thick, bushy eyebrows. Prince Andrew went up and kissed his father on -the spot indicated to him. He made no reply on his father’s favorite -topic—making fun of the military men of the day, and more particularly -of Bonaparte. - -“Yes, Father, I have come to you and brought my wife who is -pregnant,” said Prince Andrew, following every movement of his -father’s face with an eager and respectful look. “How is your -health?” - -“Only fools and rakes fall ill, my boy. You know me: I am busy from -morning till night and abstemious, so of course I am well.” - -“Thank God,” said his son smiling. - -“God has nothing to do with it! Well, go on,” he continued, -returning to his hobby; “tell me how the Germans have taught you to -fight Bonaparte by this new science you call ‘strategy.’” - -Prince Andrew smiled. - -“Give me time to collect my wits, Father,” said he, with a smile -that showed that his father’s foibles did not prevent his son from -loving and honoring him. “Why, I have not yet had time to settle -down!” - -“Nonsense, nonsense!” cried the old man, shaking his pigtail to -see whether it was firmly plaited, and grasping his by the hand. “The -house for your wife is ready. Princess Mary will take her there and -show her over, and they’ll talk nineteen to the dozen. That’s -their woman’s way! I am glad to have her. Sit down and talk. About -Mikhelson’s army I understand—Tolstóy ‘s too... a simultaneous -expedition.... But what’s the southern army to do? Prussia is -neutral... I know that. What about Austria?” said he, rising from his -chair and pacing up and down the room followed by Tíkhon, who ran after -him, handing him different articles of clothing. “What of Sweden? How -will they cross Pomerania?” - -Prince Andrew, seeing that his father insisted, began—at first -reluctantly, but gradually with more and more animation, and from habit -changing unconsciously from Russian to French as he went on—to explain -the plan of operation for the coming campaign. He explained how an army, -ninety thousand strong, was to threaten Prussia so as to bring her out -of her neutrality and draw her into the war; how part of that army was -to join some Swedish forces at Stralsund; how two hundred and twenty -thousand Austrians, with a hundred thousand Russians, were to operate in -Italy and on the Rhine; how fifty thousand Russians and as many English -were to land at Naples, and how a total force of five hundred thousand -men was to attack the French from different sides. The old prince did -not evince the least interest during this explanation, but as if he were -not listening to it continued to dress while walking about, and three -times unexpectedly interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouting: “The -white one, the white one!” - -This meant that Tíkhon was not handing him the waistcoat he wanted. -Another time he interrupted, saying: - -“And will she soon be confined?” and shaking his head reproachfully -said: “That’s bad! Go on, go on.” - -The third interruption came when Prince Andrew was finishing his -description. The old man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old age: -“Malbrook s’en va-t-en guerre. Dieu sait quand reviendra.” * - - * “Marlborough is going to the wars; God knows when he’ll - return.” - - -His son only smiled. - -“I don’t say it’s a plan I approve of,” said the son; “I am -only telling you what it is. Napoleon has also formed his plan by now, -not worse than this one.” - -“Well, you’ve told me nothing new,” and the old man repeated, -meditatively and rapidly: - -“Dieu sait quand reviendra. Go to the dining room.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -At the appointed hour the prince, powdered and shaven, entered the -dining room where his daughter-in-law, Princess Mary, and Mademoiselle -Bourienne were already awaiting him together with his architect, who by -a strange caprice of his employer’s was admitted to table though the -position of that insignificant individual was such as could certainly -not have caused him to expect that honor. The prince, who generally kept -very strictly to social distinctions and rarely admitted even important -government officials to his table, had unexpectedly selected Michael -Ivánovich (who always went into a corner to blow his nose on his -checked handkerchief) to illustrate the theory that all men are equals, -and had more than once impressed on his daughter that Michael Ivánovich -was “not a whit worse than you or I.” At dinner the prince usually -spoke to the taciturn Michael Ivánovich more often than to anyone else. - -In the dining room, which like all the rooms in the house was -exceedingly lofty, the members of the household and the footmen—one -behind each chair—stood waiting for the prince to enter. The head -butler, napkin on arm, was scanning the setting of the table, making -signs to the footmen, and anxiously glancing from the clock to the door -by which the prince was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking at a large -gilt frame, new to him, containing the genealogical tree of the Princes -Bolkónski, opposite which hung another such frame with a badly painted -portrait (evidently by the hand of the artist belonging to the estate) -of a ruling prince, in a crown—an alleged descendant of Rúrik and -ancestor of the Bolkónskis. Prince Andrew, looking again at that -genealogical tree, shook his head, laughing as a man laughs who looks at -a portrait so characteristic of the original as to be amusing. - -“How thoroughly like him that is!” he said to Princess Mary, who had -come up to him. - -Princess Mary looked at her brother in surprise. She did not understand -what he was laughing at. Everything her father did inspired her with -reverence and was beyond question. - -“Everyone has his Achilles’ heel,” continued Prince Andrew. -“Fancy, with his powerful mind, indulging in such nonsense!” - -Princess Mary could not understand the boldness of her brother’s -criticism and was about to reply, when the expected footsteps were heard -coming from the study. The prince walked in quickly and jauntily as was -his wont, as if intentionally contrasting the briskness of his manners -with the strict formality of his house. At that moment the great clock -struck two and another with a shrill tone joined in from the drawing -room. The prince stood still; his lively glittering eyes from under -their thick, bushy eyebrows sternly scanned all present and rested on -the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do when the Tsar enters, the -sensation of fear and respect which the old man inspired in all around -him. He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back of -her neck. - -“I’m glad, glad, to see you,” he said, looking attentively into -her eyes, and then quickly went to his place and sat down. “Sit down, -sit down! Sit down, Michael Ivánovich!” - -He indicated a place beside him to his daughter-in-law. A footman moved -the chair for her. - -“Ho, ho!” said the old man, casting his eyes on her rounded figure. -“You’ve been in a hurry. That’s bad!” - -He laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleasant way, with his lips only -and not with his eyes. - -“You must walk, walk as much as possible, as much as possible,” he -said. - -The little princess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words. She was -silent and seemed confused. The prince asked her about her father, and -she began to smile and talk. He asked about mutual acquaintances, and -she became still more animated and chattered away giving him greetings -from various people and retelling the town gossip. - -“Countess Apráksina, poor thing, has lost her husband and she has -cried her eyes out,” she said, growing more and more lively. - -As she became animated the prince looked at her more and more sternly, -and suddenly, as if he had studied her sufficiently and had formed a -definite idea of her, he turned away and addressed Michael Ivánovich. - -“Well, Michael Ivánovich, our Bonaparte will be having a bad time -of it. Prince Andrew” (he always spoke thus of his son) “has been -telling me what forces are being collected against him! While you and I -never thought much of him.” - -Michael Ivánovich did not at all know when “you and I” had said -such things about Bonaparte, but understanding that he was wanted as -a peg on which to hang the prince’s favorite topic, he looked -inquiringly at the young prince, wondering what would follow. - -“He is a great tactician!” said the prince to his son, pointing to -the architect. - -And the conversation again turned on the war, on Bonaparte, and the -generals and statesmen of the day. The old prince seemed convinced not -only that all the men of the day were mere babies who did not know the -A B C of war or of politics, and that Bonaparte was an insignificant -little Frenchy, successful only because there were no longer any -Potëmkins or Suvórovs left to oppose him; but he was also convinced -that there were no political difficulties in Europe and no real war, -but only a sort of puppet show at which the men of the day were playing, -pretending to do something real. Prince Andrew gaily bore with his -father’s ridicule of the new men, and drew him on and listened to him -with evident pleasure. - -“The past always seems good,” said he, “but did not Suvórov -himself fall into a trap Moreau set him, and from which he did not know -how to escape?” - -“Who told you that? Who?” cried the prince. “Suvórov!” And he -jerked away his plate, which Tíkhon briskly caught. “Suvórov!... -Consider, Prince Andrew. Two... Frederick and Suvórov; Moreau!... -Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvórov had had a free hand; but -he had the Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-Rath on his hands. It would have -puzzled the devil himself! When you get there you’ll find out what -those Hofs-kriegs-wurst-Raths are! Suvórov couldn’t manage them so -what chance has Michael Kutúzov? No, my dear boy,” he continued, -“you and your generals won’t get on against Buonaparte; you’ll -have to call in the French, so that birds of a feather may fight -together. The German, Pahlen, has been sent to New York in America, to -fetch the Frenchman, Moreau,” he said, alluding to the invitation made -that year to Moreau to enter the Russian service.... “Wonderful!... -Were the Potëmkins, Suvórovs, and Orlóvs Germans? No, lad, either you -fellows have all lost your wits, or I have outlived mine. May God help -you, but we’ll see what will happen. Buonaparte has become a great -commander among them! Hm!...” - -“I don’t at all say that all the plans are good,” said Prince -Andrew, “I am only surprised at your opinion of Bonaparte. You -may laugh as much as you like, but all the same Bonaparte is a great -general!” - -“Michael Ivánovich!” cried the old prince to the architect who, -busy with his roast meat, hoped he had been forgotten: “Didn’t -I tell you Buonaparte was a great tactician? Here, he says the same -thing.” - -“To be sure, your excellency,” replied the architect. - -The prince again laughed his frigid laugh. - -“Buonaparte was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He has got -splendid soldiers. Besides he began by attacking Germans. And only -idlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since the world began everybody -has beaten the Germans. They beat no one—except one another. He made -his reputation fighting them.” - -And the prince began explaining all the blunders which, according to -him, Bonaparte had made in his campaigns and even in politics. His -son made no rejoinder, but it was evident that whatever arguments were -presented he was as little able as his father to change his opinion. He -listened, refraining from a reply, and involuntarily wondered how this -old man, living alone in the country for so many years, could know and -discuss so minutely and acutely all the recent European military and -political events. - -“You think I’m an old man and don’t understand the present state -of affairs?” concluded his father. “But it troubles me. I don’t -sleep at night. Come now, where has this great commander of yours shown -his skill?” he concluded. - -“That would take too long to tell,” answered the son. - -“Well, then go off to your Buonaparte! Mademoiselle Bourienne, -here’s another admirer of that powder-monkey emperor of yours,” he -exclaimed in excellent French. - -“You know, Prince, I am not a Bonapartist!” - -“Dieu sait quand reviendra.” hummed the prince out of tune and, with -a laugh still more so, he quitted the table. - -The little princess during the whole discussion and the rest of -the dinner sat silent, glancing with a frightened look now at her -father-in-law and now at Princess Mary. When they left the table she -took her sister-in-law’s arm and drew her into another room. - -“What a clever man your father is,” said she; “perhaps that is why -I am afraid of him.” - -“Oh, he is so kind!” answered Princess Mary. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -Prince Andrew was to leave next evening. The old prince, not altering -his routine, retired as usual after dinner. The little princess was in -her sister-in-law’s room. Prince Andrew in a traveling coat without -epaulettes had been packing with his valet in the rooms assigned to him. -After inspecting the carriage himself and seeing the trunks put in, he -ordered the horses to be harnessed. Only those things he always kept -with him remained in his room; a small box, a large canteen fitted -with silver plate, two Turkish pistols and a saber—a present from -his father who had brought it from the siege of Ochákov. All these -traveling effects of Prince Andrew’s were in very good order: new, -clean, and in cloth covers carefully tied with tapes. - -When starting on a journey or changing their mode of life, men capable -of reflection are generally in a serious frame of mind. At such moments -one reviews the past and plans for the future. Prince Andrew’s face -looked very thoughtful and tender. With his hands behind him he paced -briskly from corner to corner of the room, looking straight before him -and thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he fear going to the war, or was -he sad at leaving his wife?—perhaps both, but evidently he did not -wish to be seen in that mood, for hearing footsteps in the passage he -hurriedly unclasped his hands, stopped at a table as if tying the -cover of the small box, and assumed his usual tranquil and impenetrable -expression. It was the heavy tread of Princess Mary that he heard. - -“I hear you have given orders to harness,” she cried, panting (she -had apparently been running), “and I did so wish to have another talk -with you alone! God knows how long we may again be parted. You are not -angry with me for coming? You have changed so, Andrúsha,” she added, -as if to explain such a question. - -She smiled as she uttered his pet name, “Andrúsha.” It was -obviously strange to her to think that this stern handsome man should be -Andrúsha—the slender mischievous boy who had been her playfellow in -childhood. - -“And where is Lise?” he asked, answering her question only by a -smile. - -“She was so tired that she has fallen asleep on the sofa in my room. -Oh, Andrew! What a treasure of a wife you have,” said she, sitting -down on the sofa, facing her brother. “She is quite a child: such a -dear, merry child. I have grown so fond of her.” - -Prince Andrew was silent, but the princess noticed the ironical and -contemptuous look that showed itself on his face. - -“One must be indulgent to little weaknesses; who is free from them, -Andrew? Don’t forget that she has grown up and been educated in -society, and so her position now is not a rosy one. We should enter into -everyone’s situation. Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner. * Think -what it must be for her, poor thing, after what she has been used to, -to be parted from her husband and be left alone in the country, in her -condition! It’s very hard.” - - * To understand all is to forgive all. - -Prince Andrew smiled as he looked at his sister, as we smile at those we -think we thoroughly understand. - -“You live in the country and don’t think the life terrible,” he -replied. - -“I... that’s different. Why speak of me? I don’t want any other -life, and can’t, for I know no other. But think, Andrew: for a young -society woman to be buried in the country during the best years of her -life, all alone—for Papa is always busy, and I... well, you know what -poor resources I have for entertaining a woman used to the best society. -There is only Mademoiselle Bourienne....” - -“I don’t like your Mademoiselle Bourienne at all,” said Prince -Andrew. - -“No? She is very nice and kind and, above all, she’s much to be -pitied. She has no one, no one. To tell the truth, I don’t need her, -and she’s even in my way. You know I always was a savage, and now am -even more so. I like being alone.... Father likes her very much. She and -Michael Ivánovich are the two people to whom he is always gentle and -kind, because he has been a benefactor to them both. As Sterne says: -‘We don’t love people so much for the good they have done us, as -for the good we have done them.’ Father took her when she was homeless -after losing her own father. She is very good-natured, and my father -likes her way of reading. She reads to him in the evenings and reads -splendidly.” - -“To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Father’s character sometimes -makes things trying for you, doesn’t it?” Prince Andrew asked -suddenly. - -Princess Mary was first surprised and then aghast at this question. - -“For me? For me?... Trying for me!...” said she. - -“He always was rather harsh; and now I should think he’s getting -very trying,” said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly of their -father in order to puzzle or test his sister. - -“You are good in every way, Andrew, but you have a kind of -intellectual pride,” said the princess, following the train of her own -thoughts rather than the trend of the conversation—“and that’s a -great sin. How can one judge Father? But even if one might, what feeling -except veneration could such a man as my father evoke? And I am so -contented and happy with him. I only wish you were all as happy as I -am.” - -Her brother shook his head incredulously. - -“The only thing that is hard for me... I will tell you the truth, -Andrew... is Father’s way of treating religious subjects. I don’t -understand how a man of his immense intellect can fail to see what is -as clear as day, and can go so far astray. That is the only thing -that makes me unhappy. But even in this I can see lately a shade of -improvement. His satire has been less bitter of late, and there was a -monk he received and had a long talk with.” - -“Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your monk are wasting your -powder,” said Prince Andrew banteringly yet tenderly. - -“Ah! mon ami, I only pray, and hope that God will hear me. -Andrew...” she said timidly after a moment’s silence, “I have a -great favor to ask of you.” - -“What is it, dear?” - -“No—promise that you will not refuse! It will give you no trouble -and is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise, -Andrúsha!...” said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yet -taking out what she was holding inside it, as if what she held were -the subject of her request and must not be shown before the request was -granted. - -She looked timidly at her brother. - -“Even if it were a great deal of trouble...” answered Prince Andrew, -as if guessing what it was about. - -“Think what you please! I know you are just like Father. Think as -you please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Father’s father, our -grandfather, wore it in all his wars.” (She still did not take out -what she was holding in her reticule.) “So you promise?” - -“Of course. What is it?” - -“Andrew, I bless you with this icon and you must promise me you will -never take it off. Do you promise?” - -“If it does not weigh a hundredweight and won’t break my neck... -To please you...” said Prince Andrew. But immediately, noticing -the pained expression his joke had brought to his sister’s face, he -repented and added: “I am glad; really, dear, I am very glad.” - -“Against your will He will save and have mercy on you and bring you -to Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace,” said she in a voice -trembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands before her -brother a small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the Saviour in a gold -setting, on a finely wrought silver chain. - -She crossed herself, kissed the icon, and handed it to Andrew. - -“Please, Andrew, for my sake!...” - -Rays of gentle light shone from her large, timid eyes. Those eyes lit -up the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother -would have taken the icon, but she stopped him. Andrew understood, -crossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look of tenderness, for -he was touched, but also a gleam of irony on his face. - -“Thank you, my dear.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down -again on the sofa. They were silent for a while. - -“As I was saying to you, Andrew, be kind and generous as you always -used to be. Don’t judge Lise harshly,” she began. “She is so -sweet, so good-natured, and her position now is a very hard one.” - -“I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Másha, or blamed -her. Why do you say all this to me?” - -Red patches appeared on Princess Mary’s face and she was silent as if -she felt guilty. - -“I have said nothing to you, but you have already been talked to. And -I am sorry for that,” he went on. - -The patches grew deeper on her forehead, neck, and cheeks. She tried to -say something but could not. Her brother had guessed right: the little -princess had been crying after dinner and had spoken of her forebodings -about her confinement, and how she dreaded it, and had complained of her -fate, her father-in-law, and her husband. After crying she had fallen -asleep. Prince Andrew felt sorry for his sister. - -“Know this, Másha: I can’t reproach, have not reproached, and never -shall reproach my wife with anything, and I cannot reproach myself -with anything in regard to her; and that always will be so in whatever -circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth... if -you want to know whether I am happy? No! Is she happy? No! But why this -is so I don’t know...” - -As he said this he rose, went to his sister, and, stooping, kissed -her forehead. His fine eyes lit up with a thoughtful, kindly, and -unaccustomed brightness, but he was looking not at his sister but over -her head toward the darkness of the open doorway. - -“Let us go to her, I must say good-by. Or—go and wake and I’ll -come in a moment. Petrúshka!” he called to his valet: “Come here, -take these away. Put this on the seat and this to the right.” - -Princess Mary rose and moved to the door, then stopped and said: -“Andrew, if you had faith you would have turned to God and asked Him -to give you the love you do not feel, and your prayer would have been -answered.” - -“Well, maybe!” said Prince Andrew. “Go, Másha; I’ll come -immediately.” - -On the way to his sister’s room, in the passage which connected one -wing with the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling -sweetly. It was the third time that day that, with an ecstatic and -artless smile, she had met him in secluded passages. - -“Oh! I thought you were in your room,” she said, for some reason -blushing and dropping her eyes. - -Prince Andrew looked sternly at her and an expression of anger suddenly -came over his face. He said nothing to her but looked at her forehead -and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the -Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word. When he reached his -sister’s room his wife was already awake and her merry voice, hurrying -one word after another, came through the open door. She was speaking as -usual in French, and as if after long self-restraint she wished to make -up for lost time. - -“No, but imagine the old Countess Zúbova, with false curls and her -mouth full of false teeth, as if she were trying to cheat old age.... -Ha, ha, ha! Mary!” - -This very sentence about Countess Zúbova and this same laugh Prince -Andrew had already heard from his wife in the presence of others some -five times. He entered the room softly. The little princess, plump and -rosy, was sitting in an easy chair with her work in her hands, talking -incessantly, repeating Petersburg reminiscences and even phrases. Prince -Andrew came up, stroked her hair, and asked if she felt rested after -their journey. She answered him and continued her chatter. - -The coach with six horses was waiting at the porch. It was an autumn -night, so dark that the coachman could not see the carriage pole. -Servants with lanterns were bustling about in the porch. The immense -house was brilliant with lights shining through its lofty windows. The -domestic serfs were crowding in the hall, waiting to bid good-by to -the young prince. The members of the household were all gathered in the -reception hall: Michael Ivánovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess -Mary, and the little princess. Prince Andrew had been called to his -father’s study as the latter wished to say good-by to him alone. All -were waiting for them to come out. - -When Prince Andrew entered the study the old man in his old-age -spectacles and white dressing gown, in which he received no one but his -son, sat at the table writing. He glanced round. - -“Going?” And he went on writing. - -“I’ve come to say good-by.” - -“Kiss me here,” and he touched his cheek: “Thanks, thanks!” - -“What do you thank me for?” - -“For not dilly-dallying and not hanging to a woman’s apron strings. -The Service before everything. Thanks, thanks!” And he went on -writing, so that his quill spluttered and squeaked. “If you have -anything to say, say it. These two things can be done together,” he -added. - -“About my wife... I am ashamed as it is to leave her on your -hands....” - -“Why talk nonsense? Say what you want.” - -“When her confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur.... Let -him be here....” - -The old prince stopped writing and, as if not understanding, fixed his -stern eyes on his son. - -“I know that no one can help if nature does not do her work,” said -Prince Andrew, evidently confused. “I know that out of a million -cases only one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and mine. They have been -telling her things. She has had a dream and is frightened.” - -“Hm... Hm...” muttered the old prince to himself, finishing what he -was writing. “I’ll do it.” - -He signed with a flourish and suddenly turning to his son began to -laugh. - -“It’s a bad business, eh?” - -“What is bad, Father?” - -“The wife!” said the old prince, briefly and significantly. - -“I don’t understand!” said Prince Andrew. - -“No, it can’t be helped, lad,” said the prince. “They’re -all like that; one can’t unmarry. Don’t be afraid; I won’t tell -anyone, but you know it yourself.” - -He seized his son by the hand with small bony fingers, shook it, looked -straight into his son’s face with keen eyes which seemed to see -through him, and again laughed his frigid laugh. - -The son sighed, thus admitting that his father had understood him. The -old man continued to fold and seal his letter, snatching up and throwing -down the wax, the seal, and the paper, with his accustomed rapidity. - -“What’s to be done? She’s pretty! I will do everything. Make your -mind easy,” said he in abrupt sentences while sealing his letter. - -Andrew did not speak; he was both pleased and displeased that his father -understood him. The old man got up and gave the letter to his son. - -“Listen!” said he; “don’t worry about your wife: what can be -done shall be. Now listen! Give this letter to Michael Ilariónovich. * -I have written that he should make use of you in proper places and not -keep you long as an adjutant: a bad position! Tell him I remember -and like him. Write and tell me how he receives you. If he is all -right—serve him. Nicholas Bolkónski’s son need not serve under -anyone if he is in disfavor. Now come here.” - - *Kutúzov. - -He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but his son -was accustomed to understand him. He led him to the desk, raised the -lid, drew out a drawer, and took out an exercise book filled with his -bold, tall, close handwriting. - -“I shall probably die before you. So remember, these are my memoirs; -hand them to the Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lombard bond -and a letter; it is a premium for the man who writes a history of -Suvórov’s wars. Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings for -you to read when I am gone. You will find them useful.” - -Andrew did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a long time -yet. He felt that he must not say it. - -“I will do it all, Father,” he said. - -“Well, now, good-by!” He gave his son his hand to kiss, and embraced -him. “Remember this, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurt me, -your old father...” he paused unexpectedly, and then in a querulous -voice suddenly shrieked: “but if I hear that you have not behaved like -a son of Nicholas Bolkónski, I shall be ashamed!” - -“You need not have said that to me, Father,” said the son with a -smile. - -The old man was silent. - -“I also wanted to ask you,” continued Prince Andrew, “if I’m -killed and if I have a son, do not let him be taken away from you—as I -said yesterday... let him grow up with you.... Please.” - -“Not let the wife have him?” said the old man, and laughed. - -They stood silent, facing one another. The old man’s sharp eyes were -fixed straight on his son’s. Something twitched in the lower part of -the old prince’s face. - -“We’ve said good-by. Go!” he suddenly shouted in a loud, angry -voice, opening his door. - -“What is it? What?” asked both princesses when they saw for a moment -at the door Prince Andrew and the figure of the old man in a white -dressing gown, spectacled and wigless, shouting in an angry voice. - -Prince Andrew sighed and made no reply. - -“Well!” he said, turning to his wife. - -And this “Well!” sounded coldly ironic, as if he were saying: “Now -go through your performance.” - -“Andrew, already!” said the little princess, turning pale and -looking with dismay at her husband. - -He embraced her. She screamed and fell unconscious on his shoulder. - -He cautiously released the shoulder she leaned on, looked into her face, -and carefully placed her in an easy chair. - -“Adieu, Mary,” said he gently to his sister, taking her by the hand -and kissing her, and then he left the room with rapid steps. - -The little princess lay in the armchair, Mademoiselle Bourienne chafing -her temples. Princess Mary, supporting her sister-in-law, still looked -with her beautiful eyes full of tears at the door through which Prince -Andrew had gone and made the sign of the cross in his direction. From -the study, like pistol shots, came the frequent sound of the old man -angrily blowing his nose. Hardly had Prince Andrew gone when the study -door opened quickly and the stern figure of the old man in the white -dressing gown looked out. - -“Gone? That’s all right!” said he; and looking angrily at the -unconscious little princess, he shook his head reprovingly and slammed -the door. - - - - - -BOOK TWO: 1805 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -In October, 1805, a Russian army was occupying the villages and towns of -the Archduchy of Austria, and yet other regiments freshly arriving from -Russia were settling near the fortress of Braunau and burdening the -inhabitants on whom they were quartered. Braunau was the headquarters of -the commander in chief, Kutúzov. - -On October 11, 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had just reached -Braunau had halted half a mile from the town, waiting to be inspected -by the commander in chief. Despite the un-Russian appearance of the -locality and surroundings—fruit gardens, stone fences, tiled roofs, -and hills in the distance—and despite the fact that the inhabitants -(who gazed with curiosity at the soldiers) were not Russians, the -regiment had just the appearance of any Russian regiment preparing for -an inspection anywhere in the heart of Russia. - -On the evening of the last day’s march an order had been received that -the commander in chief would inspect the regiment on the march. Though -the words of the order were not clear to the regimental commander, and -the question arose whether the troops were to be in marching order or -not, it was decided at a consultation between the battalion commanders -to present the regiment in parade order, on the principle that it is -always better to “bow too low than not bow low enough.” So the -soldiers, after a twenty-mile march, were kept mending and cleaning all -night long without closing their eyes, while the adjutants and -company commanders calculated and reckoned, and by morning the -regiment—instead of the straggling, disorderly crowd it had been on -its last march the day before—presented a well-ordered array of two -thousand men each of whom knew his place and his duty, had every button -and every strap in place, and shone with cleanliness. And not only -externally was all in order, but had it pleased the commander in chief -to look under the uniforms he would have found on every man a clean -shirt, and in every knapsack the appointed number of articles, “awl, -soap, and all,” as the soldiers say. There was only one circumstance -concerning which no one could be at ease. It was the state of the -soldiers’ boots. More than half the men’s boots were in holes. But -this defect was not due to any fault of the regimental commander, for -in spite of repeated demands boots had not been issued by the Austrian -commissariat, and the regiment had marched some seven hundred miles. - -The commander of the regiment was an elderly, choleric, stout, and -thick-set general with grizzled eyebrows and whiskers, and wider from -chest to back than across the shoulders. He had on a brand-new uniform -showing the creases where it had been folded and thick gold epaulettes -which seemed to stand rather than lie down on his massive shoulders. He -had the air of a man happily performing one of the most solemn duties of -his life. He walked about in front of the line and at every step pulled -himself up, slightly arching his back. It was plain that the commander -admired his regiment, rejoiced in it, and that his whole mind was -engrossed by it, yet his strut seemed to indicate that, besides military -matters, social interests and the fair sex occupied no small part of his -thoughts. - -“Well, Michael Mítrich, sir?” he said, addressing one of the -battalion commanders who smilingly pressed forward (it was plain that -they both felt happy). “We had our hands full last night. However, I -think the regiment is not a bad one, eh?” - -The battalion commander perceived the jovial irony and laughed. - -“It would not be turned off the field even on the Tsarítsin -Meadow.” - -“What?” asked the commander. - -At that moment, on the road from the town on which signalers had been -posted, two men appeared on horse back. They were an aide-de-camp -followed by a Cossack. - -The aide-de-camp was sent to confirm the order which had not been -clearly worded the day before, namely, that the commander in chief -wished to see the regiment just in the state in which it had been on -the march: in their greatcoats, and packs, and without any preparation -whatever. - -A member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had come to Kutúzov the day -before with proposals and demands for him to join up with the army of -the Archduke Ferdinand and Mack, and Kutúzov, not considering this -junction advisable, meant, among other arguments in support of his view, -to show the Austrian general the wretched state in which the troops -arrived from Russia. With this object he intended to meet the regiment; -so the worse the condition it was in, the better pleased the commander -in chief would be. Though the aide-de-camp did not know these -circumstances, he nevertheless delivered the definite order that the -men should be in their greatcoats and in marching order, and that the -commander in chief would otherwise be dissatisfied. On hearing this the -regimental commander hung his head, silently shrugged his shoulders, and -spread out his arms with a choleric gesture. - -“A fine mess we’ve made of it!” he remarked. - -“There now! Didn’t I tell you, Michael Mítrich, that if it was said -‘on the march’ it meant in greatcoats?” said he reproachfully to -the battalion commander. “Oh, my God!” he added, stepping resolutely -forward. “Company commanders!” he shouted in a voice accustomed to -command. “Sergeants major!... How soon will he be here?” he asked -the aide-de-camp with a respectful politeness evidently relating to the -personage he was referring to. - -“In an hour’s time, I should say.” - -“Shall we have time to change clothes?” - -“I don’t know, General....” - -The regimental commander, going up to the line himself, ordered the -soldiers to change into their greatcoats. The company commanders ran off -to their companies, the sergeants major began bustling (the greatcoats -were not in very good condition), and instantly the squares that had up -to then been in regular order and silent began to sway and stretch and -hum with voices. On all sides soldiers were running to and fro, throwing -up their knapsacks with a jerk of their shoulders and pulling the straps -over their heads, unstrapping their overcoats and drawing the sleeves on -with upraised arms. - -In half an hour all was again in order, only the squares had become gray -instead of black. The regimental commander walked with his jerky steps -to the front of the regiment and examined it from a distance. - -“Whatever is this? This!” he shouted and stood still. “Commander -of the third company!” - -“Commander of the third company wanted by the general!... commander to -the general... third company to the commander.” The words passed along -the lines and an adjutant ran to look for the missing officer. - -When the eager but misrepeated words had reached their destination in -a cry of: “The general to the third company,” the missing officer -appeared from behind his company and, though he was a middle-aged man -and not in the habit of running, trotted awkwardly stumbling on his -toes toward the general. The captain’s face showed the uneasiness of -a schoolboy who is told to repeat a lesson he has not learned. Spots -appeared on his nose, the redness of which was evidently due to -intemperance, and his mouth twitched nervously. The general looked the -captain up and down as he came up panting, slackening his pace as he -approached. - -“You will soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What is this?” -shouted the regimental commander, thrusting forward his jaw and pointing -at a soldier in the ranks of the third company in a greatcoat of bluish -cloth, which contrasted with the others. “What have you been after? -The commander in chief is expected and you leave your place? Eh? I’ll -teach you to dress the men in fancy coats for a parade.... Eh...?” - -The commander of the company, with his eyes fixed on his superior, -pressed two fingers more and more rigidly to his cap, as if in this -pressure lay his only hope of salvation. - -“Well, why don’t you speak? Whom have you got there dressed up as a -Hungarian?” said the commander with an austere gibe. - -“Your excellency...” - -“Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But what about your -excellency?... nobody knows.” - -“Your excellency, it’s the officer Dólokhov, who has been reduced -to the ranks,” said the captain softly. - -“Well? Has he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a soldier? -If a soldier, he should be dressed in regulation uniform like the -others.” - -“Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself, on the march.” - -“Gave him leave? Leave? That’s just like you young men,” said the -regimental commander cooling down a little. “Leave indeed.... One says -a word to you and you... What?” he added with renewed irritation, “I -beg you to dress your men decently.” - -And the commander, turning to look at the adjutant, directed his jerky -steps down the line. He was evidently pleased at his own display of -anger and walking up to the regiment wished to find a further excuse for -wrath. Having snapped at an officer for an unpolished badge, at another -because his line was not straight, he reached the third company. - -“H-o-o-w are you standing? Where’s your leg? Your leg?” shouted -the commander with a tone of suffering in his voice, while there were -still five men between him and Dólokhov with his bluish-gray uniform. - -Dólokhov slowly straightened his bent knee, looking straight with his -clear, insolent eyes in the general’s face. - -“Why a blue coat? Off with it... Sergeant major! Change his coat... -the ras...” he did not finish. - -“General, I must obey orders, but I am not bound to endure...” -Dólokhov hurriedly interrupted. - -“No talking in the ranks!... No talking, no talking!” - -“Not bound to endure insults,” Dólokhov concluded in loud, ringing -tones. - -The eyes of the general and the soldier met. The general became silent, -angrily pulling down his tight scarf. - -“I request you to have the goodness to change your coat,” he said as -he turned away. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -“He’s coming!” shouted the signaler at that moment. - -The regimental commander, flushing, ran to his horse, seized the stirrup -with trembling hands, threw his body across the saddle, righted himself, -drew his saber, and with a happy and resolute countenance, opening -his mouth awry, prepared to shout. The regiment fluttered like a bird -preening its plumage and became motionless. - -“Att-ention!” shouted the regimental commander in a soul-shaking -voice which expressed joy for himself, severity for the regiment, and -welcome for the approaching chief. - -Along the broad country road, edged on both sides by trees, came a high, -light blue Viennese calèche, slightly creaking on its springs and drawn -by six horses at a smart trot. Behind the calèche galloped the suite -and a convoy of Croats. Beside Kutúzov sat an Austrian general, in -a white uniform that looked strange among the Russian black ones. The -calèche stopped in front of the regiment. Kutúzov and the Austrian -general were talking in low voices and Kutúzov smiled slightly as -treading heavily he stepped down from the carriage just as if those two -thousand men breathlessly gazing at him and the regimental commander did -not exist. - -The word of command rang out, and again the regiment quivered, as with a -jingling sound it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silence the -feeble voice of the commander in chief was heard. The regiment roared, -“Health to your ex... len... len... lency!” and again all became -silent. At first Kutúzov stood still while the regiment moved; then he -and the general in white, accompanied by the suite, walked between the -ranks. - -From the way the regimental commander saluted the commander in chief and -devoured him with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, and from -the way he walked through the ranks behind the generals, bending forward -and hardly able to restrain his jerky movements, and from the way he -darted forward at every word or gesture of the commander in chief, -it was evident that he performed his duty as a subordinate with even -greater zeal than his duty as a commander. Thanks to the strictness and -assiduity of its commander the regiment, in comparison with others that -had reached Braunau at the same time, was in splendid condition. There -were only 217 sick and stragglers. Everything was in good order except -the boots. - -Kutúzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a few -friendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, sometimes -also to the soldiers. Looking at their boots he several times shook his -head sadly, pointing them out to the Austrian general with an expression -which seemed to say that he was not blaming anyone, but could not help -noticing what a bad state of things it was. The regimental commander -ran forward on each such occasion, fearing to miss a single word of the -commander in chief’s regarding the regiment. Behind Kutúzov, at a -distance that allowed every softly spoken word to be heard, followed -some twenty men of his suite. These gentlemen talked among themselves -and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the commander in chief walked -a handsome adjutant. This was Prince Bolkónski. Beside him was his -comrade Nesvítski, a tall staff officer, extremely stout, with a -kindly, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes. Nesvítski could hardly -keep from laughter provoked by a swarthy hussar officer who walked -beside him. This hussar, with a grave face and without a smile or a -change in the expression of his fixed eyes, watched the regimental -commander’s back and mimicked his every movement. Each time the -commander started and bent forward, the hussar started and bent forward -in exactly the same manner. Nesvítski laughed and nudged the others to -make them look at the wag. - -Kutúzov walked slowly and languidly past thousands of eyes which were -starting from their sockets to watch their chief. On reaching the -third company he suddenly stopped. His suite, not having expected this, -involuntarily came closer to him. - -“Ah, Timókhin!” said he, recognizing the red-nosed captain who had -been reprimanded on account of the blue greatcoat. - -One would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himself -more than Timókhin had done when he was reprimanded by the regimental -commander, but now that the commander in chief addressed him he drew -himself up to such an extent that it seemed he could not have sustained -it had the commander in chief continued to look at him, and so Kutúzov, -who evidently understood his case and wished him nothing but good, -quickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smile flitting over his -scarred and puffy face. - -“Another Ismail comrade,” said he. “A brave officer! Are you -satisfied with him?” he asked the regimental commander. - -And the latter—unconscious that he was being reflected in the hussar -officer as in a looking glass—started, moved forward, and answered: -“Highly satisfied, your excellency!” - -“We all have our weaknesses,” said Kutúzov smiling and walking away -from him. “He used to have a predilection for Bacchus.” - -The regimental commander was afraid he might be blamed for this and did -not answer. The hussar at that moment noticed the face of the red-nosed -captain and his drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his expression and pose -with such exactitude that Nesvítski could not help laughing. Kutúzov -turned round. The officer evidently had complete control of his face, -and while Kutúzov was turning managed to make a grimace and then assume -a most serious, deferential, and innocent expression. - -The third company was the last, and Kutúzov pondered, apparently trying -to recollect something. Prince Andrew stepped forward from among the -suite and said in French: - -“You told me to remind you of the officer Dólokhov, reduced to the -ranks in this regiment.” - -“Where is Dólokhov?” asked Kutúzov. - -Dólokhov, who had already changed into a soldier’s gray greatcoat, -did not wait to be called. The shapely figure of the fair-haired -soldier, with his clear blue eyes, stepped forward from the ranks, went -up to the commander in chief, and presented arms. - -“Have you a complaint to make?” Kutúzov asked with a slight frown. - -“This is Dólokhov,” said Prince Andrew. - -“Ah!” said Kutúzov. “I hope this will be a lesson to you. Do your -duty. The Emperor is gracious, and I shan’t forget you if you deserve -well.” - -The clear blue eyes looked at the commander in chief just as boldly as -they had looked at the regimental commander, seeming by their expression -to tear open the veil of convention that separates a commander in chief -so widely from a private. - -“One thing I ask of your excellency,” Dólokhov said in his firm, -ringing, deliberate voice. “I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault -and prove my devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!” - -Kutúzov turned away. The same smile of the eyes with which he had -turned from Captain Timókhin again flitted over his face. He turned -away with a grimace as if to say that everything Dólokhov had said to -him and everything he could say had long been known to him, that he was -weary of it and it was not at all what he wanted. He turned away and -went to the carriage. - -The regiment broke up into companies, which went to their appointed -quarters near Braunau, where they hoped to receive boots and clothes and -to rest after their hard marches. - -“You won’t bear me a grudge, Prokhór Ignátych?” said the -regimental commander, overtaking the third company on its way to its -quarters and riding up to Captain Timókhin who was walking in front. -(The regimental commander’s face now that the inspection was happily -over beamed with irrepressible delight.) “It’s in the Emperor’s -service... it can’t be helped... one is sometimes a bit hasty on -parade... I am the first to apologize, you know me!... He was very -pleased!” And he held out his hand to the captain. - -“Don’t mention it, General, as if I’d be so bold!” replied the -captain, his nose growing redder as he gave a smile which showed where -two front teeth were missing that had been knocked out by the butt end -of a gun at Ismail. - -“And tell Mr. Dólokhov that I won’t forget him—he may be quite -easy. And tell me, please—I’ve been meaning to ask—how is he -behaving himself, and in general...” - -“As far as the service goes he is quite punctilious, your excellency; -but his character...” said Timókhin. - -“And what about his character?” asked the regimental commander. - -“It’s different on different days,” answered the captain. “One -day he is sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next he’s -a wild beast.... In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a Jew.” - -“Oh, well, well!” remarked the regimental commander. “Still, one -must have pity on a young man in misfortune. You know he has important -connections... Well, then, you just...” - -“I will, your excellency,” said Timókhin, showing by his smile that -he understood his commander’s wish. - -“Well, of course, of course!” - -The regimental commander sought out Dólokhov in the ranks and, reining -in his horse, said to him: - -“After the next affair... epaulettes.” - -Dólokhov looked round but did not say anything, nor did the mocking -smile on his lips change. - -“Well, that’s all right,” continued the regimental commander. “A -cup of vodka for the men from me,” he added so that the soldiers -could hear. “I thank you all! God be praised!” and he rode past that -company and overtook the next one. - -“Well, he’s really a good fellow, one can serve under him,” said -Timókhin to the subaltern beside him. - -“In a word, a hearty one...” said the subaltern, laughing (the -regimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts). - -The cheerful mood of their officers after the inspection infected the -soldiers. The company marched on gaily. The soldiers’ voices could be -heard on every side. - -“And they said Kutúzov was blind of one eye?” - -“And so he is! Quite blind!” - -“No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you are. Boots and leg bands... -he noticed everything...” - -“When he looked at my feet, friend... well, thinks I...” - -“And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he were -smeared with chalk—as white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as -they do the guns.” - -“I say, Fédeshon!... Did he say when the battles are to begin? You -were near him. Everybody said that Buonaparte himself was at Braunau.” - -“Buonaparte himself!... Just listen to the fool, what he doesn’t -know! The Prussians are up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are -putting them down. When they’ve been put down, the war with Buonaparte -will begin. And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau! Shows you’re a fool. -You’d better listen more carefully!” - -“What devils these quartermasters are! See, the fifth company is -turning into the village already... they will have their buckwheat -cooked before we reach our quarters.” - -“Give me a biscuit, you devil!” - -“And did you give me tobacco yesterday? That’s just it, friend! Ah, -well, never mind, here you are.” - -“They might call a halt here or we’ll have to do another four miles -without eating.” - -“Wasn’t it fine when those Germans gave us lifts! You just sit still -and are drawn along.” - -“And here, friend, the people are quite beggarly. There they all -seemed to be Poles—all under the Russian crown—but here they’re -all regular Germans.” - -“Singers to the front” came the captain’s order. - -And from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. A -drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing -his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers’ song, commencing with the -words: “Morning dawned, the sun was rising,” and concluding: “On -then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kámenski.” This song had -been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria, the -only change being that the words “Father Kámenski” were replaced by -“Father Kutúzov.” - -Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his arms -as if flinging something to the ground, the drummer—a lean, handsome -soldier of forty—looked sternly at the singers and screwed up his -eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him, -he raised both arms as if carefully lifting some invisible but precious -object above his head and, holding it there for some seconds, suddenly -flung it down and began: - -“Oh, my bower, oh, my bower...!” - -“Oh, my bower new...!” chimed in twenty voices, and the castanet -player, in spite of the burden of his equipment, rushed out to the front -and, walking backwards before the company, jerked his shoulders and -flourished his castanets as if threatening someone. The soldiers, -swinging their arms and keeping time spontaneously, marched with long -steps. Behind the company the sound of wheels, the creaking of springs, -and the tramp of horses’ hoofs were heard. Kutúzov and his suite were -returning to the town. The commander in chief made a sign that the -men should continue to march at ease, and he and all his suite showed -pleasure at the sound of the singing and the sight of the dancing -soldier and the gay and smartly marching men. In the second file -from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed the company, -a blue-eyed soldier involuntarily attracted notice. It was Dólokhov -marching with particular grace and boldness in time to the song and -looking at those driving past as if he pitied all who were not at that -moment marching with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutúzov’s -suite who had mimicked the regimental commander, fell back from the -carriage and rode up to Dólokhov. - -Hussar cornet Zherkóv had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged to -the wild set led by Dólokhov. Zherkóv had met Dólokhov abroad as a -private and had not seen fit to recognize him. But now that Kutúzov had -spoken to the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the cordiality of -an old friend. - -“My dear fellow, how are you?” said he through the singing, making -his horse keep pace with the company. - -“How am I?” Dólokhov answered coldly. “I am as you see.” - -The lively song gave a special flavor to the tone of free and easy -gaiety with which Zherkóv spoke, and to the intentional coldness of -Dólokhov’s reply. - -“And how do you get on with the officers?” inquired Zherkóv. - -“All right. They are good fellows. And how have you wriggled onto the -staff?” - -“I was attached; I’m on duty.” - -Both were silent. - -“She let the hawk fly upward from her wide right sleeve,” went the -song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness. -Their conversation would probably have been different but for the effect -of that song. - -“Is it true that Austrians have been beaten?” asked Dólokhov. - -“The devil only knows! They say so.” - -“I’m glad,” answered Dólokhov briefly and clearly, as the song -demanded. - -“I say, come round some evening and we’ll have a game of faro!” -said Zherkóv. - -“Why, have you too much money?” - -“Do come.” - -“I can’t. I’ve sworn not to. I won’t drink and won’t play till -I get reinstated.” - -“Well, that’s only till the first engagement.” - -“We shall see.” - -They were again silent. - -“Come if you need anything. One can at least be of use on the -staff...” - -Dólokhov smiled. “Don’t trouble. If I want anything, I won’t -beg—I’ll take it!” - -“Well, never mind; I only...” - -“And I only...” - -“Good-by.” - -“Good health...” - - “It’s a long, long way. - To my native land...” - - -Zherkóv touched his horse with the spurs; it pranced excitedly from -foot to foot uncertain with which to start, then settled down, galloped -past the company, and overtook the carriage, still keeping time to the -song. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -On returning from the review, Kutúzov took the Austrian general into -his private room and, calling his adjutant, asked for some papers -relating to the condition of the troops on their arrival, and the -letters that had come from the Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of -the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolkónski came into the room with the -required papers. Kutúzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath -were sitting at the table on which a plan was spread out. - -“Ah!...” said Kutúzov glancing at Bolkónski as if by this -exclamation he was asking the adjutant to wait, and he went on with the -conversation in French. - -“All I can say, General,” said he with a pleasant elegance -of expression and intonation that obliged one to listen to each -deliberately spoken word. It was evident that Kutúzov himself listened -with pleasure to his own voice. “All I can say, General, is that if -the matter depended on my personal wishes, the will of His Majesty the -Emperor Francis would have been fulfilled long ago. I should long -ago have joined the archduke. And believe me on my honour that to me -personally it would be a pleasure to hand over the supreme command -of the army into the hands of a better informed and more skillful -general—of whom Austria has so many—and to lay down all this heavy -responsibility. But circumstances are sometimes too strong for us, -General.” - -And Kutúzov smiled in a way that seemed to say, “You are quite at -liberty not to believe me and I don’t even care whether you do or -not, but you have no grounds for telling me so. And that is the whole -point.” - -The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but had no option but to reply -in the same tone. - -“On the contrary,” he said, in a querulous and angry tone that -contrasted with his flattering words, “on the contrary, your -excellency’s participation in the common action is highly valued by -His Majesty; but we think the present delay is depriving the splendid -Russian troops and their commander of the laurels they have been -accustomed to win in their battles,” he concluded his evidently -prearranged sentence. - -Kutúzov bowed with the same smile. - -“But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter with which -His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imagine that the -Austrian troops, under the direction of so skillful a leader as General -Mack, have by now already gained a decisive victory and no longer need -our aid,” said Kutúzov. - -The general frowned. Though there was no definite news of an Austrian -defeat, there were many circumstances confirming the unfavorable rumors -that were afloat, and so Kutúzov’s suggestion of an Austrian victory -sounded much like irony. But Kutúzov went on blandly smiling with the -same expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose -so. And, in fact, the last letter he had received from Mack’s army -informed him of a victory and stated strategically the position of the -army was very favorable. - -“Give me that letter,” said Kutúzov turning to Prince Andrew. -“Please have a look at it”—and Kutúzov with an ironical smile -about the corners of his mouth read to the Austrian general the -following passage, in German, from the Archduke Ferdinand’s letter: - -We have fully concentrated forces of nearly seventy thousand men with -which to attack and defeat the enemy should he cross the Lech. Also, -as we are masters of Ulm, we cannot be deprived of the advantage of -commanding both sides of the Danube, so that should the enemy not -cross the Lech, we can cross the Danube, throw ourselves on his line -of communications, recross the river lower down, and frustrate his -intention should he try to direct his whole force against our faithful -ally. We shall therefore confidently await the moment when the Imperial -Russian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, in conjunction with -it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy the fate he deserves. - -Kutúzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked at the -member of the Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively. - -“But you know the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expect -the worst,” said the Austrian general, evidently wishing to have done -with jests and to come to business. He involuntarily looked round at the -aide-de-camp. - -“Excuse me, General,” interrupted Kutúzov, also turning to Prince -Andrew. “Look here, my dear fellow, get from Kozlóvski all the -reports from our scouts. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and -here is one from His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are -these,” he said, handing him several papers, “make a neat memorandum -in French out of all this, showing all the news we have had of the -movements of the Austrian army, and then give it to his excellency.” - -Prince Andrew bowed his head in token of having understood from the -first not only what had been said but also what Kutúzov would have -liked to tell him. He gathered up the papers and with a bow to both, -stepped softly over the carpet and went out into the waiting room. - -Though not much time had passed since Prince Andrew had left Russia, he -had changed greatly during that period. In the expression of his face, -in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his former -affected languor and indolence. He now looked like a man who has time -to think of the impression he makes on others, but is occupied with -agreeable and interesting work. His face expressed more satisfaction -with himself and those around him, his smile and glance were brighter -and more attractive. - -Kutúzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very kindly, -promised not to forget him, distinguished him above the other adjutants, -and had taken him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions. -From Vienna Kutúzov wrote to his old comrade, Prince Andrew’s father. - -Your son bids fair to become an officer distinguished by his industry, -firmness, and expedition. I consider myself fortunate to have such a -subordinate by me. - -On Kutúzov’s staff, among his fellow officers and in the army -generally, Prince Andrew had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two -quite opposite reputations. Some, a minority, acknowledged him to be -different from themselves and from everyone else, expected great things -of him, listened to him, admired, and imitated him, and with them Prince -Andrew was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority, disliked him and -considered him conceited, cold, and disagreeable. But among these people -Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so that they respected and even -feared him. - -Coming out of Kutúzov’s room into the waiting room with the papers in -his hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the aide-de-camp on duty, -Kozlóvski, who was sitting at the window with a book. - -“Well, Prince?” asked Kozlóvski. - -“I am ordered to write a memorandum explaining why we are not -advancing.” - -“And why is it?” - -Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders. - -“Any news from Mack?” - -“No.” - -“If it were true that he has been beaten, news would have come.” - -“Probably,” said Prince Andrew moving toward the outer door. - -But at that instant a tall Austrian general in a greatcoat, with the -order of Maria Theresa on his neck and a black bandage round his head, -who had evidently just arrived, entered quickly, slamming the door. -Prince Andrew stopped short. - -“Commander in Chief Kutúzov?” said the newly arrived general -speaking quickly with a harsh German accent, looking to both sides and -advancing straight toward the inner door. - -“The commander in chief is engaged,” said Kozlóvski, going -hurriedly up to the unknown general and blocking his way to the door. -“Whom shall I announce?” - -The unknown general looked disdainfully down at Kozlóvski, who was -rather short, as if surprised that anyone should not know him. - -“The commander in chief is engaged,” repeated Kozlóvski calmly. - -The general’s face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled. He took -out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the -leaf, gave it to Kozlóvski, stepped quickly to the window, and threw -himself into a chair, gazing at those in the room as if asking, “Why -do they look at me?” Then he lifted his head, stretched his neck as -if he intended to say something, but immediately, with affected -indifference, began to hum to himself, producing a queer sound which -immediately broke off. The door of the private room opened and Kutúzov -appeared in the doorway. The general with the bandaged head bent forward -as though running away from some danger, and, making long, quick strides -with his thin legs, went up to Kutúzov. - -“Vous voyez le malheureux Mack,” he uttered in a broken voice. - -Kutúzov’s face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectly -immobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like a wave -and his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head respectfully, -closed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room before him, and closed -the door himself behind him. - -The report which had been circulated that the Austrians had been beaten -and that the whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to be correct. -Within half an hour adjutants had been sent in various directions with -orders which showed that the Russian troops, who had hitherto been -inactive, would also soon have to meet the enemy. - -Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chief interest -lay in the general progress of the war. When he saw Mack and heard the -details of his disaster he understood that half the campaign was lost, -understood all the difficulties of the Russian army’s position, and -vividly imagined what awaited it and the part he would have to -play. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at the thought of the -humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week’s time he might, -perhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with the -French since Suvórov met them. He feared that Bonaparte’s genius -might outweigh all the courage of the Russian troops, and at the same -time could not admit the idea of his hero being disgraced. - -Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his -room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor -he met Nesvítski, with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkóv; -they were as usual laughing. - -“Why are you so glum?” asked Nesvítski noticing Prince Andrew’s -pale face and glittering eyes. - -“There’s nothing to be gay about,” answered Bolkónski. - -Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvítski and Zherkóv, there came toward -them from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian general -who on Kutúzov’s staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian -army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived the previous -evening. There was room enough in the wide corridor for the generals to -pass the three officers quite easily, but Zherkóv, pushing Nesvítski -aside with his arm, said in a breathless voice, - -“They’re coming!... they’re coming!... Stand aside, make way, -please make way!” - -The generals were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid -embarrassing attentions. On the face of the wag Zherkóv there suddenly -appeared a stupid smile of glee which he seemed unable to suppress. - -“Your excellency,” said he in German, stepping forward and -addressing the Austrian general, “I have the honor to congratulate -you.” - -He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the -other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson. - -The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing the -seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moment’s -attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was listening. - -“I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite -well, only a little bruised just here,” he added, pointing with a -beaming smile to his head. - -The general frowned, turned away, and went on. - -“Gott, wie naiv!” * said he angrily, after he had gone a few steps. - - * “Good God, what simplicity!” - - -Nesvítski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but -Bolkónski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and -turned to Zherkóv. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance -of Mack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before the -Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkóv’s untimely jest. - -“If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself,” he said -sharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, “I can’t prevent -your doing so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my -presence, I will teach you to behave yourself.” - -Nesvítski and Zherkóv were so surprised by this outburst that they -gazed at Bolkónski silently with wide-open eyes. - -“What’s the matter? I only congratulated them,” said Zherkóv. - -“I am not jesting with you; please be silent!” cried Bolkónski, -and taking Nesvítski’s arm he left Zherkóv, who did not know what to -say. - -“Come, what’s the matter, old fellow?” said Nesvítski trying to -soothe him. - -“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in -his excitement. “Don’t you understand that either we are officers -serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and -grieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely -lackeys who care nothing for their master’s business. Quarante mille -hommes massacrés et l’armée de nos alliés détruite, et vous -trouvez là le mot pour rire,” * he said, as if strengthening his -views by this French sentence. “C’est bien pour un garçon de rien -comme cet individu dont vous avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas -pour vous. *(2) Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himself in this -way,” he added in Russian—but pronouncing the word with a French -accent—having noticed that Zherkóv could still hear him. - - * “Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies - destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!” - - * (2) “It is all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow - of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for - you.” - - -He waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned -and went out of the corridor. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -The Pávlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. The -squadron in which Nicholas Rostóv served as a cadet was quartered in -the German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village were -assigned to cavalry-captain Denísov, the squadron commander, known -throughout the whole cavalry division as Váska Denísov. Cadet Rostóv, -ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the -squadron commander. - -On October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over the news -of Mack’s defeat, the camp life of the officers of this squadron was -proceeding as usual. Denísov, who had been losing at cards all night, -had not yet come home when Rostóv rode back early in the morning from -a foraging expedition. Rostóv in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his -horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple -youthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to -part from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his orderly. - -“Ah, Bondarénko, dear friend!” said he to the hussar who rushed up -headlong to the horse. “Walk him up and down, my dear fellow,” he -continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted young -people show to everyone when they are happy. - -“Yes, your excellency,” answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his -head. - -“Mind, walk him up and down well!” - -Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarénko had already -thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horse’s head. It was -evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid to -serve him. Rostóv patted the horse’s neck and then his flank, and -lingered for a moment. - -“Splendid! What a horse he will be!” he thought with a smile, and -holding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of the -porch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in -hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face -immediately brightened on seeing Rostóv. “Schön gut Morgen! Schön -gut Morgen!” * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased -to greet the young man. - - * “A very good morning! A very good morning!” - - -“Schon fleissig?” * said Rostóv with the same gay brotherly smile -which did not leave his eager face. “Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! -Kaiser Alexander hoch!” *(2) said he, quoting words often repeated by -the German landlord. - - * “Busy already?” - - * (2) “Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians! - Hurrah for Emperor Alexander!” - - -The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and -waving it above his head cried: - -“Und die ganze Welt hoch!” * - - * “And hurrah for the whole world!” - - -Rostóv waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing, -“Und vivat die ganze Welt!” Though neither the German cleaning his -cowshed nor Rostóv back with his platoon from foraging for hay had any -reason for rejoicing, they looked at each other with joyful delight and -brotherly love, wagged their heads in token of their mutual affection, -and parted smiling, the German returning to his cowshed and Rostóv -going to the cottage he occupied with Denísov. - -“What about your master?” he asked Lavrúshka, Denísov’s orderly, -whom all the regiment knew for a rogue. - -“Hasn’t been in since the evening. Must have been losing,” -answered Lavrúshka. “I know by now, if he wins he comes back early to -brag about it, but if he stays out till morning it means he’s lost and -will come back in a rage. Will you have coffee?” - -“Yes, bring some.” - -Ten minutes later Lavrúshka brought the coffee. “He’s coming!” -said he. “Now for trouble!” Rostóv looked out of the window and -saw Denísov coming home. Denísov was a small man with a red face, -sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He wore an -unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases, and a crumpled -shako on the back of his head. He came up to the porch gloomily, hanging -his head. - -“Lavwúska!” he shouted loudly and angrily, “take it off, -blockhead!” - -“Well, I am taking it off,” replied Lavrúshka’s voice. - -“Ah, you’re up already,” said Denísov, entering the room. - -“Long ago,” answered Rostóv, “I have already been for the hay, -and have seen Fräulein Mathilde.” - -“Weally! And I’ve been losing, bwother. I lost yesterday like a -damned fool!” cried Denísov, not pronouncing his r’s. “Such ill -luck! Such ill luck. As soon as you left, it began and went on. Hullo -there! Tea!” - -Puckering up his face though smiling, and showing his short strong -teeth, he began with stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up his thick -tangled black hair. - -“And what devil made me go to that wat?” (an officer nicknamed -“the rat”) he said, rubbing his forehead and whole face with both -hands. “Just fancy, he didn’t let me win a single cahd, not one -cahd.” - -He took the lighted pipe that was offered to him, gripped it in his -fist, and tapped it on the floor, making the sparks fly, while he -continued to shout. - -“He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as one doubles it; -gives the singles and snatches the doubles!” - -He scattered the burning tobacco, smashed the pipe, and threw it away. -Then he remained silent for a while, and all at once looked cheerfully -with his glittering, black eyes at Rostóv. - -“If at least we had some women here; but there’s nothing foh one -to do but dwink. If we could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, who’s -there?” he said, turning to the door as he heard a tread of heavy -boots and the clinking of spurs that came to a stop, and a respectful -cough. - -“The squadron quartermaster!” said Lavrúshka. - -Denísov’s face puckered still more. - -“Wetched!” he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold in it. -“Wostóv, deah fellow, just see how much there is left and shove the -purse undah the pillow,” he said, and went out to the quartermaster. - -Rostóv took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins -in separate piles, began counting them. - -“Ah! Telyánin! How d’ye do? They plucked me last night,” came -Denísov’s voice from the next room. - -“Where? At Bykov’s, at the rat’s... I knew it,” replied a piping -voice, and Lieutenant Telyánin, a small officer of the same squadron, -entered the room. - -Rostóv thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp little hand -which was offered him. Telyánin for some reason had been transferred -from the Guards just before this campaign. He behaved very well in the -regiment but was not liked; Rostóv especially detested him and was -unable to overcome or conceal his groundless antipathy to the man. - -“Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook behaving?” he asked. (Rook -was a young horse Telyánin had sold to Rostóv.) - -The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the -face; his eyes continually wandered from one object to another. - -“I saw you riding this morning...” he added. - -“Oh, he’s all right, a good horse,” answered Rostóv, though the -horse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth half -that sum. “He’s begun to go a little lame on the left foreleg,” he -added. - -“The hoof’s cracked! That’s nothing. I’ll teach you what to do -and show you what kind of rivet to use.” - -“Yes, please do,” said Rostóv. - -“I’ll show you, I’ll show you! It’s not a secret. And it’s a -horse you’ll thank me for.” - -“Then I’ll have it brought round,” said Rostóv wishing to avoid -Telyánin, and he went out to give the order. - -In the passage Denísov, with a pipe, was squatting on the threshold -facing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeing Rostóv, -Denísov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his -thumb to the room where Telyánin was sitting, he frowned and gave a -shudder of disgust. - -“Ugh! I don’t like that fellow,” he said, regardless of the -quartermaster’s presence. - -Rostóv shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: “Nor do I, but -what’s one to do?” and, having given his order, he returned to -Telyánin. - -Telyánin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostóv had -left him, rubbing his small white hands. - -“Well there certainly are disgusting people,” thought Rostóv as he -entered. - -“Have you told them to bring the horse?” asked Telyánin, getting up -and looking carelessly about him. - -“I have.” - -“Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Denísov about -yesterday’s order. Have you got it, Denísov?” - -“Not yet. But where are you off to?” - -“I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse,” said -Telyánin. - -They went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant -explained how to rivet the hoof and went away to his own quarters. - -When Rostóv went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the -table. Denísov was sitting there scratching with his pen on a sheet of -paper. He looked gloomily in Rostóv’s face and said: “I am witing -to her.” - -He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and, -evidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to -write, told Rostóv the contents of his letter. - -“You see, my fwiend,” he said, “we sleep when we don’t love. We -are childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God, one -is pua’ as on the fihst day of cweation... Who’s that now? Send him -to the devil, I’m busy!” he shouted to Lavrúshka, who went up to -him not in the least abashed. - -“Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. It’s the -quartermaster for the money.” - -Denísov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped. - -“Wetched business,” he muttered to himself. “How much is left in -the puhse?” he asked, turning to Rostóv. - -“Seven new and three old imperials.” - -“Oh, it’s wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you -sca’cwow? Call the quahtehmasteh,” he shouted to Lavrúshka. - -“Please, Denísov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know,” -said Rostóv, blushing. - -“Don’t like bowwowing from my own fellows, I don’t,” growled -Denísov. - -“But if you won’t accept money from me like a comrade, you will -offend me. Really I have some,” Rostóv repeated. - -“No, I tell you.” - -And Denísov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow. - -“Where have you put it, Wostóv?” - -“Under the lower pillow.” - -“It’s not there.” - -Denísov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there. - -“That’s a miwacle.” - -“Wait, haven’t you dropped it?” said Rostóv, picking up the -pillows one at a time and shaking them. - -He pulled off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there. - -“Dear me, can I have forgotten? No, I remember thinking that you kept -it under your head like a treasure,” said Rostóv. “I put it just -here. Where is it?” he asked, turning to Lavrúshka. - -“I haven’t been in the room. It must be where you put it.” - -“But it isn’t?...” - -“You’re always like that; you thwow a thing down anywhere and forget -it. Feel in your pockets.” - -“No, if I hadn’t thought of it being a treasure,” said Rostóv, -“but I remember putting it there.” - -Lavrúshka turned all the bedding over, looked under the bed and under -the table, searched everywhere, and stood still in the middle of the -room. Denísov silently watched Lavrúshka’s movements, and when the -latter threw up his arms in surprise saying it was nowhere to be found -Denísov glanced at Rostóv. - -“Wostóv, you’ve not been playing schoolboy twicks...” - -Rostóv felt Denísov’s gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and -instantly dropped them again. All the blood which had seemed congested -somewhere below his throat rushed to his face and eyes. He could not -draw breath. - -“And there hasn’t been anyone in the room except the lieutenant and -yourselves. It must be here somewhere,” said Lavrúshka. - -“Now then, you devil’s puppet, look alive and hunt for it!” -shouted Denísov, suddenly, turning purple and rushing at the man with -a threatening gesture. “If the purse isn’t found I’ll flog you, -I’ll flog you all.” - -Rostóv, his eyes avoiding Denísov, began buttoning his coat, buckled -on his saber, and put on his cap. - -“I must have that purse, I tell you,” shouted Denísov, shaking his -orderly by the shoulders and knocking him against the wall. - -“Denísov, let him alone, I know who has taken it,” said Rostóv, -going toward the door without raising his eyes. Denísov paused, thought -a moment, and, evidently understanding what Rostóv hinted at, seized -his arm. - -“Nonsense!” he cried, and the veins on his forehead and neck stood -out like cords. “You are mad, I tell you. I won’t allow it. -The purse is here! I’ll flay this scoundwel alive, and it will be -found.” - -“I know who has taken it,” repeated Rostóv in an unsteady voice, -and went to the door. - -“And I tell you, don’t you dahe to do it!” shouted Denísov, -rushing at the cadet to restrain him. - -But Rostóv pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as though -Denísov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his -face. - -“Do you understand what you’re saying?” he said in a trembling -voice. “There was no one else in the room except myself. So that if it -is not so, then...” - -He could not finish, and ran out of the room. - -“Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody,” were the last words -Rostóv heard. - -Rostóv went to Telyánin’s quarters. - -“The master is not in, he’s gone to headquarters,” said -Telyánin’s orderly. “Has something happened?” he added, surprised -at the cadet’s troubled face. - -“No, nothing.” - -“You’ve only just missed him,” said the orderly. - -The headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, and -Rostóv, without returning home, took a horse and rode there. There was -an inn in the village which the officers frequented. Rostóv rode up to -it and saw Telyánin’s horse at the porch. - -In the second room of the inn the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of -sausages and a bottle of wine. - -“Ah, you’ve come here too, young man!” he said, smiling and -raising his eyebrows. - -“Yes,” said Rostóv as if it cost him a great deal to utter the -word; and he sat down at the nearest table. - -Both were silent. There were two Germans and a Russian officer in the -room. No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatter of knives -and the munching of the lieutenant. - -When Telyánin had finished his lunch he took out of his pocket a double -purse and, drawing its rings aside with his small, white, turned-up -fingers, drew out a gold imperial, and lifting his eyebrows gave it to -the waiter. - -“Please be quick,” he said. - -The coin was a new one. Rostóv rose and went up to Telyánin. - -“Allow me to look at your purse,” he said in a low, almost -inaudible, voice. - -With shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised, Telyánin handed him the -purse. - -“Yes, it’s a nice purse. Yes, yes,” he said, growing suddenly -pale, and added, “Look at it, young man.” - -Rostóv took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money in it, and -looked at Telyánin. The lieutenant was looking about in his usual way -and suddenly seemed to grow very merry. - -“If we get to Vienna I’ll get rid of it there but in these wretched -little towns there’s nowhere to spend it,” said he. “Well, let me -have it, young man, I’m going.” - -Rostóv did not speak. - -“And you? Are you going to have lunch too? They feed you quite -decently here,” continued Telyánin. “Now then, let me have it.” - -He stretched out his hand to take hold of the purse. Rostóv let go of -it. Telyánin took the purse and began carelessly slipping it into the -pocket of his riding breeches, with his eyebrows lifted and his mouth -slightly open, as if to say, “Yes, yes, I am putting my purse in my -pocket and that’s quite simple and is no one else’s business.” - -“Well, young man?” he said with a sigh, and from under his lifted -brows he glanced into Rostóv’s eyes. - -Some flash as of an electric spark shot from Telyánin’s eyes to -Rostóv’s and back, and back again and again in an instant. - -“Come here,” said Rostóv, catching hold of Telyánin’s arm and -almost dragging him to the window. “That money is Denísov’s; you -took it...” he whispered just above Telyánin’s ear. - -“What? What? How dare you? What?” said Telyánin. - -But these words came like a piteous, despairing cry and an entreaty for -pardon. As soon as Rostóv heard them, an enormous load of doubt -fell from him. He was glad, and at the same instant began to pity the -miserable man who stood before him, but the task he had begun had to be -completed. - -“Heaven only knows what the people here may imagine,” muttered -Telyánin, taking up his cap and moving toward a small empty room. “We -must have an explanation...” - -“I know it and shall prove it,” said Rostóv. - -“I...” - -Every muscle of Telyánin’s pale, terrified face began to quiver, his -eyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising -to Rostóv’s face, and his sobs were audible. - -“Count!... Don’t ruin a young fellow... here is this wretched money, -take it...” He threw it on the table. “I have an old father and -mother!...” - -Rostóv took the money, avoiding Telyánin’s eyes, and went out of the -room without a word. But at the door he stopped and then retraced his -steps. “O God,” he said with tears in his eyes, “how could you do -it?” - -“Count...” said Telyánin drawing nearer to him. - -“Don’t touch me,” said Rostóv, drawing back. “If you need it, -take the money,” and he threw the purse to him and ran out of the inn. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -That same evening there was an animated discussion among the -squadron’s officers in Denísov’s quarters. - -“And I tell you, Rostóv, that you must apologize to the colonel!” -said a tall, grizzly-haired staff captain, with enormous mustaches and -many wrinkles on his large features, to Rostóv who was crimson with -excitement. - -The staff captain, Kírsten, had twice been reduced to the ranks for -affairs of honor and had twice regained his commission. - -“I will allow no one to call me a liar!” cried Rostóv. “He told -me I lied, and I told him he lied. And there it rests. He may keep me -on duty every day, or may place me under arrest, but no one can make -me apologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, thinks it -beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then...” - -“You just wait a moment, my dear fellow, and listen,” interrupted -the staff captain in his deep bass, calmly stroking his long mustache. -“You tell the colonel in the presence of other officers that an -officer has stolen...” - -“I’m not to blame that the conversation began in the presence of -other officers. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken before them, but I am -not a diplomatist. That’s why I joined the hussars, thinking that here -one would not need finesse; and he tells me that I am lying—so let him -give me satisfaction...” - -“That’s all right. No one thinks you a coward, but that’s not the -point. Ask Denísov whether it is not out of the question for a cadet to -demand satisfaction of his regimental commander?” - -Denísov sat gloomily biting his mustache and listening to the -conversation, evidently with no wish to take part in it. He answered the -staff captain’s question by a disapproving shake of his head. - -“You speak to the colonel about this nasty business before other -officers,” continued the staff captain, “and Bogdánich” (the -colonel was called Bogdánich) “shuts you up.” - -“He did not shut me up, he said I was telling an untruth.” - -“Well, have it so, and you talked a lot of nonsense to him and must -apologize.” - -“Not on any account!” exclaimed Rostóv. - -“I did not expect this of you,” said the staff captain seriously and -severely. “You don’t wish to apologize, but, man, it’s not only to -him but to the whole regiment—all of us—you’re to blame all round. -The case is this: you ought to have thought the matter over and -taken advice; but no, you go and blurt it all straight out before the -officers. Now what was the colonel to do? Have the officer tried and -disgrace the whole regiment? Disgrace the whole regiment because of one -scoundrel? Is that how you look at it? We don’t see it like that. And -Bogdánich was a brick: he told you you were saying what was not true. -It’s not pleasant, but what’s to be done, my dear fellow? You landed -yourself in it. And now, when one wants to smooth the thing over, some -conceit prevents your apologizing, and you wish to make the whole -affair public. You are offended at being put on duty a bit, but why not -apologize to an old and honorable officer? Whatever Bogdánich may -be, anyway he is an honorable and brave old colonel! You’re quick at -taking offense, but you don’t mind disgracing the whole regiment!” -The staff captain’s voice began to tremble. “You have been in the -regiment next to no time, my lad, you’re here today and tomorrow -you’ll be appointed adjutant somewhere and can snap your fingers when -it is said ‘There are thieves among the Pávlograd officers!’ But -it’s not all the same to us! Am I not right, Denísov? It’s not the -same!” - -Denísov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked with -his glittering black eyes at Rostóv. - -“You value your own pride and don’t wish to apologize,” continued -the staff captain, “but we old fellows, who have grown up in and, God -willing, are going to die in the regiment, we prize the honor of the -regiment, and Bogdánich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fellow! And -all this is not right, it’s not right! You may take offense or not but -I always stick to mother truth. It’s not right!” - -And the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostóv. - -“That’s twue, devil take it!” shouted Denísov, jumping up. “Now -then, Wostóv, now then!” - -Rostóv, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer -and then at the other. - -“No, gentlemen, no... you mustn’t think... I quite understand. -You’re wrong to think that of me... I... for me... for the honor of -the regiment I’d... Ah well, I’ll show that in action, and for me -the honor of the flag... Well, never mind, it’s true I’m to blame, -to blame all round. Well, what else do you want?...” - -“Come, that’s right, Count!” cried the staff captain, turning -round and clapping Rostóv on the shoulder with his big hand. - -“I tell you,” shouted Denísov, “he’s a fine fellow.” - -“That’s better, Count,” said the staff captain, beginning to -address Rostóv by his title, as if in recognition of his confession. -“Go and apologize, your excellency. Yes, go!” - -“Gentlemen, I’ll do anything. No one shall hear a word from me,” -said Rostóv in an imploring voice, “but I can’t apologize, by God I -can’t, do what you will! How can I go and apologize like a little boy -asking forgiveness?” - -Denísov began to laugh. - -“It’ll be worse for you. Bogdánich is vindictive and you’ll pay -for your obstinacy,” said Kírsten. - -“No, on my word it’s not obstinacy! I can’t describe the feeling. -I can’t...” - -“Well, it’s as you like,” said the staff captain. “And what has -become of that scoundrel?” he asked Denísov. - -“He has weported himself sick, he’s to be stwuck off the list -tomowwow,” muttered Denísov. - -“It is an illness, there’s no other way of explaining it,” said -the staff captain. - -“Illness or not, he’d better not cwoss my path. I’d kill him!” -shouted Denísov in a bloodthirsty tone. - -Just then Zherkóv entered the room. - -“What brings you here?” cried the officers turning to the newcomer. - -“We’re to go into action, gentlemen! Mack has surrendered with his -whole army.” - -“It’s not true!” - -“I’ve seen him myself!” - -“What? Saw the real Mack? With hands and feet?” - -“Into action! Into action! Bring him a bottle for such news! But how -did you come here?” - -“I’ve been sent back to the regiment all on account of that devil, -Mack. An Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on -Mack’s arrival... What’s the matter, Rostóv? You look as if you’d -just come out of a hot bath.” - -“Oh, my dear fellow, we’re in such a stew here these last two -days.” - -The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by -Zherkóv. They were under orders to advance next day. - -“We’re going into action, gentlemen!” - -“Well, thank God! We’ve been sitting here too long!” - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Kutúzov fell back toward Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over -the rivers Inn (at Braunau) and Traun (near Linz). On October 23 the -Russian troops were crossing the river Enns. At midday the Russian -baggage train, the artillery, and columns of troops were defiling -through the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge. - -It was a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide expanse that opened out -before the heights on which the Russian batteries stood guarding the -bridge was at times veiled by a diaphanous curtain of slanting rain, and -then, suddenly spread out in the sunlight, far-distant objects could -be clearly seen glittering as though freshly varnished. Down below, -the little town could be seen with its white, red-roofed houses, its -cathedral, and its bridge, on both sides of which streamed jostling -masses of Russian troops. At the bend of the Danube, vessels, an island, -and a castle with a park surrounded by the waters of the confluence of -the Enns and the Danube became visible, and the rocky left bank of the -Danube covered with pine forests, with a mystic background of green -treetops and bluish gorges. The turrets of a convent stood out beyond a -wild virgin pine forest, and far away on the other side of the Enns the -enemy’s horse patrols could be discerned. - -Among the field guns on the brow of the hill the general in command of -the rearguard stood with a staff officer, scanning the country through -his fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvítski, who had been sent to -the rearguard by the commander in chief, was sitting on the trail of a -gun carriage. A Cossack who accompanied him had handed him a knapsack -and a flask, and Nesvítski was treating some officers to pies and real -doppelkümmel. The officers gladly gathered round him, some on their -knees, some squatting Turkish fashion on the wet grass. - -“Yes, the Austrian prince who built that castle was no fool. It’s -a fine place! Why are you not eating anything, gentlemen?” Nesvítski -was saying. - -“Thank you very much, Prince,” answered one of the officers, pleased -to be talking to a staff officer of such importance. “It’s a lovely -place! We passed close to the park and saw two deer... and what a -splendid house!” - -“Look, Prince,” said another, who would have dearly liked to take -another pie but felt shy, and therefore pretended to be examining the -countryside—“See, our infantrymen have already got there. Look there -in the meadow behind the village, three of them are dragging something. -They’ll ransack that castle,” he remarked with evident approval. - -“So they will,” said Nesvítski. “No, but what I should like,” -added he, munching a pie in his moist-lipped handsome mouth, “would be -to slip in over there.” - -He pointed with a smile to a turreted nunnery, and his eyes narrowed and -gleamed. - -“That would be fine, gentlemen!” - -The officers laughed. - -“Just to flutter the nuns a bit. They say there are Italian girls -among them. On my word I’d give five years of my life for it!” - -“They must be feeling dull, too,” said one of the bolder officers, -laughing. - -Meanwhile the staff officer standing in front pointed out something to -the general, who looked through his field glass. - -“Yes, so it is, so it is,” said the general angrily, lowering the -field glass and shrugging his shoulders, “so it is! They’ll be fired -on at the crossing. And why are they dawdling there?” - -On the opposite side the enemy could be seen by the naked eye, and from -their battery a milk-white cloud arose. Then came the distant report of -a shot, and our troops could be seen hurrying to the crossing. - -Nesvítski rose, puffing, and went up to the general, smiling. - -“Would not your excellency like a little refreshment?” he said. - -“It’s a bad business,” said the general without answering him, -“our men have been wasting time.” - -“Hadn’t I better ride over, your excellency?” asked Nesvítski. - -“Yes, please do,” answered the general, and he repeated the order -that had already once been given in detail: “and tell the hussars -that they are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I ordered; and the -inflammable material on the bridge must be reinspected.” - -“Very good,” answered Nesvítski. - -He called the Cossack with his horse, told him to put away the knapsack -and flask, and swung his heavy person easily into the saddle. - -“I’ll really call in on the nuns,” he said to the officers who -watched him smilingly, and he rode off by the winding path down the -hill. - -“Now then, let’s see how far it will carry, Captain. Just try!” -said the general, turning to an artillery officer. “Have a little fun -to pass the time.” - -“Crew, to your guns!” commanded the officer. - -In a moment the men came running gaily from their campfires and began -loading. - -“One!” came the command. - -Number one jumped briskly aside. The gun rang out with a deafening -metallic roar, and a whistling grenade flew above the heads of our -troops below the hill and fell far short of the enemy, a little smoke -showing the spot where it burst. - -The faces of officers and men brightened up at the sound. Everyone got -up and began watching the movements of our troops below, as plainly -visible as if but a stone’s throw away, and the movements of the -approaching enemy farther off. At the same instant the sun came fully -out from behind the clouds, and the clear sound of the solitary shot -and the brilliance of the bright sunshine merged in a single joyous and -spirited impression. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Two of the enemy’s shots had already flown across the bridge, where -there was a crush. Halfway across stood Prince Nesvítski, who had -alighted from his horse and whose big body was jammed against the -railings. He looked back laughing to the Cossack who stood a few -steps behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Each time Prince -Nesvítski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again -and pressed him against the railings, and all he could do was to smile. - -“What a fine fellow you are, friend!” said the Cossack to a convoy -soldier with a wagon, who was pressing onto the infantrymen who were -crowded together close to his wheels and his horses. “What a fellow! -You can’t wait a moment! Don’t you see the general wants to pass?” - -But the convoyman took no notice of the word “general” and shouted -at the soldiers who were blocking his way. “Hi there, boys! Keep to -the left! Wait a bit.” But the soldiers, crowded together shoulder to -shoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in a dense -mass. Looking down over the rails Prince Nesvítski saw the rapid, noisy -little waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddying round the piles of -the bridge chased each other along. Looking on the bridge he saw equally -uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder straps, covered shakos, -knapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with -broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and listless tired expressions, and -feet that moved through the sticky mud that covered the planks of the -bridge. Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of -white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with -a type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along; -sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot, -an orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry; -and sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers’ or -company’s baggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on -all sides, moved across the bridge. - -“It’s as if a dam had burst,” said the Cossack hopelessly. “Are -there many more of you to come?” - -“A million all but one!” replied a waggish soldier in a torn coat, -with a wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man. - -“If he” (he meant the enemy) “begins popping at the bridge now,” -said the old soldier dismally to a comrade, “you’ll forget to -scratch yourself.” - -That soldier passed on, and after him came another sitting on a cart. - -“Where the devil have the leg bands been shoved to?” said an -orderly, running behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it. - -And he also passed on with the wagon. Then came some merry soldiers who -had evidently been drinking. - -“And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the butt -end of his gun...” a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said -gaily, with a wide swing of his arm. - -“Yes, the ham was just delicious...” answered another with a loud -laugh. And they, too, passed on, so that Nesvítski did not learn who -had been struck on the teeth, or what the ham had to do with it. - -“Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball and they think they’ll -all be killed,” a sergeant was saying angrily and reproachfully. - -“As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean,” said a young soldier -with an enormous mouth, hardly refraining from laughing, “I felt like -dying of fright. I did, ‘pon my word, I got that frightened!” said -he, as if bragging of having been frightened. - -That one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any that had gone -before. It was a German cart with a pair of horses led by a German, and -seemed loaded with a whole houseful of effects. A fine brindled cow with -a large udder was attached to the cart behind. A woman with an unweaned -baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl with bright red cheeks -were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently these fugitives were -allowed to pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers -turned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace -all the soldiers’ remarks related to the two young ones. Every face -bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemly thoughts about the -women. - -“Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!” - -“Sell me the missis,” said another soldier, addressing the German, -who, angry and frightened, strode energetically along with downcast -eyes. - -“See how smart she’s made herself! Oh, the devils!” - -“There, Fedótov, you should be quartered on them!” - -“I have seen as much before now, mate!” - -“Where are you going?” asked an infantry officer who was eating an -apple, also half smiling as he looked at the handsome girl. - -The German closed his eyes, signifying that he did not understand. - -“Take it if you like,” said the officer, giving the girl an apple. - -The girl smiled and took it. Nesvítski like the rest of the men on the -bridge did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed. When -they had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, with the same -kind of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses of -a convoy wagon became restive at the end of the bridge, and the whole -crowd had to wait. - -“And why are they stopping? There’s no proper order!” said the -soldiers. “Where are you shoving to? Devil take you! Can’t you wait? -It’ll be worse if he fires the bridge. See, here’s an officer jammed -in too”—different voices were saying in the crowd, as the men looked -at one another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge. - -Looking down at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvítski -suddenly heard a sound new to him, of something swiftly approaching... -something big, that splashed into the water. - -“Just see where it carries to!” a soldier near by said sternly, -looking round at the sound. - -“Encouraging us to get along quicker,” said another uneasily. - -The crowd moved on again. Nesvítski realized that it was a cannon ball. - -“Hey, Cossack, my horse!” he said. “Now, then, you there! get out -of the way! Make way!” - -With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting -continually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make way -for him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and those -nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressed still -harder from behind. - -“Nesvítski, Nesvítski! you numskull!” came a hoarse voice from -behind him. - -Nesvítski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away but separated -by the living mass of moving infantry, Váska Denísov, red and shaggy, -with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloak hanging jauntily -over his shoulder. - -“Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!” shouted Denísov -evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot -whites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a small -bare hand as red as his face. - -“Ah, Váska!” joyfully replied Nesvítski. “What’s up with -you?” - -“The squadwon can’t pass,” shouted Váska Denísov, showing his -white teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which -twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting -white foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his -hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had his rider let -him. “What is this? They’re like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the -way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart! I’ll hack -you with my saber!” he shouted, actually drawing his saber from its -scabbard and flourishing it. - -The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and -Denísov joined Nesvítski. - -“How’s it you’re not drunk today?” said Nesvítski when the -other had ridden up to him. - -“They don’t even give one time to dwink!” answered Váska -Denísov. “They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they -mean to fight, let’s fight. But the devil knows what this is.” - -“What a dandy you are today!” said Nesvítski, looking at -Denísov’s new cloak and saddlecloth. - -Denísov smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused -a smell of perfume, and put it to Nesvítski’s nose. - -“Of course. I’m going into action! I’ve shaved, bwushed my teeth, -and scented myself.” - -The imposing figure of Nesvítski followed by his Cossack, and -the determination of Denísov who flourished his sword and shouted -frantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze through -to the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the -bridge Nesvítski found the colonel to whom he had to deliver the order, -and having done this he rode back. - -Having cleared the way Denísov stopped at the end of the bridge. -Carelessly holding in his stallion that was neighing and pawing the -ground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched his squadron draw -nearer. Then the clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping, -resounded on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers in -front and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and began to emerge -on his side of it. - -The infantry who had been stopped crowded near the bridge in the -trampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will, -estrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usually -encounter one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in -regular order. - -“Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!” said one. - -“What good are they? They’re led about just for show!” remarked -another. - -“Don’t kick up the dust, you infantry!” jested an hussar whose -prancing horse had splashed mud over some foot soldiers. - -“I’d like to put you on a two days’ march with a knapsack! Your -fine cords would soon get a bit rubbed,” said an infantryman, wiping -the mud off his face with his sleeve. “Perched up there, you’re more -like a bird than a man.” - -“There now, Zíkin, they ought to put you on a horse. You’d look -fine,” said a corporal, chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under -the weight of his knapsack. - -“Take a stick between your legs, that’ll suit you for a horse!” -the hussar shouted back. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -The last of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezing -together as they approached it as if passing through a funnel. At last -the baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was less, and the last -battalion came onto the bridge. Only Denísov’s squadron of hussars -remained on the farther side of the bridge facing the enemy, who could -be seen from the hill on the opposite bank but was not yet visible from -the bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley through which the -river flowed was formed by the rising ground only half a mile away. -At the foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few groups of our -Cossack scouts were moving. Suddenly on the road at the top of the high -ground, artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen. These were the -French. A group of Cossack scouts retired down the hill at a trot. All -the officers and men of Denísov’s squadron, though they tried to talk -of other things and to look in other directions, thought only of what -was there on the hilltop, and kept constantly looking at the patches -appearing on the skyline, which they knew to be the enemy’s troops. -The weather had cleared again since noon and the sun was descending -brightly upon the Danube and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and -at intervals the bugle calls and the shouts of the enemy could be heard -from the hill. There was no one now between the squadron and the enemy -except a few scattered skirmishers. An empty space of some seven hundred -yards was all that separated them. The enemy ceased firing, and that -stern, threatening, inaccessible, and intangible line which separates -two hostile armies was all the more clearly felt. - -“One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the line dividing -the living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And -what is there? Who is there?—there beyond that field, that tree, that -roof lit up by the sun? No one knows, but one wants to know. You fear -and yet long to cross that line, and know that sooner or later it must -be crossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will -inevitably have to learn what lies the other side of death. But you are -strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and are surrounded by other such -excitedly animated and healthy men.” So thinks, or at any rate -feels, anyone who comes in sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives -a particular glamour and glad keenness of impression to everything that -takes place at such moments. - -On the high ground where the enemy was, the smoke of a cannon rose, -and a ball flew whistling over the heads of the hussar squadron. The -officers who had been standing together rode off to their places. The -hussars began carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell on the whole -squadron. All were looking at the enemy in front and at the squadron -commander, awaiting the word of command. A second and a third cannon -ball flew past. Evidently they were firing at the hussars, but the balls -with rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the heads of the horsemen and fell -somewhere beyond them. The hussars did not look round, but at the sound -of each shot, as at the word of command, the whole squadron with its -rows of faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath while the -ball flew past, rose in the stirrups and sank back again. The soldiers -without turning their heads glanced at one another, curious to see their -comrades’ impression. Every face, from Denísov’s to that of the -bugler, showed one common expression of conflict, irritation, and -excitement, around chin and mouth. The quartermaster frowned, looking -at the soldiers as if threatening to punish them. Cadet Mirónov ducked -every time a ball flew past. Rostóv on the left flank, mounted on his -Rook—a handsome horse despite its game leg—had the happy air of a -schoolboy called up before a large audience for an examination in which -he feels sure he will distinguish himself. He was glancing at everyone -with a clear, bright expression, as if asking them to notice how calmly -he sat under fire. But despite himself, on his face too that same -indication of something new and stern showed round the mouth. - -“Who’s that curtseying there? Cadet Miwónov! That’s not wight! -Look at me,” cried Denísov who, unable to keep still on one spot, -kept turning his horse in front of the squadron. - -The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Váska Denísov, and his whole -short sturdy figure with the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in -which he held the hilt of his naked saber, looked just as it usually -did, especially toward evening when he had emptied his second bottle; he -was only redder than usual. With his shaggy head thrown back like birds -when they drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his -good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as though falling backwards in the -saddle, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron and shouted in -a hoarse voice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to -Kírsten. The staff captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came at a -walk to meet him. His face with its long mustache was serious as always, -only his eyes were brighter than usual. - -“Well, what about it?” said he to Denísov. “It won’t come to a -fight. You’ll see—we shall retire.” - -“The devil only knows what they’re about!” muttered Denísov. -“Ah, Wostóv,” he cried noticing the cadet’s bright face, -“you’ve got it at last.” - -And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased with the cadet. Rostóv -felt perfectly happy. Just then the commander appeared on the bridge. -Denísov galloped up to him. - -“Your excellency! Let us attack them! I’ll dwive them off.” - -“Attack indeed!” said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering up his -face as if driving off a troublesome fly. “And why are you stopping -here? Don’t you see the skirmishers are retreating? Lead the squadron -back.” - -The squadron crossed the bridge and drew out of range of fire without -having lost a single man. The second squadron that had been in the front -line followed them across and the last Cossacks quitted the farther side -of the river. - -The two Pávlograd squadrons, having crossed the bridge, retired up the -hill one after the other. Their colonel, Karl Bogdánich Schubert, came -up to Denísov’s squadron and rode at a footpace not far from Rostóv, -without taking any notice of him although they were now meeting for the -first time since their encounter concerning Telyánin. Rostóv, feeling -that he was at the front and in the power of a man toward whom he now -admitted that he had been to blame, did not lift his eyes from the -colonel’s athletic back, his nape covered with light hair, and his red -neck. It seemed to Rostóv that Bogdánich was only pretending not -to notice him, and that his whole aim now was to test the cadet’s -courage, so he drew himself up and looked around him merrily; then it -seemed to him that Bogdánich rode so near in order to show him his -courage. Next he thought that his enemy would send the squadron on a -desperate attack just to punish him—Rostóv. Then he imagined how, -after the attack, Bogdánich would come up to him as he lay wounded and -would magnanimously extend the hand of reconciliation. - -The high-shouldered figure of Zherkóv, familiar to the Pávlograds as -he had but recently left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. -After his dismissal from headquarters Zherkóv had not remained in the -regiment, saying he was not such a fool as to slave at the front when he -could get more rewards by doing nothing on the staff, and had succeeded -in attaching himself as an orderly officer to Prince Bagratión. He now -came to his former chief with an order from the commander of the rear -guard. - -“Colonel,” he said, addressing Rostóv’s enemy with an air of -gloomy gravity and glancing round at his comrades, “there is an order -to stop and fire the bridge.” - -“An order to who?” asked the colonel morosely. - -“I don’t myself know ‘to who,’” replied the cornet in a -serious tone, “but the prince told me to ‘go and tell the colonel -that the hussars must return quickly and fire the bridge.’” - -Zherkóv was followed by an officer of the suite who rode up to the -colonel of hussars with the same order. After him the stout Nesvítski -came galloping up on a Cossack horse that could scarcely carry his -weight. - -“How’s this, Colonel?” he shouted as he approached. “I told you -to fire the bridge, and now someone has gone and blundered; they are all -beside themselves over there and one can’t make anything out.” - -The colonel deliberately stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvítski. - -“You spoke to me of inflammable material,” said he, “but you said -nothing about firing it.” - -“But, my dear sir,” said Nesvítski as he drew up, taking off his -cap and smoothing his hair wet with perspiration with his plump hand, -“wasn’t I telling you to fire the bridge, when inflammable material -had been put in position?” - -“I am not your ‘dear sir,’ Mr. Staff Officer, and you did not tell -me to burn the bridge! I know the service, and it is my habit orders -strictly to obey. You said the bridge would be burned, but who would it -burn, I could not know by the holy spirit!” - -“Ah, that’s always the way!” said Nesvítski with a wave of the -hand. “How did you get here?” said he, turning to Zherkóv. - -“On the same business. But you are damp! Let me wring you out!” - -“You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer...” continued the colonel in an -offended tone. - -“Colonel,” interrupted the officer of the suite, “You must be -quick or the enemy will bring up his guns to use grapeshot.” - -The colonel looked silently at the officer of the suite, at the stout -staff officer, and at Zherkóv, and he frowned. - -“I will the bridge fire,” he said in a solemn tone as if to announce -that in spite of all the unpleasantness he had to endure he would still -do the right thing. - -Striking his horse with his long muscular legs as if it were to blame -for everything, the colonel moved forward and ordered the second -squadron, that in which Rostóv was serving under Denísov, to return to -the bridge. - -“There, it’s just as I thought,” said Rostóv to himself. “He -wishes to test me!” His heart contracted and the blood rushed to his -face. “Let him see whether I am a coward!” he thought. - -Again on all the bright faces of the squadron the serious expression -appeared that they had worn when under fire. Rostóv watched his enemy, -the colonel, closely—to find in his face confirmation of his own -conjecture, but the colonel did not once glance at Rostóv, and looked -as he always did when at the front, solemn and stern. Then came the word -of command. - -“Look sharp! Look sharp!” several voices repeated around him. - -Their sabers catching in the bridles and their spurs jingling, the -hussars hastily dismounted, not knowing what they were to do. The men -were crossing themselves. Rostóv no longer looked at the colonel, he -had no time. He was afraid of falling behind the hussars, so much afraid -that his heart stood still. His hand trembled as he gave his horse into -an orderly’s charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart with -a thud. Denísov rode past him, leaning back and shouting something. -Rostóv saw nothing but the hussars running all around him, their spurs -catching and their sabers clattering. - -“Stretchers!” shouted someone behind him. - -Rostóv did not think what this call for stretchers meant; he ran on, -trying only to be ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not -looking at the ground, he came on some sticky, trodden mud, stumbled, -and fell on his hands. The others outstripped him. - -“At boss zides, Captain,” he heard the voice of the colonel, who, -having ridden ahead, had pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a -triumphant, cheerful face. - -Rostóv wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and -was about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to the front -the better. But Bogdánich, without looking at or recognizing Rostóv, -shouted to him: - -“Who’s that running on the middle of the bridge? To the right! Come -back, Cadet!” he cried angrily; and turning to Denísov, who, showing -off his courage, had ridden on to the planks of the bridge: - -“Why run risks, Captain? You should dismount,” he said. - -“Oh, every bullet has its billet,” answered Váska Denísov, turning -in his saddle. - - -Meanwhile Nesvítski, Zherkóv, and the officer of the suite were -standing together out of range of the shots, watching, now the small -group of men with yellow shakos, dark-green jackets braided with cord, -and blue riding breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, and then at -what was approaching in the distance from the opposite side—the blue -uniforms and groups with horses, easily recognizable as artillery. - -“Will they burn the bridge or not? Who’ll get there first? Will they -get there and fire the bridge or will the French get within grapeshot -range and wipe them out?” These were the questions each man of the -troops on the high ground above the bridge involuntarily asked himself -with a sinking heart—watching the bridge and the hussars in the bright -evening light and the blue tunics advancing from the other side with -their bayonets and guns. - -“Ugh. The hussars will get it hot!” said Nesvítski; “they are -within grapeshot range now.” - -“He shouldn’t have taken so many men,” said the officer of the -suite. - -“True enough,” answered Nesvítski; “two smart fellows could have -done the job just as well.” - -“Ah, your excellency,” put in Zherkóv, his eyes fixed on the -hussars, but still with that naïve air that made it impossible to know -whether he was speaking in jest or in earnest. “Ah, your excellency! -How you look at things! Send two men? And who then would give us the -Vladímir medal and ribbon? But now, even if they do get peppered, the -squadron may be recommended for honors and he may get a ribbon. Our -Bogdánich knows how things are done.” - -“There now!” said the officer of the suite, “that’s -grapeshot.” - -He pointed to the French guns, the limbers of which were being detached -and hurriedly removed. - -On the French side, amid the groups with cannon, a cloud of smoke -appeared, then a second and a third almost simultaneously, and at the -moment when the first report was heard a fourth was seen. Then two -reports one after another, and a third. - -“Oh! Oh!” groaned Nesvítski as if in fierce pain, seizing the -officer of the suite by the arm. “Look! A man has fallen! Fallen, -fallen!” - -“Two, I think.” - -“If I were Tsar I would never go to war,” said Nesvítski, turning -away. - -The French guns were hastily reloaded. The infantry in their blue -uniforms advanced toward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared again -but at irregular intervals, and grapeshot cracked and rattled onto the -bridge. But this time Nesvítski could not see what was happening there, -as a dense cloud of smoke arose from it. The hussars had succeeded in -setting it on fire and the French batteries were now firing at them, no -longer to hinder them but because the guns were trained and there was -someone to fire at. - -The French had time to fire three rounds of grapeshot before the hussars -got back to their horses. Two were misdirected and the shot went too -high, but the last round fell in the midst of a group of hussars and -knocked three of them over. - -Rostóv, absorbed by his relations with Bogdánich, had paused on the -bridge not knowing what to do. There was no one to hew down (as he -had always imagined battles to himself), nor could he help to fire the -bridge because he had not brought any burning straw with him like the -other soldiers. He stood looking about him, when suddenly he heard a -rattle on the bridge as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar nearest -to him fell against the rails with a groan. Rostóv ran up to him with -the others. Again someone shouted, “Stretchers!” Four men seized the -hussar and began lifting him. - -“Oooh! For Christ’s sake let me alone!” cried the wounded man, but -still he was lifted and laid on the stretcher. - -Nicholas Rostóv turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed -into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the -sun. How beautiful the sky looked; how blue, how calm, and how deep! -How bright and glorious was the setting sun! With what soft glitter the -waters of the distant Danube shone. And fairer still were the faraway -blue mountains beyond the river, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and -the pine forests veiled in the mist of their summits... There was peace -and happiness... “I should wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I -were there,” thought Rostóv. “In myself alone and in that sunshine -there is so much happiness; but here... groans, suffering, fear, and -this uncertainty and hurry... There—they are shouting again, and -again are all running back somewhere, and I shall run with them, and it, -death, is here above me and around... Another instant and I shall never -again see the sun, this water, that gorge!...” - -At that instant the sun began to hide behind the clouds, and other -stretchers came into view before Rostóv. And the fear of death and of -the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one -feeling of sickening agitation. - -“O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, save, forgive, and protect -me!” Rostóv whispered. - -The hussars ran back to the men who held their horses; their voices -sounded louder and calmer, the stretchers disappeared from sight. - -“Well, fwiend? So you’ve smelt powdah!” shouted Váska Denísov -just above his ear. - -“It’s all over; but I am a coward—yes, a coward!” thought -Rostóv, and sighing deeply he took Rook, his horse, which stood resting -one foot, from the orderly and began to mount. - -“Was that grapeshot?” he asked Denísov. - -“Yes and no mistake!” cried Denísov. “You worked like wegular -bwicks and it’s nasty work! An attack’s pleasant work! Hacking -away at the dogs! But this sort of thing is the very devil, with them -shooting at you like a target.” - -And Denísov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostóv, composed -of the colonel, Nesvítski, Zherkóv, and the officer from the suite. - -“Well, it seems that no one has noticed,” thought Rostóv. And this -was true. No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensation -which the cadet under fire for the first time had experienced. - -“Here’s something for you to report,” said Zherkóv. “See if I -don’t get promoted to a sublieutenancy.” - -“Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!” said the colonel -triumphantly and gaily. - -“And if he asks about the losses?” - -“A trifle,” said the colonel in his bass voice: “two hussars -wounded, and one knocked out,” he added, unable to restrain a happy -smile, and pronouncing the phrase “knocked out” with ringing -distinctness. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Pursued by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command -of Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriendly to it, -losing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness of supplies, -and compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anything that had -been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men commanded -by Kutúzov was hurriedly retreating along the Danube, stopping where -overtaken by the enemy and fighting rearguard actions only as far as -necessary to enable it to retreat without losing its heavy equipment. -There had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk; but despite the -courage and endurance—acknowledged even by the enemy—with which the -Russians fought, the only consequence of these actions was a yet more -rapid retreat. Austrian troops that had escaped capture at Ulm and had -joined Kutúzov at Braunau now separated from the Russian army, and -Kutúzov was left with only his own weak and exhausted forces. The -defense of Vienna was no longer to be thought of. Instead of an -offensive, the plan of which, carefully prepared in accord with the -modern science of strategics, had been handed to Kutúzov when he was in -Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattainable -aim remaining for him was to effect a junction with the forces that were -advancing from Russia, without losing his army as Mack had done at Ulm. - -On the twenty-eighth of October Kutúzov with his army crossed to the -left bank of the Danube and took up a position for the first time -with the river between himself and the main body of the French. On the -thirtieth he attacked Mortier’s division, which was on the left bank, -and broke it up. In this action for the first time trophies were taken: -banners, cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first time, after a -fortnight’s retreat, the Russian troops had halted and after a fight -had not only held the field but had repulsed the French. Though the -troops were ill-clad, exhausted, and had lost a third of their number -in killed, wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a number of sick and -wounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danube with a letter -in which Kutúzov entrusted them to the humanity of the enemy; and -though the big hospitals and the houses in Krems converted into military -hospitals could no longer accommodate all the sick and wounded, yet the -stand made at Krems and the victory over Mortier raised the spirits of -the army considerably. Throughout the whole army and at headquarters -most joyful though erroneous rumors were rife of the imaginary approach -of columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, and of -the retreat of the frightened Bonaparte. - -Prince Andrew during the battle had been in attendance on the Austrian -General Schmidt, who was killed in the action. His horse had been -wounded under him and his own arm slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark -of the commander in chief’s special favor he was sent with the news of -this victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna (which was -threatened by the French) but at Brünn. Despite his apparently delicate -build Prince Andrew could endure physical fatigue far better than many -very muscular men, and on the night of the battle, having arrived -at Krems excited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokhtúrov to -Kutúzov, he was sent immediately with a special dispatch to Brünn. -To be so sent meant not only a reward but an important step toward -promotion. - -The night was dark but starry, the road showed black in the snow that -had fallen the previous day—the day of the battle. Reviewing his -impressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the -impression his news of a victory would create, or recalling the send-off -given him by the commander in chief and his fellow officers, Prince -Andrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying the feelings of a -man who has at length begun to attain a long-desired happiness. As soon -as he closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the rattle of the -wheels and the sensation of victory. Then he began to imagine that -the Russians were running away and that he himself was killed, but he -quickly roused himself with a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that -this was not so but that on the contrary the French had run away. He -again recalled all the details of the victory and his own calm courage -during the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed off.... The dark -starry night was followed by a bright cheerful morning. The snow was -thawing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides -of the road were forests of different kinds, fields, and villages. - -At one of the post stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded. -The Russian officer in charge of the transport lolled back in the front -cart, shouting and scolding a soldier with coarse abuse. In each of -the long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men were being -jolted over the stony road. Some of them were talking (he heard Russian -words), others were eating bread; the more severely wounded looked -silently, with the languid interest of sick children, at the envoy -hurrying past them. - -Prince Andrew told his driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what -action they had been wounded. “Day before yesterday, on the Danube,” -answered the soldier. Prince Andrew took out his purse and gave the -soldier three gold pieces. - -“That’s for them all,” he said to the officer who came up. - -“Get well soon, lads!” he continued, turning to the soldiers. -“There’s plenty to do still.” - -“What news, sir?” asked the officer, evidently anxious to start a -conversation. - -“Good news!... Go on!” he shouted to the driver, and they galloped -on. - -It was already quite dark when Prince Andrew rattled over the paved -streets of Brünn and found himself surrounded by high buildings, the -lights of shops, houses, and street lamps, fine carriages, and all that -atmosphere of a large and active town which is always so attractive to a -soldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey and sleepless night, -Prince Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt even more vigorous and -alert than he had done the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverishly -and his thoughts followed one another with extraordinary clearness and -rapidity. He again vividly recalled the details of the battle, no longer -dim, but definite and in the concise form in which he imagined himself -stating them to the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual -questions that might be put to him and the answers he would give. He -expected to be at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief entrance -to the palace, however, an official came running out to meet him, and -learning that he was a special messenger led him to another entrance. - -“To the right from the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren! There you will find -the adjutant on duty,” said the official. “He will conduct you to -the Minister of War.” - -The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrew, asked him to wait, and went -in to the Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned and bowing -with particular courtesy ushered Prince Andrew before him along a -corridor to the cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. The -adjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off any -attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger. - -Prince Andrew’s joyous feeling was considerably weakened as he -approached the door of the minister’s room. He felt offended, and -without his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately turned into -one of disdain which was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind instantly -suggested to him a point of view which gave him a right to despise -the adjutant and the minister. “Away from the smell of powder, they -probably think it easy to gain victories!” he thought. His eyes -narrowed disdainfully, he entered the room of the Minister of War with -peculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of disdain was heightened -when he saw the minister seated at a large table reading some papers -and making pencil notes on them, and for the first two or three minutes -taking no notice of his arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the -minister’s bent bald head with its gray temples. He went on reading -to the end, without raising his eyes at the opening of the door and the -sound of footsteps. - -“Take this and deliver it,” said he to his adjutant, handing him the -papers and still taking no notice of the special messenger. - -Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kutúzov’s army -interested the Minister of War less than any of the other matters he was -concerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messenger that -impression. “But that is a matter of perfect indifference to me,” he -thought. The minister drew the remaining papers together, arranged them -evenly, and then raised his head. He had an intellectual and distinctive -head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent -expression on his face changed in a way evidently deliberate and -habitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which -does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is -continually receiving many petitioners one after another. - -“From General Field Marshal Kutúzov?” he asked. “I hope it is -good news? There has been an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was -high time!” - -He took the dispatch which was addressed to him and began to read it -with a mournful expression. - -“Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!” he exclaimed in German. “What a -calamity! What a calamity!” - -Having glanced through the dispatch he laid it on the table and looked -at Prince Andrew, evidently considering something. - -“Ah what a calamity! You say the affair was decisive? But Mortier is -not captured.” Again he pondered. “I am very glad you have brought -good news, though Schmidt’s death is a heavy price to pay for the -victory. His Majesty will no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I -thank you! You must have a rest. Be at the levee tomorrow after the -parade. However, I will let you know.” - -The stupid smile, which had left his face while he was speaking, -reappeared. - -“Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Majesty will probably desire to -see you,” he added, bowing his head. - -When Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the interest -and happiness the victory had afforded him had been now left in the -indifferent hands of the Minister of War and the polite adjutant. The -whole tenor of his thoughts instantaneously changed; the battle seemed -the memory of a remote event long past. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Prince Andrew stayed at Brünn with Bilíbin, a Russian acquaintance of -his in the diplomatic service. - -“Ah, my dear prince! I could not have a more welcome visitor,” -said Bilíbin as he came out to meet Prince Andrew. “Franz, put the -prince’s things in my bedroom,” said he to the servant who was -ushering Bolkónski in. “So you’re a messenger of victory, eh? -Splendid! And I am sitting here ill, as you see.” - -After washing and dressing, Prince Andrew came into the diplomat’s -luxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilíbin -settled down comfortably beside the fire. - -After his journey and the campaign during which he had been deprived of -all the comforts of cleanliness and all the refinements of life, Prince -Andrew felt a pleasant sense of repose among luxurious surroundings such -as he had been accustomed to from childhood. Besides it was pleasant, -after his reception by the Austrians, to speak if not in Russian -(for they were speaking French) at least with a Russian who would, he -supposed, share the general Russian antipathy to the Austrians which was -then particularly strong. - -Bilíbin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor, and of the same circle as -Prince Andrew. They had known each other previously in Petersburg, but -had become more intimate when Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutúzov. -Just as Prince Andrew was a young man who gave promise of rising high -in the military profession, so to an even greater extent Bilíbin gave -promise of rising in his diplomatic career. He still a young man but -no longer a young diplomat, as he had entered the service at the age -of sixteen, had been in Paris and Copenhagen, and now held a rather -important post in Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador -in Vienna knew him and valued him. He was not one of those many -diplomats who are esteemed because they have certain negative qualities, -avoid doing certain things, and speak French. He was one of those, -who, liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his indolence would -sometimes spend a whole night at his writing table. He worked well -whatever the import of his work. It was not the question “What for?” -but the question “How?” that interested him. What the diplomatic -matter might be he did not care, but it gave him great pleasure to -prepare a circular, memorandum, or report, skillfully, pointedly, and -elegantly. Bilíbin’s services were valued not only for what he wrote, -but also for his skill in dealing and conversing with those in the -highest spheres. - -Bilíbin liked conversation as he liked work, only when it could be -made elegantly witty. In society he always awaited an opportunity to say -something striking and took part in a conversation only when that was -possible. His conversation was always sprinkled with wittily original, -finished phrases of general interest. These sayings were prepared in the -inner laboratory of his mind in a portable form as if intentionally, so -that insignificant society people might carry them from drawing room to -drawing room. And, in fact, Bilíbin’s witticisms were hawked about -in the Viennese drawing rooms and often had an influence on matters -considered important. - -His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with deep wrinkles, which always -looked as clean and well washed as the tips of one’s fingers after a -Russian bath. The movement of these wrinkles formed the principal play -of expression on his face. Now his forehead would pucker into deep folds -and his eyebrows were lifted, then his eyebrows would descend and -deep wrinkles would crease his cheeks. His small, deep-set eyes always -twinkled and looked out straight. - -“Well, now tell me about your exploits,” said he. - -Bolkónski, very modestly without once mentioning himself, described the -engagement and his reception by the Minister of War. - -“They received me and my news as one receives a dog in a game of -skittles,” said he in conclusion. - -Bilíbin smiled and the wrinkles on his face disappeared. - -“Cependant, mon cher,” he remarked, examining his nails from a -distance and puckering the skin above his left eye, “malgré la haute -estime que je professe pour the Orthodox Russian army, j’avoue que -votre victoire n’est pas des plus victorieuses.” * - - * “But my dear fellow, with all my respect for the Orthodox - Russian army, I must say that your victory was not - particularly victorious.” - - -He went on talking in this way in French, uttering only those words in -Russian on which he wished to put a contemptuous emphasis. - -“Come now! You with all your forces fall on the unfortunate Mortier -and his one division, and even then Mortier slips through your fingers! -Where’s the victory?” - -“But seriously,” said Prince Andrew, “we can at any rate say -without boasting that it was a little better than at Ulm...” - -“Why didn’t you capture one, just one, marshal for us?” - -“Because not everything happens as one expects or with the smoothness -of a parade. We had expected, as I told you, to get at their rear by -seven in the morning but had not reached it by five in the afternoon.” - -“And why didn’t you do it at seven in the morning? You ought to have -been there at seven in the morning,” returned Bilíbin with a smile. -“You ought to have been there at seven in the morning.” - -“Why did you not succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomatic -methods that he had better leave Genoa alone?” retorted Prince Andrew -in the same tone. - -“I know,” interrupted Bilíbin, “you’re thinking it’s very -easy to take marshals, sitting on a sofa by the fire! That is true, but -still why didn’t you capture him? So don’t be surprised if not only -the Minister of War but also his Most August Majesty the Emperor and -King Francis is not much delighted by your victory. Even I, a poor -secretary of the Russian Embassy, do not feel any need in token of my -joy to give my Franz a thaler, or let him go with his Liebchen to the -Prater... True, we have no Prater here...” - -He looked straight at Prince Andrew and suddenly unwrinkled his -forehead. - -“It is now my turn to ask you ‘why?’ mon cher,” said Bolkónski. -“I confess I do not understand: perhaps there are diplomatic -subtleties here beyond my feeble intelligence, but I can’t make it -out. Mack loses a whole army, the Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduke -Karl give no signs of life and make blunder after blunder. Kutúzov -alone at last gains a real victory, destroying the spell of the -invincibility of the French, and the Minister of War does not even care -to hear the details.” - -“That’s just it, my dear fellow. You see it’s hurrah for the Tsar, -for Russia, for the Orthodox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but -what do we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your victories? Bring -us nice news of a victory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one -archduke’s as good as another, as you know) and even if it is only -over a fire brigade of Bonaparte’s, that will be another story and -we’ll fire off some cannon! But this sort of thing seems done -on purpose to vex us. The Archduke Karl does nothing, the Archduke -Ferdinand disgraces himself. You abandon Vienna, give up its -defense—as much as to say: ‘Heaven is with us, but heaven help you -and your capital!’ The one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, you -expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate us on the victory! Admit -that more irritating news than yours could not have been conceived. -It’s as if it had been done on purpose, on purpose. Besides, suppose -you did gain a brilliant victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained a -victory, what effect would that have on the general course of events? -It’s too late now when Vienna is occupied by the French army!” - -“What? Occupied? Vienna occupied?” - -“Not only occupied, but Bonaparte is at Schönbrunn, and the count, -our dear Count Vrbna, goes to him for orders.” - -After the fatigues and impressions of the journey, his reception, and -especially after having dined, Bolkónski felt that he could not take in -the full significance of the words he heard. - -“Count Lichtenfels was here this morning,” Bilíbin continued, -“and showed me a letter in which the parade of the French in Vienna -was fully described: Prince Murat et tout le tremblement... You see that -your victory is not a matter for great rejoicing and that you can’t be -received as a savior.” - -“Really I don’t care about that, I don’t care at all,” said -Prince Andrew, beginning to understand that his news of the battle -before Krems was really of small importance in view of such events as -the fall of Austria’s capital. “How is it Vienna was taken? What of -the bridge and its celebrated bridgehead and Prince Auersperg? We heard -reports that Prince Auersperg was defending Vienna?” he said. - -“Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of the river, and is -defending us—doing it very badly, I think, but still he is defending -us. But Vienna is on the other side. No, the bridge has not yet been -taken and I hope it will not be, for it is mined and orders have been -given to blow it up. Otherwise we should long ago have been in the -mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army would have spent a bad -quarter of an hour between two fires.” - -“But still this does not mean that the campaign is over,” said -Prince Andrew. - -“Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think so too, but they -daren’t say so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign, -it won’t be your skirmishing at Dürrenstein, or gunpowder at all, -that will decide the matter, but those who devised it,” said Bilíbin -quoting one of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead, and -pausing. “The only question is what will come of the meeting between -the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia in Berlin? If Prussia -joins the Allies, Austria’s hand will be forced and there will be war. -If not it is merely a question of settling where the preliminaries of -the new Campo Formio are to be drawn up.” - -“What an extraordinary genius!” Prince Andrew suddenly exclaimed, -clenching his small hand and striking the table with it, “and what -luck the man has!” - -“Buonaparte?” said Bilíbin inquiringly, puckering up his forehead -to indicate that he was about to say something witty. “Buonaparte?” -he repeated, accentuating the u: “I think, however, now that he lays -down laws for Austria at Schönbrunn, il faut lui faire grâce de -l’u! * I shall certainly adopt an innovation and call him simply -Bonaparte!” - - * “We must let him off the u!” - - -“But joking apart,” said Prince Andrew, “do you really think the -campaign is over?” - -“This is what I think. Austria has been made a fool of, and she is -not used to it. She will retaliate. And she has been fooled in the -first place because her provinces have been pillaged—they say the Holy -Russian army loots terribly—her army is destroyed, her capital -taken, and all this for the beaux yeux * of His Sardinian Majesty. And -therefore—this is between ourselves—I instinctively feel that we -are being deceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations with France and -projects for peace, a secret peace concluded separately.” - - * Fine eyes. - -“Impossible!” cried Prince Andrew. “That would be too base.” - -“If we live we shall see,” replied Bilíbin, his face again becoming -smooth as a sign that the conversation was at an end. - -When Prince Andrew reached the room prepared for him and lay down in a -clean shirt on the feather bed with its warmed and fragrant pillows, he -felt that the battle of which he had brought tidings was far, far -away from him. The alliance with Prussia, Austria’s treachery, -Bonaparte’s new triumph, tomorrow’s levee and parade, and the -audience with the Emperor Francis occupied his thoughts. - -He closed his eyes, and immediately a sound of cannonading, of musketry -and the rattling of carriage wheels seemed to fill his ears, and now -again drawn out in a thin line the musketeers were descending the hill, -the French were firing, and he felt his heart palpitating as he rode -forward beside Schmidt with the bullets merrily whistling all around, -and he experienced tenfold the joy of living, as he had not done since -childhood. - -He woke up... - -“Yes, that all happened!” he said, and, smiling happily to himself -like a child, he fell into a deep, youthful slumber. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Next day he woke late. Recalling his recent impressions, the first -thought that came into his mind was that today he had to be presented -to the Emperor Francis; he remembered the Minister of War, the polite -Austrian adjutant, Bilíbin, and last night’s conversation. Having -dressed for his attendance at court in full parade uniform, which he -had not worn for a long time, he went into Bilíbin’s study fresh, -animated, and handsome, with his hand bandaged. In the study were four -gentlemen of the diplomatic corps. With Prince Hippolyte Kurágin, -who was a secretary to the embassy, Bolkónski was already acquainted. -Bilíbin introduced him to the others. - -The gentlemen assembled at Bilíbin’s were young, wealthy, gay society -men, who here, as in Vienna, formed a special set which Bilíbin, their -leader, called les nôtres. * This set, consisting almost exclusively of -diplomats, evidently had its own interests which had nothing to do with -war or politics but related to high society, to certain women, and to -the official side of the service. These gentlemen received Prince -Andrew as one of themselves, an honor they did not extend to many. From -politeness and to start conversation, they asked him a few questions -about the army and the battle, and then the talk went off into merry -jests and gossip. - - * Ours. - -“But the best of it was,” said one, telling of the misfortune of -a fellow diplomat, “that the Chancellor told him flatly that his -appointment to London was a promotion and that he was so to regard it. -Can you fancy the figure he cut?...” - -“But the worst of it, gentlemen—I am giving Kurágin away to -you—is that that man suffers, and this Don Juan, wicked fellow, is -taking advantage of it!” - -Prince Hippolyte was lolling in a lounge chair with his legs over its -arm. He began to laugh. - -“Tell me about that!” he said. - -“Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!” cried several voices. - -“You, Bolkónski, don’t know,” said Bilíbin turning to Prince -Andrew, “that all the atrocities of the French army (I nearly said of -the Russian army) are nothing compared to what this man has been doing -among the women!” - -“La femme est la compagne de l’homme,” * announced Prince -Hippolyte, and began looking through a lorgnette at his elevated legs. - - * “Woman is man’s companion.” - - -Bilíbin and the rest of “ours” burst out laughing in Hippolyte’s -face, and Prince Andrew saw that Hippolyte, of whom—he had to -admit—he had almost been jealous on his wife’s account, was the butt -of this set. - -“Oh, I must give you a treat,” Bilíbin whispered to Bolkónski. -“Kurágin is exquisite when he discusses politics—you should see his -gravity!” - -He sat down beside Hippolyte and wrinkling his forehead began talking -to him about politics. Prince Andrew and the others gathered round these -two. - -“The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feeling of alliance,” began -Hippolyte gazing round with importance at the others, “without -expressing... as in its last note... you understand... Besides, unless -His Majesty the Emperor derogates from the principle of our alliance... - -“Wait, I have not finished...” he said to Prince Andrew, seizing -him by the arm, “I believe that intervention will be stronger than -nonintervention. And...” he paused. “Finally one cannot impute the -nonreceipt of our dispatch of November 18. That is how it will end.” -And he released Bolkónski’s arm to indicate that he had now quite -finished. - -“Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secretest in thy golden -mouth!” said Bilíbin, and the mop of hair on his head moved with -satisfaction. - -Everybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder than anyone. He was evidently -distressed, and breathed painfully, but could not restrain the wild -laughter that convulsed his usually impassive features. - -“Well now, gentlemen,” said Bilíbin, “Bolkónski is my guest in -this house and in Brünn itself. I want to entertain him as far as I -can, with all the pleasures of life here. If we were in Vienna it would -be easy, but here, in this wretched Moravian hole, it is more difficult, -and I beg you all to help me. Brünn’s attractions must be shown him. -You can undertake the theater, I society, and you, Hippolyte, of course -the women.” - -“We must let him see Amelie, she’s exquisite!” said one of -“ours,” kissing his finger tips. - -“In general we must turn this bloodthirsty soldier to more humane -interests,” said Bilíbin. - -“I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of your hospitality, -gentlemen, it is already time for me to go,” replied Prince Andrew -looking at his watch. - -“Where to?” - -“To the Emperor.” - -“Oh! Oh! Oh!” - -“Well, au revoir, Bolkónski! Au revoir, Prince! Come back early to -dinner,” cried several voices. “We’ll take you in hand.” - -“When speaking to the Emperor, try as far as you can to praise the way -that provisions are supplied and the routes indicated,” said Bilíbin, -accompanying him to the hall. - -“I should like to speak well of them, but as far as I know the facts, -I can’t,” replied Bolkónski, smiling. - -“Well, talk as much as you can, anyway. He has a passion for giving -audiences, but he does not like talking himself and can’t do it, as -you will see.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -At the levee Prince Andrew stood among the Austrian officers as he had -been told to, and the Emperor Francis merely looked fixedly into his -face and just nodded to him with his long head. But after it was -over, the adjutant he had seen the previous day ceremoniously informed -Bolkónski that the Emperor desired to give him an audience. The Emperor -Francis received him standing in the middle of the room. Before the -conversation began Prince Andrew was struck by the fact that the Emperor -seemed confused and blushed as if not knowing what to say. - -“Tell me, when did the battle begin?” he asked hurriedly. - -Prince Andrew replied. Then followed other questions just as simple: -“Was Kutúzov well? When had he left Krems?” and so on. The Emperor -spoke as if his sole aim were to put a given number of questions—the -answers to these questions, as was only too evident, did not interest -him. - -“At what o’clock did the battle begin?” asked the Emperor. - -“I cannot inform Your Majesty at what o’clock the battle began at -the front, but at Dürrenstein, where I was, our attack began after -five in the afternoon,” replied Bolkónski growing more animated and -expecting that he would have a chance to give a reliable account, which -he had ready in his mind, of all he knew and had seen. But the Emperor -smiled and interrupted him. - -“How many miles?” - -“From where to where, Your Majesty?” - -“From Dürrenstein to Krems.” - -“Three and a half miles, Your Majesty.” - -“The French have abandoned the left bank?” - -“According to the scouts the last of them crossed on rafts during the -night.” - -“Is there sufficient forage in Krems?” - -“Forage has not been supplied to the extent...” - -The Emperor interrupted him. - -“At what o’clock was General Schmidt killed?” - -“At seven o’clock, I believe.” - -“At seven o’clock? It’s very sad, very sad!” - -The Emperor thanked Prince Andrew and bowed. Prince Andrew withdrew and -was immediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides. Everywhere he -saw friendly looks and heard friendly words. Yesterday’s adjutant -reproached him for not having stayed at the palace, and offered him -his own house. The Minister of War came up and congratulated him on the -Maria Theresa Order of the third grade, which the Emperor was conferring -on him. The Empress’ chamberlain invited him to see Her Majesty. The -archduchess also wished to see him. He did not know whom to answer, and -for a few seconds collected his thoughts. Then the Russian ambassador -took him by the shoulder, led him to the window, and began to talk to -him. - -Contrary to Bilíbin’s forecast the news he had brought was joyfully -received. A thanksgiving service was arranged, Kutúzov was awarded -the Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, and the whole army received rewards. -Bolkónski was invited everywhere, and had to spend the whole morning -calling on the principal Austrian dignitaries. Between four and five -in the afternoon, having made all his calls, he was returning to -Bilíbin’s house thinking out a letter to his father about the battle -and his visit to Brünn. At the door he found a vehicle half full of -luggage. Franz, Bilíbin’s man, was dragging a portmanteau with some -difficulty out of the front door. - -Before returning to Bilíbin’s Prince Andrew had gone to a bookshop -to provide himself with some books for the campaign, and had spent some -time in the shop. - -“What is it?” he asked. - -“Oh, your excellency!” said Franz, with difficulty rolling the -portmanteau into the vehicle, “we are to move on still farther. The -scoundrel is again at our heels!” - -“Eh? What?” asked Prince Andrew. - -Bilíbin came out to meet him. His usually calm face showed excitement. - -“There now! Confess that this is delightful,” said he. “This -affair of the Thabor Bridge, at Vienna.... They have crossed without -striking a blow!” - -Prince Andrew could not understand. - -“But where do you come from not to know what every coachman in the -town knows?” - -“I come from the archduchess’. I heard nothing there.” - -“And you didn’t see that everybody is packing up?” - -“I did not... What is it all about?” inquired Prince Andrew -impatiently. - -“What’s it all about? Why, the French have crossed the bridge that -Auersperg was defending, and the bridge was not blown up: so Murat -is now rushing along the road to Brünn and will be here in a day or -two.” - -“What? Here? But why did they not blow up the bridge, if it was -mined?” - -“That is what I ask you. No one, not even Bonaparte, knows why.” - -Bolkónski shrugged his shoulders. - -“But if the bridge is crossed it means that the army too is lost? It -will be cut off,” said he. - -“That’s just it,” answered Bilíbin. “Listen! The French entered -Vienna as I told you. Very well. Next day, which was yesterday, those -gentlemen, messieurs les maréchaux, * Murat, Lannes, and Belliard, -mount and ride to the bridge. (Observe that all three are Gascons.) -‘Gentlemen,’ says one of them, ‘you know the Thabor Bridge is -mined and doubly mined and that there are menacing fortifications at its -head and an army of fifteen thousand men has been ordered to blow up -the bridge and not let us cross? But it will please our sovereign the -Emperor Napoleon if we take this bridge, so let us three go and take -it!’ ‘Yes, let’s!’ say the others. And off they go and take the -bridge, cross it, and now with their whole army are on this side of the -Danube, marching on us, you, and your lines of communication.” - - * The marshalls. - -“Stop jesting,” said Prince Andrew sadly and seriously. This news -grieved him and yet he was pleased. - -As soon as he learned that the Russian army was in such a hopeless -situation it occurred to him that it was he who was destined to lead it -out of this position; that here was the Toulon that would lift him from -the ranks of obscure officers and offer him the first step to fame! -Listening to Bilíbin he was already imagining how on reaching the army -he would give an opinion at the war council which would be the only one -that could save the army, and how he alone would be entrusted with the -executing of the plan. - -“Stop this jesting,” he said. - -“I am not jesting,” Bilíbin went on. “Nothing is truer or sadder. -These gentlemen ride onto the bridge alone and wave white handkerchiefs; -they assure the officer on duty that they, the marshals, are on -their way to negotiate with Prince Auersperg. He lets them enter the -tête-de-pont. * They spin him a thousand gasconades, saying that -the war is over, that the Emperor Francis is arranging a meeting with -Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg, and so on. The -officer sends for Auersperg; these gentlemen embrace the officers, crack -jokes, sit on the cannon, and meanwhile a French battalion gets to -the bridge unobserved, flings the bags of incendiary material into -the water, and approaches the tête-de-pont. At length appears the -lieutenant general, our dear Prince Auersperg von Mautern himself. -‘Dearest foe! Flower of the Austrian army, hero of the Turkish wars! -Hostilities are ended, we can shake one another’s hand.... The -Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience to make Prince Auersperg’s -acquaintance.’ In a word, those gentlemen, Gascons indeed, so -bewildered him with fine words, and he is so flattered by his rapidly -established intimacy with the French marshals, and so dazzled by the -sight of Murat’s mantle and ostrich plumes, qu’il n’y voit que du -feu, et oublie celui qu’il devait faire faire sur l’ennemi!” *(2) -In spite of the animation of his speech, Bilíbin did not forget to -pause after this mot to give time for its due appreciation. “The -French battalion rushes to the bridgehead, spikes the guns, and the -bridge is taken! But what is best of all,” he went on, his excitement -subsiding under the delightful interest of his own story, “is that the -sergeant in charge of the cannon which was to give the signal to fire -the mines and blow up the bridge, this sergeant, seeing that the French -troops were running onto the bridge, was about to fire, but Lannes -stayed his hand. The sergeant, who was evidently wiser than his general, -goes up to Auersperg and says: ‘Prince, you are being deceived, here -are the French!’ Murat, seeing that all is lost if the sergeant is -allowed to speak, turns to Auersperg with feigned astonishment (he is a -true Gascon) and says: ‘I don’t recognize the world-famous Austrian -discipline, if you allow a subordinate to address you like that!’ It -was a stroke of genius. Prince Auersperg feels his dignity at stake and -orders the sergeant to be arrested. Come, you must own that this affair -of the Thabor Bridge is delightful! It is not exactly stupidity, nor -rascality....” - - * Bridgehead. - - * (2) That their fire gets into his eyes and he forgets that - he ought to be firing at the enemy. - -“It may be treachery,” said Prince Andrew, vividly imagining the -gray overcoats, wounds, the smoke of gunpowder, the sounds of firing, -and the glory that awaited him. - -“Not that either. That puts the court in too bad a light,” replied -Bilíbin. “It’s not treachery nor rascality nor stupidity: it is -just as at Ulm... it is...”—he seemed to be trying to find the right -expression. “C’est... c’est du Mack. Nous sommes mackés (It is... -it is a bit of Mack. We are Macked),” he concluded, feeling that he -had produced a good epigram, a fresh one that would be repeated. His -hitherto puckered brow became smooth as a sign of pleasure, and with a -slight smile he began to examine his nails. - -“Where are you off to?” he said suddenly to Prince Andrew who had -risen and was going toward his room. - -“I am going away.” - -“Where to?” - -“To the army.” - -“But you meant to stay another two days?” - -“But now I am off at once.” - -And Prince Andrew after giving directions about his departure went to -his room. - -“Do you know, mon cher,” said Bilíbin following him, “I have been -thinking about you. Why are you going?” - -And in proof of the conclusiveness of his opinion all the wrinkles -vanished from his face. - -Prince Andrew looked inquiringly at him and gave no reply. - -“Why are you going? I know you think it your duty to gallop back to -the army now that it is in danger. I understand that. Mon cher, it is -heroism!” - -“Not at all,” said Prince Andrew. - -“But as you are a philosopher, be a consistent one, look at the other -side of the question and you will see that your duty, on the contrary, -is to take care of yourself. Leave it to those who are no longer fit for -anything else.... You have not been ordered to return and have not been -dismissed from here; therefore, you can stay and go with us wherever our -ill luck takes us. They say we are going to Olmütz, and Olmütz is a -very decent town. You and I will travel comfortably in my calèche.” - -“Do stop joking, Bilíbin,” cried Bolkónski. - -“I am speaking sincerely as a friend! Consider! Where and why are -you going, when you might remain here? You are faced by one of two -things,” and the skin over his left temple puckered, “either you -will not reach your regiment before peace is concluded, or you will -share defeat and disgrace with Kutúzov’s whole army.” - -And Bilíbin unwrinkled his temple, feeling that the dilemma was -insoluble. - -“I cannot argue about it,” replied Prince Andrew coldly, but he -thought: “I am going to save the army.” - -“My dear fellow, you are a hero!” said Bilíbin. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -That same night, having taken leave of the Minister of War, Bolkónski -set off to rejoin the army, not knowing where he would find it and -fearing to be captured by the French on the way to Krems. - -In Brünn everybody attached to the court was packing up, and the heavy -baggage was already being dispatched to Olmütz. Near Hetzelsdorf Prince -Andrew struck the high road along which the Russian army was moving with -great haste and in the greatest disorder. The road was so obstructed -with carts that it was impossible to get by in a carriage. Prince Andrew -took a horse and a Cossack from a Cossack commander, and hungry and -weary, making his way past the baggage wagons, rode in search of the -commander in chief and of his own luggage. Very sinister reports of the -position of the army reached him as he went along, and the appearance of -the troops in their disorderly flight confirmed these rumors. - -“Cette armée russe que l’or de l’Angleterre a transportée des -extrémités de l’univers, nous allons lui faire éprouver le même -sort—(le sort de l’armée d’Ulm).” * He remembered these words -in Bonaparte’s address to his army at the beginning of the campaign, -and they awoke in him astonishment at the genius of his hero, a feeling -of wounded pride, and a hope of glory. “And should there be nothing -left but to die?” he thought. “Well, if need be, I shall do it no -worse than others.” - - * “That Russian army which has been brought from the ends of - the earth by English gold, we shall cause to share the same - fate—(the fate of the army at Ulm).” - - -He looked with disdain at the endless confused mass of detachments, -carts, guns, artillery, and again baggage wagons and vehicles of all -kinds overtaking one another and blocking the muddy road, three and -sometimes four abreast. From all sides, behind and before, as far as ear -could reach, there were the rattle of wheels, the creaking of carts -and gun carriages, the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, shouts, the -urging of horses, and the swearing of soldiers, orderlies, and officers. -All along the sides of the road fallen horses were to be seen, some -flayed, some not, and broken-down carts beside which solitary soldiers -sat waiting for something, and again soldiers straggling from their -companies, crowds of whom set off to the neighboring villages, or -returned from them dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks. At -each ascent or descent of the road the crowds were yet denser and the -din of shouting more incessant. Soldiers floundering knee-deep in mud -pushed the guns and wagons themselves. Whips cracked, hoofs slipped, -traces broke, and lungs were strained with shouting. The officers -directing the march rode backward and forward between the carts. Their -voices were but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw by their faces -that they despaired of the possibility of checking this disorder. - -“Here is our dear Orthodox Russian army,” thought Bolkónski, -recalling Bilíbin’s words. - -Wishing to find out where the commander in chief was, he rode up to -a convoy. Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle, -evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any available materials and -looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a calèche. -A soldier was driving, and a woman enveloped in shawls sat behind the -apron under the leather hood of the vehicle. Prince Andrew rode up -and was just putting his question to a soldier when his attention -was diverted by the desperate shrieks of the woman in the vehicle. An -officer in charge of transport was beating the soldier who was driving -the woman’s vehicle for trying to get ahead of others, and the strokes -of his whip fell on the apron of the equipage. The woman screamed -piercingly. Seeing Prince Andrew she leaned out from behind the apron -and, waving her thin arms from under the woolen shawl, cried: - -“Mr. Aide-de-camp! Mr. Aide-de-camp!... For heaven’s sake... Protect -me! What will become of us? I am the wife of the doctor of the Seventh -Chasseurs.... They won’t let us pass, we are left behind and have lost -our people...” - -“I’ll flatten you into a pancake!” shouted the angry officer to -the soldier. “Turn back with your slut!” - -“Mr. Aide-de-camp! Help me!... What does it all mean?” screamed the -doctor’s wife. - -“Kindly let this cart pass. Don’t you see it’s a woman?” said -Prince Andrew riding up to the officer. - -The officer glanced at him, and without replying turned again to the -soldier. “I’ll teach you to push on!... Back!” - -“Let them pass, I tell you!” repeated Prince Andrew, compressing his -lips. - -“And who are you?” cried the officer, turning on him with tipsy -rage, “who are you? Are you in command here? Eh? I am commander here, -not you! Go back or I’ll flatten you into a pancake,” repeated he. -This expression evidently pleased him. - -“That was a nice snub for the little aide-de-camp,” came a voice -from behind. - -Prince Andrew saw that the officer was in that state of senseless, -tipsy rage when a man does not know what he is saying. He saw that his -championship of the doctor’s wife in her queer trap might expose him -to what he dreaded more than anything in the world—to ridicule; but -his instinct urged him on. Before the officer finished his sentence -Prince Andrew, his face distorted with fury, rode up to him and raised -his riding whip. - -“Kind...ly let—them—pass!” - -The officer flourished his arm and hastily rode away. - -“It’s all the fault of these fellows on the staff that there’s -this disorder,” he muttered. “Do as you like.” - -Prince Andrew without lifting his eyes rode hastily away from the -doctor’s wife, who was calling him her deliverer, and recalling with -a sense of disgust the minutest details of this humiliating scene he -galloped on to the village where he was told that the commander in chief -was. - -On reaching the village he dismounted and went to the nearest house, -intending to rest if but for a moment, eat something, and try to sort -out the stinging and tormenting thoughts that confused his mind. “This -is a mob of scoundrels and not an army,” he was thinking as he went -up to the window of the first house, when a familiar voice called him by -name. - -He turned round. Nesvítski’s handsome face looked out of the little -window. Nesvítski, moving his moist lips as he chewed something, and -flourishing his arm, called him to enter. - -“Bolkónski! Bolkónski!... Don’t you hear? Eh? Come quick...” he -shouted. - -Entering the house, Prince Andrew saw Nesvítski and another adjutant -having something to eat. They hastily turned round to him asking if he -had any news. On their familiar faces he read agitation and alarm. -This was particularly noticeable on Nesvítski’s usually laughing -countenance. - -“Where is the commander in chief?” asked Bolkónski. - -“Here, in that house,” answered the adjutant. - -“Well, is it true that it’s peace and capitulation?” asked -Nesvítski. - -“I was going to ask you. I know nothing except that it was all I could -do to get here.” - -“And we, my dear boy! It’s terrible! I was wrong to laugh at Mack, -we’re getting it still worse,” said Nesvítski. “But sit down and -have something to eat.” - -“You won’t be able to find either your baggage or anything else now, -Prince. And God only knows where your man Peter is,” said the other -adjutant. - -“Where are headquarters?” - -“We are to spend the night in Znaim.” - -“Well, I have got all I need into packs for two horses,” said -Nesvítski. “They’ve made up splendid packs for me—fit to cross -the Bohemian mountains with. It’s a bad lookout, old fellow! But -what’s the matter with you? You must be ill to shiver like that,” he -added, noticing that Prince Andrew winced as at an electric shock. - -“It’s nothing,” replied Prince Andrew. - -He had just remembered his recent encounter with the doctor’s wife and -the convoy officer. - -“What is the commander in chief doing here?” he asked. - -“I can’t make out at all,” said Nesvítski. - -“Well, all I can make out is that everything is abominable, -abominable, quite abominable!” said Prince Andrew, and he went off to -the house where the commander in chief was. - -Passing by Kutúzov’s carriage and the exhausted saddle horses of -his suite, with their Cossacks who were talking loudly together, Prince -Andrew entered the passage. Kutúzov himself, he was told, was in the -house with Prince Bagratión and Weyrother. Weyrother was the Austrian -general who had succeeded Schmidt. In the passage little Kozlóvski was -squatting on his heels in front of a clerk. The clerk, with cuffs turned -up, was hastily writing at a tub turned bottom upwards. Kozlóvski’s -face looked worn—he too had evidently not slept all night. He glanced -at Prince Andrew and did not even nod to him. - -“Second line... have you written it?” he continued dictating to the -clerk. “The Kiev Grenadiers, Podolian...” - -“One can’t write so fast, your honor,” said the clerk, glancing -angrily and disrespectfully at Kozlóvski. - -Through the door came the sounds of Kutúzov’s voice, excited and -dissatisfied, interrupted by another, an unfamiliar voice. From the -sound of these voices, the inattentive way Kozlóvski looked at him, the -disrespectful manner of the exhausted clerk, the fact that the clerk and -Kozlóvski were squatting on the floor by a tub so near to the commander -in chief, and from the noisy laughter of the Cossacks holding the -horses near the window, Prince Andrew felt that something important and -disastrous was about to happen. - -He turned to Kozlóvski with urgent questions. - -“Immediately, Prince,” said Kozlóvski. “Dispositions for -Bagratión.” - -“What about capitulation?” - -“Nothing of the sort. Orders are issued for a battle.” - -Prince Andrew moved toward the door from whence voices were heard. -Just as he was going to open it the sounds ceased, the door opened, and -Kutúzov with his eagle nose and puffy face appeared in the doorway. -Prince Andrew stood right in front of Kutúzov but the expression of -the commander in chief’s one sound eye showed him to be so preoccupied -with thoughts and anxieties as to be oblivious of his presence. He -looked straight at his adjutant’s face without recognizing him. - -“Well, have you finished?” said he to Kozlóvski. - -“One moment, your excellency.” - -Bagratión, a gaunt middle-aged man of medium height with a firm, -impassive face of Oriental type, came out after the commander in chief. - -“I have the honor to present myself,” repeated Prince Andrew rather -loudly, handing Kutúzov an envelope. - -“Ah, from Vienna? Very good. Later, later!” - -Kutúzov went out into the porch with Bagratión. - -“Well, good-by, Prince,” said he to Bagratión. “My blessing, and -may Christ be with you in your great endeavor!” - -His face suddenly softened and tears came into his eyes. With his left -hand he drew Bagratión toward him, and with his right, on which he wore -a ring, he made the sign of the cross over him with a gesture evidently -habitual, offering his puffy cheek, but Bagratión kissed him on the -neck instead. - -“Christ be with you!” Kutúzov repeated and went toward his -carriage. “Get in with me,” said he to Bolkónski. - -“Your excellency, I should like to be of use here. Allow me to remain -with Prince Bagratión’s detachment.” - -“Get in,” said Kutúzov, and noticing that Bolkónski still delayed, -he added: “I need good officers myself, need them myself!” - -They got into the carriage and drove for a few minutes in silence. - -“There is still much, much before us,” he said, as if with an old -man’s penetration he understood all that was passing in Bolkónski’s -mind. “If a tenth part of his detachment returns I shall thank God,” -he added as if speaking to himself. - -Prince Andrew glanced at Kutúzov’s face only a foot distant from him -and involuntarily noticed the carefully washed seams of the scar near -his temple, where an Ismail bullet had pierced his skull, and the empty -eye socket. “Yes, he has a right to speak so calmly of those men’s -death,” thought Bolkónski. - -“That is why I beg to be sent to that detachment,” he said. - -Kutúzov did not reply. He seemed to have forgotten what he had been -saying, and sat plunged in thought. Five minutes later, gently swaying -on the soft springs of the carriage, he turned to Prince Andrew. -There was not a trace of agitation on his face. With delicate irony he -questioned Prince Andrew about the details of his interview with the -Emperor, about the remarks he had heard at court concerning the Krems -affair, and about some ladies they both knew. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -On November 1 Kutúzov had received, through a spy, news that the army -he commanded was in an almost hopeless position. The spy reported that -the French, after crossing the bridge at Vienna, were advancing in -immense force upon Kutúzov’s line of communication with the troops -that were arriving from Russia. If Kutúzov decided to remain at Krems, -Napoleon’s army of one hundred and fifty thousand men would cut him -off completely and surround his exhausted army of forty thousand, and he -would find himself in the position of Mack at Ulm. If Kutúzov decided -to abandon the road connecting him with the troops arriving from Russia, -he would have to march with no road into unknown parts of the Bohemian -mountains, defending himself against superior forces of the enemy and -abandoning all hope of a junction with Buxhöwden. If Kutúzov decided -to retreat along the road from Krems to Olmütz, to unite with the -troops arriving from Russia, he risked being forestalled on that road -by the French who had crossed the Vienna bridge, and encumbered by his -baggage and transport, having to accept battle on the march against an -enemy three times as strong, who would hem him in from two sides. - -Kutúzov chose this latter course. - -The French, the spy reported, having crossed the Vienna bridge, were -advancing by forced marches toward Znaim, which lay sixty-six miles -off on the line of Kutúzov’s retreat. If he reached Znaim before the -French, there would be great hope of saving the army; to let the -French forestall him at Znaim meant the exposure of his whole army to a -disgrace such as that of Ulm, or to utter destruction. But to forestall -the French with his whole army was impossible. The road for the French -from Vienna to Znaim was shorter and better than the road for the -Russians from Krems to Znaim. - -The night he received the news, Kutúzov sent Bagratión’s vanguard, -four thousand strong, to the right across the hills from the Krems-Znaim -to the Vienna-Znaim road. Bagratión was to make this march without -resting, and to halt facing Vienna with Znaim to his rear, and if he -succeeded in forestalling the French he was to delay them as long as -possible. Kutúzov himself with all his transport took the road to -Znaim. - -Marching thirty miles that stormy night across roadless hills, with his -hungry, ill-shod soldiers, and losing a third of his men as stragglers -by the way, Bagratión came out on the Vienna-Znaim road at Hollabrünn -a few hours ahead of the French who were approaching Hollabrünn from -Vienna. Kutúzov with his transport had still to march for some days -before he could reach Znaim. Hence Bagratión with his four thousand -hungry, exhausted men would have to detain for days the whole enemy army -that came upon him at Hollabrünn, which was clearly impossible. But -a freak of fate made the impossible possible. The success of the trick -that had placed the Vienna bridge in the hands of the French without -a fight led Murat to try to deceive Kutúzov in a similar way. Meeting -Bagratión’s weak detachment on the Znaim road he supposed it to be -Kutúzov’s whole army. To be able to crush it absolutely he awaited -the arrival of the rest of the troops who were on their way from Vienna, -and with this object offered a three days’ truce on condition that -both armies should remain in position without moving. Murat declared -that negotiations for peace were already proceeding, and that he -therefore offered this truce to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Count -Nostitz, the Austrian general occupying the advanced posts, believed -Murat’s emissary and retired, leaving Bagratión’s division -exposed. Another emissary rode to the Russian line to announce the peace -negotiations and to offer the Russian army the three days’ truce. -Bagratión replied that he was not authorized either to accept or refuse -a truce and sent his adjutant to Kutúzov to report the offer he had -received. - -A truce was Kutúzov’s sole chance of gaining time, giving -Bagratión’s exhausted troops some rest, and letting the transport and -heavy convoys (whose movements were concealed from the French) advance -if but one stage nearer Znaim. The offer of a truce gave the only, and -a quite unexpected, chance of saving the army. On receiving the news -he immediately dispatched Adjutant General Wintzingerode, who was in -attendance on him, to the enemy camp. Wintzingerode was not merely -to agree to the truce but also to offer terms of capitulation, and -meanwhile Kutúzov sent his adjutants back to hasten to the utmost the -movements of the baggage trains of the entire army along the Krems-Znaim -road. Bagratión’s exhausted and hungry detachment, which alone -covered this movement of the transport and of the whole army, had to -remain stationary in face of an enemy eight times as strong as itself. - -Kutúzov’s expectations that the proposals of capitulation (which were -in no way binding) might give time for part of the transport to pass, -and also that Murat’s mistake would very soon be discovered, proved -correct. As soon as Bonaparte (who was at Schönbrunn, sixteen miles -from Hollabrünn) received Murat’s dispatch with the proposal of a -truce and a capitulation, he detected a ruse and wrote the following -letter to Murat: - -Schönbrunn, 25th Brumaire, 1805, - -at eight o’clock in the morning - -To PRINCE MURAT, - -I cannot find words to express to you my displeasure. You command only -my advance guard, and have no right to arrange an armistice without my -order. You are causing me to lose the fruits of a campaign. Break -the armistice immediately and march on the enemy. Inform him that the -general who signed that capitulation had no right to do so, and that no -one but the Emperor of Russia has that right. - -If, however, the Emperor of Russia ratifies that convention, I will -ratify it; but it is only a trick. March on, destroy the Russian -army.... You are in a position to seize its baggage and artillery. - -The Russian Emperor’s aide-de-camp is an impostor. Officers are -nothing when they have no powers; this one had none.... The Austrians -let themselves be tricked at the crossing of the Vienna bridge, you are -letting yourself be tricked by an aide-de-camp of the Emperor. - -NAPOLEON - -Bonaparte’s adjutant rode full gallop with this menacing letter to -Murat. Bonaparte himself, not trusting to his generals, moved with all -the Guards to the field of battle, afraid of letting a ready victim -escape, and Bagratión’s four thousand men merrily lighted campfires, -dried and warmed themselves, cooked their porridge for the first time -for three days, and not one of them knew or imagined what was in store -for him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -Between three and four o’clock in the afternoon Prince Andrew, who -had persisted in his request to Kutúzov, arrived at Grunth and reported -himself to Bagratión. Bonaparte’s adjutant had not yet reached -Murat’s detachment and the battle had not yet begun. In Bagratión’s -detachment no one knew anything of the general position of affairs. They -talked of peace but did not believe in its possibility; others talked -of a battle but also disbelieved in the nearness of an engagement. -Bagratión, knowing Bolkónski to be a favorite and trusted adjutant, -received him with distinction and special marks of favor, explaining to -him that there would probably be an engagement that day or the next, and -giving him full liberty to remain with him during the battle or to join -the rearguard and have an eye on the order of retreat, “which is also -very important.” - -“However, there will hardly be an engagement today,” said Bagratión -as if to reassure Prince Andrew. - -“If he is one of the ordinary little staff dandies sent to earn a -medal he can get his reward just as well in the rearguard, but if he -wishes to stay with me, let him... he’ll be of use here if he’s a -brave officer,” thought Bagratión. Prince Andrew, without replying, -asked the prince’s permission to ride round the position to see the -disposition of the forces, so as to know his bearings should he be sent -to execute an order. The officer on duty, a handsome, elegantly dressed -man with a diamond ring on his forefinger, who was fond of speaking -French though he spoke it badly, offered to conduct Prince Andrew. - -On all sides they saw rain-soaked officers with dejected faces who -seemed to be seeking something, and soldiers dragging doors, benches, -and fencing from the village. - -“There now, Prince! We can’t stop those fellows,” said the staff -officer pointing to the soldiers. “The officers don’t keep them in -hand. And there,” he pointed to a sutler’s tent, “they crowd in -and sit. This morning I turned them all out and now look, it’s full -again. I must go there, Prince, and scare them a bit. It won’t take a -moment.” - -“Yes, let’s go in and I will get myself a roll and some cheese,” -said Prince Andrew who had not yet had time to eat anything. - -“Why didn’t you mention it, Prince? I would have offered you -something.” - -They dismounted and entered the tent. Several officers, with flushed and -weary faces, were sitting at the table eating and drinking. - -“Now what does this mean, gentlemen?” said the staff officer, in -the reproachful tone of a man who has repeated the same thing more -than once. “You know it won’t do to leave your posts like this. -The prince gave orders that no one should leave his post. Now you, -Captain,” and he turned to a thin, dirty little artillery officer who -without his boots (he had given them to the canteen keeper to dry), -in only his stockings, rose when they entered, smiling not altogether -comfortably. - -“Well, aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Captain Túshin?” he -continued. “One would think that as an artillery officer you would set -a good example, yet here you are without your boots! The alarm will be -sounded and you’ll be in a pretty position without your boots!” (The -staff officer smiled.) “Kindly return to your posts, gentlemen, all of -you, all!” he added in a tone of command. - -Prince Andrew smiled involuntarily as he looked at the artillery officer -Túshin, who silent and smiling, shifting from one stockinged foot to -the other, glanced inquiringly with his large, intelligent, kindly eyes -from Prince Andrew to the staff officer. - -“The soldiers say it feels easier without boots,” said Captain -Túshin smiling shyly in his uncomfortable position, evidently wishing -to adopt a jocular tone. But before he had finished he felt that his -jest was unacceptable and had not come off. He grew confused. - -“Kindly return to your posts,” said the staff officer trying to -preserve his gravity. - -Prince Andrew glanced again at the artillery officer’s small figure. -There was something peculiar about it, quite unsoldierly, rather comic, -but extremely attractive. - -The staff officer and Prince Andrew mounted their horses and rode on. - -Having ridden beyond the village, continually meeting and overtaking -soldiers and officers of various regiments, they saw on their left some -entrenchments being thrown up, the freshly dug clay of which showed up -red. Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirt sleeves despite -the cold wind, swarmed in these earthworks like a host of white ants; -spadefuls of red clay were continually being thrown up from behind the -bank by unseen hands. Prince Andrew and the officer rode up, looked at -the entrenchment, and went on again. Just behind it they came upon some -dozens of soldiers, continually replaced by others, who ran from the -entrenchment. They had to hold their noses and put their horses to a -trot to escape from the poisoned atmosphere of these latrines. - -“Voilà l’agrément des camps, monsieur le prince,” * said the -staff officer. - - * “This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince.” - - -They rode up the opposite hill. From there the French could already be -seen. Prince Andrew stopped and began examining the position. - -“That’s our battery,” said the staff officer indicating the -highest point. “It’s in charge of the queer fellow we saw without -his boots. You can see everything from there; let’s go there, -Prince.” - -“Thank you very much, I will go on alone,” said Prince Andrew, -wishing to rid himself of this staff officer’s company, “please -don’t trouble yourself further.” - -The staff officer remained behind and Prince Andrew rode on alone. - -The farther forward and nearer the enemy he went, the more orderly and -cheerful were the troops. The greatest disorder and depression had been -in the baggage train he had passed that morning on the Znaim road seven -miles away from the French. At Grunth also some apprehension and alarm -could be felt, but the nearer Prince Andrew came to the French lines the -more confident was the appearance of our troops. The soldiers in -their greatcoats were ranged in lines, the sergeants major and company -officers were counting the men, poking the last man in each section in -the ribs and telling him to hold his hand up. Soldiers scattered over -the whole place were dragging logs and brushwood and were building -shelters with merry chatter and laughter; around the fires sat others, -dressed and undressed, drying their shirts and leg bands or mending -boots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers and porridge cookers. -In one company dinner was ready, and the soldiers were gazing eagerly -at the steaming boiler, waiting till the sample, which a quartermaster -sergeant was carrying in a wooden bowl to an officer who sat on a log -before his shelter, had been tasted. - -Another company, a lucky one for not all the companies had vodka, -crowded round a pockmarked, broad-shouldered sergeant major who, tilting -a keg, filled one after another the canteen lids held out to him. The -soldiers lifted the canteen lids to their lips with reverential faces, -emptied them, rolling the vodka in their mouths, and walked away from -the sergeant major with brightened expressions, licking their lips and -wiping them on the sleeves of their greatcoats. All their faces were -as serene as if all this were happening at home awaiting peaceful -encampment, and not within sight of the enemy before an action in -which at least half of them would be left on the field. After passing a -chasseur regiment and in the lines of the Kiev grenadiers—fine fellows -busy with similar peaceful affairs—near the shelter of the regimental -commander, higher than and different from the others, Prince Andrew came -out in front of a platoon of grenadiers before whom lay a naked man. Two -soldiers held him while two others were flourishing their switches and -striking him regularly on his bare back. The man shrieked unnaturally. -A stout major was pacing up and down the line, and regardless of the -screams kept repeating: - -“It’s a shame for a soldier to steal; a soldier must be honest, -honorable, and brave, but if he robs his fellows there is no honor in -him, he’s a scoundrel. Go on! Go on!” - -So the swishing sound of the strokes, and the desperate but unnatural -screams, continued. - -“Go on, go on!” said the major. - -A young officer with a bewildered and pained expression on his face -stepped away from the man and looked round inquiringly at the adjutant -as he rode by. - -Prince Andrew, having reached the front line, rode along it. Our front -line and that of the enemy were far apart on the right and left flanks, -but in the center where the men with a flag of truce had passed that -morning, the lines were so near together that the men could see one -another’s faces and speak to one another. Besides the soldiers who -formed the picket line on either side, there were many curious onlookers -who, jesting and laughing, stared at their strange foreign enemies. - -Since early morning—despite an injunction not to approach the picket -line—the officers had been unable to keep sight-seers away. The -soldiers forming the picket line, like showmen exhibiting a curiosity, -no longer looked at the French but paid attention to the sight-seers and -grew weary waiting to be relieved. Prince Andrew halted to have a look -at the French. - -“Look! Look there!” one soldier was saying to another, pointing to a -Russian musketeer who had gone up to the picket line with an officer and -was rapidly and excitedly talking to a French grenadier. “Hark to him -jabbering! Fine, isn’t it? It’s all the Frenchy can do to keep up -with him. There now, Sídorov!” - -“Wait a bit and listen. It’s fine!” answered Sídorov, who was -considered an adept at French. - -The soldier to whom the laughers referred was Dólokhov. Prince Andrew -recognized him and stopped to listen to what he was saying. Dólokhov -had come from the left flank where their regiment was stationed, with -his captain. - -“Now then, go on, go on!” incited the officer, bending forward and -trying not to lose a word of the speech which was incomprehensible to -him. “More, please: more! What’s he saying?” - -Dólokhov did not answer the captain; he had been drawn into a hot -dispute with the French grenadier. They were naturally talking about the -campaign. The Frenchman, confusing the Austrians with the Russians, was -trying to prove that the Russians had surrendered and had fled all -the way from Ulm, while Dólokhov maintained that the Russians had not -surrendered but had beaten the French. - -“We have orders to drive you off here, and we shall drive you off,” -said Dólokhov. - -“Only take care you and your Cossacks are not all captured!” said -the French grenadier. - -The French onlookers and listeners laughed. - -“We’ll make you dance as we did under Suvórov...,” * said -Dólokhov. - - * “On vous fera danser.” - - -“Qu’ est-ce qu’il chante?” * asked a Frenchman. - - * “What’s he singing about?” - - -“It’s ancient history,” said another, guessing that it referred to -a former war. “The Emperor will teach your Suvara as he has taught the -others...” - -“Bonaparte...” began Dólokhov, but the Frenchman interrupted him. - -“Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacré nom...!” cried he angrily. - -“The devil skin your Emperor.” - -And Dólokhov swore at him in coarse soldier’s Russian and shouldering -his musket walked away. - -“Let us go, Iván Lukích,” he said to the captain. - -“Ah, that’s the way to talk French,” said the picket soldiers. -“Now, Sídorov, you have a try!” - -Sídorov, turning to the French, winked, and began to jabber meaningless -sounds very fast: “Kari, mala, tafa, safi, muter, Kaská,” he said, -trying to give an expressive intonation to his voice. - -“Ho! ho! ho! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Ouh! ouh!” came peals of such healthy -and good-humored laughter from the soldiers that it infected the French -involuntarily, so much so that the only thing left to do seemed to be -to unload the muskets, explode the ammunition, and all return home as -quickly as possible. - -But the guns remained loaded, the loopholes in blockhouses and -entrenchments looked out just as menacingly, and the unlimbered cannon -confronted one another as before. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Having ridden round the whole line from right flank to left, Prince -Andrew made his way up to the battery from which the staff officer had -told him the whole field could be seen. Here he dismounted, and stopped -beside the farthest of the four unlimbered cannon. Before the guns an -artillery sentry was pacing up and down; he stood at attention when the -officer arrived, but at a sign resumed his measured, monotonous pacing. -Behind the guns were their limbers and still farther back picket ropes -and artillerymen’s bonfires. To the left, not far from the farthest -cannon, was a small, newly constructed wattle shed from which came the -sound of officers’ voices in eager conversation. - -It was true that a view over nearly the whole Russian position and the -greater part of the enemy’s opened out from this battery. Just facing -it, on the crest of the opposite hill, the village of Schön Grabern -could be seen, and in three places to left and right the French troops -amid the smoke of their campfires, the greater part of whom were -evidently in the village itself and behind the hill. To the left from -that village, amid the smoke, was something resembling a battery, but it -was impossible to see it clearly with the naked eye. Our right flank was -posted on a rather steep incline which dominated the French position. -Our infantry were stationed there, and at the farthest point the -dragoons. In the center, where Túshin’s battery stood and from which -Prince Andrew was surveying the position, was the easiest and most -direct descent and ascent to the brook separating us from Schön -Grabern. On the left our troops were close to a copse, in which smoked -the bonfires of our infantry who were felling wood. The French line was -wider than ours, and it was plain that they could easily outflank us -on both sides. Behind our position was a steep and deep dip, making it -difficult for artillery and cavalry to retire. Prince Andrew took -out his notebook and, leaning on the cannon, sketched a plan of the -position. He made some notes on two points, intending to mention them to -Bagratión. His idea was, first, to concentrate all the artillery in the -center, and secondly, to withdraw the cavalry to the other side of the -dip. Prince Andrew, being always near the commander in chief, closely -following the mass movements and general orders, and constantly studying -historical accounts of battles, involuntarily pictured to himself the -course of events in the forthcoming action in broad outline. He -imagined only important possibilities: “If the enemy attacks the right -flank,” he said to himself, “the Kiev grenadiers and the Podólsk -chasseurs must hold their position till reserves from the center -come up. In that case the dragoons could successfully make a flank -counterattack. If they attack our center we, having the center battery -on this high ground, shall withdraw the left flank under its cover, and -retreat to the dip by echelons.” So he reasoned.... All the time -he had been beside the gun, he had heard the voices of the officers -distinctly, but as often happens had not understood a word of what they -were saying. Suddenly, however, he was struck by a voice coming from the -shed, and its tone was so sincere that he could not but listen. - -“No, friend,” said a pleasant and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, a -familiar voice, “what I say is that if it were possible to know -what is beyond death, none of us would be afraid of it. That’s so, -friend.” - -Another, a younger voice, interrupted him: “Afraid or not, you can’t -escape it anyhow.” - -“All the same, one is afraid! Oh, you clever people,” said a third -manly voice interrupting them both. “Of course you artillery men are -very wise, because you can take everything along with you—vodka and -snacks.” - -And the owner of the manly voice, evidently an infantry officer, -laughed. - -“Yes, one is afraid,” continued the first speaker, he of the -familiar voice. “One is afraid of the unknown, that’s what it is. -Whatever we may say about the soul going to the sky... we know there is -no sky but only an atmosphere.” - -The manly voice again interrupted the artillery officer. - -“Well, stand us some of your herb vodka, Túshin,” it said. - -“Why,” thought Prince Andrew, “that’s the captain who stood up -in the sutler’s hut without his boots.” He recognized the agreeable, -philosophizing voice with pleasure. - -“Some herb vodka? Certainly!” said Túshin. “But still, to -conceive a future life...” - -He did not finish. Just then there was a whistle in the air; nearer and -nearer, faster and louder, louder and faster, a cannon ball, as if it -had not finished saying what was necessary, thudded into the ground near -the shed with super human force, throwing up a mass of earth. The ground -seemed to groan at the terrible impact. - -And immediately Túshin, with a short pipe in the corner of his mouth -and his kind, intelligent face rather pale, rushed out of the shed -followed by the owner of the manly voice, a dashing infantry officer who -hurried off to his company, buttoning up his coat as he ran. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -Mounting his horse again Prince Andrew lingered with the battery, -looking at the puff from the gun that had sent the ball. His eyes -ran rapidly over the wide space, but he only saw that the hitherto -motionless masses of the French now swayed and that there really was -a battery to their left. The smoke above it had not yet dispersed. Two -mounted Frenchmen, probably adjutants, were galloping up the hill. A -small but distinctly visible enemy column was moving down the hill, -probably to strengthen the front line. The smoke of the first shot had -not yet dispersed before another puff appeared, followed by a report. -The battle had begun! Prince Andrew turned his horse and galloped back -to Grunth to find Prince Bagratión. He heard the cannonade behind him -growing louder and more frequent. Evidently our guns had begun to reply. -From the bottom of the slope, where the parleys had taken place, came -the report of musketry. - -Lemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with Bonaparte’s stern letter, -and Murat, humiliated and anxious to expiate his fault, had at once -moved his forces to attack the center and outflank both the Russian -wings, hoping before evening and before the arrival of the Emperor to -crush the contemptible detachment that stood before him. - -“It has begun. Here it is!” thought Prince Andrew, feeling the -blood rush to his heart. “But where and how will my Toulon present -itself?” - -Passing between the companies that had been eating porridge and drinking -vodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere the same rapid -movement of soldiers forming ranks and getting their muskets ready, -and on all their faces he recognized the same eagerness that filled his -heart. “It has begun! Here it is, dreadful but enjoyable!” was what -the face of each soldier and each officer seemed to say. - -Before he had reached the embankments that were being thrown up, he saw, -in the light of the dull autumn evening, mounted men coming toward him. -The foremost, wearing a Cossack cloak and lambskin cap and riding a -white horse, was Prince Bagratión. Prince Andrew stopped, waiting for -him to come up; Prince Bagratión reined in his horse and recognizing -Prince Andrew nodded to him. He still looked ahead while Prince Andrew -told him what he had seen. - -The feeling, “It has begun! Here it is!” was seen even on Prince -Bagratión’s hard brown face with its half-closed, dull, sleepy eyes. -Prince Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive face -and wished he could tell what, if anything, this man was thinking -and feeling at that moment. “Is there anything at all behind that -impassive face?” Prince Andrew asked himself as he looked. Prince -Bagratión bent his head in sign of agreement with what Prince Andrew -told him, and said, “Very good!” in a tone that seemed to imply that -everything that took place and was reported to him was exactly what he -had foreseen. Prince Andrew, out of breath with his rapid ride, spoke -quickly. Prince Bagratión, uttering his words with an Oriental accent, -spoke particularly slowly, as if to impress the fact that there was no -need to hurry. However, he put his horse to a trot in the direction -of Túshin’s battery. Prince Andrew followed with the suite. Behind -Prince Bagratión rode an officer of the suite, the prince’s personal -adjutant, Zherkóv, an orderly officer, the staff officer on duty, -riding a fine bobtailed horse, and a civilian—an accountant who had -asked permission to be present at the battle out of curiosity. The -accountant, a stout, full-faced man, looked around him with a naïve -smile of satisfaction and presented a strange appearance among the -hussars, Cossacks, and adjutants, in his camlet coat, as he jolted on -his horse with a convoy officer’s saddle. - -“He wants to see a battle,” said Zherkóv to Bolkónski, pointing -to the accountant, “but he feels a pain in the pit of his stomach -already.” - -“Oh, leave off!” said the accountant with a beaming but rather -cunning smile, as if flattered at being made the subject of Zherkóv’s -joke, and purposely trying to appear stupider than he really was. - -“It is very strange, mon Monsieur Prince,” said the staff officer. -(He remembered that in French there is some peculiar way of addressing a -prince, but could not get it quite right.) - -By this time they were all approaching Túshin’s battery, and a ball -struck the ground in front of them. - -“What’s that that has fallen?” asked the accountant with a naïve -smile. - -“A French pancake,” answered Zherkóv. - -“So that’s what they hit with?” asked the accountant. “How -awful!” - -He seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had hardly finished speaking -when they again heard an unexpectedly violent whistling which suddenly -ended with a thud into something soft... f-f-flop! and a Cossack, riding -a little to their right and behind the accountant, crashed to earth with -his horse. Zherkóv and the staff officer bent over their saddles and -turned their horses away. The accountant stopped, facing the Cossack, -and examined him with attentive curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but the -horse still struggled. - -Prince Bagratión screwed up his eyes, looked round, and, seeing the -cause of the confusion, turned away with indifference, as if to say, -“Is it worth while noticing trifles?” He reined in his horse with -the care of a skillful rider and, slightly bending over, disengaged his -saber which had caught in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned saber of -a kind no longer in general use. Prince Andrew remembered the story of -Suvórov giving his saber to Bagratión in Italy, and the recollection -was particularly pleasant at that moment. They had reached the battery -at which Prince Andrew had been when he examined the battlefield. - -“Whose company?” asked Prince Bagratión of an artilleryman standing -by the ammunition wagon. - -He asked, “Whose company?” but he really meant, “Are you -frightened here?” and the artilleryman understood him. - -“Captain Túshin’s, your excellency!” shouted the red-haired, -freckled gunner in a merry voice, standing to attention. - -“Yes, yes,” muttered Bagratión as if considering something, and he -rode past the limbers to the farthest cannon. - -As he approached, a ringing shot issued from it deafening him and his -suite, and in the smoke that suddenly surrounded the gun they could see -the gunners who had seized it straining to roll it quickly back to its -former position. A huge, broad-shouldered gunner, Number One, holding -a mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the wheel; while Number Two with -a trembling hand placed a charge in the cannon’s mouth. The short, -round-shouldered Captain Túshin, stumbling over the tail of the gun -carriage, moved forward and, not noticing the general, looked out -shading his eyes with his small hand. - -“Lift it two lines more and it will be just right,” cried he in a -feeble voice to which he tried to impart a dashing note, ill-suited to -his weak figure. “Number Two!” he squeaked. “Fire, Medvédev!” - -Bagratión called to him, and Túshin, raising three fingers to his cap -with a bashful and awkward gesture not at all like a military salute -but like a priest’s benediction, approached the general. Though -Túshin’s guns had been intended to cannonade the valley, he was -firing incendiary balls at the village of Schön Grabern visible just -opposite, in front of which large masses of French were advancing. - -No one had given Túshin orders where and at what to fire, but after -consulting his sergeant major, Zakharchénko, for whom he had great -respect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to set fire to the -village. “Very good!” said Bagratión in reply to the officer’s -report, and began deliberately to examine the whole battlefield extended -before him. The French had advanced nearest on our right. Below the -height on which the Kiev regiment was stationed, in the hollow where the -rivulet flowed, the soul-stirring rolling and crackling of musketry was -heard, and much farther to the right beyond the dragoons, the officer of -the suite pointed out to Bagratión a French column that was outflanking -us. To the left the horizon bounded by the adjacent wood. Prince -Bagratión ordered two battalions from the center to be sent to -reinforce the right flank. The officer of the suite ventured to remark -to the prince that if these battalions went away, the guns would remain -without support. Prince Bagratión turned to the officer and with his -dull eyes looked at him in silence. It seemed to Prince Andrew that the -officer’s remark was just and that really no answer could be made to -it. But at that moment an adjutant galloped up with a message from the -commander of the regiment in the hollow and news that immense masses -of the French were coming down upon them and that his regiment was in -disorder and was retreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. Prince Bagratión -bowed his head in sign of assent and approval. He rode off at a walk to -the right and sent an adjutant to the dragoons with orders to attack the -French. But this adjutant returned half an hour later with the news that -the commander of the dragoons had already retreated beyond the dip in -the ground, as a heavy fire had been opened on him and he was losing -men uselessly, and so had hastened to throw some sharpshooters into the -wood. - -“Very good!” said Bagratión. - -As he was leaving the battery, firing was heard on the left also, and -as it was too far to the left flank for him to have time to go there -himself, Prince Bagratión sent Zherkóv to tell the general in command -(the one who had paraded his regiment before Kutúzov at Braunau) that -he must retreat as quickly as possible behind the hollow in the rear, -as the right flank would probably not be able to withstand the enemy’s -attack very long. About Túshin and the battalion that had been in -support of his battery all was forgotten. Prince Andrew listened -attentively to Bagratión’s colloquies with the commanding officers -and the orders he gave them and, to his surprise, found that no orders -were really given, but that Prince Bagratión tried to make it appear -that everything done by necessity, by accident, or by the will of -subordinate commanders was done, if not by his direct command, at least -in accord with his intentions. Prince Andrew noticed, however, that -though what happened was due to chance and was independent of the -commander’s will, owing to the tact Bagratión showed, his presence -was very valuable. Officers who approached him with disturbed -countenances became calm; soldiers and officers greeted him gaily, grew -more cheerful in his presence, and were evidently anxious to display -their courage before him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -Prince Bagratión, having reached the highest point of our right flank, -began riding downhill to where the roll of musketry was heard but where -on account of the smoke nothing could be seen. The nearer they got to -the hollow the less they could see but the more they felt the nearness -of the actual battlefield. They began to meet wounded men. One with a -bleeding head and no cap was being dragged along by two soldiers who -supported him under the arms. There was a gurgle in his throat and he -was spitting blood. A bullet had evidently hit him in the throat or -mouth. Another was walking sturdily by himself but without his musket, -groaning aloud and swinging his arm which had just been hurt, while -blood from it was streaming over his greatcoat as from a bottle. He had -that moment been wounded and his face showed fear rather than suffering. -Crossing a road they descended a steep incline and saw several men -lying on the ground; they also met a crowd of soldiers some of whom were -unwounded. The soldiers were ascending the hill breathing heavily, and -despite the general’s presence were talking loudly and gesticulating. -In front of them rows of gray cloaks were already visible through the -smoke, and an officer catching sight of Bagratión rushed shouting after -the crowd of retreating soldiers, ordering them back. Bagratión rode up -to the ranks along which shots crackled now here and now there, drowning -the sound of voices and the shouts of command. The whole air reeked with -smoke. The excited faces of the soldiers were blackened with it. Some -were using their ramrods, others putting powder on the touchpans or -taking charges from their pouches, while others were firing, though who -they were firing at could not be seen for the smoke which there was no -wind to carry away. A pleasant humming and whistling of bullets were -often heard. “What is this?” thought Prince Andrew approaching the -crowd of soldiers. “It can’t be an attack, for they are not moving; -it can’t be a square—for they are not drawn up for that.” - -The commander of the regiment, a thin, feeble-looking old man with a -pleasant smile—his eyelids drooping more than half over his old eyes, -giving him a mild expression, rode up to Bagratión and welcomed him as -a host welcomes an honored guest. He reported that his regiment had -been attacked by French cavalry and that, though the attack had been -repulsed, he had lost more than half his men. He said the attack -had been repulsed, employing this military term to describe what had -occurred to his regiment, but in reality he did not himself know what -had happened during that half-hour to the troops entrusted to him, and -could not say with certainty whether the attack had been repulsed or his -regiment had been broken up. All he knew was that at the commencement -of the action balls and shells began flying all over his regiment and -hitting men and that afterwards someone had shouted “Cavalry!” and -our men had begun firing. They were still firing, not at the cavalry -which had disappeared, but at French infantry who had come into the -hollow and were firing at our men. Prince Bagratión bowed his head as a -sign that this was exactly what he had desired and expected. Turning -to his adjutant he ordered him to bring down the two battalions of the -Sixth Chasseurs whom they had just passed. Prince Andrew was struck by -the changed expression on Prince Bagratión’s face at this moment. It -expressed the concentrated and happy resolution you see on the face of -a man who on a hot day takes a final run before plunging into the water. -The dull, sleepy expression was no longer there, nor the affectation -of profound thought. The round, steady, hawk’s eyes looked before him -eagerly and rather disdainfully, not resting on anything although his -movements were still slow and measured. - -The commander of the regiment turned to Prince Bagratión, entreating -him to go back as it was too dangerous to remain where they were. -“Please, your excellency, for God’s sake!” he kept saying, -glancing for support at an officer of the suite who turned away -from him. “There, you see!” and he drew attention to the bullets -whistling, singing, and hissing continually around them. He spoke in the -tone of entreaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a gentleman who -has picked up an ax: “We are used to it, but you, sir, will blister -your hands.” He spoke as if those bullets could not kill him, and his -half-closed eyes gave still more persuasiveness to his words. The staff -officer joined in the colonel’s appeals, but Bagratión did not reply; -he only gave an order to cease firing and re-form, so as to give room -for the two approaching battalions. While he was speaking, the curtain -of smoke that had concealed the hollow, driven by a rising wind, began -to move from right to left as if drawn by an invisible hand, and the -hill opposite, with the French moving about on it, opened out before -them. All eyes fastened involuntarily on this French column advancing -against them and winding down over the uneven ground. One could already -see the soldiers’ shaggy caps, distinguish the officers from the men, -and see the standard flapping against its staff. - -“They march splendidly,” remarked someone in Bagratión’s suite. - -The head of the column had already descended into the hollow. The clash -would take place on this side of it... - -The remains of our regiment which had been in action rapidly formed up -and moved to the right; from behind it, dispersing the laggards, came -two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs in fine order. Before they had -reached Bagratión, the weighty tread of the mass of men marching in -step could be heard. On their left flank, nearest to Bagratión, marched -a company commander, a fine round-faced man, with a stupid and happy -expression—the same man who had rushed out of the wattle shed. At that -moment he was clearly thinking of nothing but how dashing a fellow he -would appear as he passed the commander. - -With the self-satisfaction of a man on parade, he stepped lightly with -his muscular legs as if sailing along, stretching himself to his full -height without the smallest effort, his ease contrasting with the heavy -tread of the soldiers who were keeping step with him. He carried close -to his leg a narrow unsheathed sword (small, curved, and not like a real -weapon) and looked now at the superior officers and now back at the men -without losing step, his whole powerful body turning flexibly. It was as -if all the powers of his soul were concentrated on passing the commander -in the best possible manner, and feeling that he was doing it well he -was happy. “Left... left... left...” he seemed to repeat to himself -at each alternate step; and in time to this, with stern but varied -faces, the wall of soldiers burdened with knapsacks and muskets marched -in step, and each one of these hundreds of soldiers seemed to be -repeating to himself at each alternate step, “Left... left... -left...” A fat major skirted a bush, puffing and falling out of -step; a soldier who had fallen behind, his face showing alarm at his -defection, ran at a trot, panting to catch up with his company. A cannon -ball, cleaving the air, flew over the heads of Bagratión and his suite, -and fell into the column to the measure of “Left... left!” “Close -up!” came the company commander’s voice in jaunty tones. The -soldiers passed in a semicircle round something where the ball had -fallen, and an old trooper on the flank, a noncommissioned officer who -had stopped beside the dead men, ran to catch up his line and, falling -into step with a hop, looked back angrily, and through the ominous -silence and the regular tramp of feet beating the ground in unison, one -seemed to hear left... left... left. - -“Well done, lads!” said Prince Bagratión. - -“Glad to do our best, your ex’len-lency!” came a confused shout -from the ranks. A morose soldier marching on the left turned his eyes on -Bagratión as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say: “We -know that ourselves!” Another, without looking round, as though -fearing to relax, shouted with his mouth wide open and passed on. - -The order was given to halt and down knapsacks. - -Bagratión rode round the ranks that had marched past him and -dismounted. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off and handed over his -felt coat, stretched his legs, and set his cap straight. The head of the -French column, with its officers leading, appeared from below the hill. - -“Forward, with God!” said Bagratión, in a resolute, sonorous voice, -turning for a moment to the front line, and slightly swinging his arms, -he went forward uneasily over the rough field with the awkward gait of -a cavalryman. Prince Andrew felt that an invisible power was leading him -forward, and experienced great happiness. - -The French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking beside Bagratión, -could clearly distinguish their bandoliers, red epaulets, and even their -faces. (He distinctly saw an old French officer who, with gaitered -legs and turned-out toes, climbed the hill with difficulty.) Prince -Bagratión gave no further orders and silently continued to walk on in -front of the ranks. Suddenly one shot after another rang out from the -French, smoke appeared all along their uneven ranks, and musket shots -sounded. Several of our men fell, among them the round-faced officer -who had marched so gaily and complacently. But at the moment the first -report was heard, Bagratión looked round and shouted, “Hurrah!” - -“Hurrah—ah!—ah!” rang a long-drawn shout from our ranks, and -passing Bagratión and racing one another they rushed in an irregular -but joyous and eager crowd down the hill at their disordered foe. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -The attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of our right -flank. In the center Túshin’s forgotten battery, which had managed to -set fire to the Schön Grabern village, delayed the French advance. The -French were putting out the fire which the wind was spreading, and thus -gave us time to retreat. The retirement of the center to the other side -of the dip in the ground at the rear was hurried and noisy, but the -different companies did not get mixed. But our left—which consisted -of the Azóv and Podólsk infantry and the Pávlograd hussars—was -simultaneously attacked and outflanked by superior French forces under -Lannes and was thrown into confusion. Bagratión had sent Zherkóv -to the general commanding that left flank with orders to retreat -immediately. - -Zherkóv, not removing his hand from his cap, turned his horse about -and galloped off. But no sooner had he left Bagratión than his courage -failed him. He was seized by panic and could not go where it was -dangerous. - -Having reached the left flank, instead of going to the front where the -firing was, he began to look for the general and his staff where they -could not possibly be, and so did not deliver the order. - -The command of the left flank belonged by seniority to the commander of -the regiment Kutúzov had reviewed at Braunau and in which Dólokhov was -serving as a private. But the command of the extreme left flank had been -assigned to the commander of the Pávlograd regiment in which Rostóv -was serving, and a misunderstanding arose. The two commanders were much -exasperated with one another and, long after the action had begun on -the right flank and the French were already advancing, were engaged -in discussion with the sole object of offending one another. But the -regiments, both cavalry and infantry, were by no means ready for the -impending action. From privates to general they were not expecting a -battle and were engaged in peaceful occupations, the cavalry feeding the -horses and the infantry collecting wood. - -“He higher iss dan I in rank,” said the German colonel of the -hussars, flushing and addressing an adjutant who had ridden up, “so -let him do what he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my hussars... Bugler, -sount ze retreat!” - -But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon and musketry, mingling -together, thundered on the right and in the center, while the capotes -of Lannes’ sharpshooters were already seen crossing the milldam and -forming up within twice the range of a musket shot. The general in -command of the infantry went toward his horse with jerky steps, and -having mounted drew himself up very straight and tall and rode to the -Pávlograd commander. The commanders met with polite bows but with -secret malevolence in their hearts. - -“Once again, Colonel,” said the general, “I can’t leave half -my men in the wood. I beg of you, I beg of you,” he repeated, “to -occupy the position and prepare for an attack.” - -“I peg of you yourself not to mix in vot is not your business!” -suddenly replied the irate colonel. “If you vere in the cavalry...” - -“I am not in the cavalry, Colonel, but I am a Russian general and if -you are not aware of the fact...” - -“Quite avare, your excellency,” suddenly shouted the colonel, -touching his horse and turning purple in the face. “Vill you be so -goot to come to ze front and see dat zis position iss no goot? I don’t -vish to destroy my men for your pleasure!” - -“You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my own pleasure -and I won’t allow it to be said!” - -Taking the colonel’s outburst as a challenge to his courage, the -general expanded his chest and rode, frowning, beside him to the -front line, as if their differences would be settled there amongst the -bullets. They reached the front, several bullets sped over them, and -they halted in silence. There was nothing fresh to be seen from the -line, for from where they had been before it had been evident that it -was impossible for cavalry to act among the bushes and broken ground, -as well as that the French were outflanking our left. The general -and colonel looked sternly and significantly at one another like two -fighting cocks preparing for battle, each vainly trying to detect signs -of cowardice in the other. Both passed the examination successfully. As -there was nothing to be said, and neither wished to give occasion for -it to be alleged that he had been the first to leave the range of fire, -they would have remained there for a long time testing each other’s -courage had it not been that just then they heard the rattle of musketry -and a muffled shout almost behind them in the wood. The French had -attacked the men collecting wood in the copse. It was no longer possible -for the hussars to retreat with the infantry. They were cut off from -the line of retreat on the left by the French. However inconvenient the -position, it was now necessary to attack in order to cut a way through -for themselves. - -The squadron in which Rostóv was serving had scarcely time to mount -before it was halted facing the enemy. Again, as at the Enns bridge, -there was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, and again that -terrible dividing line of uncertainty and fear—resembling the line -separating the living from the dead—lay between them. All were -conscious of this unseen line, and the question whether they would cross -it or not, and how they would cross it, agitated them all. - -The colonel rode to the front, angrily gave some reply to questions put -to him by the officers, and, like a man desperately insisting on having -his own way, gave an order. No one said anything definite, but the rumor -of an attack spread through the squadron. The command to form up rang -out and the sabers whizzed as they were drawn from their scabbards. -Still no one moved. The troops of the left flank, infantry and hussars -alike, felt that the commander did not himself know what to do, and this -irresolution communicated itself to the men. - -“If only they would be quick!” thought Rostóv, feeling that at last -the time had come to experience the joy of an attack of which he had so -often heard from his fellow hussars. - -“Fo’ward, with God, lads!” rang out Denísov’s voice. “At a -twot fo’ward!” - -The horses’ croups began to sway in the front line. Rook pulled at the -reins and started of his own accord. - -Before him, on the right, Rostóv saw the front lines of his hussars and -still farther ahead a dark line which he could not see distinctly but -took to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but some way off. - -“Faster!” came the word of command, and Rostóv felt Rook’s flanks -drooping as he broke into a gallop. - -Rostóv anticipated his horse’s movements and became more and more -elated. He had noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. This tree had been -in the middle of the line that had seemed so terrible—and now he -had crossed that line and not only was there nothing terrible, but -everything was becoming more and more happy and animated. “Oh, how I -will slash at him!” thought Rostóv, gripping the hilt of his saber. - -“Hur-a-a-a-ah!” came a roar of voices. “Let anyone come my way -now,” thought Rostóv driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go -at a full gallop so that he outstripped the others. Ahead, the enemy was -already visible. Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweep -over the squadron. Rostóv raised his saber, ready to strike, but at -that instant the trooper Nikítenko, who was galloping ahead, shot away -from him, and Rostóv felt as in a dream that he continued to be carried -forward with unnatural speed but yet stayed on the same spot. From -behind him Bondarchúk, an hussar he knew, jolted against him and looked -angrily at him. Bondarchúk’s horse swerved and galloped past. - -“How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I am killed!” Rostóv -asked and answered at the same instant. He was alone in the middle of a -field. Instead of the moving horses and hussars’ backs, he saw nothing -before him but the motionless earth and the stubble around him. There -was warm blood under his arm. “No, I am wounded and the horse is -killed.” Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pinning his -rider’s leg. Blood was flowing from his head; he struggled but could -not rise. Rostóv also tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache -having become entangled in the saddle. Where our men were, and where the -French, he did not know. There was no one near. - -Having disentangled his leg, he rose. “Where, on which side, was now -the line that had so sharply divided the two armies?” he asked himself -and could not answer. “Can something bad have happened to me?” -he wondered as he got up: and at that moment he felt that something -superfluous was hanging on his benumbed left arm. The wrist felt as if -it were not his. He examined his hand carefully, vainly trying to find -blood on it. “Ah, here are people coming,” he thought joyfully, -seeing some men running toward him. “They will help me!” In front -came a man wearing a strange shako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned, -and with a hooked nose. Then came two more, and many more running -behind. One of them said something strange, not in Russian. In among the -hindmost of these men wearing similar shakos was a Russian hussar. He -was being held by the arms and his horse was being led behind him. - -“It must be one of ours, a prisoner. Yes. Can it be that they will -take me too? Who are these men?” thought Rostóv, scarcely believing -his eyes. “Can they be French?” He looked at the approaching -Frenchmen, and though but a moment before he had been galloping to get -at them and hack them to pieces, their proximity now seemed so awful -that he could not believe his eyes. “Who are they? Why are they -running? Can they be coming at me? And why? To kill me? Me whom everyone -is so fond of?” He remembered his mother’s love for him, and his -family’s, and his friends’, and the enemy’s intention to kill him -seemed impossible. “But perhaps they may do it!” For more than ten -seconds he stood not moving from the spot or realizing the situation. -The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, was already so -close that the expression of his face could be seen. And the excited, -alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holding his breath, -and running so lightly, frightened Rostóv. He seized his pistol and, -instead of firing it, flung it at the Frenchman and ran with all his -might toward the bushes. He did not now run with the feeling of doubt -and conflict with which he had trodden the Enns bridge, but with the -feeling of a hare fleeing from the hounds. One single sentiment, that -of fear for his young and happy life, possessed his whole being. Rapidly -leaping the furrows, he fled across the field with the impetuosity he -used to show at catchplay, now and then turning his good-natured, pale, -young face to look back. A shudder of terror went through him: “No, -better not look,” he thought, but having reached the bushes he glanced -round once more. The French had fallen behind, and just as he looked -round the first man changed his run to a walk and, turning, shouted -something loudly to a comrade farther back. Rostóv paused. “No, -there’s some mistake,” thought he. “They can’t have wanted to -kill me.” But at the same time, his left arm felt as heavy as if -a seventy-pound weight were tied to it. He could run no more. The -Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostóv closed his eyes and stooped -down. One bullet and then another whistled past him. He mustered his -last remaining strength, took hold of his left hand with his right, and -reached the bushes. Behind these were some Russian sharpshooters. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -The infantry regiments that had been caught unawares in the outskirts -of the wood ran out of it, the different companies getting mixed, and -retreated as a disorderly crowd. One soldier, in his fear, uttered the -senseless cry, “Cut off!” that is so terrible in battle, and that -word infected the whole crowd with a feeling of panic. - -“Surrounded! Cut off? We’re lost!” shouted the fugitives. - -The moment he heard the firing and the cry from behind, the general -realized that something dreadful had happened to his regiment, and the -thought that he, an exemplary officer of many years’ service who -had never been to blame, might be held responsible at headquarters -for negligence or inefficiency so staggered him that, forgetting the -recalcitrant cavalry colonel, his own dignity as a general, and above -all quite forgetting the danger and all regard for self-preservation, he -clutched the crupper of his saddle and, spurring his horse, galloped to -the regiment under a hail of bullets which fell around, but fortunately -missed him. His one desire was to know what was happening and at any -cost correct, or remedy, the mistake if he had made one, so that he, -an exemplary officer of twenty-two years’ service, who had never been -censured, should not be held to blame. - -Having galloped safely through the French, he reached a field behind -the copse across which our men, regardless of orders, were running and -descending the valley. That moment of moral hesitation which decides -the fate of battles had arrived. Would this disorderly crowd of soldiers -attend to the voice of their commander, or would they, disregarding him, -continue their flight? Despite his desperate shouts that used to seem -so terrible to the soldiers, despite his furious purple countenance -distorted out of all likeness to his former self, and the flourishing of -his saber, the soldiers all continued to run, talking, firing into the -air, and disobeying orders. The moral hesitation which decided the fate -of battles was evidently culminating in a panic. - -The general had a fit of coughing as a result of shouting and of the -powder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost. But at that -moment the French who were attacking, suddenly and without any apparent -reason, ran back and disappeared from the outskirts, and Russian -sharpshooters showed themselves in the copse. It was Timókhin’s -company, which alone had maintained its order in the wood and, having -lain in ambush in a ditch, now attacked the French unexpectedly. -Timókhin, armed only with a sword, had rushed at the enemy with such -a desperate cry and such mad, drunken determination that, taken by -surprise, the French had thrown down their muskets and run. Dólokhov, -running beside Timókhin, killed a Frenchman at close quarters and was -the first to seize the surrendering French officer by his collar. Our -fugitives returned, the battalions re-formed, and the French who had -nearly cut our left flank in half were for the moment repulsed. Our -reserve units were able to join up, and the fight was at an end. The -regimental commander and Major Ekonómov had stopped beside a bridge, -letting the retreating companies pass by them, when a soldier came up -and took hold of the commander’s stirrup, almost leaning against him. -The man was wearing a bluish coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsack -or cap, his head was bandaged, and over his shoulder a French munition -pouch was slung. He had an officer’s sword in his hand. The soldier -was pale, his blue eyes looked impudently into the commander’s face, -and his lips were smiling. Though the commander was occupied in giving -instructions to Major Ekonómov, he could not help taking notice of the -soldier. - -“Your excellency, here are two trophies,” said Dólokhov, pointing -to the French sword and pouch. “I have taken an officer prisoner. I -stopped the company.” Dólokhov breathed heavily from weariness and -spoke in abrupt sentences. “The whole company can bear witness. I beg -you will remember this, your excellency!” - -“All right, all right,” replied the commander, and turned to Major -Ekonómov. - -But Dólokhov did not go away; he untied the handkerchief around his -head, pulled it off, and showed the blood congealed on his hair. - -“A bayonet wound. I remained at the front. Remember, your -excellency!” - - -Túshin’s battery had been forgotten and only at the very end of the -action did Prince Bagratión, still hearing the cannonade in the center, -send his orderly staff officer, and later Prince Andrew also, to order -the battery to retire as quickly as possible. When the supports attached -to Túshin’s battery had been moved away in the middle of the action -by someone’s order, the battery had continued firing and was only not -captured by the French because the enemy could not surmise that anyone -could have the effrontery to continue firing from four quite undefended -guns. On the contrary, the energetic action of that battery led the -French to suppose that here—in the center—the main Russian forces -were concentrated. Twice they had attempted to attack this point, but on -each occasion had been driven back by grapeshot from the four isolated -guns on the hillock. - -Soon after Prince Bagratión had left him, Túshin had succeeded in -setting fire to Schön Grabern. - -“Look at them scurrying! It’s burning! Just see the smoke! Fine! -Grand! Look at the smoke, the smoke!” exclaimed the artillerymen, -brightening up. - -All the guns, without waiting for orders, were being fired in the -direction of the conflagration. As if urging each other on, the soldiers -cried at each shot: “Fine! That’s good! Look at it... Grand!” The -fire, fanned by the breeze, was rapidly spreading. The French columns -that had advanced beyond the village went back; but as though in revenge -for this failure, the enemy placed ten guns to the right of the village -and began firing them at Túshin’s battery. - -In their childlike glee, aroused by the fire and their luck in -successfully cannonading the French, our artillerymen only noticed this -battery when two balls, and then four more, fell among our guns, one -knocking over two horses and another tearing off a munition-wagon -driver’s leg. Their spirits once roused were, however, not diminished, -but only changed character. The horses were replaced by others from a -reserve gun carriage, the wounded were carried away, and the four guns -were turned against the ten-gun battery. Túshin’s companion officer -had been killed at the beginning of the engagement and within an hour -seventeen of the forty men of the guns’ crews had been disabled, but -the artillerymen were still as merry and lively as ever. Twice they -noticed the French appearing below them, and then they fired grapeshot -at them. - -Little Túshin, moving feebly and awkwardly, kept telling his orderly to -“refill my pipe for that one!” and then, scattering sparks from it, -ran forward shading his eyes with his small hand to look at the French. - -“Smack at ‘em, lads!” he kept saying, seizing the guns by the -wheels and working the screws himself. - -Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which always made him -jump, Túshin not taking his pipe from his mouth ran from gun to gun, -now aiming, now counting the charges, now giving orders about replacing -dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh ones, and shouting in his -feeble voice, so high pitched and irresolute. His face grew more and -more animated. Only when a man was killed or wounded did he frown and -turn away from the sight, shouting angrily at the men who, as is always -the case, hesitated about lifting the injured or dead. The soldiers, -for the most part handsome fellows and, as is always the case in an -artillery company, a head and shoulders taller and twice as broad -as their officer—all looked at their commander like children in an -embarrassing situation, and the expression on his face was invariably -reflected on theirs. - -Owing to the terrible uproar and the necessity for concentration and -activity, Túshin did not experience the slightest unpleasant sense of -fear, and the thought that he might be killed or badly wounded never -occurred to him. On the contrary, he became more and more elated. It -seemed to him that it was a very long time ago, almost a day, since he -had first seen the enemy and fired the first shot, and that the corner -of the field he stood on was well-known and familiar ground. Though he -thought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the -best of officers could do in his position, he was in a state akin to -feverish delirium or drunkenness. - -From the deafening sounds of his own guns around him, the whistle and -thud of the enemy’s cannon balls, from the flushed and perspiring -faces of the crew bustling round the guns, from the sight of the blood -of men and horses, from the little puffs of smoke on the enemy’s side -(always followed by a ball flying past and striking the earth, a man, a -gun, a horse), from the sight of all these things a fantastic world of -his own had taken possession of his brain and at that moment afforded -him pleasure. The enemy’s guns were in his fancy not guns but pipes -from which occasional puffs were blown by an invisible smoker. - -“There... he’s puffing again,” muttered Túshin to himself, as a -small cloud rose from the hill and was borne in a streak to the left by -the wind. - -“Now look out for the ball... we’ll throw it back.” - -“What do you want, your honor?” asked an artilleryman, standing -close by, who heard him muttering. - -“Nothing... only a shell...” he answered. - -“Come along, our Matvévna!” he said to himself. “Matvévna” * -was the name his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the battery, which -was large and of an old pattern. The French swarming round their guns -seemed to him like ants. In that world, the handsome drunkard Number One -of the second gun’s crew was “uncle”; Túshin looked at him more -often than at anyone else and took delight in his every movement. -The sound of musketry at the foot of the hill, now diminishing, now -increasing, seemed like someone’s breathing. He listened intently to -the ebb and flow of these sounds. - - * Daughter of Matthew. - -“Ah! Breathing again, breathing!” he muttered to himself. - -He imagined himself as an enormously tall, powerful man who was throwing -cannon balls at the French with both hands. - -“Now then, Matvévna, dear old lady, don’t let me down!” he was -saying as he moved from the gun, when a strange, unfamiliar voice called -above his head: “Captain Túshin! Captain!” - -Túshin turned round in dismay. It was the staff officer who had turned -him out of the booth at Grunth. He was shouting in a gasping voice: - -“Are you mad? You have twice been ordered to retreat, and you...” - -“Why are they down on me?” thought Túshin, looking in alarm at his -superior. - -“I... don’t...” he muttered, holding up two fingers to his cap. -“I...” - -But the staff officer did not finish what he wanted to say. A cannon -ball, flying close to him, caused him to duck and bend over his horse. -He paused, and just as he was about to say something more, another ball -stopped him. He turned his horse and galloped off. - -“Retire! All to retire!” he shouted from a distance. - -The soldiers laughed. A moment later, an adjutant arrived with the same -order. - -It was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw on riding up to the space -where Túshin’s guns were stationed was an unharnessed horse with a -broken leg, that lay screaming piteously beside the harnessed horses. -Blood was gushing from its leg as from a spring. Among the limbers lay -several dead men. One ball after another passed over as he approached -and he felt a nervous shudder run down his spine. But the mere thought -of being afraid roused him again. “I cannot be afraid,” thought he, -and dismounted slowly among the guns. He delivered the order and did -not leave the battery. He decided to have the guns removed from their -positions and withdrawn in his presence. Together with Túshin, stepping -across the bodies and under a terrible fire from the French, he attended -to the removal of the guns. - -“A staff officer was here a minute ago, but skipped off,” said an -artilleryman to Prince Andrew. “Not like your honor!” - -Prince Andrew said nothing to Túshin. They were both so busy as to seem -not to notice one another. When having limbered up the only two cannon -that remained uninjured out of the four, they began moving down the hill -(one shattered gun and one unicorn were left behind), Prince Andrew rode -up to Túshin. - -“Well, till we meet again...” he said, holding out his hand to -Túshin. - -“Good-by, my dear fellow,” said Túshin. “Dear soul! Good-by, my -dear fellow!” and for some unknown reason tears suddenly filled his -eyes. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -The wind had fallen and black clouds, merging with the powder smoke, -hung low over the field of battle on the horizon. It was growing -dark and the glow of two conflagrations was the more conspicuous. The -cannonade was dying down, but the rattle of musketry behind and on the -right sounded oftener and nearer. As soon as Túshin with his guns, -continually driving round or coming upon wounded men, was out of range -of fire and had descended into the dip, he was met by some of the staff, -among them the staff officer and Zherkóv, who had been twice sent to -Túshin’s battery but had never reached it. Interrupting one -another, they all gave, and transmitted, orders as to how to proceed, -reprimanding and reproaching him. Túshin gave no orders, and, -silently—fearing to speak because at every word he felt ready to -weep without knowing why—rode behind on his artillery nag. Though -the orders were to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged themselves -after troops and begged for seats on the gun carriages. The jaunty -infantry officer who just before the battle had rushed out of -Túshin’s wattle shed was laid, with a bullet in his stomach, on -“Matvévna’s” carriage. At the foot of the hill, a pale hussar -cadet, supporting one hand with the other, came up to Túshin and asked -for a seat. - -“Captain, for God’s sake! I’ve hurt my arm,” he said timidly. -“For God’s sake... I can’t walk. For God’s sake!” - -It was plain that this cadet had already repeatedly asked for a lift and -been refused. He asked in a hesitating, piteous voice. - -“Tell them to give me a seat, for God’s sake!” - -“Give him a seat,” said Túshin. “Lay a cloak for him to sit on, -lad,” he said, addressing his favorite soldier. “And where is the -wounded officer?” - -“He has been set down. He died,” replied someone. - -“Help him up. Sit down, dear fellow, sit down! Spread out the cloak, -Antónov.” - -The cadet was Rostóv. With one hand he supported the other; he was -pale and his jaw trembled, shivering feverishly. He was placed on -“Matvévna,” the gun from which they had removed the dead officer. -The cloak they spread under him was wet with blood which stained his -breeches and arm. - -“What, are you wounded, my lad?” said Túshin, approaching the gun -on which Rostóv sat. - -“No, it’s a sprain.” - -“Then what is this blood on the gun carriage?” inquired Túshin. - -“It was the officer, your honor, stained it,” answered the -artilleryman, wiping away the blood with his coat sleeve, as if -apologizing for the state of his gun. - -It was all that they could do to get the guns up the rise aided by the -infantry, and having reached the village of Gruntersdorf they halted. It -had grown so dark that one could not distinguish the uniforms ten paces -off, and the firing had begun to subside. Suddenly, near by on the -right, shouting and firing were again heard. Flashes of shot gleamed in -the darkness. This was the last French attack and was met by soldiers -who had sheltered in the village houses. They all rushed out of -the village again, but Túshin’s guns could not move, and the -artillerymen, Túshin, and the cadet exchanged silent glances as they -awaited their fate. The firing died down and soldiers, talking eagerly, -streamed out of a side street. - -“Not hurt, Petróv?” asked one. - -“We’ve given it ‘em hot, mate! They won’t make another push -now,” said another. - -“You couldn’t see a thing. How they shot at their own fellows! -Nothing could be seen. Pitch-dark, brother! Isn’t there something to -drink?” - -The French had been repulsed for the last time. And again and again in -the complete darkness Túshin’s guns moved forward, surrounded by the -humming infantry as by a frame. - -In the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy unseen river was flowing -always in one direction, humming with whispers and talk and the sound of -hoofs and wheels. Amid the general rumble, the groans and voices of the -wounded were more distinctly heard than any other sound in the darkness -of the night. The gloom that enveloped the army was filled with their -groans, which seemed to melt into one with the darkness of the night. -After a while the moving mass became agitated, someone rode past on -a white horse followed by his suite, and said something in passing: -“What did he say? Where to, now? Halt, is it? Did he thank us?” came -eager questions from all sides. The whole moving mass began pressing -closer together and a report spread that they were ordered to halt: -evidently those in front had halted. All remained where they were in the -middle of the muddy road. - -Fires were lighted and the talk became more audible. Captain Túshin, -having given orders to his company, sent a soldier to find a dressing -station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by a bonfire the -soldiers had kindled on the road. Rostóv, too, dragged himself to the -fire. From pain, cold, and damp, a feverish shivering shook his whole -body. Drowsiness was irresistibly mastering him, but he kept awake by -an excruciating pain in his arm, for which he could find no satisfactory -position. He kept closing his eyes and then again looking at the fire, -which seemed to him dazzlingly red, and at the feeble, round-shouldered -figure of Túshin who was sitting cross-legged like a Turk beside him. -Túshin’s large, kind, intelligent eyes were fixed with sympathy and -commiseration on Rostóv, who saw that Túshin with his whole heart -wished to help him but could not. - -From all sides were heard the footsteps and talk of the infantry, who -were walking, driving past, and settling down all around. The sound -of voices, the tramping feet, the horses’ hoofs moving in mud, the -crackling of wood fires near and afar, merged into one tremulous rumble. - -It was no longer, as before, a dark, unseen river flowing through the -gloom, but a dark sea swelling and gradually subsiding after a storm. -Rostóv looked at and listened listlessly to what passed before and -around him. An infantryman came to the fire, squatted on his heels, held -his hands to the blaze, and turned away his face. - -“You don’t mind your honor?” he asked Túshin. “I’ve lost my -company, your honor. I don’t know where... such bad luck!” - -With the soldier, an infantry officer with a bandaged cheek came up to -the bonfire, and addressing Túshin asked him to have the guns moved a -trifle to let a wagon go past. After he had gone, two soldiers rushed to -the campfire. They were quarreling and fighting desperately, each trying -to snatch from the other a boot they were both holding on to. - -“You picked it up?... I dare say! You’re very smart!” one of them -shouted hoarsely. - -Then a thin, pale soldier, his neck bandaged with a bloodstained leg -band, came up and in angry tones asked the artillerymen for water. - -“Must one die like a dog?” said he. - -Túshin told them to give the man some water. Then a cheerful soldier -ran up, begging a little fire for the infantry. - -“A nice little hot torch for the infantry! Good luck to you, fellow -countrymen. Thanks for the fire—we’ll return it with interest,” -said he, carrying away into the darkness a glowing stick. - -Next came four soldiers, carrying something heavy on a cloak, and passed -by the fire. One of them stumbled. - -“Who the devil has put the logs on the road?” snarled he. - -“He’s dead—why carry him?” said another. - -“Shut up!” - -And they disappeared into the darkness with their load. - -“Still aching?” Túshin asked Rostóv in a whisper. - -“Yes.” - -“Your honor, you’re wanted by the general. He is in the hut here,” -said a gunner, coming up to Túshin. - -“Coming, friend.” - -Túshin rose and, buttoning his greatcoat and pulling it straight, -walked away from the fire. - -Not far from the artillery campfire, in a hut that had been prepared -for him, Prince Bagratión sat at dinner, talking with some commanding -officers who had gathered at his quarters. The little old man with -the half-closed eyes was there greedily gnawing a mutton bone, and the -general who had served blamelessly for twenty-two years, flushed by a -glass of vodka and the dinner; and the staff officer with the signet -ring, and Zherkóv, uneasily glancing at them all, and Prince Andrew, -pale, with compressed lips and feverishly glittering eyes. - -In a corner of the hut stood a standard captured from the French, and -the accountant with the naïve face was feeling its texture, shaking his -head in perplexity—perhaps because the banner really interested him, -perhaps because it was hard for him, hungry as he was, to look on at -a dinner where there was no place for him. In the next hut there was a -French colonel who had been taken prisoner by our dragoons. Our officers -were flocking in to look at him. Prince Bagratión was thanking the -individual commanders and inquiring into details of the action and our -losses. The general whose regiment had been inspected at Braunau was -informing the prince that as soon as the action began he had withdrawn -from the wood, mustered the men who were woodcutting, and, allowing the -French to pass him, had made a bayonet charge with two battalions and -had broken up the French troops. - -“When I saw, your excellency, that their first battalion was -disorganized, I stopped in the road and thought: ‘I’ll let them -come on and will meet them with the fire of the whole battalion’—and -that’s what I did.” - -The general had so wished to do this and was so sorry he had not managed -to do it that it seemed to him as if it had really happened. Perhaps -it might really have been so? Could one possibly make out amid all that -confusion what did or did not happen? - -“By the way, your excellency, I should inform you,” he -continued—remembering Dólokhov’s conversation with Kutúzov and his -last interview with the gentleman-ranker—“that Private Dólokhov, -who was reduced to the ranks, took a French officer prisoner in my -presence and particularly distinguished himself.” - -“I saw the Pávlograd hussars attack there, your excellency,” chimed -in Zherkóv, looking uneasily around. He had not seen the hussars all -that day, but had heard about them from an infantry officer. “They -broke up two squares, your excellency.” - -Several of those present smiled at Zherkóv’s words, expecting one of -his usual jokes, but noticing that what he was saying redounded to -the glory of our arms and of the day’s work, they assumed a serious -expression, though many of them knew that what he was saying was a lie -devoid of any foundation. Prince Bagratión turned to the old colonel: - -“Gentlemen, I thank you all; all arms have behaved heroically: -infantry, cavalry, and artillery. How was it that two guns were -abandoned in the center?” he inquired, searching with his eyes for -someone. (Prince Bagratión did not ask about the guns on the left -flank; he knew that all the guns there had been abandoned at the very -beginning of the action.) “I think I sent you?” he added, turning to -the staff officer on duty. - -“One was damaged,” answered the staff officer, “and the other I -can’t understand. I was there all the time giving orders and had only -just left.... It is true that it was hot there,” he added, modestly. - -Someone mentioned that Captain Túshin was bivouacking close to the -village and had already been sent for. - -“Oh, but you were there?” said Prince Bagratión, addressing Prince -Andrew. - -“Of course, we only just missed one another,” said the staff -officer, with a smile to Bolkónski. - -“I had not the pleasure of seeing you,” said Prince Andrew, coldly -and abruptly. - -All were silent. Túshin appeared at the threshold and made his way -timidly from behind the backs of the generals. As he stepped past the -generals in the crowded hut, feeling embarrassed as he always was by the -sight of his superiors, he did not notice the staff of the banner and -stumbled over it. Several of those present laughed. - -“How was it a gun was abandoned?” asked Bagratión, frowning, not so -much at the captain as at those who were laughing, among whom Zherkóv -laughed loudest. - -Only now, when he was confronted by the stern authorities, did his guilt -and the disgrace of having lost two guns and yet remaining alive present -themselves to Túshin in all their horror. He had been so excited that -he had not thought about it until that moment. The officers’ laughter -confused him still more. He stood before Bagratión with his lower -jaw trembling and was hardly able to mutter: “I don’t know... your -excellency... I had no men... your excellency.” - -“You might have taken some from the covering troops.” - -Túshin did not say that there were no covering troops, though that -was perfectly true. He was afraid of getting some other officer into -trouble, and silently fixed his eyes on Bagratión as a schoolboy who -has blundered looks at an examiner. - -The silence lasted some time. Prince Bagratión, apparently not wishing -to be severe, found nothing to say; the others did not venture to -intervene. Prince Andrew looked at Túshin from under his brows and his -fingers twitched nervously. - -“Your excellency!” Prince Andrew broke the silence with his abrupt -voice, “you were pleased to send me to Captain Túshin’s battery. I -went there and found two thirds of the men and horses knocked out, two -guns smashed, and no supports at all.” - -Prince Bagratión and Túshin looked with equal intentness at -Bolkónski, who spoke with suppressed agitation. - -“And, if your excellency will allow me to express my opinion,” he -continued, “we owe today’s success chiefly to the action of that -battery and the heroic endurance of Captain Túshin and his company,” -and without awaiting a reply, Prince Andrew rose and left the table. - -Prince Bagratión looked at Túshin, evidently reluctant to show -distrust in Bolkónski’s emphatic opinion yet not feeling able fully -to credit it, bent his head, and told Túshin that he could go. Prince -Andrew went out with him. - -“Thank you; you saved me, my dear fellow!” said Túshin. - -Prince Andrew gave him a look, but said nothing and went away. He felt -sad and depressed. It was all so strange, so unlike what he had hoped. - - -“Who are they? Why are they here? What do they want? And when will -all this end?” thought Rostóv, looking at the changing shadows before -him. The pain in his arm became more and more intense. Irresistible -drowsiness overpowered him, red rings danced before his eyes, and the -impression of those voices and faces and a sense of loneliness merged -with the physical pain. It was they, these soldiers—wounded and -unwounded—it was they who were crushing, weighing down, and twisting -the sinews and scorching the flesh of his sprained arm and shoulder. To -rid himself of them he closed his eyes. - -For a moment he dozed, but in that short interval innumerable things -appeared to him in a dream: his mother and her large white hand, -Sónya’s thin little shoulders, Natásha’s eyes and laughter, -Denísov with his voice and mustache, and Telyánin and all that affair -with Telyánin and Bogdánich. That affair was the same thing as this -soldier with the harsh voice, and it was that affair and this soldier -that were so agonizingly, incessantly pulling and pressing his arm and -always dragging it in one direction. He tried to get away from them, but -they would not for an instant let his shoulder move a hair’s breadth. -It would not ache—it would be well—if only they did not pull it, but -it was impossible to get rid of them. - -He opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of night hung less -than a yard above the glow of the charcoal. Flakes of falling snow were -fluttering in that light. Túshin had not returned, the doctor had not -come. He was alone now, except for a soldier who was sitting naked at -the other side of the fire, warming his thin yellow body. - -“Nobody wants me!” thought Rostóv. “There is no one to help me or -pity me. Yet I was once at home, strong, happy, and loved.” He sighed -and, doing so, groaned involuntarily. - -“Eh, is anything hurting you?” asked the soldier, shaking his shirt -out over the fire, and not waiting for an answer he gave a grunt and -added: “What a lot of men have been crippled today—frightful!” - -Rostóv did not listen to the soldier. He looked at the snowflakes -fluttering above the fire and remembered a Russian winter at his warm, -bright home, his fluffy fur coat, his quickly gliding sleigh, his -healthy body, and all the affection and care of his family. “And why -did I come here?” he wondered. - -Next day the French army did not renew their attack, and the remnant of -Bagratión’s detachment was reunited to Kutúzov’s army. - - - - - -BOOK THREE: 1805 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Prince Vasíli was not a man who deliberately thought out his plans. -Still less did he think of injuring anyone for his own advantage. He -was merely a man of the world who had got on and to whom getting on had -become a habit. Schemes and devices for which he never rightly accounted -to himself, but which formed the whole interest of his life, -were constantly shaping themselves in his mind, arising from the -circumstances and persons he met. Of these plans he had not merely one -or two in his head but dozens, some only beginning to form themselves, -some approaching achievement, and some in course of disintegration. He -did not, for instance, say to himself: “This man now has influence, I -must gain his confidence and friendship and through him obtain a special -grant.” Nor did he say to himself: “Pierre is a rich man, I must -entice him to marry my daughter and lend me the forty thousand rubles -I need.” But when he came across a man of position his instinct -immediately told him that this man could be useful, and without any -premeditation Prince Vasíli took the first opportunity to gain his -confidence, flatter him, become intimate with him, and finally make his -request. - -He had Pierre at hand in Moscow and procured for him an appointment as -Gentleman of the Bedchamber, which at that time conferred the status of -Councilor of State, and insisted on the young man accompanying him to -Petersburg and staying at his house. With apparent absent-mindedness, -yet with unhesitating assurance that he was doing the right thing, -Prince Vasíli did everything to get Pierre to marry his daughter. Had -he thought out his plans beforehand he could not have been so natural -and shown such unaffected familiarity in intercourse with everybody both -above and below him in social standing. Something always drew him toward -those richer and more powerful than himself and he had rare skill in -seizing the most opportune moment for making use of people. - -Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Bezúkhov and a rich man, felt -himself after his recent loneliness and freedom from cares so beset and -preoccupied that only in bed was he able to be by himself. He had to -sign papers, to present himself at government offices, the purpose of -which was not clear to him, to question his chief steward, to visit his -estate near Moscow, and to receive many people who formerly did not -even wish to know of his existence but would now have been offended -and grieved had he chosen not to see them. These different -people—businessmen, relations, and acquaintances alike—were all -disposed to treat the young heir in the most friendly and flattering -manner: they were all evidently firmly convinced of Pierre’s noble -qualities. He was always hearing such words as: “With your remarkable -kindness,” or, “With your excellent heart,” “You are yourself so -honorable, Count,” or, “Were he as clever as you,” and so on, -till he began sincerely to believe in his own exceptional kindness and -extraordinary intelligence, the more so as in the depth of his heart it -had always seemed to him that he really was very kind and intelligent. -Even people who had formerly been spiteful toward him and evidently -unfriendly now became gentle and affectionate. The angry eldest -princess, with the long waist and hair plastered down like a doll’s, -had come into Pierre’s room after the funeral. With drooping eyes -and frequent blushes she told him she was very sorry about their past -misunderstandings and did not now feel she had a right to ask him for -anything, except only for permission, after the blow she had received, -to remain for a few weeks longer in the house she so loved and where -she had sacrificed so much. She could not refrain from weeping at these -words. Touched that this statuesque princess could so change, Pierre -took her hand and begged her forgiveness, without knowing what for. -From that day the eldest princess quite changed toward Pierre and began -knitting a striped scarf for him. - -“Do this for my sake, mon cher; after all, she had to put up with a -great deal from the deceased,” said Prince Vasíli to him, handing him -a deed to sign for the princess’ benefit. - -Prince Vasíli had come to the conclusion that it was necessary to throw -this bone—a bill for thirty thousand rubles—to the poor princess -that it might not occur to her to speak of his share in the affair of -the inlaid portfolio. Pierre signed the deed and after that the princess -grew still kinder. The younger sisters also became affectionate to him, -especially the youngest, the pretty one with the mole, who often made -him feel confused by her smiles and her own confusion when meeting him. - -It seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone should like him, and it -would have seemed so unnatural had anyone disliked him, that he could -not but believe in the sincerity of those around him. Besides, he had -no time to ask himself whether these people were sincere or not. He -was always busy and always felt in a state of mild and cheerful -intoxication. He felt as though he were the center of some important and -general movement; that something was constantly expected of him, that if -he did not do it he would grieve and disappoint many people, but if he -did this and that, all would be well; and he did what was demanded of -him, but still that happy result always remained in the future. - -More than anyone else, Prince Vasíli took possession of Pierre’s -affairs and of Pierre himself in those early days. From the death of -Count Bezúkhov he did not let go his hold of the lad. He had the air of -a man oppressed by business, weary and suffering, who yet would not, for -pity’s sake, leave this helpless youth who, after all, was the son of -his old friend and the possessor of such enormous wealth, to the caprice -of fate and the designs of rogues. During the few days he spent in -Moscow after the death of Count Bezúkhov, he would call Pierre, or -go to him himself, and tell him what ought to be done in a tone of -weariness and assurance, as if he were adding every time: “You know -I am overwhelmed with business and it is purely out of charity that -I trouble myself about you, and you also know quite well that what I -propose is the only thing possible.” - -“Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow we are off at last,” said Prince -Vasíli one day, closing his eyes and fingering Pierre’s elbow, -speaking as if he were saying something which had long since been agreed -upon and could not now be altered. “We start tomorrow and I’m giving -you a place in my carriage. I am very glad. All our important business -here is now settled, and I ought to have been off long ago. Here is -something I have received from the chancellor. I asked him for you, and -you have been entered in the diplomatic corps and made a Gentleman of -the Bedchamber. The diplomatic career now lies open before you.” - -Notwithstanding the tone of wearied assurance with which these words -were pronounced, Pierre, who had so long been considering his career, -wished to make some suggestion. But Prince Vasíli interrupted him in -the special deep cooing tone, precluding the possibility of interrupting -his speech, which he used in extreme cases when special persuasion was -needed. - -“Mais, mon cher, I did this for my own sake, to satisfy my conscience, -and there is nothing to thank me for. No one has ever complained yet of -being too much loved; and besides, you are free, you could throw it -up tomorrow. But you will see everything for yourself when you get to -Petersburg. It is high time for you to get away from these terrible -recollections.” Prince Vasíli sighed. “Yes, yes, my boy. And my -valet can go in your carriage. Ah! I was nearly forgetting,” he added. -“You know, mon cher, your father and I had some accounts to settle, so -I have received what was due from the Ryazán estate and will keep it; -you won’t require it. We’ll go into the accounts later.” - -By “what was due from the Ryazán estate” Prince Vasíli meant -several thousand rubles quitrent received from Pierre’s peasants, -which the prince had retained for himself. - -In Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found the same atmosphere of -gentleness and affection. He could not refuse the post, or rather the -rank (for he did nothing), that Prince Vasíli had procured for him, -and acquaintances, invitations, and social occupations were so numerous -that, even more than in Moscow, he felt a sense of bewilderment, bustle, -and continual expectation of some good, always in front of him but never -attained. - -Of his former bachelor acquaintances many were no longer in Petersburg. -The Guards had gone to the front; Dólokhov had been reduced to the -ranks; Anatole was in the army somewhere in the provinces; Prince Andrew -was abroad; so Pierre had not the opportunity to spend his nights as he -used to like to spend them, or to open his mind by intimate talks with -a friend older than himself and whom he respected. His whole time -was taken up with dinners and balls and was spent chiefly at Prince -Vasíli’s house in the company of the stout princess, his wife, and -his beautiful daughter Hélène. - -Like the others, Anna Pávlovna Schérer showed Pierre the change of -attitude toward him that had taken place in society. - -Formerly in Anna Pávlovna’s presence, Pierre had always felt that -what he was saying was out of place, tactless and unsuitable, that -remarks which seemed to him clever while they formed in his mind became -foolish as soon as he uttered them, while on the contrary Hippolyte’s -stupidest remarks came out clever and apt. Now everything Pierre said -was charmant. Even if Anna Pávlovna did not say so, he could see that -she wished to and only refrained out of regard for his modesty. - -In the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 Pierre received one of Anna -Pávlovna’s usual pink notes with an invitation to which was added: -“You will find the beautiful Hélène here, whom it is always -delightful to see.” - -When he read that sentence, Pierre felt for the first time that some -link which other people recognized had grown up between himself and -Hélène, and that thought both alarmed him, as if some obligation were -being imposed on him which he could not fulfill, and pleased him as an -entertaining supposition. - -Anna Pávlovna’s “At Home” was like the former one, only the -novelty she offered her guests this time was not Mortemart, but a -diplomatist fresh from Berlin with the very latest details of the -Emperor Alexander’s visit to Potsdam, and of how the two august -friends had pledged themselves in an indissoluble alliance to uphold -the cause of justice against the enemy of the human race. Anna Pávlovna -received Pierre with a shade of melancholy, evidently relating to the -young man’s recent loss by the death of Count Bezúkhov (everyone -constantly considered it a duty to assure Pierre that he was greatly -afflicted by the death of the father he had hardly known), and her -melancholy was just like the august melancholy she showed at the mention -of her most august Majesty the Empress Márya Fëdorovna. Pierre felt -flattered by this. Anna Pávlovna arranged the different groups in her -drawing room with her habitual skill. The large group, in which were -Prince Vasíli and the generals, had the benefit of the diplomat. -Another group was at the tea table. Pierre wished to join the former, -but Anna Pávlovna—who was in the excited condition of a commander on -a battlefield to whom thousands of new and brilliant ideas occur which -there is hardly time to put in action—seeing Pierre, touched his -sleeve with her finger, saying: - -“Wait a bit, I have something in view for you this evening.” -(She glanced at Hélène and smiled at her.) “My dear Hélène, be -charitable to my poor aunt who adores you. Go and keep her company for -ten minutes. And that it will not be too dull, here is the dear count -who will not refuse to accompany you.” - -The beauty went to the aunt, but Anna Pávlovna detained Pierre, looking -as if she had to give some final necessary instructions. - -“Isn’t she exquisite?” she said to Pierre, pointing to the stately -beauty as she glided away. “And how she carries herself! For so young -a girl, such tact, such masterly perfection of manner! It comes from -her heart. Happy the man who wins her! With her the least worldly of men -would occupy a most brilliant position in society. Don’t you think so? -I only wanted to know your opinion,” and Anna Pávlovna let Pierre go. - -Pierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as to Hélène’s -perfection of manner. If he ever thought of Hélène, it was just of -her beauty and her remarkable skill in appearing silently dignified in -society. - -The old aunt received the two young people in her corner, but seemed -desirous of hiding her adoration for Hélène and inclined rather -to show her fear of Anna Pávlovna. She looked at her niece, as if -inquiring what she was to do with these people. On leaving them, Anna -Pávlovna again touched Pierre’s sleeve, saying: “I hope you won’t -say that it is dull in my house again,” and she glanced at Hélène. - -Hélène smiled, with a look implying that she did not admit the -possibility of anyone seeing her without being enchanted. The aunt -coughed, swallowed, and said in French that she was very pleased to see -Hélène, then she turned to Pierre with the same words of welcome -and the same look. In the middle of a dull and halting conversation, -Hélène turned to Pierre with the beautiful bright smile that she gave -to everyone. Pierre was so used to that smile, and it had so little -meaning for him, that he paid no attention to it. The aunt was just -speaking of a collection of snuffboxes that had belonged to Pierre’s -father, Count Bezúkhov, and showed them her own box. Princess Hélène -asked to see the portrait of the aunt’s husband on the box lid. - -“That is probably the work of Vinesse,” said Pierre, mentioning -a celebrated miniaturist, and he leaned over the table to take the -snuffbox while trying to hear what was being said at the other table. - -He half rose, meaning to go round, but the aunt handed him the snuffbox, -passing it across Hélène’s back. Hélène stooped forward to make -room, and looked round with a smile. She was, as always at evening -parties, wearing a dress such as was then fashionable, cut very low at -front and back. Her bust, which had always seemed like marble to Pierre, -was so close to him that his shortsighted eyes could not but perceive -the living charm of her neck and shoulders, so near to his lips that -he need only have bent his head a little to have touched them. He was -conscious of the warmth of her body, the scent of perfume, and the -creaking of her corset as she moved. He did not see her marble beauty -forming a complete whole with her dress, but all the charm of her body -only covered by her garments. And having once seen this he could not -help being aware of it, just as we cannot renew an illusion we have once -seen through. - -“So you have never noticed before how beautiful I am?” Hélène -seemed to say. “You had not noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a -woman who may belong to anyone—to you too,” said her glance. And at -that moment Pierre felt that Hélène not only could, but must, be his -wife, and that it could not be otherwise. - -He knew this at that moment as surely as if he had been standing at the -altar with her. How and when this would be he did not know, he did not -even know if it would be a good thing (he even felt, he knew not why, -that it would be a bad thing), but he knew it would happen. - -Pierre dropped his eyes, lifted them again, and wished once more to see -her as a distant beauty far removed from him, as he had seen her every -day until then, but he could no longer do it. He could not, any more -than a man who has been looking at a tuft of steppe grass through the -mist and taking it for a tree can again take it for a tree after he has -once recognized it to be a tuft of grass. She was terribly close to him. -She already had power over him, and between them there was no longer any -barrier except the barrier of his own will. - -“Well, I will leave you in your little corner,” came Anna -Pávlovna’s voice, “I see you are all right there.” - -And Pierre, anxiously trying to remember whether he had done anything -reprehensible, looked round with a blush. It seemed to him that everyone -knew what had happened to him as he knew it himself. - -A little later when he went up to the large circle, Anna Pávlovna said -to him: “I hear you are refitting your Petersburg house?” - -This was true. The architect had told him that it was necessary, and -Pierre, without knowing why, was having his enormous Petersburg house -done up. - -“That’s a good thing, but don’t move from Prince Vasíli’s. It -is good to have a friend like the prince,” she said, smiling at Prince -Vasíli. “I know something about that. Don’t I? And you are still so -young. You need advice. Don’t be angry with me for exercising an old -woman’s privilege.” - -She paused, as women always do, expecting something after they have -mentioned their age. “If you marry it will be a different thing,” -she continued, uniting them both in one glance. Pierre did not look at -Hélène nor she at him. But she was just as terribly close to him. He -muttered something and colored. - -When he got home he could not sleep for a long time for thinking of what -had happened. What had happened? Nothing. He had merely understood that -the woman he had known as a child, of whom when her beauty was mentioned -he had said absent-mindedly: “Yes, she’s good looking,” he had -understood that this woman might belong to him. - -“But she’s stupid. I have myself said she is stupid,” he thought. -“There is something nasty, something wrong, in the feeling she excites -in me. I have been told that her brother Anatole was in love with her -and she with him, that there was quite a scandal and that that’s why -he was sent away. Hippolyte is her brother... Prince Vasíli is her -father... It’s bad....” he reflected, but while he was thinking this -(the reflection was still incomplete), he caught himself smiling and was -conscious that another line of thought had sprung up, and while thinking -of her worthlessness he was also dreaming of how she would be his -wife, how she would love him become quite different, and how all he had -thought and heard of her might be false. And he again saw her not as the -daughter of Prince Vasíli, but visualized her whole body only veiled -by its gray dress. “But no! Why did this thought never occur to me -before?” and again he told himself that it was impossible, that there -would be something unnatural, and as it seemed to him dishonorable, in -this marriage. He recalled her former words and looks and the words -and looks of those who had seen them together. He recalled Anna -Pávlovna’s words and looks when she spoke to him about his house, -recalled thousands of such hints from Prince Vasíli and others, and was -seized by terror lest he had already, in some way, bound himself to do -something that was evidently wrong and that he ought not to do. But at -the very time he was expressing this conviction to himself, in another -part of his mind her image rose in all its womanly beauty. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -In November, 1805, Prince Vasíli had to go on a tour of inspection -in four different provinces. He had arranged this for himself so as to -visit his neglected estates at the same time and pick up his son Anatole -where his regiment was stationed, and take him to visit Prince Nicholas -Bolkónski in order to arrange a match for him with the daughter of that -rich old man. But before leaving home and undertaking these new affairs, -Prince Vasíli had to settle matters with Pierre, who, it is true, had -latterly spent whole days at home, that is, in Prince Vasíli’s house -where he was staying, and had been absurd, excited, and foolish in -Hélène’s presence (as a lover should be), but had not yet proposed -to her. - -“This is all very fine, but things must be settled,” said Prince -Vasíli to himself, with a sorrowful sigh, one morning, feeling that -Pierre who was under such obligations to him (“But never mind that”) -was not behaving very well in this matter. “Youth, frivolity... well, -God be with him,” thought he, relishing his own goodness of heart, -“but it must be brought to a head. The day after tomorrow will be -Lëlya’s name day. I will invite two or three people, and if he does -not understand what he ought to do then it will be my affair—yes, my -affair. I am her father.” - -Six weeks after Anna Pávlovna’s “At Home” and after the sleepless -night when he had decided that to marry Hélène would be a calamity and -that he ought to avoid her and go away, Pierre, despite that decision, -had not left Prince Vasíli’s and felt with terror that in people’s -eyes he was every day more and more connected with her, that it was -impossible for him to return to his former conception of her, that he -could not break away from her, and that though it would be a terrible -thing he would have to unite his fate with hers. He might perhaps have -been able to free himself but that Prince Vasíli (who had rarely before -given receptions) now hardly let a day go by without having an evening -party at which Pierre had to be present unless he wished to spoil -the general pleasure and disappoint everyone’s expectation. Prince -Vasíli, in the rare moments when he was at home, would take Pierre’s -hand in passing and draw it downwards, or absent-mindedly hold out his -wrinkled, clean-shaven cheek for Pierre to kiss and would say: “Till -tomorrow,” or, “Be in to dinner or I shall not see you,” or, “I -am staying in for your sake,” and so on. And though Prince Vasíli, -when he stayed in (as he said) for Pierre’s sake, hardly exchanged a -couple of words with him, Pierre felt unable to disappoint him. -Every day he said to himself one and the same thing: “It is time I -understood her and made up my mind what she really is. Was I mistaken -before, or am I mistaken now? No, she is not stupid, she is an excellent -girl,” he sometimes said to himself “she never makes a mistake, -never says anything stupid. She says little, but what she does say is -always clear and simple, so she is not stupid. She never was abashed and -is not abashed now, so she cannot be a bad woman!” He had often begun -to make reflections or think aloud in her company, and she had always -answered him either by a brief but appropriate remark—showing that it -did not interest her—or by a silent look and smile which more palpably -than anything else showed Pierre her superiority. She was right in -regarding all arguments as nonsense in comparison with that smile. - -She always addressed him with a radiantly confiding smile meant for him -alone, in which there was something more significant than in the general -smile that usually brightened her face. Pierre knew that everyone was -waiting for him to say a word and cross a certain line, and he knew that -sooner or later he would step across it, but an incomprehensible terror -seized him at the thought of that dreadful step. A thousand times during -that month and a half while he felt himself drawn nearer and nearer to -that dreadful abyss, Pierre said to himself: “What am I doing? I need -resolution. Can it be that I have none?” - -He wished to take a decision, but felt with dismay that in this matter -he lacked that strength of will which he had known in himself and really -possessed. Pierre was one of those who are only strong when they feel -themselves quite innocent, and since that day when he was overpowered -by a feeling of desire while stooping over the snuffbox at Anna -Pávlovna’s, an unacknowledged sense of the guilt of that desire -paralyzed his will. - -On Hélène’s name day, a small party of just their own people—as -his wife said—met for supper at Prince Vasíli’s. All these friends -and relations had been given to understand that the fate of the young -girl would be decided that evening. The visitors were seated at supper. -Princess Kurágina, a portly imposing woman who had once been handsome, -was sitting at the head of the table. On either side of her sat the -more important guests—an old general and his wife, and Anna Pávlovna -Schérer. At the other end sat the younger and less important guests, -and there too sat the members of the family, and Pierre and Hélène, -side by side. Prince Vasíli was not having any supper: he went round -the table in a merry mood, sitting down now by one, now by another, of -the guests. To each of them he made some careless and agreeable remark -except to Pierre and Hélène, whose presence he seemed not to notice. -He enlivened the whole party. The wax candles burned brightly, the -silver and crystal gleamed, so did the ladies’ toilets and the gold -and silver of the men’s epaulets; servants in scarlet liveries moved -round the table, the clatter of plates, knives, and glasses mingled with -the animated hum of several conversations. At one end of the table, the -old chamberlain was heard assuring an old baroness that he loved her -passionately, at which she laughed; at the other could be heard the -story of the misfortunes of some Mary Víktorovna or other. At the -center of the table, Prince Vasíli attracted everybody’s attention. -With a facetious smile on his face, he was telling the ladies about last -Wednesday’s meeting of the Imperial Council, at which Sergéy Kuzmích -Vyazmítinov, the new military governor general of Petersburg, had -received and read the then famous rescript of the Emperor Alexander -from the army to Sergéy Kuzmích, in which the Emperor said that he was -receiving from all sides declarations of the people’s loyalty, that -the declaration from Petersburg gave him particular pleasure, and that -he was proud to be at the head of such a nation and would endeavor to be -worthy of it. This rescript began with the words: “Sergéy Kuzmích, -From all sides reports reach me,” etc. - -“Well, and so he never got farther than: ‘Sergéy Kuzmích’?” -asked one of the ladies. - -“Exactly, not a hair’s breadth farther,” answered Prince Vasíli, -laughing, “‘Sergéy Kuzmích... From all sides... From all sides... -Sergéy Kuzmích...’ Poor Vyazmítinov could not get any farther! -He began the rescript again and again, but as soon as he uttered -‘Sergéy’ he sobbed, ‘Kuz-mí-ch,’ tears, and ‘From all -sides’ was smothered in sobs and he could get no farther. And again -his handkerchief, and again: ‘Sergéy Kuzmích, From all sides,’... -and tears, till at last somebody else was asked to read it.” - -“Kuzmích... From all sides... and then tears,” someone repeated -laughing. - -“Don’t be unkind,” cried Anna Pávlovna from her end of the table -holding up a threatening finger. “He is such a worthy and excellent -man, our dear Vyazmítinov....” - -Everybody laughed a great deal. At the head of the table, where the -honored guests sat, everyone seemed to be in high spirits and under the -influence of a variety of exciting sensations. Only Pierre and -Hélène sat silently side by side almost at the bottom of the table, a -suppressed smile brightening both their faces, a smile that had nothing -to do with Sergéy Kuzmích—a smile of bashfulness at their own -feelings. But much as all the rest laughed, talked, and joked, much -as they enjoyed their Rhine wine, sauté, and ices, and however they -avoided looking at the young couple, and heedless and unobservant as -they seemed of them, one could feel by the occasional glances they gave -that the story about Sergéy Kuzmích, the laughter, and the food -were all a pretense, and that the whole attention of that company was -directed to—Pierre and Hélène. Prince Vasíli mimicked the sobbing -of Sergéy Kuzmích and at the same time his eyes glanced toward his -daughter, and while he laughed the expression on his face clearly said: -“Yes... it’s getting on, it will all be settled today.” Anna -Pávlovna threatened him on behalf of “our dear Vyazmítinov,” and -in her eyes, which, for an instant, glanced at Pierre, Prince Vasíli -read a congratulation on his future son-in-law and on his daughter’s -happiness. The old princess sighed sadly as she offered some wine to the -old lady next to her and glanced angrily at her daughter, and her sigh -seemed to say: “Yes, there’s nothing left for you and me but to sip -sweet wine, my dear, now that the time has come for these young ones to -be thus boldly, provocatively happy.” “And what nonsense all this is -that I am saying!” thought a diplomatist, glancing at the happy faces -of the lovers. “That’s happiness!” - -Into the insignificant, trifling, and artificial interests uniting that -society had entered the simple feeling of the attraction of a healthy -and handsome young man and woman for one another. And this human feeling -dominated everything else and soared above all their affected chatter. -Jests fell flat, news was not interesting, and the animation was -evidently forced. Not only the guests but even the footmen waiting at -table seemed to feel this, and they forgot their duties as they looked -at the beautiful Hélène with her radiant face and at the red, broad, -and happy though uneasy face of Pierre. It seemed as if the very light -of the candles was focused on those two happy faces alone. - -Pierre felt that he was the center of it all, and this both pleased and -embarrassed him. He was like a man entirely absorbed in some occupation. -He did not see, hear, or understand anything clearly. Only now and -then detached ideas and impressions from the world of reality shot -unexpectedly through his mind. - -“So it is all finished!” he thought. “And how has it all happened? -How quickly! Now I know that not because of her alone, nor of myself -alone, but because of everyone, it must inevitably come about. They are -all expecting it, they are so sure that it will happen that I cannot, I -cannot, disappoint them. But how will it be? I do not know, but it -will certainly happen!” thought Pierre, glancing at those dazzling -shoulders close to his eyes. - -Or he would suddenly feel ashamed of he knew not what. He felt it -awkward to attract everyone’s attention and to be considered a -lucky man and, with his plain face, to be looked on as a sort of Paris -possessed of a Helen. “But no doubt it always is and must be so!” -he consoled himself. “And besides, what have I done to bring it about? -How did it begin? I traveled from Moscow with Prince Vasíli. Then there -was nothing. So why should I not stay at his house? Then I played cards -with her and picked up her reticule and drove out with her. How did it -begin, when did it all come about?” And here he was sitting by her -side as her betrothed, seeing, hearing, feeling her nearness, her -breathing, her movements, her beauty. Then it would suddenly seem to him -that it was not she but he was so unusually beautiful, and that that was -why they all looked so at him, and flattered by this general admiration -he would expand his chest, raise his head, and rejoice at his good -fortune. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice repeating something to him a -second time. But Pierre was so absorbed that he did not understand what -was said. - -“I am asking you when you last heard from Bolkónski,” repeated -Prince Vasíli a third time. “How absent-minded you are, my dear -fellow.” - -Prince Vasíli smiled, and Pierre noticed that everyone was smiling at -him and Hélène. “Well, what of it, if you all know it?” thought -Pierre. “What of it? It’s the truth!” and he himself smiled his -gentle childlike smile, and Hélène smiled too. - -“When did you get the letter? Was it from Olmütz?” repeated -Prince Vasíli, who pretended to want to know this in order to settle a -dispute. - -“How can one talk or think of such trifles?” thought Pierre. - -“Yes, from Olmütz,” he answered, with a sigh. - -After supper Pierre with his partner followed the others into the -drawing room. The guests began to disperse, some without taking leave -of Hélène. Some, as if unwilling to distract her from an important -occupation, came up to her for a moment and made haste to go away, -refusing to let her see them off. The diplomatist preserved a mournful -silence as he left the drawing room. He pictured the vanity of his -diplomatic career in comparison with Pierre’s happiness. The old -general grumbled at his wife when she asked how his leg was. “Oh, the -old fool,” he thought. “That Princess Hélène will be beautiful -still when she’s fifty.” - -“I think I may congratulate you,” whispered Anna Pávlovna to the -old princess, kissing her soundly. “If I hadn’t this headache I’d -have stayed longer.” - -The old princess did not reply, she was tormented by jealousy of her -daughter’s happiness. - -While the guests were taking their leave Pierre remained for a long time -alone with Hélène in the little drawing room where they were sitting. -He had often before, during the last six weeks, remained alone with her, -but had never spoken to her of love. Now he felt that it was inevitable, -but he could not make up his mind to take the final step. He felt -ashamed; he felt that he was occupying someone else’s place here -beside Hélène. “This happiness is not for you,” some inner voice -whispered to him. “This happiness is for those who have not in them -what there is in you.” - -But, as he had to say something, he began by asking her whether she was -satisfied with the party. She replied in her usual simple manner that -this name day of hers had been one of the pleasantest she had ever had. - -Some of the nearest relatives had not yet left. They were sitting in -the large drawing room. Prince Vasíli came up to Pierre with languid -footsteps. Pierre rose and said it was getting late. Prince Vasíli gave -him a look of stern inquiry, as though what Pierre had just said was -so strange that one could not take it in. But then the expression of -severity changed, and he drew Pierre’s hand downwards, made him sit -down, and smiled affectionately. - -“Well, Lëlya?” he asked, turning instantly to his daughter and -addressing her with the careless tone of habitual tenderness natural to -parents who have petted their children from babyhood, but which Prince -Vasíli had only acquired by imitating other parents. - -And he again turned to Pierre. - -“Sergéy Kuzmích—From all sides—” he said, unbuttoning the top -button of his waistcoat. - -Pierre smiled, but his smile showed that he knew it was not the story -about Sergéy Kuzmích that interested Prince Vasíli just then, and -Prince Vasíli saw that Pierre knew this. He suddenly muttered -something and went away. It seemed to Pierre that even the prince was -disconcerted. The sight of the discomposure of that old man of the world -touched Pierre: he looked at Hélène and she too seemed disconcerted, -and her look seemed to say: “Well, it is your own fault.” - -“The step must be taken but I cannot, I cannot!” thought Pierre, -and he again began speaking about indifferent matters, about Sergéy -Kuzmích, asking what the point of the story was as he had not heard it -properly. Hélène answered with a smile that she too had missed it. - -When Prince Vasíli returned to the drawing room, the princess, his -wife, was talking in low tones to the elderly lady about Pierre. - -“Of course, it is a very brilliant match, but happiness, my dear...” - -“Marriages are made in heaven,” replied the elderly lady. - -Prince Vasíli passed by, seeming not to hear the ladies, and sat down -on a sofa in a far corner of the room. He closed his eyes and seemed to -be dozing. His head sank forward and then he roused himself. - -“Aline,” he said to his wife, “go and see what they are about.” - -The princess went up to the door, passed by it with a dignified and -indifferent air, and glanced into the little drawing room. Pierre and -Hélène still sat talking just as before. - -“Still the same,” she said to her husband. - -Prince Vasíli frowned, twisting his mouth, his cheeks quivered and his -face assumed the coarse, unpleasant expression peculiar to him. Shaking -himself, he rose, threw back his head, and with resolute steps went -past the ladies into the little drawing room. With quick steps he went -joyfully up to Pierre. His face was so unusually triumphant that Pierre -rose in alarm on seeing it. - -“Thank God!” said Prince Vasíli. “My wife has told me -everything!” (He put one arm around Pierre and the other around his -daughter.)—“My dear boy... Lëlya... I am very pleased.” (His -voice trembled.) “I loved your father... and she will make you a good -wife... God bless you!...” - -He embraced his daughter, and then again Pierre, and kissed him with his -malodorous mouth. Tears actually moistened his cheeks. - -“Princess, come here!” he shouted. - -The old princess came in and also wept. The elderly lady was using -her handkerchief too. Pierre was kissed, and he kissed the beautiful -Hélène’s hand several times. After a while they were left alone -again. - -“All this had to be and could not be otherwise,” thought Pierre, -“so it is useless to ask whether it is good or bad. It is good because -it’s definite and one is rid of the old tormenting doubt.” Pierre -held the hand of his betrothed in silence, looking at her beautiful -bosom as it rose and fell. - -“Hélène!” he said aloud and paused. - -“Something special is always said in such cases,” he thought, but -could not remember what it was that people say. He looked at her face. -She drew nearer to him. Her face flushed. - -“Oh, take those off... those...” she said, pointing to his -spectacles. - -Pierre took them off, and his eyes, besides the strange look eyes have -from which spectacles have just been removed, had also a frightened and -inquiring look. He was about to stoop over her hand and kiss it, but -with a rapid, almost brutal movement of her head, she intercepted his -lips and met them with her own. Her face struck Pierre, by its altered, -unpleasantly excited expression. - -“It is too late now, it’s done; besides I love her,” thought -Pierre. - -“Je vous aime!” * he said, remembering what has to be said at such -moments: but his words sounded so weak that he felt ashamed of himself. - - * “I love you.” - - -Six weeks later he was married, and settled in Count Bezúkhov’s -large, newly furnished Petersburg house, the happy possessor, as people -said, of a wife who was a celebrated beauty and of millions of money. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -Old Prince Nicholas Bolkónski received a letter from Prince Vasíli -in November, 1805, announcing that he and his son would be paying him -a visit. “I am starting on a journey of inspection, and of course I -shall think nothing of an extra seventy miles to come and see you at -the same time, my honored benefactor,” wrote Prince Vasíli. “My son -Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, so I hope you will -allow him personally to express the deep respect that, emulating his -father, he feels for you.” - -“It seems that there will be no need to bring Mary out, suitors are -coming to us of their own accord,” incautiously remarked the little -princess on hearing the news. - -Prince Nicholas frowned, but said nothing. - -A fortnight after the letter Prince Vasíli’s servants came one -evening in advance of him, and he and his son arrived next day. - -Old Bolkónski had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vasíli’s -character, but more so recently, since in the new reigns of Paul and -Alexander Prince Vasíli had risen to high position and honors. And now, -from the hints contained in his letter and given by the little princess, -he saw which way the wind was blowing, and his low opinion changed into -a feeling of contemptuous ill will. He snorted whenever he mentioned -him. On the day of Prince Vasíli’s arrival, Prince Bolkónski was -particularly discontented and out of temper. Whether he was in a bad -temper because Prince Vasíli was coming, or whether his being in a bad -temper made him specially annoyed at Prince Vasíli’s visit, he was -in a bad temper, and in the morning Tíkhon had already advised the -architect not to go to the prince with his report. - -“Do you hear how he’s walking?” said Tíkhon, drawing the -architect’s attention to the sound of the prince’s footsteps. -“Stepping flat on his heels—we know what that means....” - -However, at nine o’clock the prince, in his velvet coat with a sable -collar and cap, went out for his usual walk. It had snowed the day -before and the path to the hothouse, along which the prince was in the -habit of walking, had been swept: the marks of the broom were still -visible in the snow and a shovel had been left sticking in one of the -soft snowbanks that bordered both sides of the path. The prince went -through the conservatories, the serfs’ quarters, and the outbuildings, -frowning and silent. - -“Can a sleigh pass?” he asked his overseer, a venerable man, -resembling his master in manners and looks, who was accompanying him -back to the house. - -“The snow is deep. I am having the avenue swept, your honor.” - -The prince bowed his head and went up to the porch. “God be -thanked,” thought the overseer, “the storm has blown over!” - -“It would have been hard to drive up, your honor,” he added. “I -heard, your honor, that a minister is coming to visit your honor.” - -The prince turned round to the overseer and fixed his eyes on him, -frowning. - -“What? A minister? What minister? Who gave orders?” he said in -his shrill, harsh voice. “The road is not swept for the princess my -daughter, but for a minister! For me, there are no ministers!” - -“Your honor, I thought...” - -“You thought!” shouted the prince, his words coming more and more -rapidly and indistinctly. “You thought!... Rascals! Blackguards!... -I’ll teach you to think!” and lifting his stick he swung it and -would have hit Alpátych, the overseer, had not the latter instinctively -avoided the blow. “Thought... Blackguards...” shouted the prince -rapidly. - -But although Alpátych, frightened at his own temerity in avoiding the -stroke, came up to the prince, bowing his bald head resignedly before -him, or perhaps for that very reason, the prince, though he continued -to shout: “Blackguards!... Throw the snow back on the road!” did not -lift his stick again but hurried into the house. - -Before dinner, Princess Mary and Mademoiselle Bourienne, who knew -that the prince was in a bad humor, stood awaiting him; Mademoiselle -Bourienne with a radiant face that said: “I know nothing, I am the -same as usual,” and Princess Mary pale, frightened, and with downcast -eyes. What she found hardest to bear was to know that on such occasions -she ought to behave like Mademoiselle Bourienne, but could not. -She thought: “If I seem not to notice he will think that I do not -sympathize with him; if I seem sad and out of spirits myself, he will -say (as he has done before) that I’m in the dumps.” - -The prince looked at his daughter’s frightened face and snorted. - -“Fool... or dummy!” he muttered. - -“And the other one is not here. They’ve been telling tales,” he -thought—referring to the little princess who was not in the dining -room. - -“Where is the princess?” he asked. “Hiding?” - -“She is not very well,” answered Mademoiselle Bourienne with -a bright smile, “so she won’t come down. It is natural in her -state.” - -“Hm! Hm!” muttered the prince, sitting down. - -His plate seemed to him not quite clean, and pointing to a spot he -flung it away. Tíkhon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little -princess was not unwell, but had such an overpowering fear of the prince -that, hearing he was in a bad humor, she had decided not to appear. - -“I am afraid for the baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne: -“Heaven knows what a fright might do.” - -In general at Bald Hills the little princess lived in constant fear, and -with a sense of antipathy to the old prince which she did not -realize because the fear was so much the stronger feeling. The prince -reciprocated this antipathy, but it was overpowered by his contempt -for her. When the little princess had grown accustomed to life at Bald -Hills, she took a special fancy to Mademoiselle Bourienne, spent whole -days with her, asked her to sleep in her room, and often talked with her -about the old prince and criticized him. - -“So we are to have visitors, mon prince?” remarked Mademoiselle -Bourienne, unfolding her white napkin with her rosy fingers. “His -Excellency Prince Vasíli Kurágin and his son, I understand?” she -said inquiringly. - -“Hm!—his excellency is a puppy.... I got him his appointment in the -service,” said the prince disdainfully. “Why his son is coming I -don’t understand. Perhaps Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary know. -I don’t want him.” (He looked at his blushing daughter.) “Are you -unwell today? Eh? Afraid of the ‘minister’ as that idiot Alpátych -called him this morning?” - -“No, mon père.” - -Though Mademoiselle Bourienne had been so unsuccessful in her choice -of a subject, she did not stop talking, but chattered about the -conservatories and the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and -after the soup the prince became more genial. - -After dinner, he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess -was sitting at a small table, chattering with Másha, her maid. She grew -pale on seeing her father-in-law. - -She was much altered. She was now plain rather than pretty. Her cheeks -had sunk, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes drawn down. - -“Yes, I feel a kind of oppression,” she said in reply to the -prince’s question as to how she felt. - -“Do you want anything?” - -“No, merci, mon père.” - -“Well, all right, all right.” - -He left the room and went to the waiting room where Alpátych stood with -bowed head. - -“Has the snow been shoveled back?” - -“Yes, your excellency. Forgive me for heaven’s sake... It was only -my stupidity.” - -“All right, all right,” interrupted the prince, and laughing his -unnatural way, he stretched out his hand for Alpátych to kiss, and then -proceeded to his study. - -Prince Vasíli arrived that evening. He was met in the avenue by -coachmen and footmen, who, with loud shouts, dragged his sleighs up to -one of the lodges over the road purposely laden with snow. - -Prince Vasíli and Anatole had separate rooms assigned to them. - -Anatole, having taken off his overcoat, sat with arms akimbo before a -table on a corner of which he smilingly and absent-mindedly fixed his -large and handsome eyes. He regarded his whole life as a continual round -of amusement which someone for some reason had to provide for him. -And he looked on this visit to a churlish old man and a rich and ugly -heiress in the same way. All this might, he thought, turn out very well -and amusingly. “And why not marry her if she really has so much money? -That never does any harm,” thought Anatole. - -He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance which had -become habitual to him and, his handsome head held high, entered his -father’s room with the good-humored and victorious air natural to -him. Prince Vasíli’s two valets were busy dressing him, and he looked -round with much animation and cheerfully nodded to his son as the latter -entered, as if to say: “Yes, that’s how I want you to look.” - -“I say, Father, joking apart, is she very hideous?” Anatole asked, -as if continuing a conversation the subject of which had often been -mentioned during the journey. - -“Enough! What nonsense! Above all, try to be respectful and cautious -with the old prince.” - -“If he starts a row I’ll go away,” said Prince Anatole. “I -can’t bear those old men! Eh?” - -“Remember, for you everything depends on this.” - -In the meantime, not only was it known in the maidservants’ rooms that -the minister and his son had arrived, but the appearance of both had -been minutely described. Princess Mary was sitting alone in her room, -vainly trying to master her agitation. - -“Why did they write, why did Lise tell me about it? It can never -happen!” she said, looking at herself in the glass. “How shall I -enter the drawing room? Even if I like him I can’t now be myself with -him.” The mere thought of her father’s look filled her with terror. -The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already received -from Másha, the lady’s maid, the necessary report of how handsome the -minister’s son was, with his rosy cheeks and dark eyebrows, and with -what difficulty the father had dragged his legs upstairs while the son -had followed him like an eagle, three steps at a time. Having received -this information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose -chattering voices had reached her from the corridor, went into Princess -Mary’s room. - -“You know they’ve come, Marie?” said the little princess, waddling -in, and sinking heavily into an armchair. - -She was no longer in the loose gown she generally wore in the morning, -but had on one of her best dresses. Her hair was carefully done and her -face was animated, which, however, did not conceal its sunken and faded -outlines. Dressed as she used to be in Petersburg society, it was still -more noticeable how much plainer she had become. Some unobtrusive touch -had been added to Mademoiselle Bourienne’s toilet which rendered her -fresh and pretty face yet more attractive. - -“What! Are you going to remain as you are, dear princess?” she -began. “They’ll be announcing that the gentlemen are in the drawing -room and we shall have to go down, and you have not smartened yourself -up at all!” - -The little princess got up, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and merrily -began to devise and carry out a plan of how Princess Mary should be -dressed. Princess Mary’s self-esteem was wounded by the fact that -the arrival of a suitor agitated her, and still more so by both -her companions’ not having the least conception that it could be -otherwise. To tell them that she felt ashamed for herself and for them -would be to betray her agitation, while to decline their offers to -dress her would prolong their banter and insistence. She flushed, her -beautiful eyes grew dim, red blotches came on her face, and it took -on the unattractive martyrlike expression it so often wore, as she -submitted herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both these women -quite sincerely tried to make her look pretty. She was so plain that -neither of them could think of her as a rival, so they began dressing -her with perfect sincerity, and with the naïve and firm conviction -women have that dress can make a face pretty. - -“No really, my dear, this dress is not pretty,” said Lise, looking -sideways at Princess Mary from a little distance. “You have a maroon -dress, have it fetched. Really! You know the fate of your whole life may -be at stake. But this one is too light, it’s not becoming!” - -It was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Mary -that was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little -princess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed -in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged lower on -the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well. They forgot that -the frightened face and the figure could not be altered, and that -however they might change the setting and adornment of that face, it -would still remain piteous and plain. After two or three changes to -which Princess Mary meekly submitted, just as her hair had been arranged -on the top of her head (a style that quite altered and spoiled her -looks) and she had put on a maroon dress with a pale-blue scarf, the -little princess walked twice round her, now adjusting a fold of the -dress with her little hand, now arranging the scarf and looking at her -with her head bent first on one side and then on the other. - -“No, it will not do,” she said decidedly, clasping her hands. “No, -Mary, really this dress does not suit you. I prefer you in your little -gray everyday dress. Now please, do it for my sake. Katie,” she said -to the maid, “bring the princess her gray dress, and you’ll see, -Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I shall arrange it,” she added, smiling -with a foretaste of artistic pleasure. - -But when Katie brought the required dress, Princess Mary remained -sitting motionless before the glass, looking at her face, and saw in the -mirror her eyes full of tears and her mouth quivering, ready to burst -into sobs. - -“Come, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “just one more -little effort.” - -The little princess, taking the dress from the maid, came up to Princess -Mary. - -“Well, now we’ll arrange something quite simple and becoming,” she -said. - -The three voices, hers, Mademoiselle Bourienne’s, and Katie’s, who -was laughing at something, mingled in a merry sound, like the chirping -of birds. - -“No, leave me alone,” said Princess Mary. - -Her voice sounded so serious and so sad that the chirping of the birds -was silenced at once. They looked at the beautiful, large, thoughtful -eyes full of tears and of thoughts, gazing shiningly and imploringly at -them, and understood that it was useless and even cruel to insist. - -“At least, change your coiffure,” said the little princess. -“Didn’t I tell you,” she went on, turning reproachfully to -Mademoiselle Bourienne, “Mary’s is a face which such a coiffure does -not suit in the least. Not in the least! Please change it.” - -“Leave me alone, please leave me alone! It is all quite the same to -me,” answered a voice struggling with tears. - -Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess had to own to themselves -that Princess Mary in this guise looked very plain, worse than usual, -but it was too late. She was looking at them with an expression they -both knew, an expression thoughtful and sad. This expression in Princess -Mary did not frighten them (she never inspired fear in anyone), but they -knew that when it appeared on her face, she became mute and was not to -be shaken in her determination. - -“You will change it, won’t you?” said Lise. And as Princess Mary -gave no answer, she left the room. - -Princess Mary was left alone. She did not comply with Lise’s request, -she not only left her hair as it was, but did not even look in her -glass. Letting her arms fall helplessly, she sat with downcast eyes and -pondered. A husband, a man, a strong dominant and strangely attractive -being rose in her imagination, and carried her into a totally different -happy world of his own. She fancied a child, her own—such as she had -seen the day before in the arms of her nurse’s daughter—at her -own breast, the husband standing by and gazing tenderly at her and the -child. “But no, it is impossible, I am too ugly,” she thought. - -“Please come to tea. The prince will be out in a moment,” came the -maid’s voice at the door. - -She roused herself, and felt appalled at what she had been thinking, and -before going down she went into the room where the icons hung and, her -eyes fixed on the dark face of a large icon of the Saviour lit by a -lamp, she stood before it with folded hands for a few moments. A painful -doubt filled her soul. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a -man, be for her? In her thoughts of marriage Princess Mary dreamed of -happiness and of children, but her strongest, most deeply hidden longing -was for earthly love. The more she tried to hide this feeling from -others and even from herself, the stronger it grew. “O God,” she -said, “how am I to stifle in my heart these temptations of the devil? -How am I to renounce forever these vile fancies, so as peacefully to -fulfill Thy will?” And scarcely had she put that question than God -gave her the answer in her own heart. “Desire nothing for thyself, -seek nothing, be not anxious or envious. Man’s future and thy own fate -must remain hidden from thee, but live so that thou mayest be ready for -anything. If it be God’s will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, -be ready to fulfill His will.” With this consoling thought (but -yet with a hope for the fulfillment of her forbidden earthly longing) -Princess Mary sighed, and having crossed herself went down, thinking -neither of her gown and coiffure nor of how she would go in nor of what -she would say. What could all that matter in comparison with the will of -God, without Whose care not a hair of man’s head can fall? - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -When Princess Mary came down, Prince Vasíli and his son were already -in the drawing room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle -Bourienne. When she entered with her heavy step, treading on her heels, -the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose and the little princess, -indicating her to the gentlemen, said: “Voilà Marie!” Princess Mary -saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw Prince Vasíli’s face, -serious for an instant at the sight of her, but immediately smiling -again, and the little princess curiously noting the impression -“Marie” produced on the visitors. And she saw Mademoiselle -Bourienne, with her ribbon and pretty face, and her unusually animated -look which was fixed on him, but him she could not see, she only saw -something large, brilliant, and handsome moving toward her as she -entered the room. Prince Vasíli approached first, and she kissed the -bold forehead that bent over her hand and answered his question by -saying that, on the contrary, she remembered him quite well. Then -Anatole came up to her. She still could not see him. She only felt a -soft hand taking hers firmly, and she touched with her lips a white -forehead, over which was beautiful light-brown hair smelling of pomade. -When she looked up at him she was struck by his beauty. Anatole stood -with his right thumb under a button of his uniform, his chest expanded -and his back drawn in, slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a -little bent, looked with beaming face at the princess without -speaking and evidently not thinking about her at all. Anatole was not -quick-witted, nor ready or eloquent in conversation, but he had the -faculty, so invaluable in society, of composure and imperturbable -self-possession. If a man lacking in self-confidence remains dumb on -a first introduction and betrays a consciousness of the impropriety of -such silence and an anxiety to find something to say, the effect is -bad. But Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the -princess’ hair. It was evident that he could be silent in this way for -a very long time. “If anyone finds this silence inconvenient, let him -talk, but I don’t want to,” he seemed to say. Besides this, in his -behavior to women Anatole had a manner which particularly inspires in -them curiosity, awe, and even love—a supercilious consciousness of -his own superiority. It was as if he said to them: “I know you, I know -you, but why should I bother about you? You’d be only too glad, of -course.” Perhaps he did not really think this when he met women—even -probably he did not, for in general he thought very little—but his -looks and manner gave that impression. The princess felt this, and as if -wishing to show him that she did not even dare expect to interest him, -she turned to his father. The conversation was general and animated, -thanks to Princess Lise’s voice and little downy lip that lifted over -her white teeth. She met Prince Vasíli with that playful manner often -employed by lively chatty people, and consisting in the assumption -that between the person they so address and themselves there are some -semi-private, long-established jokes and amusing reminiscences, though -no such reminiscences really exist—just as none existed in this case. -Prince Vasíli readily adopted her tone and the little princess also -drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew, into these amusing recollections of -things that had never occurred. Mademoiselle Bourienne also shared them -and even Princess Mary felt herself pleasantly made to share in these -merry reminiscences. - -“Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company all to -ourselves, dear prince,” said the little princess (of course, in -French) to Prince Vasíli. “It’s not as at Annette’s * receptions -where you always ran away; you remember cette chère Annette!” - - * Anna Pávlovna. - -“Ah, but you won’t talk politics to me like Annette!” - -“And our little tea table?” - -“Oh, yes!” - -“Why is it you were never at Annette’s?” the little princess asked -Anatole. “Ah, I know, I know,” she said with a sly glance, “your -brother Hippolyte told me about your goings on. Oh!” and she shook her -finger at him, “I have even heard of your doings in Paris!” - -“And didn’t Hippolyte tell you?” asked Prince Vasíli, turning to -his son and seizing the little princess’ arm as if she would have run -away and he had just managed to catch her, “didn’t he tell you how -he himself was pining for the dear princess, and how she showed him the -door? Oh, she is a pearl among women, Princess,” he added, turning to -Princess Mary. - -When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne for her part seized the -opportunity of joining in the general current of recollections. - -She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long since Anatole -had left Paris and how he had liked that city. Anatole answered the -Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with a smile, talked to her -about her native land. When he saw the pretty little Bourienne, Anatole -came to the conclusion that he would not find Bald Hills dull either. -“Not at all bad!” he thought, examining her, “not at all bad, that -little companion! I hope she will bring her along with her when we’re -married, la petite est gentille.” * - - * The little one is charming. - -The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning and considering -what he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyed him. “What are -Prince Vasíli and that son of his to me? Prince Vasíli is a shallow -braggart and his son, no doubt, is a fine specimen,” he grumbled to -himself. What angered him was that the coming of these visitors revived -in his mind an unsettled question he always tried to stifle, one about -which he always deceived himself. The question was whether he could ever -bring himself to part from his daughter and give her to a husband. The -prince never directly asked himself that question, knowing beforehand -that he would have to answer it justly, and justice clashed not only -with his feelings but with the very possibility of life. Life without -Princess Mary, little as he seemed to value her, was unthinkable to -him. “And why should she marry?” he thought. “To be unhappy for -certain. There’s Lise, married to Andrew—a better husband one would -think could hardly be found nowadays—but is she contented with her -lot? And who would marry Marie for love? Plain and awkward! They’ll -take her for her connections and wealth. Are there no women living -unmarried, and even the happier for it?” So thought Prince Bolkónski -while dressing, and yet the question he was always putting off demanded -an immediate answer. Prince Vasíli had brought his son with the evident -intention of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably ask -for an answer. His birth and position in society were not bad. “Well, -I’ve nothing against it,” the prince said to himself, “but he must -be worthy of her. And that is what we shall see.” - -“That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see!” he added -aloud. - -He entered the drawing room with his usual alert step, glancing rapidly -round the company. He noticed the change in the little princess’ -dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne’s ribbon, Princess Mary’s unbecoming -coiffure, Mademoiselle Bourienne’s and Anatole’s smiles, and the -loneliness of his daughter amid the general conversation. “Got herself -up like a fool!” he thought, looking irritably at her. “She is -shameless, and he ignores her!” - -He went straight up to Prince Vasíli. - -“Well! How d’ye do? How d’ye do? Glad to see you!” - -“Friendship laughs at distance,” began Prince Vasíli in his usual -rapid, self-confident, familiar tone. “Here is my second son; please -love and befriend him.” - -Prince Bolkónski surveyed Anatole. - -“Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!” he said. “Well, come and -kiss me,” and he offered his cheek. - -Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect -composure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities his father had -told him to expect. - -Prince Bolkónski sat down in his usual place in the corner of the sofa -and, drawing up an armchair for Prince Vasíli, pointed to it and began -questioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to listen -attentively to what Prince Vasíli said, but kept glancing at Princess -Mary. - -“And so they are writing from Potsdam already?” he said, repeating -Prince Vasíli’s last words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to his -daughter. - -“Is it for visitors you’ve got yourself up like that, eh?” said -he. “Fine, very fine! You have done up your hair in this new way for -the visitors, and before the visitors I tell you that in future you are -never to dare to change your way of dress without my consent.” - -“It was my fault, mon père,” interceded the little princess, with a -blush. - -“You must do as you please,” said Prince Bolkónski, bowing to his -daughter-in-law, “but she need not make a fool of herself, she’s -plain enough as it is.” - -And he sat down again, paying no more attention to his daughter, who was -reduced to tears. - -“On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very well,” said -Prince Vasíli. - -“Now you, young prince, what’s your name?” said Prince Bolkónski, -turning to Anatole, “come here, let us talk and get acquainted.” - -“Now the fun begins,” thought Anatole, sitting down with a smile -beside the old prince. - -“Well, my dear boy, I hear you’ve been educated abroad, not taught -to read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell me, -my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse Guards?” asked the old man, -scrutinizing Anatole closely and intently. - -“No, I have been transferred to the line,” said Anatole, hardly able -to restrain his laughter. - -“Ah! That’s a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to serve the -Tsar and the country? It is wartime. Such a fine fellow must serve. -Well, are you off to the front?” - -“No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the front, but I am attached... -what is it I am attached to, Papa?” said Anatole, turning to his -father with a laugh. - -“A splendid soldier, splendid! ‘What am I attached to!’ Ha, ha, -ha!” laughed Prince Bolkónski, and Anatole laughed still louder. -Suddenly Prince Bolkónski frowned. - -“You may go,” he said to Anatole. - -Anatole returned smiling to the ladies. - -“And so you’ve had him educated abroad, Prince Vasíli, haven’t -you?” said the old prince to Prince Vasíli. - -“I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the education there -is much better than ours.” - -“Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is changed. The -lad’s a fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come with me now.” He took -Prince Vasíli’s arm and led him to his study. As soon as they were -alone together, Prince Vasíli announced his hopes and wishes to the old -prince. - -“Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I can’t part from -her?” said the old prince angrily. “What an idea! I’m ready for it -tomorrow! Only let me tell you, I want to know my son-in-law better. You -know my principles—everything aboveboard! I will ask her tomorrow in -your presence; if she is willing, then he can stay on. He can stay and -I’ll see.” The old prince snorted. “Let her marry, it’s all the -same to me!” he screamed in the same piercing tone as when parting -from his son. - -“I will tell you frankly,” said Prince Vasíli in the tone of -a crafty man convinced of the futility of being cunning with so -keen-sighted a companion. “You know, you see right through people. -Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad; an excellent -son or kinsman.” - -“All right, all right, we’ll see!” - -As always happens when women lead lonely lives for any length of time -without male society, on Anatole’s appearance all the three women of -Prince Bolkónski’s household felt that their life had not been real -till then. Their powers of reasoning, feeling, and observing immediately -increased tenfold, and their life, which seemed to have been passed in -darkness, was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, full of significance. - -Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure. The -handsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husband absorbed -all her attention. He seemed to her kind, brave, determined, manly, and -magnanimous. She felt convinced of that. Thousands of dreams of a future -family life continually rose in her imagination. She drove them away and -tried to conceal them. - -“But am I not too cold with him?” thought the princess. “I try -to be reserved because in the depth of my soul I feel too near to him -already, but then he cannot know what I think of him and may imagine -that I do not like him.” - -And Princess Mary tried, but could not manage, to be cordial to her new -guest. “Poor girl, she’s devilish ugly!” thought Anatole. - -Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to great excitement by Anatole’s -arrival, thought in another way. Of course, she, a handsome young woman -without any definite position, without relations or even a country, did -not intend to devote her life to serving Prince Bolkónski, to reading -aloud to him and being friends with Princess Mary. Mademoiselle -Bourienne had long been waiting for a Russian prince who, able to -appreciate at a glance her superiority to the plain, badly dressed, -ungainly Russian princesses, would fall in love with her and carry her -off; and here at last was a Russian prince. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew -a story, heard from her aunt but finished in her own way, which she -liked to repeat to herself. It was the story of a girl who had been -seduced, and to whom her poor mother (sa pauvre mère) appeared, and -reproached her for yielding to a man without being married. Mademoiselle -Bourienne was often touched to tears as in imagination she told this -story to him, her seducer. And now he, a real Russian prince, had -appeared. He would carry her away and then sa pauvre mère would appear -and he would marry her. So her future shaped itself in Mademoiselle -Bourienne’s head at the very time she was talking to Anatole about -Paris. It was not calculation that guided her (she did not even for a -moment consider what she should do), but all this had long been familiar -to her, and now that Anatole had appeared it just grouped itself around -him and she wished and tried to please him as much as possible. - -The little princess, like an old war horse that hears the trumpet, -unconsciously and quite forgetting her condition, prepared for the -familiar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or any -struggle, but with naïve and lighthearted gaiety. - -Although in female society Anatole usually assumed the role of a man -tired of being run after by women, his vanity was flattered by the -spectacle of his power over these three women. Besides that, he was -beginning to feel for the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne -that passionate animal feeling which was apt to master him with great -suddenness and prompt him to the coarsest and most reckless actions. - -After tea, the company went into the sitting room and Princess Mary was -asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and in high spirits, -came and leaned on his elbows, facing her and beside Mademoiselle -Bourienne. Princess Mary felt his look with a painfully joyous emotion. -Her favorite sonata bore her into a most intimately poetic world and -the look she felt upon her made that world still more poetic. But -Anatole’s expression, though his eyes were fixed on her, referred not -to her but to the movements of Mademoiselle Bourienne’s little -foot, which he was then touching with his own under the clavichord. -Mademoiselle Bourienne was also looking at Princess Mary, and in her -lovely eyes there was a look of fearful joy and hope that was also new -to the princess. - -“How she loves me!” thought Princess Mary. “How happy I am now, -and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Husband? -Can it be possible?” she thought, not daring to look at his face, but -still feeling his eyes gazing at her. - -In the evening, after supper, when all were about to retire, Anatole -kissed Princess Mary’s hand. She did not know how she found the -courage, but she looked straight into his handsome face as it came near -to her shortsighted eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went up and -kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne’s hand. (This was not etiquette, but -then he did everything so simply and with such assurance!) Mademoiselle -Bourienne flushed, and gave the princess a frightened look. - -“What delicacy!” thought the princess. “Is it possible that -Amélie” (Mademoiselle Bourienne) “thinks I could be jealous of her, -and not value her pure affection and devotion to me?” She went up -to her and kissed her warmly. Anatole went up to kiss the little -princess’ hand. - -“No! No! No! When your father writes to tell me that you are behaving -well I will give you my hand to kiss. Not till then!” she said. And -smilingly raising a finger at him, she left the room. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -They all separated, but, except Anatole who fell asleep as soon as he -got into bed, all kept awake a long time that night. - -“Is he really to be my husband, this stranger who is so kind—yes, -kind, that is the chief thing,” thought Princess Mary; and fear, which -she had seldom experienced, came upon her. She feared to look round, it -seemed to her that someone was there standing behind the screen in the -dark corner. And this someone was he—the devil—and he was also this -man with the white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips. - -She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room. - -Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the conservatory for a long -time that evening, vainly expecting someone, now smiling at someone, now -working herself up to tears with the imaginary words of her pauvre mère -rebuking her for her fall. - -The little princess grumbled to her maid that her bed was badly made. -She could not lie either on her face or on her side. Every position was -awkward and uncomfortable, and her burden oppressed her now more than -ever because Anatole’s presence had vividly recalled to her the time -when she was not like that and when everything was light and gay. She -sat in an armchair in her dressing jacket and nightcap and Katie, sleepy -and disheveled, beat and turned the heavy feather bed for the third -time, muttering to herself. - -“I told you it was all lumps and holes!” the little princess -repeated. “I should be glad enough to fall asleep, so it’s not my -fault!” and her voice quivered like that of a child about to cry. - -The old prince did not sleep either. Tíkhon, half asleep, heard him -pacing angrily about and snorting. The old prince felt as though he -had been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the more pointed -because it concerned not himself but another, his daughter, whom he -loved more than himself. He kept telling himself that he would consider -the whole matter and decide what was right and how he should act, but -instead of that he only excited himself more and more. - -“The first man that turns up—she forgets her father and everything -else, runs upstairs and does up her hair and wags her tail and is unlike -herself! Glad to throw her father over! And she knew I should notice -it. Fr... fr... fr! And don’t I see that that idiot had eyes only for -Bourienne—I shall have to get rid of her. And how is it she has not -pride enough to see it? If she has no pride for herself she might at -least have some for my sake! She must be shown that the blockhead thinks -nothing of her and looks only at Bourienne. No, she has no pride... but -I’ll let her see....” - -The old prince knew that if he told his daughter she was making a -mistake and that Anatole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne, -Princess Mary’s self-esteem would be wounded and his point (not to -be parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying himself with this -thought, he called Tíkhon and began to undress. - -“What devil brought them here?” thought he, while Tíkhon was -putting the nightshirt over his dried-up old body and gray-haired chest. -“I never invited them. They came to disturb my life—and there is not -much of it left.” - -“Devil take ‘em!” he muttered, while his head was still covered by -the shirt. - -Tíkhon knew his master’s habit of sometimes thinking aloud, and -therefore met with unaltered looks the angrily inquisitive expression of -the face that emerged from the shirt. - -“Gone to bed?” asked the prince. - -Tíkhon, like all good valets, instinctively knew the direction of his -master’s thoughts. He guessed that the question referred to Prince -Vasíli and his son. - -“They have gone to bed and put out their lights, your excellency.” - -“No good... no good...” said the prince rapidly, and thrusting his -feet into his slippers and his arms into the sleeves of his dressing -gown, he went to the couch on which he slept. - -Though no words had passed between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, -they quite understood one another as to the first part of their romance, -up to the appearance of the pauvre mère; they understood that they had -much to say to one another in private and so they had been seeking an -opportunity since morning to meet one another alone. When Princess Mary -went to her father’s room at the usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne -and Anatole met in the conservatory. - -Princess Mary went to the door of the study with special trepidation. -It seemed to her that not only did everybody know that her fate would be -decided that day, but that they also knew what she thought about it. She -read this in Tíkhon’s face and in that of Prince Vasíli’s valet, -who made her a low bow when she met him in the corridor carrying hot -water. - -The old prince was very affectionate and careful in his treatment of -his daughter that morning. Princess Mary well knew this painstaking -expression of her father’s. His face wore that expression when his -dry hands clenched with vexation at her not understanding a sum in -arithmetic, when rising from his chair he would walk away from her, -repeating in a low voice the same words several times over. - -He came to the point at once, treating her ceremoniously. - -“I have had a proposition made me concerning you,” he said with an -unnatural smile. “I expect you have guessed that Prince Vasíli has -not come and brought his pupil with him” (for some reason Prince -Bolkónski referred to Anatole as a “pupil”) “for the sake of my -beautiful eyes. Last night a proposition was made me on your account -and, as you know my principles, I refer it to you.” - -“How am I to understand you, mon père?” said the princess, growing -pale and then blushing. - -“How understand me!” cried her father angrily. “Prince Vasíli -finds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law and makes a proposal to you -on his pupil’s behalf. That’s how it’s to be understood! ‘How -understand it’!... And I ask you!” - -“I do not know what you think, Father,” whispered the princess. - -“I? I? What of me? Leave me out of the question. I’m not going to -get married. What about you? That’s what I want to know.” - -The princess saw that her father regarded the matter with disapproval, -but at that moment the thought occurred to her that her fate would be -decided now or never. She lowered her eyes so as not to see the gaze -under which she felt that she could not think, but would only be able to -submit from habit, and she said: “I wish only to do your will, but if -I had to express my own desire...” She had no time to finish. The old -prince interrupted her. - -“That’s admirable!” he shouted. “He will take you with your -dowry and take Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. She’ll be the -wife, while you...” - -The prince stopped. He saw the effect these words had produced on his -daughter. She lowered her head and was ready to burst into tears. - -“Now then, now then, I’m only joking!” he said. “Remember this, -Princess, I hold to the principle that a maiden has a full right to -choose. I give you freedom. Only remember that your life’s happiness -depends on your decision. Never mind me!” - -“But I do not know, Father!” - -“There’s no need to talk! He receives his orders and will marry you -or anybody; but you are free to choose.... Go to your room, think it -over, and come back in an hour and tell me in his presence: yes or no. -I know you will pray over it. Well, pray if you like, but you had better -think it over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!” he still shouted -when the princess, as if lost in a fog, had already staggered out of the -study. - -Her fate was decided and happily decided. But what her father had said -about Mademoiselle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to be sure, but -still it was terrible, and she could not help thinking of it. She was -going straight on through the conservatory, neither seeing nor hearing -anything, when suddenly the well-known whispering of Mademoiselle -Bourienne aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two steps away saw -Anatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something to her. With -a horrified expression on his handsome face, Anatole looked at Princess -Mary, but did not at once take his arm from the waist of Mademoiselle -Bourienne who had not yet seen her. - -“Who’s that? Why? Wait a moment!” Anatole’s face seemed to say. -Princess Mary looked at them in silence. She could not understand it. At -last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a scream and ran away. Anatole bowed to -Princess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to join in a laugh at -this strange incident, and then shrugging his shoulders went to the door -that led to his own apartments. - -An hour later, Tíkhon came to call Princess Mary to the old prince; -he added that Prince Vasíli was also there. When Tíkhon came to her -Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room, holding the weeping -Mademoiselle Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking her hair. The -princess’ beautiful eyes with all their former calm radiance were -looking with tender affection and pity at Mademoiselle Bourienne’s -pretty face. - -“No, Princess, I have lost your affection forever!” said -Mademoiselle Bourienne. - -“Why? I love you more than ever,” said Princess Mary, “and I will -try to do all I can for your happiness.” - -“But you despise me. You who are so pure can never understand being so -carried away by passion. Oh, only my poor mother...” - -“I quite understand,” answered Princess Mary, with a sad smile. -“Calm yourself, my dear. I will go to my father,” she said, and went -out. - -Prince Vasíli, with one leg thrown high over the other and a snuffbox -in his hand, was sitting there with a smile of deep emotion on his face, -as if stirred to his heart’s core and himself regretting and laughing -at his own sensibility, when Princess Mary entered. He hurriedly took a -pinch of snuff. - -“Ah, my dear, my dear!” he began, rising and taking her by both -hands. Then, sighing, he added: “My son’s fate is in your hands. -Decide, my dear, good, gentle Marie, whom I have always loved as a -daughter!” - -He drew back and a real tear appeared in his eye. - -“Fr... fr...” snorted Prince Bolkónski. “The prince is making a -proposition to you in his pupil’s—I mean, his son’s—name. Do you -wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kurágin’s wife? Reply: yes or no,” -he shouted, “and then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion -also. Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion,” added Prince Bolkónski, -turning to Prince Vasíli and answering his imploring look. “Yes, or -no?” - -“My desire is never to leave you, Father, never to separate my -life from yours. I don’t wish to marry,” she answered positively, -glancing at Prince Vasíli and at her father with her beautiful eyes. - -“Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug, humbug!” cried Prince Bolkónski, -frowning and taking his daughter’s hand; he did not kiss her, but only -bending his forehead to hers just touched it, and pressed her hand so -that she winced and uttered a cry. - -Prince Vasíli rose. - -“My dear, I must tell you that this is a moment I shall never, never -forget. But, my dear, will you not give us a little hope of touching -this heart, so kind and generous? Say ‘perhaps’... The future is so -long. Say ‘perhaps.’” - -“Prince, what I have said is all there is in my heart. I thank you for -the honor, but I shall never be your son’s wife.” - -“Well, so that’s finished, my dear fellow! I am very glad to have -seen you. Very glad! Go back to your rooms, Princess. Go!” said -the old prince. “Very, very glad to have seen you,” repeated he, -embracing Prince Vasíli. - -“My vocation is a different one,” thought Princess Mary. “My -vocation is to be happy with another kind of happiness, the happiness -of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, I will arrange -poor Amélie’s happiness, she loves him so passionately, and so -passionately repents. I will do all I can to arrange the match between -them. If he is not rich I will give her the means; I will ask my -father and Andrew. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is so -unfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless! And, oh God, how passionately -she must love him if she could so far forget herself! Perhaps I might -have done the same!...” thought Princess Mary. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -It was long since the Rostóvs had news of Nicholas. Not till midwinter -was the count at last handed a letter addressed in his son’s -handwriting. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his study in alarm and -haste, trying to escape notice, closed the door, and began to read the -letter. - -Anna Mikháylovna, who always knew everything that passed in the house, -on hearing of the arrival of the letter went softly into the room and -found the count with it in his hand, sobbing and laughing at the same -time. - -Anna Mikháylovna, though her circumstances had improved, was still -living with the Rostóvs. - -“My dear friend?” said she, in a tone of pathetic inquiry, prepared -to sympathize in any way. - -The count sobbed yet more. - -“Nikólenka... a letter... wa... a... s... wounded... my darling -boy... the countess... promoted to be an officer... thank God... How -tell the little countess!” - -Anna Mikháylovna sat down beside him, with her own handkerchief wiped -the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then having dried her -own eyes she comforted the count, and decided that at dinner and till -teatime she would prepare the countess, and after tea, with God’s -help, would inform her. - -At dinner Anna Mikháylovna talked the whole time about the war news -and about Nikólenka, twice asked when the last letter had been received -from him, though she knew that already, and remarked that they might -very likely be getting a letter from him that day. Each time that these -hints began to make the countess anxious and she glanced uneasily at -the count and at Anna Mikháylovna, the latter very adroitly turned -the conversation to insignificant matters. Natásha, who, of the whole -family, was the most gifted with a capacity to feel any shades of -intonation, look, and expression, pricked up her ears from the beginning -of the meal and was certain that there was some secret between her -father and Anna Mikháylovna, that it had something to do with her -brother, and that Anna Mikháylovna was preparing them for it. Bold as -she was, Natásha, who knew how sensitive her mother was to anything -relating to Nikólenka, did not venture to ask any questions at dinner, -but she was too excited to eat anything and kept wriggling about on her -chair regardless of her governess’ remarks. After dinner, she rushed -headlong after Anna Mikháylovna and, dashing at her, flung herself on -her neck as soon as she overtook her in the sitting room. - -“Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is!” - -“Nothing, my dear.” - -“No, dearest, sweet one, honey, I won’t give up—I know you know -something.” - -Anna Mikháylovna shook her head. - -“You are a little slyboots,” she said. - -“A letter from Nikólenka! I’m sure of it!” exclaimed Natásha, -reading confirmation in Anna Mikháylovna’s face. - -“But for God’s sake, be careful, you know how it may affect your -mamma.” - -“I will, I will, only tell me! You won’t? Then I will go and tell at -once.” - -Anna Mikháylovna, in a few words, told her the contents of the letter, -on condition that she should tell no one. - -“No, on my true word of honor,” said Natásha, crossing herself, -“I won’t tell anyone!” and she ran off at once to Sónya. - -“Nikólenka... wounded... a letter,” she announced in gleeful -triumph. - -“Nicholas!” was all Sónya said, instantly turning white. - -Natásha, seeing the impression the news of her brother’s wound -produced on Sónya, felt for the first time the sorrowful side of the -news. - -She rushed to Sónya, hugged her, and began to cry. - -“A little wound, but he has been made an officer; he is well now, he -wrote himself,” said she through her tears. - -“There now! It’s true that all you women are crybabies,” remarked -Pétya, pacing the room with large, resolute strides. “Now I’m very -glad, very glad indeed, that my brother has distinguished himself so. -You are all blubberers and understand nothing.” - -Natásha smiled through her tears. - -“You haven’t read the letter?” asked Sónya. - -“No, but she said that it was all over and that he’s now an -officer.” - -“Thank God!” said Sónya, crossing herself. “But perhaps she -deceived you. Let us go to Mamma.” - -Pétya paced the room in silence for a time. - -“If I’d been in Nikólenka’s place I would have killed even more -of those Frenchmen,” he said. “What nasty brutes they are! I’d -have killed so many that there’d have been a heap of them.” - -“Hold your tongue, Pétya, what a goose you are!” - -“I’m not a goose, but they are who cry about trifles,” said -Pétya. - -“Do you remember him?” Natásha suddenly asked, after a moment’s -silence. - -Sónya smiled. - -“Do I remember Nicholas?” - -“No, Sónya, but do you remember so that you remember him perfectly, -remember everything?” said Natásha, with an expressive gesture, -evidently wishing to give her words a very definite meaning. “I -remember Nikólenka too, I remember him well,” she said. “But I -don’t remember Borís. I don’t remember him a bit.” - -“What! You don’t remember Borís?” asked Sónya in surprise. - -“It’s not that I don’t remember—I know what he is like, but not -as I remember Nikólenka. Him—I just shut my eyes and remember, -but Borís... No!” (She shut her eyes.) “No! there’s nothing at -all.” - -“Oh, Natásha!” said Sónya, looking ecstatically and earnestly at -her friend as if she did not consider her worthy to hear what she meant -to say and as if she were saying it to someone else, with whom joking -was out of the question, “I am in love with your brother once for all -and, whatever may happen to him or to me, shall never cease to love him -as long as I live.” - -Natásha looked at Sónya with wondering and inquisitive eyes, and said -nothing. She felt that Sónya was speaking the truth, that there was -such love as Sónya was speaking of. But Natásha had not yet felt -anything like it. She believed it could be, but did not understand it. - -“Shall you write to him?” she asked. - -Sónya became thoughtful. The question of how to write to Nicholas, and -whether she ought to write, tormented her. Now that he was already an -officer and a wounded hero, would it be right to remind him of herself -and, as it might seem, of the obligations to her he had taken on -himself? - -“I don’t know. I think if he writes, I will write too,” she said, -blushing. - -“And you won’t feel ashamed to write to him?” - -Sónya smiled. - -“No.” - -“And I should be ashamed to write to Borís. I’m not going to.” - -“Why should you be ashamed?” - -“Well, I don’t know. It’s awkward and would make me ashamed.” - -“And I know why she’d be ashamed,” said Pétya, offended by -Natásha’s previous remark. “It’s because she was in love with -that fat one in spectacles” (that was how Pétya described his -namesake, the new Count Bezúkhov) “and now she’s in love with that -singer” (he meant Natásha’s Italian singing master), “that’s -why she’s ashamed!” - -“Pétya, you’re a stupid!” said Natásha. - -“Not more stupid than you, madam,” said the nine-year-old Pétya, -with the air of an old brigadier. - -The countess had been prepared by Anna Mikháylovna’s hints at dinner. -On retiring to her own room, she sat in an armchair, her eyes fixed on a -miniature portrait of her son on the lid of a snuffbox, while the tears -kept coming into her eyes. Anna Mikháylovna, with the letter, came on -tiptoe to the countess’ door and paused. - -“Don’t come in,” she said to the old count who was following her. -“Come later.” And she went in, closing the door behind her. - -The count put his ear to the keyhole and listened. - -At first he heard the sound of indifferent voices, then Anna -Mikháylovna’s voice alone in a long speech, then a cry, then silence, -then both voices together with glad intonations, and then footsteps. -Anna Mikháylovna opened the door. Her face wore the proud expression -of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult operation and admits the -public to appreciate his skill. - -“It is done!” she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to the -countess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portrait and -in the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to her lips. - -When she saw the count, she stretched out her arms to him, embraced his -bald head, over which she again looked at the letter and the portrait, -and in order to press them again to her lips, she slightly pushed away -the bald head. Véra, Natásha, Sónya, and Pétya now entered the room, -and the reading of the letter began. After a brief description of -the campaign and the two battles in which he had taken part, and his -promotion, Nicholas said that he kissed his father’s and mother’s -hands asking for their blessing, and that he kissed Véra, Natásha, and -Pétya. Besides that, he sent greetings to Monsieur Schelling, Madame -Schoss, and his old nurse, and asked them to kiss for him “dear -Sónya, whom he loved and thought of just the same as ever.” When she -heard this Sónya blushed so that tears came into her eyes and, unable -to bear the looks turned upon her, ran away into the dancing hall, -whirled round it at full speed with her dress puffed out like a balloon, -and, flushed and smiling, plumped down on the floor. The countess was -crying. - -“Why are you crying, Mamma?” asked Véra. “From all he says one -should be glad and not cry.” - -This was quite true, but the count, the countess, and Natásha looked -at her reproachfully. “And who is it she takes after?” thought the -countess. - -Nicholas’ letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who were -considered worthy to hear it had to come to the countess, for she -did not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses, and -Dmítri, and several acquaintances, and the countess reread the letter -each time with fresh pleasure and each time discovered in it fresh -proofs of Nikólenka’s virtues. How strange, how extraordinary, how -joyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion of whose -tiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that son about whom -she used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count, that son who -had first learned to say “pear” and then “granny,” that this son -should now be away in a foreign land amid strange surroundings, a manly -warrior doing some kind of man’s work of his own, without help or -guidance. The universal experience of ages, showing that children do -grow imperceptibly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist for the -countess. Her son’s growth toward manhood, at each of its stages, -had seemed as extraordinary to her as if there had never existed the -millions of human beings who grew up in the same way. As twenty -years before, it seemed impossible that the little creature who lived -somewhere under her heart would ever cry, suck her breast, and begin to -speak, so now she could not believe that that little creature could be -this strong, brave man, this model son and officer that, judging by this -letter, he now was. - -“What a style! How charmingly he describes!” said she, reading the -descriptive part of the letter. “And what a soul! Not a word about -himself.... Not a word! About some Denísov or other, though he himself, -I dare say, is braver than any of them. He says nothing about his -sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! And how he has remembered -everybody! Not forgetting anyone. I always said when he was only so -high—I always said....” - -For more than a week preparations were being made, rough drafts of -letters to Nicholas from all the household were written and copied out, -while under the supervision of the countess and the solicitude of the -count, money and all things necessary for the uniform and equipment -of the newly commissioned officer were collected. Anna Mikháylovna, -practical woman that she was, had even managed by favor with army -authorities to secure advantageous means of communication for herself -and her son. She had opportunities of sending her letters to the Grand -Duke Constantine Pávlovich, who commanded the Guards. The Rostóvs -supposed that The Russian Guards, Abroad, was quite a definite address, -and that if a letter reached the Grand Duke in command of the Guards -there was no reason why it should not reach the Pávlograd regiment, -which was presumably somewhere in the same neighborhood. And so it was -decided to send the letters and money by the Grand Duke’s courier to -Borís and Borís was to forward them to Nicholas. The letters were from -the old count, the countess, Pétya, Véra, Natásha, and Sónya, and -finally there were six thousand rubles for his outfit and various other -things the old count sent to his son. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -On the twelfth of November, Kutúzov’s active army, in camp before -Olmütz, was preparing to be reviewed next day by the two Emperors—the -Russian and the Austrian. The Guards, just arrived from Russia, spent -the night ten miles from Olmütz and next morning were to come straight -to the review, reaching the field at Olmütz by ten o’clock. - -That day Nicholas Rostóv received a letter from Borís, telling him -that the Ismáylov regiment was quartered for the night ten miles from -Olmütz and that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and money for -him. Rostóv was particularly in need of money now that the troops, -after their active service, were stationed near Olmütz and the camp -swarmed with well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering -all sorts of tempting wares. The Pávlograds held feast after feast, -celebrating awards they had received for the campaign, and made -expeditions to Olmütz to visit a certain Caroline the Hungarian, -who had recently opened a restaurant there with girls as waitresses. -Rostóv, who had just celebrated his promotion to a cornetcy and bought -Denísov’s horse, Bedouin, was in debt all round, to his comrades and -the sutlers. On receiving Borís’ letter he rode with a fellow officer -to Olmütz, dined there, drank a bottle of wine, and then set off alone -to the Guards’ camp to find his old playmate. Rostóv had not yet had -time to get his uniform. He had on a shabby cadet jacket, decorated with -a soldier’s cross, equally shabby cadet’s riding breeches lined with -worn leather, and an officer’s saber with a sword knot. The Don horse -he was riding was one he had bought from a Cossack during the campaign, -and he wore a crumpled hussar cap stuck jauntily back on one side of his -head. As he rode up to the camp he thought how he would impress Borís -and all his comrades of the Guards by his appearance—that of a -fighting hussar who had been under fire. - -The Guards had made their whole march as if on a pleasure trip, parading -their cleanliness and discipline. They had come by easy stages, their -knapsacks conveyed on carts, and the Austrian authorities had provided -excellent dinners for the officers at every halting place. The regiments -had entered and left the town with their bands playing, and by the Grand -Duke’s orders the men had marched all the way in step (a practice on -which the Guards prided themselves), the officers on foot and at their -proper posts. Borís had been quartered, and had marched all the -way, with Berg who was already in command of a company. Berg, who had -obtained his captaincy during the campaign, had gained the confidence of -his superiors by his promptitude and accuracy and had arranged his money -matters very satisfactorily. Borís, during the campaign, had made the -acquaintance of many persons who might prove useful to him, and by -a letter of recommendation he had brought from Pierre had become -acquainted with Prince Andrew Bolkónski, through whom he hoped to -obtain a post on the commander in chief’s staff. Berg and Borís, -having rested after yesterday’s march, were sitting, clean and neatly -dressed, at a round table in the clean quarters allotted to them, -playing chess. Berg held a smoking pipe between his knees. Borís, in -the accurate way characteristic of him, was building a little pyramid of -chessmen with his delicate white fingers while awaiting Berg’s move, -and watched his opponent’s face, evidently thinking about the game as -he always thought only of whatever he was engaged on. - -“Well, how are you going to get out of that?” he remarked. - -“We’ll try to,” replied Berg, touching a pawn and then removing -his hand. - -At that moment the door opened. - -“Here he is at last!” shouted Rostóv. “And Berg too! Oh, you -petisenfans, allay cushay dormir!” he exclaimed, imitating his Russian -nurse’s French, at which he and Borís used to laugh long ago. - -“Dear me, how you have changed!” - -Borís rose to meet Rostóv, but in doing so did not omit to steady and -replace some chessmen that were falling. He was about to embrace his -friend, but Nicholas avoided him. With that peculiar feeling of youth, -that dread of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in a manner -different from that of its elders which is often insincere, Nicholas -wished to do something special on meeting his friend. He wanted to pinch -him, push him, do anything but kiss him—a thing everybody did. But -notwithstanding this, Borís embraced him in a quiet, friendly way and -kissed him three times. - -They had not met for nearly half a year and, being at the age when young -men take their first steps on life’s road, each saw immense changes in -the other, quite a new reflection of the society in which they had taken -those first steps. Both had changed greatly since they last met and both -were in a hurry to show the changes that had taken place in them. - -“Oh, you damned dandies! Clean and fresh as if you’d been to a fete, -not like us sinners of the line,” cried Rostóv, with martial swagger -and with baritone notes in his voice, new to Borís, pointing to his own -mud-bespattered breeches. The German landlady, hearing Rostóv’s loud -voice, popped her head in at the door. - -“Eh, is she pretty?” he asked with a wink. - -“Why do you shout so? You’ll frighten them!” said Borís. “I did -not expect you today,” he added. “I only sent you the note yesterday -by Bolkónski—an adjutant of Kutúzov’s, who’s a friend of mine. -I did not think he would get it to you so quickly.... Well, how are you? -Been under fire already?” asked Borís. - -Without answering, Rostóv shook the soldier’s Cross of St. George -fastened to the cording of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged arm, -glanced at Berg with a smile. - -“As you see,” he said. - -“Indeed? Yes, yes!” said Borís, with a smile. “And we too have -had a splendid march. You know, of course, that His Imperial Highness -rode with our regiment all the time, so that we had every comfort and -every advantage. What receptions we had in Poland! What dinners and -balls! I can’t tell you. And the Tsarévich was very gracious to all -our officers.” - -And the two friends told each other of their doings, the one of his -hussar revels and life in the fighting line, the other of the pleasures -and advantages of service under members of the Imperial family. - -“Oh, you Guards!” said Rostóv. “I say, send for some wine.” - -Borís made a grimace. - -“If you really want it,” said he. - -He went to his bed, drew a purse from under the clean pillow, and sent -for wine. - -“Yes, and I have some money and a letter to give you,” he added. - -Rostóv took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put both -arms on the table and began to read. After reading a few lines, he -glanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his eyes, hid his face behind the -letter. - -“Well, they’ve sent you a tidy sum,” said Berg, eying the heavy -purse that sank into the sofa. “As for us, Count, we get along on our -pay. I can tell you for myself...” - -“I say, Berg, my dear fellow,” said Rostóv, “when you get a -letter from home and meet one of your own people whom you want to talk -everything over with, and I happen to be there, I’ll go at once, to -be out of your way! Do go somewhere, anywhere... to the devil!” he -exclaimed, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder and looking -amiably into his face, evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of his -words, he added, “Don’t be hurt, my dear fellow; you know I speak -from my heart as to an old acquaintance.” - -“Oh, don’t mention it, Count! I quite understand,” said Berg, -getting up and speaking in a muffled and guttural voice. - -“Go across to our hosts: they invited you,” added Borís. - -Berg put on the cleanest of coats, without a spot or speck of dust, -stood before a looking glass and brushed the hair on his temples -upwards, in the way affected by the Emperor Alexander, and, having -assured himself from the way Rostóv looked at it that his coat had been -noticed, left the room with a pleasant smile. - -“Oh dear, what a beast I am!” muttered Rostóv, as he read the -letter. - -“Why?” - -“Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written and to have given them -such a fright! Oh, what a pig I am!” he repeated, flushing suddenly. -“Well, have you sent Gabriel for some wine? All right let’s have -some!” - -In the letter from his parents was enclosed a letter of recommendation -to Bagratión which the old countess at Anna Mikháylovna’s advice had -obtained through an acquaintance and sent to her son, asking him to take -it to its destination and make use of it. - -“What nonsense! Much I need it!” said Rostóv, throwing the letter -under the table. - -“Why have you thrown that away?” asked Borís. - -“It is some letter of recommendation... what the devil do I want it -for!” - -“Why ‘What the devil’?” said Borís, picking it up and reading -the address. “This letter would be of great use to you.” - -“I want nothing, and I won’t be anyone’s adjutant.” - -“Why not?” inquired Borís. - -“It’s a lackey’s job!” - -“You are still the same dreamer, I see,” remarked Borís, shaking -his head. - -“And you’re still the same diplomatist! But that’s not the -point... Come, how are you?” asked Rostóv. - -“Well, as you see. So far everything’s all right, but I confess I -should much like to be an adjutant and not remain at the front.” - -“Why?” - -“Because when once a man starts on military service, he should try to -make as successful a career of it as possible.” - -“Oh, that’s it!” said Rostóv, evidently thinking of something -else. - -He looked intently and inquiringly into his friend’s eyes, evidently -trying in vain to find the answer to some question. - -Old Gabriel brought in the wine. - -“Shouldn’t we now send for Berg?” asked Borís. “He would drink -with you. I can’t.” - -“Well, send for him... and how do you get on with that German?” -asked Rostóv, with a contemptuous smile. - -“He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow,” answered -Borís. - -Again Rostóv looked intently into Borís’ eyes and sighed. Berg -returned, and over the bottle of wine conversation between the three -officers became animated. The Guardsmen told Rostóv of their march and -how they had been made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad. They spoke -of the sayings and doings of their commander, the Grand Duke, and told -stories of his kindness and irascibility. Berg, as usual, kept silent -when the subject did not relate to himself, but in connection with the -stories of the Grand Duke’s quick temper he related with gusto how in -Galicia he had managed to deal with the Grand Duke when the latter -made a tour of the regiments and was annoyed at the irregularity of -a movement. With a pleasant smile Berg related how the Grand Duke -had ridden up to him in a violent passion, shouting: “Arnauts!” -(“Arnauts” was the Tsarévich’s favorite expression when he was in -a rage) and called for the company commander. - -“Would you believe it, Count, I was not at all alarmed, because I knew -I was right. Without boasting, you know, I may say that I know the Army -Orders by heart and know the Regulations as well as I do the Lord’s -Prayer. So, Count, there never is any negligence in my company, and -so my conscience was at ease. I came forward....” (Berg stood up and -showed how he presented himself, with his hand to his cap, and really -it would have been difficult for a face to express greater respect and -self-complacency than his did.) “Well, he stormed at me, as the saying -is, stormed and stormed and stormed! It was not a matter of life but -rather of death, as the saying is. ‘Albanians!’ and ‘devils!’ -and ‘To Siberia!’” said Berg with a sagacious smile. “I knew I -was in the right so I kept silent; was not that best, Count?... ‘Hey, -are you dumb?’ he shouted. Still I remained silent. And what do you -think, Count? The next day it was not even mentioned in the Orders of -the Day. That’s what keeping one’s head means. That’s the way, -Count,” said Berg, lighting his pipe and emitting rings of smoke. - -“Yes, that was fine,” said Rostóv, smiling. - -But Borís noticed that he was preparing to make fun of Berg, and -skillfully changed the subject. He asked him to tell them how and where -he got his wound. This pleased Rostóv and he began talking about it, -and as he went on became more and more animated. He told them of his -Schön Grabern affair, just as those who have taken part in a battle -generally do describe it, that is, as they would like it to have been, -as they have heard it described by others, and as sounds well, but not -at all as it really was. Rostóv was a truthful young man and would on -no account have told a deliberate lie. He began his story meaning to -tell everything just as it happened, but imperceptibly, involuntarily, -and inevitably he lapsed into falsehood. If he had told the truth to his -hearers—who like himself had often heard stories of attacks and had -formed a definite idea of what an attack was and were expecting to hear -just such a story—they would either not have believed him or, still -worse, would have thought that Rostóv was himself to blame since what -generally happens to the narrators of cavalry attacks had not happened -to him. He could not tell them simply that everyone went at a trot and -that he fell off his horse and sprained his arm and then ran as hard as -he could from a Frenchman into the wood. Besides, to tell everything as -it really happened, it would have been necessary to make an effort of -will to tell only what happened. It is very difficult to tell the truth, -and young people are rarely capable of it. His hearers expected a story -of how beside himself and all aflame with excitement, he had flown like -a storm at the square, cut his way in, slashed right and left, how his -saber had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, and so on. And so he -told them all that. - -In the middle of his story, just as he was saying: “You cannot imagine -what a strange frenzy one experiences during an attack,” Prince -Andrew, whom Borís was expecting, entered the room. Prince Andrew, who -liked to help young men, was flattered by being asked for his assistance -and being well disposed toward Borís, who had managed to please him the -day before, he wished to do what the young man wanted. Having been sent -with papers from Kutúzov to the Tsarévich, he looked in on Borís, -hoping to find him alone. When he came in and saw an hussar of the line -recounting his military exploits (Prince Andrew could not endure -that sort of man), he gave Borís a pleasant smile, frowned as with -half-closed eyes he looked at Rostóv, bowed slightly and wearily, and -sat down languidly on the sofa: he felt it unpleasant to have dropped -in on bad company. Rostóv flushed up on noticing this, but he did not -care, this was a mere stranger. Glancing, however, at Borís, he saw -that he too seemed ashamed of the hussar of the line. - -In spite of Prince Andrew’s disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite of -the contempt with which Rostóv, from his fighting army point of view, -regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom the newcomer -was evidently one, Rostóv felt confused, blushed, and became silent. -Borís inquired what news there might be on the staff, and what, without -indiscretion, one might ask about our plans. - -“We shall probably advance,” replied Bolkónski, evidently reluctant -to say more in the presence of a stranger. - -Berg took the opportunity to ask, with great politeness, whether, as was -rumored, the allowance of forage money to captains of companies would be -doubled. To this Prince Andrew answered with a smile that he could -give no opinion on such an important government order, and Berg laughed -gaily. - -“As to your business,” Prince Andrew continued, addressing Borís, -“we will talk of it later” (and he looked round at Rostóv). “Come -to me after the review and we will do what is possible.” - -And, having glanced round the room, Prince Andrew turned to Rostóv, -whose state of unconquerable childish embarrassment now changing to -anger he did not condescend to notice, and said: “I think you were -talking of the Schön Grabern affair? Were you there?” - -“I was there,” said Rostóv angrily, as if intending to insult the -aide-de-camp. - -Bolkónski noticed the hussar’s state of mind, and it amused him. With -a slightly contemptuous smile, he said: “Yes, there are many stories -now told about that affair!” - -“Yes, stories!” repeated Rostóv loudly, looking with eyes suddenly -grown furious, now at Borís, now at Bolkónski. “Yes, many stories! -But our stories are the stories of men who have been under the enemy’s -fire! Our stories have some weight, not like the stories of those -fellows on the staff who get rewards without doing anything!” - -“Of whom you imagine me to be one?” said Prince Andrew, with a quiet -and particularly amiable smile. - -A strange feeling of exasperation and yet of respect for this man’s -self-possession mingled at that moment in Rostóv’s soul. - -“I am not talking about you,” he said, “I don’t know you and, -frankly, I don’t want to. I am speaking of the staff in general.” - -“And I will tell you this,” Prince Andrew interrupted in a tone of -quiet authority, “you wish to insult me, and I am ready to agree with -you that it would be very easy to do so if you haven’t sufficient -self-respect, but admit that the time and place are very badly chosen. -In a day or two we shall all have to take part in a greater and more -serious duel, and besides, Drubetskóy, who says he is an old friend -of yours, is not at all to blame that my face has the misfortune to -displease you. However,” he added rising, “you know my name and -where to find me, but don’t forget that I do not regard either myself -or you as having been at all insulted, and as a man older than you, my -advice is to let the matter drop. Well then, on Friday after the review -I shall expect you, Drubetskóy. Au revoir!” exclaimed Prince Andrew, -and with a bow to them both he went out. - -Only when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostóv think of what he ought to -have said. And he was still more angry at having omitted to say it. He -ordered his horse at once and, coldly taking leave of Borís, rode -home. Should he go to headquarters next day and challenge that affected -adjutant, or really let the matter drop, was the question that worried -him all the way. He thought angrily of the pleasure he would have at -seeing the fright of that small and frail but proud man when covered by -his pistol, and then he felt with surprise that of all the men he knew -there was none he would so much like to have for a friend as that very -adjutant whom he so hated. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -The day after Rostóv had been to see Borís, a review was held of the -Austrian and Russian troops, both those freshly arrived from Russia and -those who had been campaigning under Kutúzov. The two Emperors, -the Russian with his heir the Tsarévich, and the Austrian with the -Archduke, inspected the allied army of eighty thousand men. - -From early morning the smart clean troops were on the move, forming up -on the field before the fortress. Now thousands of feet and bayonets -moved and halted at the officers’ command, turned with banners flying, -formed up at intervals, and wheeled round other similar masses of -infantry in different uniforms; now was heard the rhythmic beat of -hoofs and the jingling of showy cavalry in blue, red, and green braided -uniforms, with smartly dressed bandsmen in front mounted on black, roan, -or gray horses; then again, spreading out with the brazen clatter of the -polished shining cannon that quivered on the gun carriages and with -the smell of linstocks, came the artillery which crawled between the -infantry and cavalry and took up its appointed position. Not only the -generals in full parade uniforms, with their thin or thick waists drawn -in to the utmost, their red necks squeezed into their stiff collars, and -wearing scarves and all their decorations, not only the elegant, pomaded -officers, but every soldier with his freshly washed and shaven face and -his weapons clean and polished to the utmost, and every horse groomed -till its coat shone like satin and every hair of its wetted mane lay -smooth—felt that no small matter was happening, but an important and -solemn affair. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his own -insignificance, aware of being but a drop in that ocean of men, and -yet at the same time was conscious of his strength as a part of that -enormous whole. - -From early morning strenuous activities and efforts had begun and by ten -o’clock all had been brought into due order. The ranks were drawn -up on the vast field. The whole army was extended in three lines: the -cavalry in front, behind it the artillery, and behind that again the -infantry. - -A space like a street was left between each two lines of troops. The -three parts of that army were sharply distinguished: Kutúzov’s -fighting army (with the Pávlograds on the right flank of the front); -those recently arrived from Russia, both Guards and regiments of the -line; and the Austrian troops. But they all stood in the same lines, -under one command, and in a like order. - -Like wind over leaves ran an excited whisper: “They’re coming! -They’re coming!” Alarmed voices were heard, and a stir of final -preparation swept over all the troops. - -From the direction of Olmütz in front of them, a group was seen -approaching. And at that moment, though the day was still, a light gust -of wind blowing over the army slightly stirred the streamers on the -lances and the unfolded standards fluttered against their staffs. It -looked as if by that slight motion the army itself was expressing its -joy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice was heard shouting: -“Eyes front!” Then, like the crowing of cocks at sunrise, this was -repeated by others from various sides and all became silent. - -In the deathlike stillness only the tramp of horses was heard. This -was the Emperors’ suites. The Emperors rode up to the flank, and the -trumpets of the first cavalry regiment played the general march. It -seemed as though not the trumpeters were playing, but as if the army -itself, rejoicing at the Emperors’ approach, had naturally burst into -music. Amid these sounds, only the youthful kindly voice of the Emperor -Alexander was clearly heard. He gave the words of greeting, and the -first regiment roared “Hurrah!” so deafeningly, continuously, and -joyfully that the men themselves were awed by their multitude and the -immensity of the power they constituted. - -Rostóv, standing in the front lines of Kutúzov’s army which the Tsar -approached first, experienced the same feeling as every other man in -that army: a feeling of self-forgetfulness, a proud consciousness of -might, and a passionate attraction to him who was the cause of this -triumph. - -He felt that at a single word from that man all this vast mass (and he -himself an insignificant atom in it) would go through fire and water, -commit crime, die, or perform deeds of highest heroism, and so he could -not but tremble and his heart stand still at the imminence of that word. - -“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” thundered from all sides, one regiment -after another greeting the Tsar with the strains of the march, and then -“Hurrah!”... Then the general march, and again “Hurrah! Hurrah!” -growing ever stronger and fuller and merging into a deafening roar. - -Till the Tsar reached it, each regiment in its silence and immobility -seemed like a lifeless body, but as soon as he came up it became alive, -its thunder joining the roar of the whole line along which he had -already passed. Through the terrible and deafening roar of those voices, -amid the square masses of troops standing motionless as if turned to -stone, hundreds of riders composing the suites moved carelessly but -symmetrically and above all freely, and in front of them two men—the -Emperors. Upon them the undivided, tensely passionate attention of that -whole mass of men was concentrated. - -The handsome young Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the Horse -Guards, wearing a cocked hat with its peaks front and back, with his -pleasant face and resonant though not loud voice, attracted everyone’s -attention. - -Rostóv was not far from the trumpeters, and with his keen sight had -recognized the Tsar and watched his approach. When he was within twenty -paces, and Nicholas could clearly distinguish every detail of his -handsome, happy young face, he experienced a feeling of tenderness -and ecstasy such as he had never before known. Every trait and every -movement of the Tsar’s seemed to him enchanting. - -Stopping in front of the Pávlograds, the Tsar said something in French -to the Austrian Emperor and smiled. - -Seeing that smile, Rostóv involuntarily smiled himself and felt a still -stronger flow of love for his sovereign. He longed to show that love in -some way and knowing that this was impossible was ready to cry. The Tsar -called the colonel of the regiment and said a few words to him. - -“Oh God, what would happen to me if the Emperor spoke to me?” -thought Rostóv. “I should die of happiness!” - -The Tsar addressed the officers also: “I thank you all, gentlemen, I -thank you with my whole heart.” To Rostóv every word sounded like a -voice from heaven. How gladly would he have died at once for his Tsar! - -“You have earned the St. George’s standards and will be worthy of -them.” - -“Oh, to die, to die for him,” thought Rostóv. - -The Tsar said something more which Rostóv did not hear, and the -soldiers, straining their lungs, shouted “Hurrah!” - -Rostóv too, bending over his saddle, shouted “Hurrah!” with all his -might, feeling that he would like to injure himself by that shout, if -only to express his rapture fully. - -The Tsar stopped a few minutes in front of the hussars as if undecided. - -“How can the Emperor be undecided?” thought Rostóv, but then even -this indecision appeared to him majestic and enchanting, like everything -else the Tsar did. - -That hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar’s foot, in the narrow -pointed boot then fashionable, touched the groin of the bobtailed bay -mare he rode, his hand in a white glove gathered up the reins, and he -moved off accompanied by an irregularly swaying sea of aides-de-camp. -Farther and farther he rode away, stopping at other regiments, till at -last only his white plumes were visible to Rostóv from amid the suites -that surrounded the Emperors. - -Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostóv noticed Bolkónski, sitting -his horse indolently and carelessly. Rostóv recalled their quarrel of -yesterday and the question presented itself whether he ought or ought -not to challenge Bolkónski. “Of course not!” he now thought. “Is -it worth thinking or speaking of it at such a moment? At a time of such -love, such rapture, and such self-sacrifice, what do any of our quarrels -and affronts matter? I love and forgive everybody now.” - -When the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troops began -a ceremonial march past him, and Rostóv on Bedouin, recently purchased -from Denísov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadron—that is, -alone and in full view of the Emperor. - -Before he reached him, Rostóv, who was a splendid horseman, spurred -Bedouin twice and successfully put him to the showy trot in which the -animal went when excited. Bending his foaming muzzle to his chest, his -tail extended, Bedouin, as if also conscious of the Emperor’s eye -upon him, passed splendidly, lifting his feet with a high and graceful -action, as if flying through the air without touching the ground. - -Rostóv himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling -himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but -blissful face “like a vewy devil,” as Denísov expressed it. - -“Fine fellows, the Pávlograds!” remarked the Emperor. - -“My God, how happy I should be if he ordered me to leap into the fire -this instant!” thought Rostóv. - -When the review was over, the newly arrived officers, and also -Kutúzov’s, collected in groups and began to talk about the awards, -about the Austrians and their uniforms, about their lines, about -Bonaparte, and how badly the latter would fare now, especially if the -Essen corps arrived and Prussia took our side. - -But the talk in every group was chiefly about the Emperor Alexander. His -every word and movement was described with ecstasy. - -They all had but one wish: to advance as soon as possible against the -enemy under the Emperor’s command. Commanded by the Emperor himself -they could not fail to vanquish anyone, be it whom it might: so thought -Rostóv and most of the officers after the review. - -All were then more confident of victory than the winning of two battles -would have made them. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -The day after the review, Borís, in his best uniform and with his -comrade Berg’s best wishes for success, rode to Olmütz to see -Bolkónski, wishing to profit by his friendliness and obtain for himself -the best post he could—preferably that of adjutant to some important -personage, a position in the army which seemed to him most attractive. -“It is all very well for Rostóv, whose father sends him ten thousand -rubles at a time, to talk about not wishing to cringe to anybody and not -be anyone’s lackey, but I who have nothing but my brains have to -make a career and must not miss opportunities, but must avail myself of -them!” he reflected. - -He did not find Prince Andrew in Olmütz that day, but the appearance of -the town where the headquarters and the diplomatic corps were stationed -and the two Emperors were living with their suites, households, and -courts only strengthened his desire to belong to that higher world. - -He knew no one, and despite his smart Guardsman’s uniform, all these -exalted personages passing in the streets in their elegant carriages -with their plumes, ribbons, and medals, both courtiers and military -men, seemed so immeasurably above him, an insignificant officer of the -Guards, that they not only did not wish to, but simply could not, be -aware of his existence. At the quarters of the commander in chief, -Kutúzov, where he inquired for Bolkónski, all the adjutants and even -the orderlies looked at him as if they wished to impress on him that a -great many officers like him were always coming there and that everybody -was heartily sick of them. In spite of this, or rather because of -it, next day, November 15, after dinner he again went to Olmütz and, -entering the house occupied by Kutúzov, asked for Bolkónski. Prince -Andrew was in and Borís was shown into a large hall probably formerly -used for dancing, but in which five beds now stood, and furniture of -various kinds: a table, chairs, and a clavichord. One adjutant, nearest -the door, was sitting at the table in a Persian dressing gown, writing. -Another, the red, stout Nesvítski, lay on a bed with his arms under his -head, laughing with an officer who had sat down beside him. A third was -playing a Viennese waltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, lying on -the clavichord, sang the tune. Bolkónski was not there. None of these -gentlemen changed his position on seeing Borís. The one who was writing -and whom Borís addressed turned round crossly and told him Bolkónski -was on duty and that he should go through the door on the left into the -reception room if he wished to see him. Borís thanked him and went to -the reception room, where he found some ten officers and generals. - -When he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes drooping contemptuously (with -that peculiar expression of polite weariness which plainly says, “If -it were not my duty I would not talk to you for a moment”), was -listening to an old Russian general with decorations, who stood very -erect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldier’s obsequious expression on his -purple face, reporting something. - -“Very well, then, be so good as to wait,” said Prince Andrew to the -general, in Russian, speaking with the French intonation he affected -when he wished to speak contemptuously, and noticing Borís, Prince -Andrew, paying no more heed to the general who ran after him imploring -him to hear something more, nodded and turned to him with a cheerful -smile. - -At that moment Borís clearly realized what he had before surmised, that -in the army, besides the subordination and discipline prescribed in the -military code, which he and the others knew in the regiment, there was -another, more important, subordination, which made this tight-laced, -purple-faced general wait respectfully while Captain Prince Andrew, for -his own pleasure, chose to chat with Lieutenant Drubetskóy. More than -ever was Borís resolved to serve in future not according to the written -code, but under this unwritten law. He felt now that merely by having -been recommended to Prince Andrew he had already risen above the general -who at the front had the power to annihilate him, a lieutenant of the -Guards. Prince Andrew came up to him and took his hand. - -“I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussing about -with Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey the dispositions. -When Germans start being accurate, there’s no end to it!” - -Borís smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andrew was alluding to -as something generally known. But it was the first time he had heard -Weyrother’s name, or even the term “dispositions.” - -“Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I have -been thinking about you.” - -“Yes, I was thinking”—for some reason Borís could not help -blushing—“of asking the commander in chief. He has had a letter from -Prince Kurágin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fear the Guards -won’t be in action,” he added as if in apology. - -“All right, all right. We’ll talk it over,” replied Prince Andrew. -“Only let me report this gentleman’s business, and I shall be at -your disposal.” - -While Prince Andrew went to report about the purple-faced general, that -gentleman—evidently not sharing Borís’ conception of the advantages -of the unwritten code of subordination—looked so fixedly at the -presumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what he had to -say to the adjutant that Borís felt uncomfortable. He turned away and -waited impatiently for Prince Andrew’s return from the commander in -chief’s room. - -“You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you,” -said Prince Andrew when they had gone into the large room where the -clavichord was. “It’s no use your going to the commander in chief. -He would say a lot of pleasant things, ask you to dinner” (“That -would not be bad as regards the unwritten code,” thought Borís), -“but nothing more would come of it. There will soon be a battalion of -us aides-de-camp and adjutants! But this is what we’ll do: I have -a good friend, an adjutant general and an excellent fellow, Prince -Dolgorúkov; and though you may not know it, the fact is that now -Kutúzov with his staff and all of us count for nothing. Everything is -now centered round the Emperor. So we will go to Dolgorúkov; I have to -go there anyhow and I have already spoken to him about you. We shall -see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find a place for you -somewhere nearer the sun.” - -Prince Andrew always became specially keen when he had to guide a young -man and help him to worldly success. Under cover of obtaining help -of this kind for another, which from pride he would never accept for -himself, he kept in touch with the circle which confers success and -which attracted him. He very readily took up Borís’ cause and went -with him to Dolgorúkov. - -It was late in the evening when they entered the palace at Olmütz -occupied by the Emperors and their retinues. - -That same day a council of war had been held in which all the members of -the Hofkriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At that council, contrary -to the views of the old generals Kutúzov and Prince Schwartzenberg, it -had been decided to advance immediately and give battle to Bonaparte. -The council of war was just over when Prince Andrew accompanied -by Borís arrived at the palace to find Dolgorúkov. Everyone at -headquarters was still under the spell of the day’s council, at which -the party of the young had triumphed. The voices of those who counseled -delay and advised waiting for something else before advancing had been -so completely silenced and their arguments confuted by such conclusive -evidence of the advantages of attacking that what had been discussed -at the council—the coming battle and the victory that would certainly -result from it—no longer seemed to be in the future but in the past. -All the advantages were on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubtedly -superior to Napoleon’s, were concentrated in one place, the troops -inspired by the Emperors’ presence were eager for action. The -strategic position where the operations would take place was familiar in -all its details to the Austrian General Weyrother: a lucky accident had -ordained that the Austrian army should maneuver the previous year on the -very fields where the French had now to be fought; the adjacent -locality was known and shown in every detail on the maps, and Bonaparte, -evidently weakened, was undertaking nothing. - -Dolgorúkov, one of the warmest advocates of an attack, had just -returned from the council, tired and exhausted but eager and proud -of the victory that had been gained. Prince Andrew introduced his -protégé, but Prince Dolgorúkov politely and firmly pressing his hand -said nothing to Borís and, evidently unable to suppress the thoughts -which were uppermost in his mind at that moment, addressed Prince Andrew -in French. - -“Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have gained! God grant that -the one that will result from it will be as victorious! However, dear -fellow,” he said abruptly and eagerly, “I must confess to having -been unjust to the Austrians and especially to Weyrother. What -exactitude, what minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, what -foresight for every eventuality, every possibility even to the smallest -detail! No, my dear fellow, no conditions better than our present ones -could have been devised. This combination of Austrian precision with -Russian valor—what more could be wished for?” - -“So the attack is definitely resolved on?” asked Bolkónski. - -“And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems to me that Bonaparte has -decidedly lost bearings, you know that a letter was received from him -today for the Emperor.” Dolgorúkov smiled significantly. - -“Is that so? And what did he say?” inquired Bolkónski. - -“What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on... merely to gain time. -I tell you he is in our hands, that’s certain! But what was most -amusing,” he continued, with a sudden, good-natured laugh, “was that -we could not think how to address the reply! If not as ‘Consul’ -and of course not as ‘Emperor,’ it seemed to me it should be to -‘General Bonaparte.’” - -“But between not recognizing him as Emperor and calling him General -Bonaparte, there is a difference,” remarked Bolkónski. - -“That’s just it,” interrupted Dolgorúkov quickly, laughing. -“You know Bilíbin—he’s a very clever fellow. He suggested -addressing him as ‘Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.’” - -Dolgorúkov laughed merrily. - -“Only that?” said Bolkónski. - -“All the same, it was Bilíbin who found a suitable form for the -address. He is a wise and clever fellow.” - -“What was it?” - -“To the Head of the French Government... Au chef du gouvernement -français,” said Dolgorúkov, with grave satisfaction. “Good, -wasn’t it?” - -“Yes, but he will dislike it extremely,” said Bolkónski. - -“Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, he’s dined with him—the -present Emperor—more than once in Paris, and tells me he never met a -more cunning or subtle diplomatist—you know, a combination of French -adroitness and Italian play-acting! Do you know the tale about him and -Count Markóv? Count Markóv was the only man who knew how to handle -him. You know the story of the handkerchief? It is delightful!” - -And the talkative Dolgorúkov, turning now to Borís, now to Prince -Andrew, told how Bonaparte wishing to test Markóv, our ambassador, -purposely dropped a handkerchief in front of him and stood looking -at Markóv, probably expecting Markóv to pick it up for him, and how -Markóv immediately dropped his own beside it and picked it up without -touching Bonaparte’s. - -“Delightful!” said Bolkónski. “But I have come to you, Prince, -as a petitioner on behalf of this young man. You see...” but -before Prince Andrew could finish, an aide-de-camp came in to summon -Dolgorúkov to the Emperor. - -“Oh, what a nuisance,” said Dolgorúkov, getting up hurriedly and -pressing the hands of Prince Andrew and Borís. “You know I should -be very glad to do all in my power both for you and for this dear young -man.” Again he pressed the hand of the latter with an expression of -good-natured, sincere, and animated levity. “But you see... another -time!” - -Borís was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers -as he felt himself to be at that moment. He was conscious that here -he was in contact with the springs that set in motion the enormous -movements of the mass of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny, -obedient, and insignificant atom. They followed Prince Dolgorúkov out -into the corridor and met—coming out of the door of the Emperor’s -room by which Dolgorúkov had entered—a short man in civilian clothes -with a clever face and sharply projecting jaw which, without spoiling -his face, gave him a peculiar vivacity and shiftiness of expression. -This short man nodded to Dolgorúkov as to an intimate friend and stared -at Prince Andrew with cool intensity, walking straight toward him and -evidently expecting him to bow or to step out of his way. Prince Andrew -did neither: a look of animosity appeared on his face and the other -turned away and went down the side of the corridor. - -“Who was that?” asked Borís. - -“He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of -men—the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartorýski.... It -is such men as he who decide the fate of nations,” added Bolkónski -with a sigh he could not suppress, as they passed out of the palace. - -Next day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battle of -Austerlitz, Borís was unable to see either Prince Andrew or Dolgorúkov -again and remained for a while with the Ismáylov regiment. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denísov’s squadron, in -which Nicholas Rostóv served and which was in Prince Bagratión’s -detachment, moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing -into action as arranged, and after going behind other columns for -about two thirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad. Rostóv saw the -Cossacks and then the first and second squadrons of hussars and infantry -battalions and artillery pass by and go forward and then Generals -Bagratión and Dolgorúkov ride past with their adjutants. All the fear -before action which he had experienced as previously, all the inner -struggle to conquer that fear, all his dreams of distinguishing himself -as a true hussar in this battle, had been wasted. Their squadron -remained in reserve and Nicholas Rostóv spent that day in a dull and -wretched mood. At nine in the morning, he heard firing in front and -shouts of hurrah, and saw wounded being brought back (there were not -many of them), and at last he saw how a whole detachment of French -cavalry was brought in, convoyed by a sótnya of Cossacks. Evidently the -affair was over and, though not big, had been a successful engagement. -The men and officers returning spoke of a brilliant victory, of the -occupation of the town of Wischau and the capture of a whole French -squadron. The day was bright and sunny after a sharp night frost, and -the cheerful glitter of that autumn day was in keeping with the news of -victory which was conveyed, not only by the tales of those who had taken -part in it, but also by the joyful expression on the faces of soldiers, -officers, generals, and adjutants, as they passed Rostóv going or -coming. And Nicholas, who had vainly suffered all the dread that -precedes a battle and had spent that happy day in inactivity, was all -the more depressed. - -“Come here, Wostóv. Let’s dwink to dwown our gwief!” shouted -Denísov, who had settled down by the roadside with a flask and some -food. - -The officers gathered round Denísov’s canteen, eating and talking. - -“There! They are bringing another!” cried one of the officers, -indicating a captive French dragoon who was being brought in on foot by -two Cossacks. - -One of them was leading by the bridle a fine large French horse he had -taken from the prisoner. - -“Sell us that horse!” Denísov called out to the Cossacks. - -“If you like, your honor!” - -The officers got up and stood round the Cossacks and their prisoner. -The French dragoon was a young Alsatian who spoke French with a German -accent. He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and when -he heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers, -addressing first one, then another. He said he would not have been -taken, it was not his fault but the corporal’s who had sent him to -seize some horsecloths, though he had told him the Russians were there. -And at every word he added: “But don’t hurt my little horse!” and -stroked the animal. It was plain that he did not quite grasp where he -was. Now he excused himself for having been taken prisoner and now, -imagining himself before his own officers, insisted on his soldierly -discipline and zeal in the service. He brought with him into our -rearguard all the freshness of atmosphere of the French army, which was -so alien to us. - -The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostóv, being the -richest of the officers now that he had received his money, bought it. - -“But don’t hurt my little horse!” said the Alsatian good-naturedly -to Rostóv when the animal was handed over to the hussar. - -Rostóv smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money. - -“Alley! Alley!” said the Cossack, touching the prisoner’s arm to -make him go on. - -“The Emperor! The Emperor!” was suddenly heard among the hussars. - -All began to run and bustle, and Rostóv saw coming up the road behind -him several riders with white plumes in their hats. In a moment everyone -was in his place, waiting. - -Rostóv did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted. -Instantly his regret at not having been in action and his dejected mood -amid people of whom he was weary had gone, instantly every thought of -himself had vanished. He was filled with happiness at his nearness to -the Emperor. He felt that this nearness by itself made up to him for the -day he had lost. He was happy as a lover when the longed-for moment of -meeting arrives. Not daring to look round and without looking round, he -was ecstatically conscious of his approach. He felt it not only from the -sound of the hoofs of the approaching cavalcade, but because as he drew -near everything grew brighter, more joyful, more significant, and more -festive around him. Nearer and nearer to Rostóv came that sun shedding -beams of mild and majestic light around, and already he felt himself -enveloped in those beams, he heard his voice, that kindly, calm, -and majestic voice that was yet so simple! And as if in accord with -Rostóv’s feeling, there was a deathly stillness amid which was heard -the Emperor’s voice. - -“The Pávlograd hussars?” he inquired. - -“The reserves, sire!” replied a voice, a very human one compared to -that which had said: “The Pávlograd hussars?” - -The Emperor drew level with Rostóv and halted. Alexander’s face was -even more beautiful than it had been three days before at the review. It -shone with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youth, that it suggested -the liveliness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet it was the face -of the majestic Emperor. Casually, while surveying the squadron, the -Emperor’s eyes met Rostóv’s and rested on them for not more than -two seconds. Whether or no the Emperor understood what was going on in -Rostóv’s soul (it seemed to Rostóv that he understood everything), -at any rate his light-blue eyes gazed for about two seconds into -Rostóv’s face. A gentle, mild light poured from them. Then all at -once he raised his eyebrows, abruptly touched his horse with his left -foot, and galloped on. - -The younger Emperor could not restrain his wish to be present at the -battle and, in spite of the remonstrances of his courtiers, at twelve -o’clock left the third column with which he had been and galloped -toward the vanguard. Before he came up with the hussars, several -adjutants met him with news of the successful result of the action. - -This battle, which consisted in the capture of a French squadron, was -represented as a brilliant victory over the French, and so the -Emperor and the whole army, especially while the smoke hung over -the battlefield, believed that the French had been defeated and were -retreating against their will. A few minutes after the Emperor had -passed, the Pávlograd division was ordered to advance. In Wischau -itself, a petty German town, Rostóv saw the Emperor again. In the -market place, where there had been some rather heavy firing before the -Emperor’s arrival, lay several killed and wounded soldiers whom there -had not been time to move. The Emperor, surrounded by his suite -of officers and courtiers, was riding a bobtailed chestnut mare, a -different one from that which he had ridden at the review, and bending -to one side he gracefully held a gold lorgnette to his eyes and looked -at a soldier who lay prone, with blood on his uncovered head. The -wounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, and revolting that his proximity -to the Emperor shocked Rostóv. Rostóv saw how the Emperor’s rather -round shoulders shuddered as if a cold shiver had run down them, how his -left foot began convulsively tapping the horse’s side with the spur, -and how the well-trained horse looked round unconcerned and did not -stir. An adjutant, dismounting, lifted the soldier under the arms to -place him on a stretcher that had been brought. The soldier groaned. - -“Gently, gently! Can’t you do it more gently?” said the Emperor -apparently suffering more than the dying soldier, and he rode away. - -Rostóv saw tears filling the Emperor’s eyes and heard him, as he was -riding away, say to Czartorýski: “What a terrible thing war is: what -a terrible thing! Quelle terrible chose que la guerre!” - -The troops of the vanguard were stationed before Wischau, within sight -of the enemy’s lines, which all day long had yielded ground to us -at the least firing. The Emperor’s gratitude was announced to the -vanguard, rewards were promised, and the men received a double ration of -vodka. The campfires crackled and the soldiers’ songs resounded -even more merrily than on the previous night. Denísov celebrated his -promotion to the rank of major, and Rostóv, who had already drunk -enough, at the end of the feast proposed the Emperor’s health. “Not -‘our Sovereign, the Emperor,’ as they say at official dinners,” -said he, “but the health of our Sovereign, that good, enchanting, and -great man! Let us drink to his health and to the certain defeat of the -French!” - -“If we fought before,” he said, “not letting the French pass, as -at Schön Grabern, what shall we not do now when he is at the front? We -will all die for him gladly! Is it not so, gentlemen? Perhaps I am not -saying it right, I have drunk a good deal—but that is how I feel, and -so do you too! To the health of Alexander the First! Hurrah!” - -“Hurrah!” rang the enthusiastic voices of the officers. - -And the old cavalry captain, Kírsten, shouted enthusiastically and no -less sincerely than the twenty-year-old Rostóv. - -When the officers had emptied and smashed their glasses, Kírsten filled -others and, in shirt sleeves and breeches, went glass in hand to the -soldiers’ bonfires and with his long gray mustache, his white chest -showing under his open shirt, he stood in a majestic pose in the light -of the campfire, waving his uplifted arm. - -“Lads! here’s to our Sovereign, the Emperor, and victory over -our enemies! Hurrah!” he exclaimed in his dashing, old, hussar’s -baritone. - -The hussars crowded round and responded heartily with loud shouts. - -Late that night, when all had separated, Denísov with his short hand -patted his favorite, Rostóv, on the shoulder. - -“As there’s no one to fall in love with on campaign, he’s fallen -in love with the Tsar,” he said. - -“Denísov, don’t make fun of it!” cried Rostóv. “It is such a -lofty, beautiful feeling, such a...” - -“I believe it, I believe it, fwiend, and I share and appwove...” - -“No, you don’t understand!” - -And Rostóv got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreaming of -what happiness it would be to die—not in saving the Emperor’s life -(he did not even dare to dream of that), but simply to die before his -eyes. He really was in love with the Tsar and the glory of the Russian -arms and the hope of future triumph. And he was not the only man to -experience that feeling during those memorable days preceding the battle -of Austerlitz: nine tenths of the men in the Russian army were then in -love, though less ecstatically, with their Tsar and the glory of the -Russian arms. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -The next day the Emperor stopped at Wischau, and Villier, his physician, -was repeatedly summoned to see him. At headquarters and among the troops -near by the news spread that the Emperor was unwell. He ate nothing and -had slept badly that night, those around him reported. The cause of this -indisposition was the strong impression made on his sensitive mind by -the sight of the killed and wounded. - -At daybreak on the seventeenth, a French officer who had come with -a flag of truce, demanding an audience with the Russian Emperor, was -brought into Wischau from our outposts. This officer was Savary. The -Emperor had only just fallen asleep and so Savary had to wait. At midday -he was admitted to the Emperor, and an hour later he rode off with -Prince Dolgorúkov to the advanced post of the French army. - -It was rumored that Savary had been sent to propose to Alexander -a meeting with Napoleon. To the joy and pride of the whole army, a -personal interview was refused, and instead of the Sovereign, Prince -Dolgorúkov, the victor at Wischau, was sent with Savary to negotiate -with Napoleon if, contrary to expectations, these negotiations were -actuated by a real desire for peace. - -Toward evening Dolgorúkov came back, went straight to the Tsar, and -remained alone with him for a long time. - -On the eighteenth and nineteenth of November, the army advanced two -days’ march and the enemy’s outposts after a brief interchange -of shots retreated. In the highest army circles from midday on the -nineteenth, a great, excitedly bustling activity began which lasted till -the morning of the twentieth, when the memorable battle of Austerlitz -was fought. - -Till midday on the nineteenth, the activity—the eager talk, running to -and fro, and dispatching of adjutants—was confined to the Emperor’s -headquarters. But on the afternoon of that day, this activity reached -Kutúzov’s headquarters and the staffs of the commanders of columns. -By evening, the adjutants had spread it to all ends and parts of the -army, and in the night from the nineteenth to the twentieth, the whole -eighty thousand allied troops rose from their bivouacs to the hum of -voices, and the army swayed and started in one enormous mass six miles -long. - -The concentrated activity which had begun at the Emperor’s -headquarters in the morning and had started the whole movement that -followed was like the first movement of the main wheel of a large tower -clock. One wheel slowly moved, another was set in motion, and a third, -and wheels began to revolve faster and faster, levers and cogwheels to -work, chimes to play, figures to pop out, and the hands to advance with -regular motion as a result of all that activity. - -Just as in the mechanism of a clock, so in the mechanism of the military -machine, an impulse once given leads to the final result; and just as -indifferently quiescent till the moment when motion is transmitted -to them are the parts of the mechanism which the impulse has not yet -reached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one another and -the revolving pulleys whirr with the rapidity of their movement, but a -neighboring wheel is as quiet and motionless as though it were prepared -to remain so for a hundred years; but the moment comes when the lever -catches it and obeying the impulse that wheel begins to creak and joins -in the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken. - -Just as in a clock, the result of the complicated motion of innumerable -wheels and pulleys is merely a slow and regular movement of the -hands which show the time, so the result of all the complicated human -activities of 160,000 Russians and French—all their passions, desires, -remorse, humiliations, sufferings, outbursts of pride, fear, and -enthusiasm—was only the loss of the battle of Austerlitz, the -so-called battle of the three Emperors—that is to say, a slow movement -of the hand on the dial of human history. - -Prince Andrew was on duty that day and in constant attendance on the -commander in chief. - -At six in the evening, Kutúzov went to the Emperor’s headquarters -and after staying but a short time with the Tsar went to see the grand -marshal of the court, Count Tolstóy. - -Bolkónski took the opportunity to go in to get some details of the -coming action from Dolgorúkov. He felt that Kutúzov was upset -and dissatisfied about something and that at headquarters they were -dissatisfied with him, and also that at the Emperor’s headquarters -everyone adopted toward him the tone of men who know something others do -not know: he therefore wished to speak to Dolgorúkov. - -“Well, how d’you do, my dear fellow?” said Dolgorúkov, who was -sitting at tea with Bilíbin. “The fete is for tomorrow. How is your -old fellow? Out of sorts?” - -“I won’t say he is out of sorts, but I fancy he would like to be -heard.” - -“But they heard him at the council of war and will hear him when he -talks sense, but to temporize and wait for something now when Bonaparte -fears nothing so much as a general battle is impossible.” - -“Yes, you have seen him?” said Prince Andrew. “Well, what is -Bonaparte like? How did he impress you?” - -“Yes, I saw him, and am convinced that he fears nothing so much as -a general engagement,” repeated Dolgorúkov, evidently prizing this -general conclusion which he had arrived at from his interview with -Napoleon. “If he weren’t afraid of a battle why did he ask for that -interview? Why negotiate, and above all why retreat, when to retreat is -so contrary to his method of conducting war? Believe me, he is afraid, -afraid of a general battle. His hour has come! Mark my words!” - -“But tell me, what is he like, eh?” said Prince Andrew again. - -“He is a man in a gray overcoat, very anxious that I should call -him ‘Your Majesty,’ but who, to his chagrin, got no title from -me! That’s the sort of man he is, and nothing more,” replied -Dolgorúkov, looking round at Bilíbin with a smile. - -“Despite my great respect for old Kutúzov,” he continued, “we -should be a nice set of fellows if we were to wait about and so give him -a chance to escape, or to trick us, now that we certainly have him in -our hands! No, we mustn’t forget Suvórov and his rule—not to put -yourself in a position to be attacked, but yourself to attack. Believe -me in war the energy of young men often shows the way better than all -the experience of old Cunctators.” - -“But in what position are we going to attack him? I have been at the -outposts today and it is impossible to say where his chief forces are -situated,” said Prince Andrew. - -He wished to explain to Dolgorúkov a plan of attack he had himself -formed. - -“Oh, that is all the same,” Dolgorúkov said quickly, and getting up -he spread a map on the table. “All eventualities have been foreseen. -If he is standing before Brünn...” - -And Prince Dolgorúkov rapidly but indistinctly explained Weyrother’s -plan of a flanking movement. - -Prince Andrew began to reply and to state his own plan, which might -have been as good as Weyrother’s, but for the disadvantage that -Weyrother’s had already been approved. As soon as Prince Andrew began -to demonstrate the defects of the latter and the merits of his own plan, -Prince Dolgorúkov ceased to listen to him and gazed absent-mindedly not -at the map, but at Prince Andrew’s face. - -“There will be a council of war at Kutúzov’s tonight, though; you -can say all this there,” remarked Dolgorúkov. - -“I will do so,” said Prince Andrew, moving away from the map. - -“Whatever are you bothering about, gentlemen?” said Bilíbin, who, -till then, had listened with an amused smile to their conversation and -now was evidently ready with a joke. “Whether tomorrow brings -victory or defeat, the glory of our Russian arms is secure. Except your -Kutúzov, there is not a single Russian in command of a column! The -commanders are: Herr General Wimpfen, le Comte de Langeron, le Prince de -Lichtenstein, le Prince, de Hohenlohe, and finally Prishprish, and so on -like all those Polish names.” - -“Be quiet, backbiter!” said Dolgorúkov. “It is not true; there -are now two Russians, Milorádovich, and Dokhtúrov, and there would be -a third, Count Arakchéev, if his nerves were not too weak.” - -“However, I think General Kutúzov has come out,” said Prince -Andrew. “I wish you good luck and success, gentlemen!” he added and -went out after shaking hands with Dolgorúkov and Bilíbin. - -On the way home, Prince Andrew could not refrain from asking Kutúzov, -who was sitting silently beside him, what he thought of tomorrow’s -battle. - -Kutúzov looked sternly at his adjutant and, after a pause, replied: -“I think the battle will be lost, and so I told Count Tolstóy and -asked him to tell the Emperor. What do you think he replied? ‘But, my -dear general, I am engaged with rice and cutlets, look after military -matters yourself!’ Yes... That was the answer I got!” - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -Shortly after nine o’clock that evening, Weyrother drove with his -plans to Kutúzov’s quarters where the council of war was to be -held. All the commanders of columns were summoned to the commander in -chief’s and with the exception of Prince Bagratión, who declined to -come, were all there at the appointed time. - -Weyrother, who was in full control of the proposed battle, by his -eagerness and briskness presented a marked contrast to the dissatisfied -and drowsy Kutúzov, who reluctantly played the part of chairman and -president of the council of war. Weyrother evidently felt himself to be -at the head of a movement that had already become unrestrainable. He was -like a horse running downhill harnessed to a heavy cart. Whether he was -pulling it or being pushed by it he did not know, but rushed along at -headlong speed with no time to consider what this movement might lead -to. Weyrother had been twice that evening to the enemy’s picket -line to reconnoiter personally, and twice to the Emperors, Russian and -Austrian, to report and explain, and to his headquarters where he had -dictated the dispositions in German, and now, much exhausted, he arrived -at Kutúzov’s. - -He was evidently so busy that he even forgot to be polite to the -commander in chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly and indistinctly, -without looking at the man he was addressing, and did not reply to -questions put to him. He was bespattered with mud and had a pitiful, -weary, and distracted air, though at the same time he was haughty and -self-confident. - -Kutúzov was occupying a nobleman’s castle of modest dimensions near -Ostralitz. In the large drawing room which had become the commander -in chief’s office were gathered Kutúzov himself, Weyrother, and the -members of the council of war. They were drinking tea, and only awaited -Prince Bagratión to begin the council. At last Bagratión’s orderly -came with the news that the prince could not attend. Prince Andrew came -in to inform the commander in chief of this and, availing himself -of permission previously given him by Kutúzov to be present at the -council, he remained in the room. - -“Since Prince Bagratión is not coming, we may begin,” said -Weyrother, hurriedly rising from his seat and going up to the table on -which an enormous map of the environs of Brünn was spread out. - -Kutúzov, with his uniform unbuttoned so that his fat neck bulged over -his collar as if escaping, was sitting almost asleep in a low chair, -with his podgy old hands resting symmetrically on its arms. At the sound -of Weyrother’s voice, he opened his one eye with an effort. - -“Yes, yes, if you please! It is already late,” said he, and nodding -his head he let it droop and again closed his eye. - -If at first the members of the council thought that Kutúzov was -pretending to sleep, the sounds his nose emitted during the reading that -followed proved that the commander in chief at that moment was absorbed -by a far more serious matter than a desire to show his contempt for -the dispositions or anything else—he was engaged in satisfying the -irresistible human need for sleep. He really was asleep. Weyrother, with -the gesture of a man too busy to lose a moment, glanced at Kutúzov and, -having convinced himself that he was asleep, took up a paper and in -a loud, monotonous voice began to read out the dispositions for the -impending battle, under a heading which he also read out: - -“Dispositions for an attack on the enemy position behind Kobelnitz and -Sokolnitz, November 30, 1805.” - -The dispositions were very complicated and difficult. They began as -follows: - -“As the enemy’s left wing rests on wooded hills and his right -extends along Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the ponds that are there, -while we, on the other hand, with our left wing by far outflank his -right, it is advantageous to attack the enemy’s latter wing especially -if we occupy the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, whereby we -can both fall on his flank and pursue him over the plain between -Schlappanitz and the Thuerassa forest, avoiding the defiles of -Schlappanitz and Bellowitz which cover the enemy’s front. For this -object it is necessary that... The first column marches... The second -column marches... The third column marches...” and so on, read -Weyrother. - -The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the difficult dispositions. -The tall, fair-haired General Buxhöwden stood, leaning his back against -the wall, his eyes fixed on a burning candle, and seemed not to listen -or even to wish to be thought to listen. Exactly opposite Weyrother, -with his glistening wide-open eyes fixed upon him and his mustache -twisted upwards, sat the ruddy Milorádovich in a military pose, his -elbows turned outwards, his hands on his knees, and his shoulders -raised. He remained stubbornly silent, gazing at Weyrother’s face, -and only turned away his eyes when the Austrian chief of staff finished -reading. Then Milorádovich looked round significantly at the other -generals. But one could not tell from that significant look whether he -agreed or disagreed and was satisfied or not with the arrangements. Next -to Weyrother sat Count Langeron who, with a subtle smile that never left -his typically southern French face during the whole time of the reading, -gazed at his delicate fingers which rapidly twirled by its corners -a gold snuffbox on which was a portrait. In the middle of one of the -longest sentences, he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, raised -his head, and with inimical politeness lurking in the corners of his -thin lips interrupted Weyrother, wishing to say something. But the -Austrian general, continuing to read, frowned angrily and jerked his -elbows, as if to say: “You can tell me your views later, but now be so -good as to look at the map and listen.” Langeron lifted his eyes with -an expression of perplexity, turned round to Milorádovich as if seeking -an explanation, but meeting the latter’s impressive but meaningless -gaze drooped his eyes sadly and again took to twirling his snuffbox. - -“A geography lesson!” he muttered as if to himself, but loud enough -to be heard. - -Przebyszéwski, with respectful but dignified politeness, held his -hand to his ear toward Weyrother, with the air of a man absorbed in -attention. Dohktúrov, a little man, sat opposite Weyrother, with -an assiduous and modest mien, and stooping over the outspread map -conscientiously studied the dispositions and the unfamiliar locality. He -asked Weyrother several times to repeat words he had not clearly heard -and the difficult names of villages. Weyrother complied and Dohktúrov -noted them down. - -When the reading which lasted more than an hour was over, Langeron again -brought his snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Weyrother or at -anyone in particular, began to say how difficult it was to carry out -such a plan in which the enemy’s position was assumed to be known, -whereas it was perhaps not known, since the enemy was in movement. -Langeron’s objections were valid but it was obvious that their chief -aim was to show General Weyrother—who had read his dispositions with -as much self-confidence as if he were addressing school children—that -he had to do, not with fools, but with men who could teach him something -in military matters. - -When the monotonous sound of Weyrother’s voice ceased, Kutúzov opened -his eye as a miller wakes up when the soporific drone of the mill wheel -is interrupted. He listened to what Langeron said, as if remarking, -“So you are still at that silly business!” quickly closed his eye -again, and let his head sink still lower. - -Langeron, trying as virulently as possible to sting Weyrother’s vanity -as author of the military plan, argued that Bonaparte might easily -attack instead of being attacked, and so render the whole of this -plan perfectly worthless. Weyrother met all objections with a firm and -contemptuous smile, evidently prepared beforehand to meet all objections -be they what they might. - -“If he could attack us, he would have done so today,” said he. - -“So you think he is powerless?” said Langeron. - -“He has forty thousand men at most,” replied Weyrother, with the -smile of a doctor to whom an old wife wishes to explain the treatment of -a case. - -“In that case he is inviting his doom by awaiting our attack,” said -Langeron, with a subtly ironical smile, again glancing round for support -to Milorádovich who was near him. - -But Milorádovich was at that moment evidently thinking of anything -rather than of what the generals were disputing about. - -“Ma foi!” said he, “tomorrow we shall see all that on the -battlefield.” - -Weyrother again gave that smile which seemed to say that to him it was -strange and ridiculous to meet objections from Russian generals and to -have to prove to them what he had not merely convinced himself of, but -had also convinced the sovereign Emperors of. - -“The enemy has quenched his fires and a continual noise is heard from -his camp,” said he. “What does that mean? Either he is retreating, -which is the only thing we need fear, or he is changing his position.” -(He smiled ironically.) “But even if he also took up a position in -the Thuerassa, he merely saves us a great deal of trouble and all our -arrangements to the minutest detail remain the same.” - -“How is that?...” began Prince Andrew, who had for long been waiting -an opportunity to express his doubts. - -Kutúzov here woke up, coughed heavily, and looked round at the -generals. - -“Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrow—or rather for today, for -it is past midnight—cannot now be altered,” said he. “You have -heard them, and we shall all do our duty. But before a battle, there is -nothing more important...” he paused, “than to have a good sleep.” - -He moved as if to rise. The generals bowed and retired. It was past -midnight. Prince Andrew went out. - -The council of war, at which Prince Andrew had not been able to -express his opinion as he had hoped to, left on him a vague and uneasy -impression. Whether Dolgorúkov and Weyrother, or Kutúzov, Langeron, -and the others who did not approve of the plan of attack, were -right—he did not know. “But was it really not possible for Kutúzov -to state his views plainly to the Emperor? Is it possible that on -account of court and personal considerations tens of thousands of lives, -and my life, my life,” he thought, “must be risked?” - -“Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed tomorrow,” he -thought. And suddenly, at this thought of death, a whole series of most -distant, most intimate, memories rose in his imagination: he remembered -his last parting from his father and his wife; he remembered the days -when he first loved her. He thought of her pregnancy and felt sorry for -her and for himself, and in a nervously emotional and softened mood he -went out of the hut in which he was billeted with Nesvítski and began -to walk up and down before it. - -The night was foggy and through the fog the moonlight gleamed -mysteriously. “Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow!” he thought. “Tomorrow -everything may be over for me! All these memories will be no more, none -of them will have any meaning for me. Tomorrow perhaps, even certainly, -I have a presentiment that for the first time I shall have to show all -I can do.” And his fancy pictured the battle, its loss, the -concentration of fighting at one point, and the hesitation of all the -commanders. And then that happy moment, that Toulon for which he had -so long waited, presents itself to him at last. He firmly and clearly -expresses his opinion to Kutúzov, to Weyrother, and to the Emperors. -All are struck by the justness of his views, but no one undertakes to -carry them out, so he takes a regiment, a division—stipulates that no -one is to interfere with his arrangements—leads his division to -the decisive point, and gains the victory alone. “But death and -suffering?” suggested another voice. Prince Andrew, however, did not -answer that voice and went on dreaming of his triumphs. The dispositions -for the next battle are planned by him alone. Nominally he is only an -adjutant on Kutúzov’s staff, but he does everything alone. The next -battle is won by him alone. Kutúzov is removed and he is appointed... -“Well and then?” asked the other voice. “If before that you are -not ten times wounded, killed, or betrayed, well... what then?...” -“Well then,” Prince Andrew answered himself, “I don’t know -what will happen and don’t want to know, and can’t, but if I want -this—want glory, want to be known to men, want to be loved by them, it -is not my fault that I want it and want nothing but that and live only -for that. Yes, for that alone! I shall never tell anyone, but, oh God! -what am I to do if I love nothing but fame and men’s esteem? Death, -wounds, the loss of family—I fear nothing. And precious and dear -as many persons are to me—father, sister, wife—those dearest to -me—yet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give them all at -once for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, of love from men I -don’t know and never shall know, for the love of these men here,” he -thought, as he listened to voices in Kutúzov’s courtyard. The voices -were those of the orderlies who were packing up; one voice, probably a -coachman’s, was teasing Kutúzov’s old cook whom Prince Andrew knew, -and who was called Tit. He was saying, “Tit, I say, Tit!” - -“Well?” returned the old man. - -“Go, Tit, thresh a bit!” said the wag. - -“Oh, go to the devil!” called out a voice, drowned by the laughter -of the orderlies and servants. - -“All the same, I love and value nothing but triumph over them all, I -value this mystic power and glory that is floating here above me in this -mist!” - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -That same night, Rostóv was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front -of Bagratión’s detachment. His hussars were placed along the line -in couples and he himself rode along the line trying to master the -sleepiness that kept coming over him. An enormous space, with our -army’s campfires dimly glowing in the fog, could be seen behind him; -in front of him was misty darkness. Rostóv could see nothing, peer as -he would into that foggy distance: now something gleamed gray, now there -was something black, now little lights seemed to glimmer where the enemy -ought to be, now he fancied it was only something in his own eyes. His -eyes kept closing, and in his fancy appeared—now the Emperor, now -Denísov, and now Moscow memories—and he again hurriedly opened his -eyes and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was -riding, and sometimes, when he came within six paces of them, the -black figures of hussars, but in the distance was still the same misty -darkness. “Why not?... It might easily happen,” thought Rostóv, -“that the Emperor will meet me and give me an order as he would to any -other officer; he’ll say: ‘Go and find out what’s there.’ There -are many stories of his getting to know an officer in just such a chance -way and attaching him to himself! What if he gave me a place near him? -Oh, how I would guard him, how I would tell him the truth, how I would -unmask his deceivers!” And in order to realize vividly his love -devotion to the sovereign, Rostóv pictured to himself an enemy or a -deceitful German, whom he would not only kill with pleasure but whom -he would slap in the face before the Emperor. Suddenly a distant shout -aroused him. He started and opened his eyes. - -“Where am I? Oh yes, in the skirmishing line... pass and -watchword—shaft, Olmütz. What a nuisance that our squadron will be in -reserve tomorrow,” he thought. “I’ll ask leave to go to the front, -this may be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. It won’t be long -now before I am off duty. I’ll take another turn and when I get back -I’ll go to the general and ask him.” He readjusted himself in the -saddle and touched up his horse to ride once more round his hussars. It -seemed to him that it was getting lighter. To the left he saw a sloping -descent lit up, and facing it a black knoll that seemed as steep as a -wall. On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostóv could not at -all make out: was it a glade in the wood lit up by the moon, or some -unmelted snow, or some white houses? He even thought something moved on -that white spot. “I expect it’s snow... that spot... a spot—une -tache,” he thought. “There now... it’s not a tache... Natásha... -sister, black eyes... Na... tasha... (Won’t she be surprised when -I tell her how I’ve seen the Emperor?) Natásha... take my -sabretache...”—“Keep to the right, your honor, there are bushes -here,” came the voice of an hussar, past whom Rostóv was riding in -the act of falling asleep. Rostóv lifted his head that had sunk almost -to his horse’s mane and pulled up beside the hussar. He was succumbing -to irresistible, youthful, childish drowsiness. “But what was I -thinking? I mustn’t forget. How shall I speak to the Emperor? No, -that’s not it—that’s tomorrow. Oh yes! Natásha... sabretache... -saber them... Whom? The hussars... Ah, the hussars with mustaches. Along -the Tverskáya Street rode the hussar with mustaches... I thought about -him too, just opposite Gúryev’s house... Old Gúryev.... Oh, but -Denísov’s a fine fellow. But that’s all nonsense. The chief thing -is that the Emperor is here. How he looked at me and wished to say -something, but dared not.... No, it was I who dared not. But that’s -nonsense, the chief thing is not to forget the important thing I -was thinking of. Yes, Na-tásha, sabretache, oh, yes, yes! That’s -right!” And his head once more sank to his horse’s neck. All at once -it seemed to him that he was being fired at. “What? What? What?... Cut -them down! What?...” said Rostóv, waking up. At the moment he opened -his eyes he heard in front of him, where the enemy was, the long-drawn -shouts of thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the hussar -near him pricked their ears at these shouts. Over there, where the -shouting came from, a fire flared up and went out again, then another, -and all along the French line on the hill fires flared up and the -shouting grew louder and louder. Rostóv could hear the sound of French -words but could not distinguish them. The din of many voices was too -great; all he could hear was: “ahahah!” and “rrrr!” - -“What’s that? What do you make of it?” said Rostóv to the hussar -beside him. “That must be the enemy’s camp!” - -The hussar did not reply. - -“Why, don’t you hear it?” Rostóv asked again, after waiting for a -reply. - -“Who can tell, your honor?” replied the hussar reluctantly. - -“From the direction, it must be the enemy,” repeated Rostóv. - -“It may be he or it may be nothing,” muttered the hussar. “It’s -dark... Steady!” he cried to his fidgeting horse. - -Rostóv’s horse was also getting restive: it pawed the frozen ground, -pricking its ears at the noise and looking at the lights. The shouting -grew still louder and merged into a general roar that only an army -of several thousand men could produce. The lights spread farther and -farther, probably along the line of the French camp. Rostóv no longer -wanted to sleep. The gay triumphant shouting of the enemy army had a -stimulating effect on him. “Vive l’Empereur! l’Empereur!” he now -heard distinctly. - -“They can’t be far off, probably just beyond the stream,” he said -to the hussar beside him. - -The hussar only sighed without replying and coughed angrily. The sound -of horse’s hoofs approaching at a trot along the line of hussars was -heard, and out of the foggy darkness the figure of a sergeant of hussars -suddenly appeared, looming huge as an elephant. - -“Your honor, the generals!” said the sergeant, riding up to Rostóv. - -Rostóv, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts, rode with -the sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding along the line. -One was on a white horse. Prince Bagratión and Prince Dolgorúkov with -their adjutants had come to witness the curious phenomenon of the -lights and shouts in the enemy’s camp. Rostóv rode up to Bagratión, -reported to him, and then joined the adjutants listening to what the -generals were saying. - -“Believe me,” said Prince Dolgorúkov, addressing Bagratión, “it -is nothing but a trick! He has retreated and ordered the rearguard to -kindle fires and make a noise to deceive us.” - -“Hardly,” said Bagratión. “I saw them this evening on that -knoll; if they had retreated they would have withdrawn from that too.... -Officer!” said Bagratión to Rostóv, “are the enemy’s skirmishers -still there?” - -“They were there this evening, but now I don’t know, your -excellency. Shall I go with some of my hussars to see?” replied -Rostóv. - -Bagratión stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostóv’s face -in the mist. - -“Well, go and see,” he said, after a pause. - -“Yes, sir.” - -Rostóv spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fédchenko and two other -hussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill in the direction -from which the shouting came. He felt both frightened and pleased to be -riding alone with three hussars into that mysterious and dangerous misty -distance where no one had been before him. Bagratión called to him from -the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostóv pretended not to hear -him and did not stop but rode on and on, continually mistaking bushes -for trees and gullies for men and continually discovering his mistakes. -Having descended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or -the enemy’s fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly -and distinctly. In the valley he saw before him something like a river, -but when he reached it he found it was a road. Having come out onto -the road he reined in his horse, hesitating whether to ride along it or -cross it and ride over the black field up the hillside. To keep to the -road which gleamed white in the mist would have been safer because it -would be easier to see people coming along it. “Follow me!” said he, -crossed the road, and began riding up the hill at a gallop toward the -point where the French pickets had been standing that evening. - -“Your honor, there he is!” cried one of the hussars behind him. And -before Rostóv had time to make out what the black thing was that had -suddenly appeared in the fog, there was a flash, followed by a report, -and a bullet whizzing high up in the mist with a plaintive sound passed -out of hearing. Another musket missed fire but flashed in the pan. -Rostóv turned his horse and galloped back. Four more reports followed -at intervals, and the bullets passed somewhere in the fog singing in -different tones. Rostóv reined in his horse, whose spirits had risen, -like his own, at the firing, and went back at a footpace. “Well, some -more! Some more!” a merry voice was saying in his soul. But no more -shots came. - -Only when approaching Bagratión did Rostóv let his horse gallop again, -and with his hand at the salute rode up to the general. - -Dolgorúkov was still insisting that the French had retreated and had -only lit fires to deceive us. - -“What does that prove?” he was saying as Rostóv rode up. “They -might retreat and leave the pickets.” - -“It’s plain that they have not all gone yet, Prince,” said -Bagratión. “Wait till tomorrow morning, we’ll find out everything -tomorrow.” - -“The picket is still on the hill, your excellency, just where it was -in the evening,” reported Rostóv, stooping forward with his hand at -the salute and unable to repress the smile of delight induced by his -ride and especially by the sound of the bullets. - -“Very good, very good,” said Bagratión. “Thank you, officer.” - -“Your excellency,” said Rostóv, “may I ask a favor?” - -“What is it?” - -“Tomorrow our squadron is to be in reserve. May I ask to be attached -to the first squadron?” - -“What’s your name?” - -“Count Rostóv.” - -“Oh, very well, you may stay in attendance on me.” - -“Count Ilyá Rostóv’s son?” asked Dolgorúkov. - -But Rostóv did not reply. - -“Then I may reckon on it, your excellency?” - -“I will give the order.” - -“Tomorrow very likely I may be sent with some message to the -Emperor,” thought Rostóv. - -“Thank God!” - -The fires and shouting in the enemy’s army were occasioned by the fact -that while Napoleon’s proclamation was being read to the troops the -Emperor himself rode round his bivouacs. The soldiers, on seeing him, -lit wisps of straw and ran after him, shouting, “Vive l’Empereur!” -Napoleon’s proclamation was as follows: - -Soldiers! The Russian army is advancing against you to avenge the -Austrian army of Ulm. They are the same battalions you broke at -Hollabrünn and have pursued ever since to this place. The position we -occupy is a strong one, and while they are marching to go round me on -the right they will expose a flank to me. Soldiers! I will myself direct -your battalions. I will keep out of fire if you with your habitual -valor carry disorder and confusion into the enemy’s ranks, but should -victory be in doubt, even for a moment, you will see your Emperor -exposing himself to the first blows of the enemy, for there must be no -doubt of victory, especially on this day when what is at stake is the -honor of the French infantry, so necessary to the honor of our nation. - -Do not break your ranks on the plea of removing the wounded! Let every -man be fully imbued with the thought that we must defeat these hirelings -of England, inspired by such hatred of our nation! This victory will -conclude our campaign and we can return to winter quarters, where fresh -French troops who are being raised in France will join us, and the peace -I shall conclude will be worthy of my people, of you, and of myself. - -NAPOLEON - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -At five in the morning it was still quite dark. The troops of the -center, the reserves, and Bagratión’s right flank had not yet moved, -but on the left flank the columns of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, -which were to be the first to descend the heights to attack the French -right flank and drive it into the Bohemian mountains according to plan, -were already up and astir. The smoke of the campfires, into which they -were throwing everything superfluous, made the eyes smart. It was cold -and dark. The officers were hurriedly drinking tea and breakfasting, the -soldiers, munching biscuit and beating a tattoo with their feet to -warm themselves, gathering round the fires throwing into the flames the -remains of sheds, chairs, tables, wheels, tubs, and everything that they -did not want or could not carry away with them. Austrian column guides -were moving in and out among the Russian troops and served as heralds -of the advance. As soon as an Austrian officer showed himself near -a commanding officer’s quarters, the regiment began to move: the -soldiers ran from the fires, thrust their pipes into their boots, their -bags into the carts, got their muskets ready, and formed rank. The -officers buttoned up their coats, buckled on their swords and pouches, -and moved along the ranks shouting. The train drivers and orderlies -harnessed and packed the wagons and tied on the loads. The adjutants and -battalion and regimental commanders mounted, crossed themselves, gave -final instructions, orders, and commissions to the baggage men -who remained behind, and the monotonous tramp of thousands of feet -resounded. The column moved forward without knowing where and unable, -from the masses around them, the smoke and the increasing fog, to see -either the place they were leaving or that to which they were going. - -A soldier on the march is hemmed in and borne along by his regiment as -much as a sailor is by his ship. However far he has walked, whatever -strange, unknown, and dangerous places he reaches, just as a sailor is -always surrounded by the same decks, masts, and rigging of his ship, so -the soldier always has around him the same comrades, the same ranks, the -same sergeant major Iván Mítrich, the same company dog Jack, and the -same commanders. The sailor rarely cares to know the latitude in which -his ship is sailing, but on the day of battle—heaven knows how and -whence—a stern note of which all are conscious sounds in the moral -atmosphere of an army, announcing the approach of something decisive -and solemn, and awakening in the men an unusual curiosity. On the day of -battle the soldiers excitedly try to get beyond the interests of their -regiment, they listen intently, look about, and eagerly ask concerning -what is going on around them. - -The fog had grown so dense that though it was growing light they could -not see ten paces ahead. Bushes looked like gigantic trees and level -ground like cliffs and slopes. Anywhere, on any side, one might -encounter an enemy invisible ten paces off. But the columns advanced -for a long time, always in the same fog, descending and ascending hills, -avoiding gardens and enclosures, going over new and unknown ground, and -nowhere encountering the enemy. On the contrary, the soldiers became -aware that in front, behind, and on all sides, other Russian columns -were moving in the same direction. Every soldier felt glad to know that -to the unknown place where he was going, many more of our men were going -too. - -“There now, the Kúrskies have also gone past,” was being said in -the ranks. - -“It’s wonderful what a lot of our troops have gathered, lads! Last -night I looked at the campfires and there was no end of them. A regular -Moscow!” - -Though none of the column commanders rode up to the ranks or talked to -the men (the commanders, as we saw at the council of war, were out of -humor and dissatisfied with the affair, and so did not exert themselves -to cheer the men but merely carried out the orders), yet the troops -marched gaily, as they always do when going into action, especially to -an attack. But when they had marched for about an hour in the dense fog, -the greater part of the men had to halt and an unpleasant consciousness -of some dislocation and blunder spread through the ranks. How such -a consciousness is communicated is very difficult to define, but it -certainly is communicated very surely, and flows rapidly, imperceptibly, -and irrepressibly, as water does in a creek. Had the Russian army been -alone without any allies, it might perhaps have been a long time before -this consciousness of mismanagement became a general conviction, but as -it was, the disorder was readily and naturally attributed to the stupid -Germans, and everyone was convinced that a dangerous muddle had been -occasioned by the sausage eaters. - -“Why have we stopped? Is the way blocked? Or have we already come up -against the French?” - -“No, one can’t hear them. They’d be firing if we had.” - -“They were in a hurry enough to start us, and now here we stand in -the middle of a field without rhyme or reason. It’s all those damned -Germans’ muddling! What stupid devils!” - -“Yes, I’d send them on in front, but no fear, they’re crowding up -behind. And now here we stand hungry.” - -“I say, shall we soon be clear? They say the cavalry are blocking the -way,” said an officer. - -“Ah, those damned Germans! They don’t know their own country!” -said another. - -“What division are you?” shouted an adjutant, riding up. - -“The Eighteenth.” - -“Then why are you here? You should have gone on long ago, now you -won’t get there till evening.” - -“What stupid orders! They don’t themselves know what they are -doing!” said the officer and rode off. - -Then a general rode past shouting something angrily, not in Russian. - -“Tafa-lafa! But what he’s jabbering no one can make out,” said a -soldier, mimicking the general who had ridden away. “I’d shoot them, -the scoundrels!” - -“We were ordered to be at the place before nine, but we haven’t got -halfway. Fine orders!” was being repeated on different sides. - -And the feeling of energy with which the troops had started began to -turn into vexation and anger at the stupid arrangements and at the -Germans. - -The cause of the confusion was that while the Austrian cavalry was -moving toward our left flank, the higher command found that our center -was too far separated from our right flank and the cavalry were all -ordered to turn back to the right. Several thousand cavalry crossed in -front of the infantry, who had to wait. - -At the front an altercation occurred between an Austrian guide and a -Russian general. The general shouted a demand that the cavalry should be -halted, the Austrian argued that not he, but the higher command, was to -blame. The troops meanwhile stood growing listless and dispirited. After -an hour’s delay they at last moved on, descending the hill. The fog -that was dispersing on the hill lay still more densely below, where they -were descending. In front in the fog a shot was heard and then another, -at first irregularly at varying intervals—trata...tat—and then more -and more regularly and rapidly, and the action at the Goldbach Stream -began. - -Not expecting to come on the enemy down by the stream, and having -stumbled on him in the fog, hearing no encouraging word from their -commanders, and with a consciousness of being too late spreading through -the ranks, and above all being unable to see anything in front or around -them in the thick fog, the Russians exchanged shots with the enemy -lazily and advanced and again halted, receiving no timely orders from -the officers or adjutants who wandered about in the fog in those unknown -surroundings unable to find their own regiments. In this way the action -began for the first, second, and third columns, which had gone down into -the valley. The fourth column, with which Kutúzov was, stood on the -Pratzen Heights. - -Below, where the fight was beginning, there was still thick fog; on the -higher ground it was clearing, but nothing could be seen of what was -going on in front. Whether all the enemy forces were, as we supposed, -six miles away, or whether they were near by in that sea of mist, no one -knew till after eight o’clock. - -It was nine o’clock in the morning. The fog lay unbroken like a sea -down below, but higher up at the village of Schlappanitz where Napoleon -stood with his marshals around him, it was quite light. Above him was -a clear blue sky, and the sun’s vast orb quivered like a huge hollow, -crimson float on the surface of that milky sea of mist. The whole French -army, and even Napoleon himself with his staff, were not on the far side -of the streams and hollows of Sokolnitz and Schlappanitz beyond which we -intended to take up our position and begin the action, but were on this -side, so close to our own forces that Napoleon with the naked eye could -distinguish a mounted man from one on foot. Napoleon, in the blue cloak -which he had worn on his Italian campaign, sat on his small gray Arab -horse a little in front of his marshals. He gazed silently at the hills -which seemed to rise out of the sea of mist and on which the Russian -troops were moving in the distance, and he listened to the sounds of -firing in the valley. Not a single muscle of his face—which in those -days was still thin—moved. His gleaming eyes were fixed intently on -one spot. His predictions were being justified. Part of the Russian -force had already descended into the valley toward the ponds and lakes -and part were leaving these Pratzen Heights which he intended to attack -and regarded as the key to the position. He saw over the mist that in -a hollow between two hills near the village of Pratzen, the Russian -columns, their bayonets glittering, were moving continuously in one -direction toward the valley and disappearing one after another into -the mist. From information he had received the evening before, from the -sound of wheels and footsteps heard by the outposts during the night, -by the disorderly movement of the Russian columns, and from all -indications, he saw clearly that the allies believed him to be far away -in front of them, and that the columns moving near Pratzen constituted -the center of the Russian army, and that that center was already -sufficiently weakened to be successfully attacked. But still he did not -begin the engagement. - -Today was a great day for him—the anniversary of his coronation. -Before dawn he had slept for a few hours, and refreshed, vigorous, and -in good spirits, he mounted his horse and rode out into the field -in that happy mood in which everything seems possible and everything -succeeds. He sat motionless, looking at the heights visible above -the mist, and his cold face wore that special look of confident, -self-complacent happiness that one sees on the face of a boy happily -in love. The marshals stood behind him not venturing to distract his -attention. He looked now at the Pratzen Heights, now at the sun floating -up out of the mist. - -When the sun had entirely emerged from the fog, and fields and mist were -aglow with dazzling light—as if he had only awaited this to begin the -action—he drew the glove from his shapely white hand, made a sign -with it to the marshals, and ordered the action to begin. The marshals, -accompanied by adjutants, galloped off in different directions, and -a few minutes later the chief forces of the French army moved rapidly -toward those Pratzen Heights which were being more and more denuded by -Russian troops moving down the valley to their left. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -At eight o’clock Kutúzov rode to Pratzen at the head of the fourth -column, Milorádovich’s, the one that was to take the place of -Przebyszéwski’s and Langeron’s columns which had already gone down -into the valley. He greeted the men of the foremost regiment and gave -them the order to march, thereby indicating that he intended to lead -that column himself. When he had reached the village of Pratzen he -halted. Prince Andrew was behind, among the immense number forming the -commander in chief’s suite. He was in a state of suppressed excitement -and irritation, though controlledly calm as a man is at the approach of -a long-awaited moment. He was firmly convinced that this was the day of -his Toulon, or his bridge of Arcola. How it would come about he did not -know, but he felt sure it would do so. The locality and the position of -our troops were known to him as far as they could be known to anyone -in our army. His own strategic plan, which obviously could not now -be carried out, was forgotten. Now, entering into Weyrother’s plan, -Prince Andrew considered possible contingencies and formed new projects -such as might call for his rapidity of perception and decision. - -To the left down below in the mist, the musketry fire of unseen forces -could be heard. It was there Prince Andrew thought the fight would -concentrate. “There we shall encounter difficulties, and there,” -thought he, “I shall be sent with a brigade or division, and there, -standard in hand, I shall go forward and break whatever is in front of -me.” - -He could not look calmly at the standards of the passing battalions. -Seeing them he kept thinking, “That may be the very standard with -which I shall lead the army.” - -In the morning all that was left of the night mist on the heights was -a hoar frost now turning to dew, but in the valleys it still lay like a -milk-white sea. Nothing was visible in the valley to the left into which -our troops had descended and from whence came the sounds of firing. -Above the heights was the dark clear sky, and to the right the vast orb -of the sun. In front, far off on the farther shore of that sea of mist, -some wooded hills were discernible, and it was there the enemy probably -was, for something could be descried. On the right the Guards were -entering the misty region with a sound of hoofs and wheels and now and -then a gleam of bayonets; to the left beyond the village similar masses -of cavalry came up and disappeared in the sea of mist. In front and -behind moved infantry. The commander in chief was standing at the end of -the village letting the troops pass by him. That morning Kutúzov seemed -worn and irritable. The infantry passing before him came to a halt -without any command being given, apparently obstructed by something in -front. - -“Do order them to form into battalion columns and go round the -village!” he said angrily to a general who had ridden up. “Don’t -you understand, your excellency, my dear sir, that you must not -defile through narrow village streets when we are marching against the -enemy?” - -“I intended to re-form them beyond the village, your excellency,” -answered the general. - -Kutúzov laughed bitterly. - -“You’ll make a fine thing of it, deploying in sight of the enemy! -Very fine!” - -“The enemy is still far away, your excellency. According to the -dispositions...” - -“The dispositions!” exclaimed Kutúzov bitterly. “Who told you -that?... Kindly do as you are ordered.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“My dear fellow,” Nesvítski whispered to Prince Andrew, “the old -man is as surly as a dog.” - -An Austrian officer in a white uniform with green plumes in his hat -galloped up to Kutúzov and asked in the Emperor’s name had the fourth -column advanced into action. - -Kutúzov turned round without answering and his eye happened to fall -upon Prince Andrew, who was beside him. Seeing him, Kutúzov’s -malevolent and caustic expression softened, as if admitting that what -was being done was not his adjutant’s fault, and still not answering -the Austrian adjutant, he addressed Bolkónski. - -“Go, my dear fellow, and see whether the third division has passed the -village. Tell it to stop and await my orders.” - -Hardly had Prince Andrew started than he stopped him. - -“And ask whether sharpshooters have been posted,” he added. “What -are they doing? What are they doing?” he murmured to himself, still -not replying to the Austrian. - -Prince Andrew galloped off to execute the order. - -Overtaking the battalions that continued to advance, he stopped -the third division and convinced himself that there really were no -sharpshooters in front of our columns. The colonel at the head of the -regiment was much surprised at the commander in chief’s order to throw -out skirmishers. He had felt perfectly sure that there were other troops -in front of him and that the enemy must be at least six miles away. -There was really nothing to be seen in front except a barren descent -hidden by dense mist. Having given orders in the commander in chief’s -name to rectify this omission, Prince Andrew galloped back. Kutúzov -still in the same place, his stout body resting heavily in the saddle -with the lassitude of age, sat yawning wearily with closed eyes. The -troops were no longer moving, but stood with the butts of their muskets -on the ground. - -“All right, all right!” he said to Prince Andrew, and turned to a -general who, watch in hand, was saying it was time they started as all -the left-flank columns had already descended. - -“Plenty of time, your excellency,” muttered Kutúzov in the midst of -a yawn. “Plenty of time,” he repeated. - -Just then at a distance behind Kutúzov was heard the sound of regiments -saluting, and this sound rapidly came nearer along the whole extended -line of the advancing Russian columns. Evidently the person they were -greeting was riding quickly. When the soldiers of the regiment in front -of which Kutúzov was standing began to shout, he rode a little to one -side and looked round with a frown. Along the road from Pratzen galloped -what looked like a squadron of horsemen in various uniforms. Two of them -rode side by side in front, at full gallop. One in a black uniform with -white plumes in his hat rode a bobtailed chestnut horse, the other who -was in a white uniform rode a black one. These were the two Emperors -followed by their suites. Kutúzov, affecting the manners of an old -soldier at the front, gave the command “Attention!” and rode up -to the Emperors with a salute. His whole appearance and manner were -suddenly transformed. He put on the air of a subordinate who obeys -without reasoning. With an affectation of respect which evidently struck -Alexander unpleasantly, he rode up and saluted. - -This unpleasant impression merely flitted over the young and happy face -of the Emperor like a cloud of haze across a clear sky and vanished. -After his illness he looked rather thinner that day than on the field -of Olmütz where Bolkónski had seen him for the first time abroad, but -there was still the same bewitching combination of majesty and mildness -in his fine gray eyes, and on his delicate lips the same capacity for -varying expression and the same prevalent appearance of goodhearted -innocent youth. - -At the Olmütz review he had seemed more majestic; here he seemed -brighter and more energetic. He was slightly flushed after galloping two -miles, and reining in his horse he sighed restfully and looked round -at the faces of his suite, young and animated as his own. Czartorýski, -Novosíltsev, Prince Volkónsky, Strógonov, and the others, all richly -dressed gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, fresh, only slightly -heated horses, exchanging remarks and smiling, had stopped behind the -Emperor. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long faced young man, sat very -erect on his handsome black horse, looking about him in a leisurely and -preoccupied manner. He beckoned to one of his white adjutants and asked -some question—“Most likely he is asking at what o’clock they -started,” thought Prince Andrew, watching his old acquaintance with -a smile he could not repress as he recalled his reception at Brünn. -In the Emperors’ suite were the picked young orderly officers of the -Guard and line regiments, Russian and Austrian. Among them were grooms -leading the Tsar’s beautiful relay horses covered with embroidered -cloths. - -As when a window is opened a whiff of fresh air from the fields enters -a stuffy room, so a whiff of youthfulness, energy, and confidence of -success reached Kutúzov’s cheerless staff with the galloping advent -of all these brilliant young men. - -“Why aren’t you beginning, Michael Ilariónovich?” said the -Emperor Alexander hurriedly to Kutúzov, glancing courteously at the -same time at the Emperor Francis. - -“I am waiting, Your Majesty,” answered Kutúzov, bending forward -respectfully. - -The Emperor, frowning slightly, bent his ear forward as if he had not -quite heard. - -“Waiting, Your Majesty,” repeated Kutúzov. (Prince Andrew noted -that Kutúzov’s upper lip twitched unnaturally as he said the -word “waiting.”) “Not all the columns have formed up yet, Your -Majesty.” - -The Tsar heard but obviously did not like the reply; he shrugged his -rather round shoulders and glanced at Novosíltsev who was near him, as -if complaining of Kutúzov. - -“You know, Michael Ilariónovich, we are not on the Empress’ Field -where a parade does not begin till all the troops are assembled,” said -the Tsar with another glance at the Emperor Francis, as if inviting -him if not to join in at least to listen to what he was saying. But the -Emperor Francis continued to look about him and did not listen. - -“That is just why I do not begin, sire,” said Kutúzov in a -resounding voice, apparently to preclude the possibility of not being -heard, and again something in his face twitched—“That is just why -I do not begin, sire, because we are not on parade and not on the -Empress’ Field,” said he clearly and distinctly. - -In the Emperor’s suite all exchanged rapid looks that expressed -dissatisfaction and reproach. “Old though he may be, he should not, he -certainly should not, speak like that,” their glances seemed to say. - -The Tsar looked intently and observantly into Kutúzov’s eye -waiting to hear whether he would say anything more. But Kutúzov, with -respectfully bowed head, seemed also to be waiting. The silence lasted -for about a minute. - -“However, if you command it, Your Majesty,” said Kutúzov, lifting -his head and again assuming his former tone of a dull, unreasoning, but -submissive general. - -He touched his horse and having called Milorádovich, the commander of -the column, gave him the order to advance. - -The troops again began to move, and two battalions of the Nóvgorod and -one of the Ápsheron regiment went forward past the Emperor. - -As this Ápsheron battalion marched by, the red-faced Milorádovich, -without his greatcoat, with his Orders on his breast and an enormous -tuft of plumes in his cocked hat worn on one side with its corners front -and back, galloped strenuously forward, and with a dashing salute reined -in his horse before the Emperor. - -“God be with you, general!” said the Emperor. - -“Ma foi, sire, nous ferons ce qui sera dans notre possibilité, -sire,” * he answered gaily, raising nevertheless ironic smiles among -the gentlemen of the Tsar’s suite by his poor French. - - * “Indeed, Sire, we shall do everything it is possible to - do, Sire.” - - -Milorádovich wheeled his horse sharply and stationed himself a little -behind the Emperor. The Ápsheron men, excited by the Tsar’s presence, -passed in step before the Emperors and their suites at a bold, brisk -pace. - -“Lads!” shouted Milorádovich in a loud, self-confident, and cheery -voice, obviously so elated by the sound of firing, by the prospect of -battle, and by the sight of the gallant Ápsherons, his comrades in -Suvórov’s time, now passing so gallantly before the Emperors, that he -forgot the sovereigns’ presence. “Lads, it’s not the first village -you’ve had to take,” cried he. - -“Glad to do our best!” shouted the soldiers. - -The Emperor’s horse started at the sudden cry. This horse that had -carried the sovereign at reviews in Russia bore him also here on the -field of Austerlitz, enduring the heedless blows of his left foot and -pricking its ears at the sound of shots just as it had done on the -Empress’ Field, not understanding the significance of the firing, nor -of the nearness of the Emperor Francis’ black cob, nor of all that was -being said, thought, and felt that day by its rider. - -The Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made a -remark to him, pointing to the gallant Ápsherons. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Kutúzov accompanied by his adjutants rode at a walking pace behind the -carabineers. - -When he had gone less than half a mile in the rear of the column he -stopped at a solitary, deserted house that had probably once been an -inn, where two roads parted. Both of them led downhill and troops were -marching along both. - -The fog had begun to clear and enemy troops were already dimly visible -about a mile and a half off on the opposite heights. Down below, on -the left, the firing became more distinct. Kutúzov had stopped and was -speaking to an Austrian general. Prince Andrew, who was a little behind -looking at them, turned to an adjutant to ask him for a field glass. - -“Look, look!” said this adjutant, looking not at the troops in the -distance, but down the hill before him. “It’s the French!” - -The two generals and the adjutant took hold of the field glass, trying -to snatch it from one another. The expression on all their faces -suddenly changed to one of horror. The French were supposed to be a -mile and a half away, but had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared just in -front of us. - -“It’s the enemy?... No!... Yes, see it is!... for certain.... But -how is that?” said different voices. - -With the naked eye Prince Andrew saw below them to the right, not more -than five hundred paces from where Kutúzov was standing, a dense French -column coming up to meet the Ápsherons. - -“Here it is! The decisive moment has arrived. My turn has come,” -thought Prince Andrew, and striking his horse he rode up to Kutúzov. - -“The Ápsherons must be stopped, your excellency,” cried he. But at -that very instant a cloud of smoke spread all round, firing was heard -quite close at hand, and a voice of naïve terror barely two steps from -Prince Andrew shouted, “Brothers! All’s lost!” And at this as if -at a command, everyone began to run. - -Confused and ever-increasing crowds were running back to where five -minutes before the troops had passed the Emperors. Not only would it -have been difficult to stop that crowd, it was even impossible not to -be carried back with it oneself. Bolkónski only tried not to lose -touch with it, and looked around bewildered and unable to grasp what was -happening in front of him. Nesvítski with an angry face, red and unlike -himself, was shouting to Kutúzov that if he did not ride away at once -he would certainly be taken prisoner. Kutúzov remained in the same -place and without answering drew out a handkerchief. Blood was flowing -from his cheek. Prince Andrew forced his way to him. - -“You are wounded?” he asked, hardly able to master the trembling of -his lower jaw. - -“The wound is not here, it is there!” said Kutúzov, pressing the -handkerchief to his wounded cheek and pointing to the fleeing soldiers. -“Stop them!” he shouted, and at the same moment, probably realizing -that it was impossible to stop them, spurred his horse and rode to the -right. - -A fresh wave of the flying mob caught him and bore him back with it. - -The troops were running in such a dense mass that once surrounded by -them it was difficult to get out again. One was shouting, “Get on! -Why are you hindering us?” Another in the same place turned round and -fired in the air; a third was striking the horse Kutúzov himself rode. -Having by a great effort got away to the left from that flood of men, -Kutúzov, with his suite diminished by more than half, rode toward a -sound of artillery fire near by. Having forced his way out of the crowd -of fugitives, Prince Andrew, trying to keep near Kutúzov, saw on the -slope of the hill amid the smoke a Russian battery that was still firing -and Frenchmen running toward it. Higher up stood some Russian infantry, -neither moving forward to protect the battery nor backward with the -fleeing crowd. A mounted general separated himself from the infantry and -approached Kutúzov. Of Kutúzov’s suite only four remained. They were -all pale and exchanged looks in silence. - -“Stop those wretches!” gasped Kutúzov to the regimental commander, -pointing to the flying soldiers; but at that instant, as if to punish -him for those words, bullets flew hissing across the regiment and across -Kutúzov’s suite like a flock of little birds. - -The French had attacked the battery and, seeing Kutúzov, were firing -at him. After this volley the regimental commander clutched at his leg; -several soldiers fell, and a second lieutenant who was holding the -flag let it fall from his hands. It swayed and fell, but caught on the -muskets of the nearest soldiers. The soldiers started firing without -orders. - -“Oh! Oh! Oh!” groaned Kutúzov despairingly and looked around.... -“Bolkónski!” he whispered, his voice trembling from a consciousness -of the feebleness of age, “Bolkónski!” he whispered, pointing to -the disordered battalion and at the enemy, “what’s that?” - -But before he had finished speaking, Prince Andrew, feeling tears of -shame and anger choking him, had already leapt from his horse and run to -the standard. - -“Forward, lads!” he shouted in a voice piercing as a child’s. - -“Here it is!” thought he, seizing the staff of the standard and -hearing with pleasure the whistle of bullets evidently aimed at him. -Several soldiers fell. - -“Hurrah!” shouted Prince Andrew, and, scarcely able to hold up -the heavy standard, he ran forward with full confidence that the whole -battalion would follow him. - -And really he only ran a few steps alone. One soldier moved and then -another and soon the whole battalion ran forward shouting “Hurrah!” -and overtook him. A sergeant of the battalion ran up and took the flag -that was swaying from its weight in Prince Andrew’s hands, but he -was immediately killed. Prince Andrew again seized the standard and, -dragging it by the staff, ran on with the battalion. In front he saw our -artillerymen, some of whom were fighting, while others, having abandoned -their guns, were running toward him. He also saw French infantry -soldiers who were seizing the artillery horses and turning the guns -round. Prince Andrew and the battalion were already within twenty paces -of the cannon. He heard the whistle of bullets above him unceasingly and -to right and left of him soldiers continually groaned and dropped. But -he did not look at them: he looked only at what was going on in front -of him—at the battery. He now saw clearly the figure of a red-haired -gunner with his shako knocked awry, pulling one end of a mop while -a French soldier tugged at the other. He could distinctly see the -distraught yet angry expression on the faces of these two men, who -evidently did not realize what they were doing. - -“What are they about?” thought Prince Andrew as he gazed at them. -“Why doesn’t the red-haired gunner run away as he is unarmed? -Why doesn’t the Frenchman stab him? He will not get away before the -Frenchman remembers his bayonet and stabs him....” - -And really another French soldier, trailing his musket, ran up to -the struggling men, and the fate of the red-haired gunner, who had -triumphantly secured the mop and still did not realize what awaited him, -was about to be decided. But Prince Andrew did not see how it ended. It -seemed to him as though one of the soldiers near him hit him on the head -with the full swing of a bludgeon. It hurt a little, but the worst of -it was that the pain distracted him and prevented his seeing what he had -been looking at. - -“What’s this? Am I falling? My legs are giving way,” thought he, -and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle -of the Frenchmen with the gunners ended, whether the red-haired gunner -had been killed or not and whether the cannon had been captured or -saved. But he saw nothing. Above him there was now nothing but the -sky—the lofty sky, not clear yet still immeasurably lofty, with gray -clouds gliding slowly across it. “How quiet, peaceful, and solemn; not -at all as I ran,” thought Prince Andrew—“not as we ran, shouting -and fighting, not at all as the gunner and the Frenchman with frightened -and angry faces struggled for the mop: how differently do those clouds -glide across that lofty infinite sky! How was it I did not see that -lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last! Yes! All -is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, -nothing, but that. But even it does not exist, there is nothing but -quiet and peace. Thank God!...” - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -On our right flank commanded by Bagratión, at nine o’clock the battle -had not yet begun. Not wishing to agree to Dolgorúkov’s demand to -commence the action, and wishing to avert responsibility from himself, -Prince Bagratión proposed to Dolgorúkov to send to inquire of the -commander in chief. Bagratión knew that as the distance between the two -flanks was more than six miles, even if the messenger were not killed -(which he very likely would be), and found the commander in chief -(which would be very difficult), he would not be able to get back before -evening. - -Bagratión cast his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes round his suite, -and the boyish face Rostóv, breathless with excitement and hope, was -the first to catch his eye. He sent him. - -“And if I should meet His Majesty before I meet the commander in -chief, your excellency?” said Rostóv, with his hand to his cap. - -“You can give the message to His Majesty,” said Dolgorúkov, -hurriedly interrupting Bagratión. - -On being relieved from picket duty Rostóv had managed to get a few -hours’ sleep before morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute, -with elasticity of movement, faith in his good fortune, and generally in -that state of mind which makes everything seem possible, pleasant, and -easy. - -All his wishes were being fulfilled that morning: there was to be a -general engagement in which he was taking part, more than that, he was -orderly to the bravest general, and still more, he was going with a -message to Kutúzov, perhaps even to the sovereign himself. The morning -was bright, he had a good horse under him, and his heart was full of -joy and happiness. On receiving the order he gave his horse the rein -and galloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of -Bagratión’s troops, which had not yet advanced into action but were -standing motionless; then he came to the region occupied by Uvárov’s -cavalry and here he noticed a stir and signs of preparation for battle; -having passed Uvárov’s cavalry he clearly heard the sound of cannon -and musketry ahead of him. The firing grew louder and louder. - -In the fresh morning air were now heard, not two or three musket shots -at irregular intervals as before, followed by one or two cannon shots, -but a roll of volleys of musketry from the slopes of the hill before -Pratzen, interrupted by such frequent reports of cannon that sometimes -several of them were not separated from one another but merged into a -general roar. - -He could see puffs of musketry smoke that seemed to chase one another -down the hillsides, and clouds of cannon smoke rolling, spreading, -and mingling with one another. He could also, by the gleam of bayonets -visible through the smoke, make out moving masses of infantry and narrow -lines of artillery with green caissons. - -Rostóv stopped his horse for a moment on a hillock to see what was -going on, but strain his attention as he would he could not understand -or make out anything of what was happening: there in the smoke men of -some sort were moving about, in front and behind moved lines of troops; -but why, whither, and who they were, it was impossible to make out. -These sights and sounds had no depressing or intimidating effect on him; -on the contrary, they stimulated his energy and determination. - -“Go on! Go on! Give it them!” he mentally exclaimed at these sounds, -and again proceeded to gallop along the line, penetrating farther and -farther into the region where the army was already in action. - -“How it will be there I don’t know, but all will be well!” thought -Rostóv. - -After passing some Austrian troops he noticed that the next part of the -line (the Guards) was already in action. - -“So much the better! I shall see it close,” he thought. - -He was riding almost along the front line. A handful of men came -galloping toward him. They were our Uhlans who with disordered -ranks were returning from the attack. Rostóv got out of their way, -involuntarily noticed that one of them was bleeding, and galloped on. - -“That is no business of mine,” he thought. He had not ridden many -hundred yards after that before he saw to his left, across the whole -width of the field, an enormous mass of cavalry in brilliant white -uniforms, mounted on black horses, trotting straight toward him and -across his path. Rostóv put his horse to full gallop to get out of the -way of these men, and he would have got clear had they continued at the -same speed, but they kept increasing their pace, so that some of the -horses were already galloping. Rostóv heard the thud of their hoofs -and the jingle of their weapons and saw their horses, their figures, and -even their faces, more and more distinctly. They were our Horse Guards, -advancing to attack the French cavalry that was coming to meet them. - -The Horse Guards were galloping, but still holding in their horses. -Rostóv could already see their faces and heard the command: -“Charge!” shouted by an officer who was urging his thoroughbred to -full speed. Rostóv, fearing to be crushed or swept into the attack on -the French, galloped along the front as hard as his horse could go, but -still was not in time to avoid them. - -The last of the Horse Guards, a huge pockmarked fellow, frowned angrily -on seeing Rostóv before him, with whom he would inevitably collide. -This Guardsman would certainly have bowled Rostóv and his Bedouin over -(Rostóv felt himself quite tiny and weak compared to these gigantic men -and horses) had it not occurred to Rostóv to flourish his whip before -the eyes of the Guardsman’s horse. The heavy black horse, sixteen -hands high, shied, throwing back its ears; but the pockmarked Guardsman -drove his huge spurs in violently, and the horse, flourishing its tail -and extending its neck, galloped on yet faster. Hardly had the Horse -Guards passed Rostóv before he heard them shout, “Hurrah!” and -looking back saw that their foremost ranks were mixed up with some -foreign cavalry with red epaulets, probably French. He could see nothing -more, for immediately afterwards cannon began firing from somewhere and -smoke enveloped everything. - -At that moment, as the Horse Guards, having passed him, disappeared in -the smoke, Rostóv hesitated whether to gallop after them or to go where -he was sent. This was the brilliant charge of the Horse Guards that -amazed the French themselves. Rostóv was horrified to hear later that -of all that mass of huge and handsome men, of all those brilliant, -rich youths, officers and cadets, who had galloped past him on their -thousand-ruble horses, only eighteen were left after the charge. - -“Why should I envy them? My chance is not lost, and maybe I shall see -the Emperor immediately!” thought Rostóv and galloped on. - -When he came level with the Foot Guards he noticed that about them and -around them cannon balls were flying, of which he was aware not so -much because he heard their sound as because he saw uneasiness on -the soldiers’ faces and unnatural warlike solemnity on those of the -officers. - -Passing behind one of the lines of a regiment of Foot Guards he heard a -voice calling him by name. - -“Rostóv!” - -“What?” he answered, not recognizing Borís. - -“I say, we’ve been in the front line! Our regiment attacked!” said -Borís with the happy smile seen on the faces of young men who have been -under fire for the first time. - -Rostóv stopped. - -“Have you?” he said. “Well, how did it go?” - -“We drove them back!” said Borís with animation, growing talkative. -“Can you imagine it?” and he began describing how the Guards, having -taken up their position and seeing troops before them, thought they were -Austrians, and all at once discovered from the cannon balls discharged -by those troops that they were themselves in the front line and had -unexpectedly to go into action. Rostóv without hearing Borís to the -end spurred his horse. - -“Where are you off to?” asked Borís. - -“With a message to His Majesty.” - -“There he is!” said Borís, thinking Rostóv had said “His -Highness,” and pointing to the Grand Duke who with his high shoulders -and frowning brows stood a hundred paces away from them in his helmet -and Horse Guards’ jacket, shouting something to a pale, white -uniformed Austrian officer. - -“But that’s the Grand Duke, and I want the commander in chief or the -Emperor,” said Rostóv, and was about to spur his horse. - -“Count! Count!” shouted Berg who ran up from the other side as eager -as Borís. “Count! I am wounded in my right hand” (and he showed his -bleeding hand with a handkerchief tied round it) “and I remained at -the front. I held my sword in my left hand, Count. All our family—the -von Bergs—have been knights!” - -He said something more, but Rostóv did not wait to hear it and rode -away. - -Having passed the Guards and traversed an empty space, Rostóv, to avoid -again getting in front of the first line as he had done when the Horse -Guards charged, followed the line of reserves, going far round the place -where the hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard. Suddenly he -heard musket fire quite close in front of him and behind our troops, -where he could never have expected the enemy to be. - -“What can it be?” he thought. “The enemy in the rear of our army? -Impossible!” And suddenly he was seized by a panic of fear for himself -and for the issue of the whole battle. “But be that what it may,” -he reflected, “there is no riding round it now. I must look for the -commander in chief here, and if all is lost it is for me to perish with -the rest.” - -The foreboding of evil that had suddenly come over Rostóv was more and -more confirmed the farther he rode into the region behind the village of -Pratzen, which was full of troops of all kinds. - -“What does it mean? What is it? Whom are they firing at? Who is -firing?” Rostóv kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austrian -soldiers running in confused crowds across his path. - -“The devil knows! They’ve killed everybody! It’s all up now!” -he was told in Russian, German, and Czech by the crowd of fugitives who -understood what was happening as little as he did. - -“Kill the Germans!” shouted one. - -“May the devil take them—the traitors!” - -“Zum Henker diese Russen!” * muttered a German. - - * “Hang these Russians!” - - -Several wounded men passed along the road, and words of abuse, screams, -and groans mingled in a general hubbub, then the firing died down. -Rostóv learned later that Russian and Austrian soldiers had been firing -at one another. - -“My God! What does it all mean?” thought he. “And here, where at -any moment the Emperor may see them.... But no, these must be only a -handful of scoundrels. It will soon be over, it can’t be that, it -can’t be! Only to get past them quicker, quicker!” - -The idea of defeat and flight could not enter Rostóv’s head. Though -he saw French cannon and French troops on the Pratzen Heights just where -he had been ordered to look for the commander in chief, he could not, -did not wish to, believe that. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -Rostóv had been ordered to look for Kutúzov and the Emperor near the -village of Pratzen. But neither they nor a single commanding officer -were there, only disorganized crowds of troops of various kinds. He -urged on his already weary horse to get quickly past these crowds, but -the farther he went the more disorganized they were. The highroad on -which he had come out was thronged with calèches, carriages of all -sorts, and Russian and Austrian soldiers of all arms, some wounded and -some not. This whole mass droned and jostled in confusion under the -dismal influence of cannon balls flying from the French batteries -stationed on the Pratzen Heights. - -“Where is the Emperor? Where is Kutúzov?” Rostóv kept asking -everyone he could stop, but got no answer from anyone. - -At last seizing a soldier by his collar he forced him to answer. - -“Eh, brother! They’ve all bolted long ago!” said the soldier, -laughing for some reason and shaking himself free. - -Having left that soldier who was evidently drunk, Rostóv stopped the -horse of a batman or groom of some important personage and began to -question him. The man announced that the Tsar had been driven in a -carriage at full speed about an hour before along that very road and -that he was dangerously wounded. - -“It can’t be!” said Rostóv. “It must have been someone else.” - -“I saw him myself,” replied the man with a self-confident smile of -derision. “I ought to know the Emperor by now, after the times I’ve -seen him in Petersburg. I saw him just as I see you.... There he sat in -the carriage as pale as anything. How they made the four black horses -fly! Gracious me, they did rattle past! It’s time I knew the Imperial -horses and Ilyá Iványch. I don’t think Ilyá drives anyone except -the Tsar!” - -Rostóv let go of the horse and was about to ride on, when a wounded -officer passing by addressed him: - -“Who is it you want?” he asked. “The commander in chief? He was -killed by a cannon ball—struck in the breast before our regiment.” - -“Not killed—wounded!” another officer corrected him. - -“Who? Kutúzov?” asked Rostóv. - -“Not Kutúzov, but what’s his name—well, never mind... there are -not many left alive. Go that way, to that village, all the commanders -are there,” said the officer, pointing to the village of Hosjeradek, -and he walked on. - -Rostóv rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was now -going. The Emperor was wounded, the battle lost. It was impossible to -doubt it now. Rostóv rode in the direction pointed out to him, in which -he saw turrets and a church. What need to hurry? What was he now to say -to the Tsar or to Kutúzov, even if they were alive and unwounded? - -“Take this road, your honor, that way you will be killed at once!” a -soldier shouted to him. “They’d kill you there!” - -“Oh, what are you talking about?” said another. “Where is he to -go? That way is nearer.” - -Rostóv considered, and then went in the direction where they said he -would be killed. - -“It’s all the same now. If the Emperor is wounded, am I to try to -save myself?” he thought. He rode on to the region where the greatest -number of men had perished in fleeing from Pratzen. The French had not -yet occupied that region, and the Russians—the uninjured and slightly -wounded—had left it long ago. All about the field, like heaps of -manure on well-kept plowland, lay from ten to fifteen dead and wounded -to each couple of acres. The wounded crept together in twos and threes -and one could hear their distressing screams and groans, sometimes -feigned—or so it seemed to Rostóv. He put his horse to a trot to -avoid seeing all these suffering men, and he felt afraid—afraid not -for his life, but for the courage he needed and which he knew would not -stand the sight of these unfortunates. - -The French, who had ceased firing at this field strewn with dead and -wounded where there was no one left to fire at, on seeing an adjutant -riding over it trained a gun on him and fired several shots. The -sensation of those terrible whistling sounds and of the corpses around -him merged in Rostóv’s mind into a single feeling of terror and pity -for himself. He remembered his mother’s last letter. “What would she -feel,” thought he, “if she saw me here now on this field with the -cannon aimed at me?” - -In the village of Hosjeradek there were Russian troops retiring from -the field of battle, who though still in some confusion were less -disordered. The French cannon did not reach there and the musketry fire -sounded far away. Here everyone clearly saw and said that the battle -was lost. No one whom Rostóv asked could tell him where the Emperor -or Kutúzov was. Some said the report that the Emperor was wounded was -correct, others that it was not, and explained the false rumor that had -spread by the fact that the Emperor’s carriage had really galloped -from the field of battle with the pale and terrified Ober-Hofmarschal -Count Tolstóy, who had ridden out to the battlefield with others in -the Emperor’s suite. One officer told Rostóv that he had seen someone -from headquarters behind the village to the left, and thither Rostóv -rode, not hoping to find anyone but merely to ease his conscience. When -he had ridden about two miles and had passed the last of the Russian -troops, he saw, near a kitchen garden with a ditch round it, two men -on horseback facing the ditch. One with a white plume in his hat seemed -familiar to Rostóv; the other on a beautiful chestnut horse (which -Rostóv fancied he had seen before) rode up to the ditch, struck his -horse with his spurs, and giving it the rein leaped lightly over. Only -a little earth crumbled from the bank under the horse’s hind hoofs. -Turning the horse sharply, he again jumped the ditch, and deferentially -addressed the horseman with the white plumes, evidently suggesting -that he should do the same. The rider, whose figure seemed familiar -to Rostóv and involuntarily riveted his attention, made a gesture of -refusal with his head and hand and by that gesture Rostóv instantly -recognized his lamented and adored monarch. - -“But it can’t be he, alone in the midst of this empty field!” -thought Rostóv. At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostóv -saw the beloved features that were so deeply engraved on his memory. The -Emperor was pale, his cheeks sunken and his eyes hollow, but the charm, -the mildness of his features, was all the greater. Rostóv was happy -in the assurance that the rumors about the Emperor being wounded were -false. He was happy to be seeing him. He knew that he might and even -ought to go straight to him and give the message Dolgorúkov had ordered -him to deliver. - -But as a youth in love trembles, is unnerved, and dares not utter the -thoughts he has dreamed of for nights, but looks around for help or a -chance of delay and flight when the longed-for moment comes and he is -alone with her, so Rostóv, now that he had attained what he had longed -for more than anything else in the world, did not know how to approach -the Emperor, and a thousand reasons occurred to him why it would be -inconvenient, unseemly, and impossible to do so. - -“What! It is as if I were glad of a chance to take advantage of -his being alone and despondent! A strange face may seem unpleasant or -painful to him at this moment of sorrow; besides, what can I say to him -now, when my heart fails me and my mouth feels dry at the mere sight -of him?” Not one of the innumerable speeches addressed to the Emperor -that he had composed in his imagination could he now recall. Those -speeches were intended for quite other conditions, they were for the -most part to be spoken at a moment of victory and triumph, generally -when he was dying of wounds and the sovereign had thanked him for heroic -deeds, and while dying he expressed the love his actions had proved. - -“Besides how can I ask the Emperor for his instructions for the right -flank now that it is nearly four o’clock and the battle is lost? -No, certainly I must not approach him, I must not intrude on his -reflections. Better die a thousand times than risk receiving an unkind -look or bad opinion from him,” Rostóv decided; and sorrowfully and -with a heart full despair he rode away, continually looking back at the -Tsar, who still remained in the same attitude of indecision. - -While Rostóv was thus arguing with himself and riding sadly away, -Captain von Toll chanced to ride to the same spot, and seeing the -Emperor at once rode up to him, offered his services, and assisted him -to cross the ditch on foot. The Emperor, wishing to rest and feeling -unwell, sat down under an apple tree and von Toll remained beside him. -Rostóv from a distance saw with envy and remorse how von Toll spoke -long and warmly to the Emperor and how the Emperor, evidently weeping, -covered his eyes with his hand and pressed von Toll’s hand. - -“And I might have been in his place!” thought Rostóv, and hardly -restraining his tears of pity for the Emperor, he rode on in utter -despair, not knowing where to or why he was now riding. - -His despair was all the greater from feeling that his own weakness was -the cause of his grief. - -He might... not only might but should, have gone up to the sovereign. It -was a unique chance to show his devotion to the Emperor and he had not -made use of it.... “What have I done?” thought he. And he turned -round and galloped back to the place where he had seen the Emperor, but -there was no one beyond the ditch now. Only some carts and carriages -were passing by. From one of the drivers he learned that Kutúzov’s -staff were not far off, in the village the vehicles were going to. -Rostóv followed them. In front of him walked Kutúzov’s groom leading -horses in horsecloths. Then came a cart, and behind that walked an old, -bandy-legged domestic serf in a peaked cap and sheepskin coat. - -“Tit! I say, Tit!” said the groom. - -“What?” answered the old man absent-mindedly. - -“Go, Tit! Thresh a bit!” - -“Oh, you fool!” said the old man, spitting angrily. Some time passed -in silence, and then the same joke was repeated. - - -Before five in the evening the battle had been lost at all points. More -than a hundred cannon were already in the hands of the French. - -Przebyszéwski and his corps had laid down their arms. Other columns -after losing half their men were retreating in disorderly confused -masses. - -The remains of Langeron’s and Dokhtúrov’s mingled forces were -crowding around the dams and banks of the ponds near the village of -Augesd. - -After five o’clock it was only at the Augesd Dam that a hot cannonade -(delivered by the French alone) was still to be heard from numerous -batteries ranged on the slopes of the Pratzen Heights, directed at our -retreating forces. - -In the rearguard, Dokhtúrov and others rallying some battalions kept up -a musketry fire at the French cavalry that was pursuing our troops. It -was growing dusk. On the narrow Augesd Dam where for so many years the -old miller had been accustomed to sit in his tasseled cap peacefully -angling, while his grandson, with shirt sleeves rolled up, handled the -floundering silvery fish in the watering can, on that dam over which for -so many years Moravians in shaggy caps and blue jackets had peacefully -driven their two-horse carts loaded with wheat and had returned dusty -with flour whitening their carts—on that narrow dam amid the wagons -and the cannon, under the horses’ hoofs and between the wagon wheels, -men disfigured by fear of death now crowded together, crushing one -another, dying, stepping over the dying and killing one another, only to -move on a few steps and be killed themselves in the same way. - -Every ten seconds a cannon ball flew compressing the air around, or -a shell burst in the midst of that dense throng, killing some and -splashing with blood those near them. - -Dólokhov—now an officer—wounded in the arm, and on foot, with -the regimental commander on horseback and some ten men of his company, -represented all that was left of that whole regiment. Impelled by the -crowd, they had got wedged in at the approach to the dam and, jammed in -on all sides, had stopped because a horse in front had fallen under a -cannon and the crowd were dragging it out. A cannon ball killed someone -behind them, another fell in front and splashed Dólokhov with blood. -The crowd, pushing forward desperately, squeezed together, moved a few -steps, and again stopped. - -“Move on a hundred yards and we are certainly saved, remain here -another two minutes and it is certain death,” thought each one. - -Dólokhov who was in the midst of the crowd forced his way to the edge -of the dam, throwing two soldiers off their feet, and ran onto the -slippery ice that covered the millpool. - -“Turn this way!” he shouted, jumping over the ice which creaked -under him; “turn this way!” he shouted to those with the gun. “It -bears!...” - -The ice bore him but it swayed and creaked, and it was plain that it -would give way not only under a cannon or a crowd, but very soon even -under his weight alone. The men looked at him and pressed to the -bank, hesitating to step onto the ice. The general on horseback at the -entrance to the dam raised his hand and opened his mouth to address -Dólokhov. Suddenly a cannon ball hissed so low above the crowd that -everyone ducked. It flopped into something moist, and the general fell -from his horse in a pool of blood. Nobody gave him a look or thought of -raising him. - -“Get onto the ice, over the ice! Go on! Turn! Don’t you hear? Go -on!” innumerable voices suddenly shouted after the ball had struck -the general, the men themselves not knowing what, or why, they were -shouting. - -One of the hindmost guns that was going onto the dam turned off onto the -ice. Crowds of soldiers from the dam began running onto the frozen pond. -The ice gave way under one of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped -into the water. He tried to right himself but fell in up to his waist. -The nearest soldiers shrank back, the gun driver stopped his horse, but -from behind still came the shouts: “Onto the ice, why do you stop? Go -on! Go on!” And cries of horror were heard in the crowd. The soldiers -near the gun waved their arms and beat the horses to make them turn and -move on. The horses moved off the bank. The ice, that had held under -those on foot, collapsed in a great mass, and some forty men who were on -it dashed, some forward and some back, drowning one another. - -Still the cannon balls continued regularly to whistle and flop onto the -ice and into the water and oftenest of all among the crowd that covered -the dam, the pond, and the bank. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -On the Pratzen Heights, where he had fallen with the flagstaff in his -hand, lay Prince Andrew Bolkónski bleeding profusely and unconsciously -uttering a gentle, piteous, and childlike moan. - -Toward evening he ceased moaning and became quite still. He did not know -how long his unconsciousness lasted. Suddenly he again felt that he was -alive and suffering from a burning, lacerating pain in his head. - -“Where is it, that lofty sky that I did not know till now, but saw -today?” was his first thought. “And I did not know this suffering -either,” he thought. “Yes, I did not know anything, anything at all -till now. But where am I?” - -He listened and heard the sound of approaching horses, and voices -speaking French. He opened his eyes. Above him again was the same lofty -sky with clouds that had risen and were floating still higher, and -between them gleamed blue infinity. He did not turn his head and did not -see those who, judging by the sound of hoofs and voices, had ridden up -and stopped near him. - -It was Napoleon accompanied by two aides-de-camp. Bonaparte riding -over the battlefield had given final orders to strengthen the batteries -firing at the Augesd Dam and was looking at the killed and wounded left -on the field. - -“Fine men!” remarked Napoleon, looking at a dead Russian grenadier, -who, with his face buried in the ground and a blackened nape, lay on his -stomach with an already stiffened arm flung wide. - -“The ammunition for the guns in position is exhausted, Your -Majesty,” said an adjutant who had come from the batteries that were -firing at Augesd. - -“Have some brought from the reserve,” said Napoleon, and having gone -on a few steps he stopped before Prince Andrew, who lay on his back with -the flagstaff that had been dropped beside him. (The flag had already -been taken by the French as a trophy.) - -“That’s a fine death!” said Napoleon as he gazed at Bolkónski. - -Prince Andrew understood that this was said of him and that it was -Napoleon who said it. He heard the speaker addressed as Sire. But he -heard the words as he might have heard the buzzing of a fly. Not only -did they not interest him, but he took no notice of them and at once -forgot them. His head was burning, he felt himself bleeding to death, -and he saw above him the remote, lofty, and everlasting sky. He knew it -was Napoleon—his hero—but at that moment Napoleon seemed to him -such a small, insignificant creature compared with what was passing now -between himself and that lofty infinite sky with the clouds flying over -it. At that moment it meant nothing to him who might be standing over -him, or what was said of him; he was only glad that people were standing -near him and only wished that they would help him and bring him back to -life, which seemed to him so beautiful now that he had today learned to -understand it so differently. He collected all his strength, to stir and -utter a sound. He feebly moved his leg and uttered a weak, sickly groan -which aroused his own pity. - -“Ah! He is alive,” said Napoleon. “Lift this young man up and -carry him to the dressing station.” - -Having said this, Napoleon rode on to meet Marshal Lannes, who, hat in -hand, rode up smiling to the Emperor to congratulate him on the victory. - -Prince Andrew remembered nothing more: he lost consciousness from the -terrible pain of being lifted onto the stretcher, the jolting while -being moved, and the probing of his wound at the dressing station. -He did not regain consciousness till late in the day, when with other -wounded and captured Russian officers he was carried to the hospital. -During this transfer he felt a little stronger and was able to look -about him and even speak. - -The first words he heard on coming to his senses were those of a French -convoy officer, who said rapidly: “We must halt here: the Emperor -will pass here immediately; it will please him to see these gentlemen -prisoners.” - -“There are so many prisoners today, nearly the whole Russian army, -that he is probably tired of them,” said another officer. - -“All the same! They say this one is the commander of all the Emperor -Alexander’s Guards,” said the first one, indicating a Russian -officer in the white uniform of the Horse Guards. - -Bolkónski recognized Prince Repnín whom he had met in Petersburg -society. Beside him stood a lad of nineteen, also a wounded officer of -the Horse Guards. - -Bonaparte, having come up at a gallop, stopped his horse. - -“Which is the senior?” he asked, on seeing the prisoners. - -They named the colonel, Prince Repnín. - -“You are the commander of the Emperor Alexander’s regiment of Horse -Guards?” asked Napoleon. - -“I commanded a squadron,” replied Repnín. - -“Your regiment fulfilled its duty honorably,” said Napoleon. - -“The praise of a great commander is a soldier’s highest reward,” -said Repnín. - -“I bestow it with pleasure,” said Napoleon. “And who is that young -man beside you?” - -Prince Repnín named Lieutenant Sukhtélen. - -After looking at him Napoleon smiled. - -“He’s very young to come to meddle with us.” - -“Youth is no hindrance to courage,” muttered Sukhtélen in a failing -voice. - -“A splendid reply!” said Napoleon. “Young man, you will go far!” - -Prince Andrew, who had also been brought forward before the Emperor’s -eyes to complete the show of prisoners, could not fail to attract his -attention. Napoleon apparently remembered seeing him on the battlefield -and, addressing him, again used the epithet “young man” that was -connected in his memory with Prince Andrew. - -“Well, and you, young man,” said he. “How do you feel, mon -brave?” - -Though five minutes before, Prince Andrew had been able to say a few -words to the soldiers who were carrying him, now with his eyes fixed -straight on Napoleon, he was silent.... So insignificant at that moment -seemed to him all the interests that engrossed Napoleon, so mean did his -hero himself with his paltry vanity and joy in victory appear, -compared to the lofty, equitable, and kindly sky which he had seen and -understood, that he could not answer him. - -Everything seemed so futile and insignificant in comparison with the -stern and solemn train of thought that weakness from loss of blood, -suffering, and the nearness of death aroused in him. Looking into -Napoleon’s eyes Prince Andrew thought of the insignificance of -greatness, the unimportance of life which no one could understand, and -the still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no one -alive could understand or explain. - -The Emperor without waiting for an answer turned away and said to one of -the officers as he went: “Have these gentlemen attended to and taken -to my bivouac; let my doctor, Larrey, examine their wounds. Au revoir, -Prince Repnín!” and he spurred his horse and galloped away. - -His face shone with self-satisfaction and pleasure. - -The soldiers who had carried Prince Andrew had noticed and taken the -little gold icon Princess Mary had hung round her brother’s neck, but -seeing the favor the Emperor showed the prisoners, they now hastened to -return the holy image. - -Prince Andrew did not see how and by whom it was replaced, but the -little icon with its thin gold chain suddenly appeared upon his chest -outside his uniform. - -“It would be good,” thought Prince Andrew, glancing at the icon his -sister had hung round his neck with such emotion and reverence, “it -would be good if everything were as clear and simple as it seems to -Mary. How good it would be to know where to seek for help in this life, -and what to expect after it beyond the grave! How happy and calm I -should be if I could now say: ‘Lord, have mercy on me!’... But to -whom should I say that? Either to a Power indefinable, incomprehensible, -which I not only cannot address but which I cannot even express in -words—the Great All or Nothing-” said he to himself, “or to -that God who has been sewn into this amulet by Mary! There is nothing -certain, nothing at all except the unimportance of everything I -understand, and the greatness of something incomprehensible but -all-important.” - -The stretchers moved on. At every jolt he again felt unendurable pain; -his feverishness increased and he grew delirious. Visions of his father, -wife, sister, and future son, and the tenderness he had felt the night -before the battle, the figure of the insignificant little Napoleon, and -above all this the lofty sky, formed the chief subjects of his delirious -fancies. - -The quiet home life and peaceful happiness of Bald Hills presented -itself to him. He was already enjoying that happiness when that -little Napoleon had suddenly appeared with his unsympathizing look of -shortsighted delight at the misery of others, and doubts and torments -had followed, and only the heavens promised peace. Toward morning -all these dreams melted and merged into the chaos and darkness of -unconciousness and oblivion which in the opinion of Napoleon’s doctor, -Larrey, was much more likely to end in death than in convalescence. - -“He is a nervous, bilious subject,” said Larrey, “and will not -recover.” - -And Prince Andrew, with others fatally wounded, was left to the care of -the inhabitants of the district. - - - - - -BOOK FOUR: 1806 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Early in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostóv returned home on leave. Denísov -was going home to Vorónezh and Rostóv persuaded him to travel with him -as far as Moscow and to stay with him there. Meeting a comrade at -the last post station but one before Moscow, Denísov had drunk three -bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting ruts across the -snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way to Moscow, but lay -at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostóv, who grew more and more -impatient the nearer they got to Moscow. - -“How much longer? How much longer? Oh, these insufferable streets, -shops, bakers’ signboards, street lamps, and sleighs!” thought -Rostóv, when their leave permits had been passed at the town gate and -they had entered Moscow. - -“Denísov! We’re here! He’s asleep,” he added, leaning forward -with his whole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the speed -of the sleigh. - -Denísov gave no answer. - -“There’s the corner at the crossroads, where the cabman, Zakhár, -has his stand, and there’s Zakhár himself and still the same horse! -And here’s the little shop where we used to buy gingerbread! Can’t -you hurry up? Now then!” - -“Which house is it?” asked the driver. - -“Why, that one, right at the end, the big one. Don’t you see? -That’s our house,” said Rostóv. “Of course, it’s our house! -Denísov, Denísov! We’re almost there!” - -Denísov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer. - -“Dmítri,” said Rostóv to his valet on the box, “those lights are -in our house, aren’t they?” - -“Yes, sir, and there’s a light in your father’s study.” - -“Then they’ve not gone to bed yet? What do you think? Mind now, -don’t forget to put out my new coat,” added Rostóv, fingering his -new mustache. “Now then, get on,” he shouted to the driver. “Do -wake up, Váska!” he went on, turning to Denísov, whose head -was again nodding. “Come, get on! You shall have three rubles for -vodka—get on!” Rostóv shouted, when the sleigh was only three -houses from his door. It seemed to him the horses were not moving at -all. At last the sleigh bore to the right, drew up at an entrance, and -Rostóv saw overhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster -broken off, the porch, and the post by the side of the pavement. He -sprang out before the sleigh stopped, and ran into the hall. The house -stood cold and silent, as if quite regardless of who had come to it. -There was no one in the hall. “Oh God! Is everyone all right?” -he thought, stopping for a moment with a sinking heart, and then -immediately starting to run along the hall and up the warped steps of -the familiar staircase. The well-known old door handle, which always -angered the countess when it was not properly cleaned, turned as loosely -as ever. A solitary tallow candle burned in the anteroom. - -Old Michael was asleep on the chest. Prokófy, the footman, who was -so strong that he could lift the back of the carriage from behind, sat -plaiting slippers out of cloth selvedges. He looked up at the opening -door and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenly changed to one -of delighted amazement. - -“Gracious heavens! The young count!” he cried, recognizing his -young master. “Can it be? My treasure!” and Prokófy, trembling with -excitement, rushed toward the drawing room door, probably in order to -announce him, but, changing his mind, came back and stooped to kiss the -young man’s shoulder. - -“All well?” asked Rostóv, drawing away his arm. - -“Yes, God be thanked! Yes! They’ve just finished supper. Let me have -a look at you, your excellency.” - -“Is everything quite all right?” - -“The Lord be thanked, yes!” - -Rostóv, who had completely forgotten Denísov, not wishing anyone to -forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the -large dark ballroom. All was the same: there were the same old card -tables and the same chandelier with a cover over it; but someone had -already seen the young master, and, before he had reached the drawing -room, something flew out from a side door like a tornado and began -hugging and kissing him. Another and yet another creature of the same -kind sprang from a second door and a third; more hugging, more kissing, -more outcries, and tears of joy. He could not distinguish which was -Papa, which Natásha, and which Pétya. Everyone shouted, talked, and -kissed him at the same time. Only his mother was not there, he noticed -that. - -“And I did not know... Nicholas... My darling!...” - -“Here he is... our own... Kólya, * dear fellow... How he has -changed!... Where are the candles?... Tea!...” - - * Nicholas. - -“And me, kiss me!” - -“Dearest... and me!” - -Sónya, Natásha, Pétya, Anna Mikháylovna, Véra, and the old count -were all hugging him, and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into the -room, exclaiming and oh-ing and ah-ing. - -Pétya, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, “And me too!” - -Natásha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered his face -with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang away and -pranced up and down in one place like a goat and shrieked piercingly. - -All around were loving eyes glistening with tears of joy, and all around -were lips seeking a kiss. - -Sónya too, all rosy red, clung to his arm and, radiant with bliss, -looked eagerly toward his eyes, waiting for the look for which she -longed. Sónya now was sixteen and she was very pretty, especially at -this moment of happy, rapturous excitement. She gazed at him, not taking -her eyes off him, and smiling and holding her breath. He gave her a -grateful look, but was still expectant and looking for someone. The old -countess had not yet come. But now steps were heard at the door, steps -so rapid that they could hardly be his mother’s. - -Yet it was she, dressed in a new gown which he did not know, made since -he had left. All the others let him go, and he ran to her. When they -met, she fell on his breast, sobbing. She could not lift her face, but -only pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussar’s jacket. Denísov, -who had come into the room unnoticed by anyone, stood there and wiped -his eyes at the sight. - -“Vasíli Denísov, your son’s friend,” he said, introducing -himself to the count, who was looking inquiringly at him. - -“You are most welcome! I know, I know,” said the count, kissing and -embracing Denísov. “Nicholas wrote us... Natásha, Véra, look! Here -is Denísov!” - -The same happy, rapturous faces turned to the shaggy figure of Denísov. - -“Darling Denísov!” screamed Natásha, beside herself with rapture, -springing to him, putting her arms round him, and kissing him. This -escapade made everybody feel confused. Denísov blushed too, but smiled -and, taking Natásha’s hand, kissed it. - -Denísov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostóvs all -gathered round Nicholas in the sitting room. - -The old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it every -moment, sat beside him: the rest, crowding round him, watched every -movement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfully adoring -eyes off him. His brother and sisters struggled for the places nearest -to him and disputed with one another who should bring him his tea, -handkerchief, and pipe. - -Rostóv was very happy in the love they showed him; but the first -moment of meeting had been so beatific that his present joy seemed -insufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more and yet more. - -Next morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelers slept -till ten o’clock. - -In the room next their bedroom there was a confusion of sabers, -satchels, sabretaches, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshly -cleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. The servants -were bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving, and their -well-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smell of tobacco. - -“Hallo, Gwíska—my pipe!” came Vasíli Denísov’s husky voice. -“Wostóv, get up!” - -Rostóv, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his -disheveled head from the hot pillow. - -“Why, is it late?” - -“Late! It’s nearly ten o’clock,” answered Natásha’s voice. -A rustle of starched petticoats and the whispering and laughter of -girls’ voices came from the adjoining room. The door was opened a -crack and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair, -and merry faces. It was Natásha, Sónya, and Pétya, who had come to -see whether they were getting up. - -“Nicholas! Get up!” Natásha’s voice was again heard at the door. - -“Directly!” - -Meanwhile, Pétya, having found and seized the sabers in the outer room, -with the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elder brother, and -forgetting that it was unbecoming for the girls to see men undressed, -opened the bedroom door. - -“Is this your saber?” he shouted. - -The girls sprang aside. Denísov hid his hairy legs under the blanket, -looking with a scared face at his comrade for help. The door, having let -Pétya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came from behind it. - -“Nicholas! Come out in your dressing gown!” said Natásha’s voice. - -“Is this your saber?” asked Pétya. “Or is it yours?” he said, -addressing the black-mustached Denísov with servile deference. - -Rostóv hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown, -and went out. Natásha had put on one spurred boot and was just getting -her foot into the other. Sónya, when he came in, was twirling round and -was about to expand her dresses into a balloon and sit down. They were -dressed alike, in new pale-blue frocks, and were both fresh, rosy, and -bright. Sónya ran away, but Natásha, taking her brother’s arm, led -him into the sitting room, where they began talking. They hardly gave -one another time to ask questions and give replies concerning a thousand -little matters which could not interest anyone but themselves. Natásha -laughed at every word he said or that she said herself, not because what -they were saying was amusing, but because she felt happy and was unable -to control her joy which expressed itself by laughter. - -“Oh, how nice, how splendid!” she said to everything. - -Rostóv felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, that -childlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since he left -home now for the first time after eighteen months again brightened his -soul and his face. - -“No, but listen,” she said, “now you are quite a man, aren’t -you? I’m awfully glad you’re my brother.” She touched his -mustache. “I want to know what you men are like. Are you the same as -we? No?” - -“Why did Sónya run away?” asked Rostóv. - -“Ah, yes! That’s a whole long story! How are you going to speak to -her—thou or you?” - -“As may happen,” said Rostóv. - -“No, call her you, please! I’ll tell you all about it some other -time. No, I’ll tell you now. You know Sónya’s my dearest friend. -Such a friend that I burned my arm for her sake. Look here!” - -She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him a red scar on her long, -slender, delicate arm, high above the elbow on that part that is covered -even by a ball dress. - -“I burned this to prove my love for her. I just heated a ruler in the -fire and pressed it there!” - -Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in what used -to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natásha’s wildly bright -eyes, Rostóv re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no -meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the best joys of his life; -and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem -to him senseless, he understood and was not surprised at it. - -“Well, and is that all?” he asked. - -“We are such friends, such friends! All that ruler business was just -nonsense, but we are friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, does it -for life, but I don’t understand that, I forget quickly.” - -“Well, what then?” - -“Well, she loves me and you like that.” - -Natásha suddenly flushed. - -“Why, you remember before you went away?... Well, she says you are to -forget all that.... She says: ‘I shall love him always, but let him be -free.’ Isn’t that lovely and noble! Yes, very noble? Isn’t it?” -asked Natásha, so seriously and excitedly that it was evident that what -she was now saying she had talked of before, with tears. - -Rostóv became thoughtful. - -“I never go back on my word,” he said. “Besides, Sónya is so -charming that only a fool would renounce such happiness.” - -“No, no!” cried Natásha, “she and I have already talked it over. -We knew you’d say so. But it won’t do, because you see, if you say -that—if you consider yourself bound by your promise—it will seem as -if she had not meant it seriously. It makes it as if you were marrying -her because you must, and that wouldn’t do at all.” - -Rostóv saw that it had been well considered by them. Sónya had already -struck him by her beauty on the preceding day. Today, when he had caught -a glimpse of her, she seemed still more lovely. She was a charming girl -of sixteen, evidently passionately in love with him (he did not doubt -that for an instant). Why should he not love her now, and even marry -her, Rostóv thought, but just now there were so many other pleasures -and interests before him! “Yes, they have taken a wise decision,” he -thought, “I must remain free.” - -“Well then, that’s excellent,” said he. “We’ll talk it over -later on. Oh, how glad I am to have you!” - -“Well, and are you still true to Borís?” he continued. - -“Oh, what nonsense!” cried Natásha, laughing. “I don’t think -about him or anyone else, and I don’t want anything of the kind.” - -“Dear me! Then what are you up to now?” - -“Now?” repeated Natásha, and a happy smile lit up her face. “Have -you seen Duport?” - -“No.” - -“Not seen Duport—the famous dancer? Well then, you won’t -understand. That’s what I’m up to.” - -Curving her arms, Natásha held out her skirts as dancers do, ran back -a few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet sharply -together, and made some steps on the very tips of her toes. - -“See, I’m standing! See!” she said, but could not maintain herself -on her toes any longer. “So that’s what I’m up to! I’ll never -marry anyone, but will be a dancer. Only don’t tell anyone.” - -Rostóv laughed so loud and merrily that Denísov, in his bedroom, felt -envious and Natásha could not help joining in. - -“No, but don’t you think it’s nice?” she kept repeating. - -“Nice! And so you no longer wish to marry Borís?” - -Natásha flared up. “I don’t want to marry anyone. And I’ll tell -him so when I see him!” - -“Dear me!” said Rostóv. - -“But that’s all rubbish,” Natásha chattered on. “And is -Denísov nice?” she asked. - -“Yes, indeed!” - -“Oh, well then, good-by: go and dress. Is he very terrible, -Denísov?” - -“Why terrible?” asked Nicholas. “No, Váska is a splendid -fellow.” - -“You call him Váska? That’s funny! And is he very nice?” - -“Very.” - -“Well then, be quick. We’ll all have breakfast together.” - -And Natásha rose and went out of the room on tiptoe, like a ballet -dancer, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. When -Rostóv met Sónya in the drawing room, he reddened. He did not know -how to behave with her. The evening before, in the first happy moment of -meeting, they had kissed each other, but today they felt it could not -be done; he felt that everybody, including his mother and sisters, was -looking inquiringly at him and watching to see how he would behave -with her. He kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou but as -you—Sónya. But their eyes met and said thou, and exchanged tender -kisses. Her looks asked him to forgive her for having dared, by -Natásha’s intermediacy, to remind him of his promise, and then -thanked him for his love. His looks thanked her for offering him his -freedom and told her that one way or another he would never cease to -love her, for that would be impossible. - -“How strange it is,” said Véra, selecting a moment when all were -silent, “that Sónya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meet -like strangers.” - -Véra’s remark was correct, as her remarks always were, but, like -most of her observations, it made everyone feel uncomfortable, not -only Sónya, Nicholas, and Natásha, but even the old countess, -who—dreading this love affair which might hinder Nicholas from making -a brilliant match—blushed like a girl. - -Denísov, to Rostóv’s surprise, appeared in the drawing room with -pomaded hair, perfumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as smart as -he made himself when going into battle, and he was more amiable to the -ladies and gentlemen than Rostóv had ever expected to see him. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostóv was welcomed -by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling -Nikólenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young -man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good -dancer, and one of the best matches in the city. - -The Rostóvs knew everybody in Moscow. The old count had money enough -that year, as all his estates had been remortgaged, and so Nicholas, -acquiring a trotter of his own, very stylish riding breeches of the -latest cut, such as no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of the -latest fashion, with extremely pointed toes and small silver spurs, -passed his time very gaily. After a short period of adapting himself -to the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it very pleasant to be -at home again. He felt that he had grown up and matured very much. His -despair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing money from -Gavríl to pay a sleigh driver, his kissing Sónya on the sly—he now -recalled all this as childishness he had left immeasurably behind. -Now he was a lieutenant of hussars, in a jacket laced with silver, and -wearing the Cross of St. George, awarded to soldiers for bravery in -action, and in the company of well-known, elderly, and respected racing -men was training a trotter of his own for a race. He knew a lady on one -of the boulevards whom he visited of an evening. He led the mazurka -at the Arkhárovs’ ball, talked about the war with Field Marshal -Kámenski, visited the English Club, and was on intimate terms with a -colonel of forty to whom Denísov had introduced him. - -His passion for the Emperor had cooled somewhat in Moscow. But still, as -he did not see him and had no opportunity of seeing him, he often spoke -about him and about his love for him, letting it be understood that he -had not told all and that there was something in his feelings for the -Emperor not everyone could understand, and with his whole soul he shared -the adoration then common in Moscow for the Emperor, who was spoken of -as the “angel incarnate.” - -During Rostóv’s short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army, he -did not draw closer to Sónya, but rather drifted away from her. She was -very pretty and sweet, and evidently deeply in love with him, but he was -at the period of youth when there seems so much to do that there is no -time for that sort of thing and a young man fears to bind himself and -prizes his freedom which he needs for so many other things. When he -thought of Sónya, during this stay in Moscow, he said to himself, -“Ah, there will be, and there are, many more such girls somewhere whom -I do not yet know. There will be time enough to think about love when I -want to, but now I have no time.” Besides, it seemed to him that the -society of women was rather derogatory to his manhood. He went to balls -and into ladies’ society with an affectation of doing so against his -will. The races, the English Club, sprees with Denísov, and visits to -a certain house—that was another matter and quite the thing for a -dashing young hussar! - -At the beginning of March, old Count Ilyá Rostóv was very busy -arranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bagratión at the English Club. - -The count walked up and down the hall in his dressing gown, giving -orders to the club steward and to the famous Feoktíst, the club’s -head cook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and -fish for this dinner. The count had been a member and on the committee -of the club from the day it was founded. To him the club entrusted the -arrangement of the festival in honor of Bagratión, for few men knew -so well how to arrange a feast on an open-handed, hospitable scale, -and still fewer men would be so well able and willing to make up out of -their own resources what might be needed for the success of the fete. -The club cook and the steward listened to the count’s orders with -pleased faces, for they knew that under no other management could they -so easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinner costing -several thousand rubles. - -“Well then, mind and have cocks’ comb in the turtle soup, you -know!” - -“Shall we have three cold dishes then?” asked the cook. - -The count considered. - -“We can’t have less—yes, three... the mayonnaise, that’s one,” -said he, bending down a finger. - -“Then am I to order those large sterlets?” asked the steward. - -“Yes, it can’t be helped if they won’t take less. Ah, dear me! I -was forgetting. We must have another entrée. Ah, goodness gracious!” -he clutched at his head. “Who is going to get me the flowers? Dmítri! -Eh, Dmítri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate,” he said to the factotum -who appeared at his call. “Hurry off and tell Maksím, the gardener, -to set the serfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses must -be brought here well wrapped up in felt. I must have two hundred pots -here on Friday.” - -Having given several more orders, he was about to go to his “little -countess” to have a rest, but remembering something else of -importance, he returned again, called back the cook and the club -steward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and the -clinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young count, handsome, -rosy, with a dark little mustache, evidently rested and made sleeker by -his easy life in Moscow, entered the room. - -“Ah, my boy, my head’s in a whirl!” said the old man with a smile, -as if he felt a little confused before his son. “Now, if you would -only help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have my own orchestra, -but shouldn’t we get the gypsy singers as well? You military men like -that sort of thing.” - -“Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagratión worried himself less before -the battle of Schön Grabern than you do now,” said his son with a -smile. - -The old count pretended to be angry. - -“Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!” - -And the count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd and respectful -expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at the father and -son. - -“What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktíst?” said -he. “Laughing at us old fellows!” - -“That’s so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good -dinner, but providing it and serving it all up, that’s not their -business!” - -“That’s it, that’s it!” exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing -his son by both hands, he cried, “Now I’ve got you, so take the -sleigh and pair at once, and go to Bezúkhov’s, and tell him ‘Count -Ilyá has sent you to ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples.’ We -can’t get them from anyone else. He’s not there himself, so you’ll -have to go in and ask the princesses; and from there go on to the -Rasgulyáy—the coachman Ipátka knows—and look up the gypsy -Ilyúshka, the one who danced at Count Orlóv’s, you remember, in a -white Cossack coat, and bring him along to me.” - -“And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him?” asked Nicholas, -laughing. “Dear, dear!...” - -At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with the businesslike, -preoccupied, yet meekly Christian look which never left her face, Anna -Mikháylovna entered the hall. Though she came upon the count in his -dressing gown every day, he invariably became confused and begged her to -excuse his costume. - -“No matter at all, my dear count,” she said, meekly closing her -eyes. “But I’ll go to Bezúkhov’s myself. Pierre has arrived, and -now we shall get anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him -in any case. He has forwarded me a letter from Borís. Thank God, Borís -is now on the staff.” - -The count was delighted at Anna Mikháylovna’s taking upon herself one -of his commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her. - -“Tell Bezúkhov to come. I’ll put his name down. Is his wife with -him?” he asked. - -Anna Mikháylovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness was depicted -on her face. - -“Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate,” she said. “If what -we hear is true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thing -when we were rejoicing at his happiness! And such a lofty angelic soul -as young Bezúkhov! Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try to give -him what consolation I can.” - -“Wh-what is the matter?” asked both the young and old Rostóv. - -Anna Mikháylovna sighed deeply. - -“Dólokhov, Mary Ivánovna’s son,” she said in a mysterious -whisper, “has compromised her completely, they say. Pierre took him -up, invited him to his house in Petersburg, and now... she has come here -and that daredevil after her!” said Anna Mikháylovna, wishing to show -her sympathy for Pierre, but by involuntary intonations and a half smile -betraying her sympathy for the “daredevil,” as she called Dólokhov. -“They say Pierre is quite broken by his misfortune.” - -“Dear, dear! But still tell him to come to the club—it will all blow -over. It will be a tremendous banquet.” - -Next day, the third of March, soon after one o’clock, two hundred and -fifty members of the English Club and fifty guests were awaiting the -guest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Bagratión, to -dinner. - -On the first arrival of the news of the battle of Austerlitz, Moscow had -been bewildered. At that time, the Russians were so used to victories -that on receiving news of the defeat some would simply not believe it, -while others sought some extraordinary explanation of so strange an -event. In the English Club, where all who were distinguished, important, -and well informed foregathered when the news began to arrive in -December, nothing was said about the war and the last battle, as -though all were in a conspiracy of silence. The men who set the tone -in conversation—Count Rostopchín, Prince Yúri Dolgorúkov, Valúev, -Count Markóv, and Prince Vyázemski—did not show themselves at the -club, but met in private houses in intimate circles, and the -Moscovites who took their opinions from others—Ilyá Rostóv among -them—remained for a while without any definite opinion on the subject -of the war and without leaders. The Moscovites felt that something was -wrong and that to discuss the bad news was difficult, and so it was best -to be silent. But after a while, just as a jury comes out of its room, -the bigwigs who guided the club’s opinion reappeared, and everybody -began speaking clearly and definitely. Reasons were found for the -incredible, unheard-of, and impossible event of a Russian defeat, -everything became clear, and in all corners of Moscow the same things -began to be said. These reasons were the treachery of the Austrians, a -defective commissariat, the treachery of the Pole Przebyszéwski and of -the Frenchman Langeron, Kutúzov’s incapacity, and (it was whispered) -the youth and inexperience of the sovereign, who had trusted worthless -and insignificant people. But the army, the Russian army, everyone -declared, was extraordinary and had achieved miracles of valor. The -soldiers, officers, and generals were heroes. But the hero of heroes was -Prince Bagratión, distinguished by his Schön Grabern affair and by -the retreat from Austerlitz, where he alone had withdrawn his column -unbroken and had all day beaten back an enemy force twice as numerous -as his own. What also conduced to Bagratión’s being selected as -Moscow’s hero was the fact that he had no connections in the city -and was a stranger there. In his person, honor was shown to a simple -fighting Russian soldier without connections and intrigues, and to one -who was associated by memories of the Italian campaign with the name of -Suvórov. Moreover, paying such honor to Bagratión was the best way of -expressing disapproval and dislike of Kutúzov. - -“Had there been no Bagratión, it would have been necessary to -invent him,” said the wit Shinshín, parodying the words of Voltaire. -Kutúzov no one spoke of, except some who abused him in whispers, -calling him a court weathercock and an old satyr. - -All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorúkov’s saying: “If you go on -modeling and modeling you must get smeared with clay,” suggesting -consolation for our defeat by the memory of former victories; and the -words of Rostopchín, that French soldiers have to be incited to battle -by highfalutin words, and Germans by logical arguments to show them -that it is more dangerous to run away than to advance, but that Russian -soldiers only need to be restrained and held back! On all sides, new and -fresh anecdotes were heard of individual examples of heroism shown by -our officers and men at Austerlitz. One had saved a standard, another -had killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded five cannon singlehanded. -Berg was mentioned, by those who did not know him, as having, when -wounded in the right hand, taken his sword in the left, and gone -forward. Of Bolkónski, nothing was said, and only those who knew him -intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving a pregnant wife -with his eccentric father. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -On that third of March, all the rooms in the English Club were filled -with a hum of conversation, like the hum of bees swarming in springtime. -The members and guests of the club wandered hither and thither, sat, -stood, met, and separated, some in uniform and some in evening dress, -and a few here and there with powdered hair and in Russian kaftáns. -Powdered footmen, in livery with buckled shoes and smart stockings, -stood at every door anxiously noting visitors’ every movement in order -to offer their services. Most of those present were elderly, respected -men with broad, self-confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute gestures -and voices. This class of guests and members sat in certain habitual -places and met in certain habitual groups. A minority of those present -were casual guests—chiefly young men, among whom were Denísov, -Rostóv, and Dólokhov—who was now again an officer in the Semënov -regiment. The faces of these young people, especially those who were -military men, bore that expression of condescending respect for their -elders which seems to say to the older generation, “We are prepared to -respect and honor you, but all the same remember that the future belongs -to us.” - -Nesvítski was there as an old member of the club. Pierre, who at his -wife’s command had let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles, -went about the rooms fashionably dressed but looking sad and dull. Here, -as elsewhere, he was surrounded by an atmosphere of subservience to -his wealth, and being in the habit of lording it over these people, he -treated them with absent-minded contempt. - -By his age he should have belonged to the younger men, but by his wealth -and connections he belonged to the groups of old and honored guests, and -so he went from one group to another. Some of the most important old men -were the center of groups which even strangers approached respectfully -to hear the voices of well-known men. The largest circles formed round -Count Rostopchín, Valúev, and Narýshkin. Rostopchín was describing -how the Russians had been overwhelmed by flying Austrians and had had to -force their way through them with bayonets. - -Valúev was confidentially telling that Uvárov had been sent from -Petersburg to ascertain what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz. - -In the third circle, Narýshkin was speaking of the meeting of the -Austrian Council of War at which Suvórov crowed like a cock in reply to -the nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. Shinshín, standing close -by, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutúzov had evidently failed to -learn from Suvórov even so simple a thing as the art of crowing like a -cock, but the elder members glanced severely at the wit, making him -feel that in that place and on that day, it was improper to speak so of -Kutúzov. - -Count Ilyá Rostóv, hurried and preoccupied, went about in his soft -boots between the dining and drawing rooms, hastily greeting the -important and unimportant, all of whom he knew, as if they were all -equals, while his eyes occasionally sought out his fine well-set-up -young son, resting on him and winking joyfully at him. Young Rostóv -stood at a window with Dólokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately -made and highly valued. The old count came up to them and pressed -Dólokhov’s hand. - -“Please come and visit us... you know my brave boy... been together -out there... both playing the hero... Ah, Vasíli Ignátovich... -How d’ye do, old fellow?” he said, turning to an old man who was -passing, but before he had finished his greeting there was a general -stir, and a footman who had run in announced, with a frightened face: -“He’s arrived!” - -Bells rang, the stewards rushed forward, and—like rye shaken together -in a shovel—the guests who had been scattered about in different rooms -came together and crowded in the large drawing room by the door of the -ballroom. - -Bagratión appeared in the doorway of the anteroom without hat or sword, -which, in accord with the club custom, he had given up to the hall -porter. He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loaded whip -over his shoulder, as when Rostóv had seen him on the eve of the battle -of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign -Orders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast. Evidently just -before coming to the dinner he had had his hair and whiskers trimmed, -which changed his appearance for the worse. There was something naïvely -festive in his air, which, in conjunction with his firm and virile -features, gave him a rather comical expression. Bekleshëv and Theodore -Uvárov, who had arrived with him, paused at the doorway to allow him, -as the guest of honor, to enter first. Bagratión was embarrassed, not -wishing to avail himself of their courtesy, and this caused some delay -at the doors, but after all he did at last enter first. He walked shyly -and awkwardly over the parquet floor of the reception room, not knowing -what to do with his hands; he was more accustomed to walk over a plowed -field under fire, as he had done at the head of the Kursk regiment at -Schön Grabern—and he would have found that easier. The committeemen -met him at the first door and, expressing their delight at seeing such a -highly honored guest, took possession of him as it were, without waiting -for his reply, surrounded him, and led him to the drawing room. It was -at first impossible to enter the drawing room door for the crowd of -members and guests jostling one another and trying to get a good look -at Bagratión over each other’s shoulders, as if he were some rare -animal. Count Ilyá Rostóv, laughing and repeating the words, “Make -way, dear boy! Make way, make way!” pushed through the crowd more -energetically than anyone, led the guests into the drawing room, and -seated them on the center sofa. The bigwigs, the most respected members -of the club, beset the new arrivals. Count Ilyá, again thrusting his -way through the crowd, went out of the drawing room and reappeared a -minute later with another committeeman, carrying a large silver salver -which he presented to Prince Bagratión. On the salver lay some verses -composed and printed in the hero’s honor. Bagratión, on seeing the -salver, glanced around in dismay, as though seeking help. But all eyes -demanded that he should submit. Feeling himself in their power, he -resolutely took the salver with both hands and looked sternly and -reproachfully at the count who had presented it to him. Someone -obligingly took the dish from Bagratión (or he would, it seemed, have -held it till evening and have gone in to dinner with it) and drew his -attention to the verses. - -“Well, I will read them, then!” Bagratión seemed to say, and, -fixing his weary eyes on the paper, began to read them with a fixed and -serious expression. But the author himself took the verses and began -reading them aloud. Bagratión bowed his head and listened: - - Bring glory then to Alexander’s reign - And on the throne our Titus shield. - A dreaded foe be thou, kindhearted as a man, - A Rhipheus at home, a Caesar in the field! - E’en fortunate Napoleon - Knows by experience, now, Bagratión, - And dare not Herculean Russians trouble... - -But before he had finished reading, a stentorian major-domo announced -that dinner was ready! The door opened, and from the dining room came -the resounding strains of the polonaise: - - Conquest’s joyful thunder waken, - Triumph, valiant Russians, now!... - -and Count Rostóv, glancing angrily at the author who went on reading -his verses, bowed to Bagratión. Everyone rose, feeling that dinner -was more important than verses, and Bagratión, again preceding all the -rest, went in to dinner. He was seated in the place of honor between -two Alexanders—Bekleshëv and Narýshkin—which was a significant -allusion to the name of the sovereign. Three hundred persons took their -seats in the dining room, according to their rank and importance: the -more important nearer to the honored guest, as naturally as water flows -deepest where the land lies lowest. - -Just before dinner, Count Ilyá Rostóv presented his son to Bagratión, -who recognized him and said a few words to him, disjointed and awkward, -as were all the words he spoke that day, and Count Ilyá looked joyfully -and proudly around while Bagratión spoke to his son. - -Nicholas Rostóv, with Denísov and his new acquaintance, Dólokhov, sat -almost at the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre, beside Prince -Nesvítski. Count Ilyá Rostóv with the other members of the committee -sat facing Bagratión and, as the very personification of Moscow -hospitality, did the honors to the prince. - -His efforts had not been in vain. The dinner, both the Lenten and the -other fare, was splendid, yet he could not feel quite at ease till the -end of the meal. He winked at the butler, whispered directions to the -footmen, and awaited each expected dish with some anxiety. Everything -was excellent. With the second course, a gigantic sterlet (at sight of -which Ilyá Rostóv blushed with self-conscious pleasure), the footmen -began popping corks and filling the champagne glasses. After the fish, -which made a certain sensation, the count exchanged glances with -the other committeemen. “There will be many toasts, it’s time to -begin,” he whispered, and taking up his glass, he rose. All were -silent, waiting for what he would say. - -“To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!” he cried, and at the -same moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy and enthusiasm. -The band immediately struck up “Conquest’s joyful thunder -waken...” All rose and cried “Hurrah!” Bagratión also rose and -shouted “Hurrah!” in exactly the same voice in which he had shouted -it on the field at Schön Grabern. Young Rostóv’s ecstatic voice -could be heard above the three hundred others. He nearly wept. “To the -health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!” he roared, “Hurrah!” and -emptying his glass at one gulp he dashed it to the floor. Many followed -his example, and the loud shouting continued for a long time. When the -voices subsided, the footmen cleared away the broken glass and everybody -sat down again, smiling at the noise they had made and exchanging -remarks. The old count rose once more, glanced at a note lying beside -his plate, and proposed a toast, “To the health of the hero of our -last campaign, Prince Peter Ivánovich Bagratión!” and again his blue -eyes grew moist. “Hurrah!” cried the three hundred voices again, -but instead of the band a choir began singing a cantata composed by Paul -Ivánovich Kutúzov: - - Russians! O’er all barriers on! - Courage conquest guarantees; - Have we not Bagratión? - He brings foemen to their knees,... etc. - -As soon as the singing was over, another and another toast was proposed -and Count Ilyá Rostóv became more and more moved, more glass was -smashed, and the shouting grew louder. They drank to Bekleshëv, -Narýshkin, Uvárov, Dolgorúkov, Apráksin, Valúev, to the committee, -to all the club members and to all the club guests, and finally to -Count Ilyá Rostóv separately, as the organizer of the banquet. At that -toast, the count took out his handkerchief and, covering his face, wept -outright. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Pierre sat opposite Dólokhov and Nicholas Rostóv. As usual, he ate and -drank much, and eagerly. But those who knew him intimately noticed that -some great change had come over him that day. He was silent all through -dinner and looked about, blinking and scowling, or, with fixed eyes and -a look of complete absent-mindedness, kept rubbing the bridge of his -nose. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed to see and hear -nothing of what was going on around him and to be absorbed by some -depressing and unsolved problem. - -The unsolved problem that tormented him was caused by hints given by the -princess, his cousin, at Moscow, concerning Dólokhov’s intimacy with -his wife, and by an anonymous letter he had received that morning, which -in the mean jocular way common to anonymous letters said that he saw -badly through his spectacles, but that his wife’s connection with -Dólokhov was a secret to no one but himself. Pierre absolutely -disbelieved both the princess’ hints and the letter, but he feared -now to look at Dólokhov, who was sitting opposite him. Every time -he chanced to meet Dólokhov’s handsome insolent eyes, Pierre felt -something terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and turned quickly -away. Involuntarily recalling his wife’s past and her relations with -Dólokhov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might be -true, or might at least seem to be true had it not referred to his wife. -He involuntarily remembered how Dólokhov, who had fully recovered his -former position after the campaign, had returned to Petersburg and come -to him. Availing himself of his friendly relations with Pierre as a boon -companion, Dólokhov had come straight to his house, and Pierre had put -him up and lent him money. Pierre recalled how Hélène had smilingly -expressed disapproval of Dólokhov’s living at their house, and how -cynically Dólokhov had praised his wife’s beauty to him and from that -time till they came to Moscow had not left them for a day. - -“Yes, he is very handsome,” thought Pierre, “and I know him. It -would be particularly pleasant to him to dishonor my name and ridicule -me, just because I have exerted myself on his behalf, befriended him, -and helped him. I know and understand what a spice that would add to the -pleasure of deceiving me, if it really were true. Yes, if it were true, -but I do not believe it. I have no right to, and can’t, believe it.” -He remembered the expression Dólokhov’s face assumed in his moments -of cruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear and dropping them -into the water, or when he challenged a man to a duel without any -reason, or shot a post-boy’s horse with a pistol. That expression -was often on Dólokhov’s face when looking at him. “Yes, he is a -bully,” thought Pierre, “to kill a man means nothing to him. It must -seem to him that everyone is afraid of him, and that must please him. -He must think that I, too, am afraid of him—and in fact I am afraid of -him,” he thought, and again he felt something terrible and monstrous -rising in his soul. Dólokhov, Denísov, and Rostóv were now sitting -opposite Pierre and seemed very gay. Rostóv was talking merrily to his -two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and the other a notorious -duelist and rake, and every now and then he glanced ironically at -Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, and massive figure was a very -noticeable one at the dinner. Rostóv looked inimically at Pierre, -first because Pierre appeared to his hussar eyes as a rich civilian, the -husband of a beauty, and in a word—an old woman; and secondly because -Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognized -Rostóv and had not responded to his greeting. When the Emperor’s -health was drunk, Pierre, lost in thought, did not rise or lift his -glass. - -“What are you about?” shouted Rostóv, looking at him in an ecstasy -of exasperation. “Don’t you hear it’s His Majesty the Emperor’s -health?” - -Pierre sighed, rose submissively, emptied his glass, and, waiting till -all were seated again, turned with his kindly smile to Rostóv. - -“Why, I didn’t recognize you!” he said. But Rostóv was otherwise -engaged; he was shouting “Hurrah!” - -“Why don’t you renew the acquaintance?” said Dólokhov to Rostóv. - -“Confound him, he’s a fool!” said Rostóv. - -“One should make up to the husbands of pretty women,” said Denísov. - -Pierre did not catch what they were saying, but knew they were talking -about him. He reddened and turned away. - -“Well, now to the health of handsome women!” said Dólokhov, and -with a serious expression, but with a smile lurking at the corners of -his mouth, he turned with his glass to Pierre. - -“Here’s to the health of lovely women, Peterkin—and their -lovers!” he added. - -Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without looking at -Dólokhov or answering him. The footman, who was distributing leaflets -with Kutúzov’s cantata, laid one before Pierre as one of the -principal guests. He was just going to take it when Dólokhov, leaning -across, snatched it from his hand and began reading it. Pierre looked -at Dólokhov and his eyes dropped, the something terrible and monstrous -that had tormented him all dinnertime rose and took possession of him. -He leaned his whole massive body across the table. - -“How dare you take it?” he shouted. - -Hearing that cry and seeing to whom it was addressed, Nesvítski and the -neighbor on his right quickly turned in alarm to Bezúkhov. - -“Don’t! Don’t! What are you about?” whispered their frightened -voices. - -Dólokhov looked at Pierre with clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, and that -smile of his which seemed to say, “Ah! This is what I like!” - -“You shan’t have it!” he said distinctly. - -Pale, with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the copy. - -“You...! you... scoundrel! I challenge you!” he ejaculated, and, -pushing back his chair, he rose from the table. - -At the very instant he did this and uttered those words, Pierre felt -that the question of his wife’s guilt which had been tormenting him -the whole day was finally and indubitably answered in the affirmative. -He hated her and was forever sundered from her. Despite Denísov’s -request that he would take no part in the matter, Rostóv agreed to be -Dólokhov’s second, and after dinner he discussed the arrangements for -the duel with Nesvítski, Bezúkhov’s second. Pierre went home, but -Rostóv with Dólokhov and Denísov stayed on at the club till late, -listening to the gypsies and other singers. - -“Well then, till tomorrow at Sokólniki,” said Dólokhov, as he took -leave of Rostóv in the club porch. - -“And do you feel quite calm?” Rostóv asked. - -Dólokhov paused. - -“Well, you see, I’ll tell you the whole secret of dueling in two -words. If you are going to fight a duel, and you make a will and write -affectionate letters to your parents, and if you think you may be -killed, you are a fool and are lost for certain. But go with the firm -intention of killing your man as quickly and surely as possible, and -then all will be right, as our bear huntsman at Kostromá used to tell -me. ‘Everyone fears a bear,’ he says, ‘but when you see one your -fear’s all gone, and your only thought is not to let him get away!’ -And that’s how it is with me. À demain, mon cher.” * - - * Till tomorrow, my dear fellow. - -Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvítski drove to the -Sokólniki forest and found Dólokhov, Denísov, and Rostóv already -there. Pierre had the air of a man preoccupied with considerations which -had no connection with the matter in hand. His haggard face was yellow. -He had evidently not slept that night. He looked about distractedly and -screwed up his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. He was entirely absorbed -by two considerations: his wife’s guilt, of which after his sleepless -night he had not the slightest doubt, and the guiltlessness of -Dólokhov, who had no reason to preserve the honor of a man who was -nothing to him.... “I should perhaps have done the same thing in his -place,” thought Pierre. “It’s even certain that I should have done -the same, then why this duel, this murder? Either I shall kill him, or -he will hit me in the head, or elbow, or knee. Can’t I go away from -here, run away, bury myself somewhere?” passed through his mind. But -just at moments when such thoughts occurred to him, he would ask in a -particularly calm and absent-minded way, which inspired the respect of -the onlookers, “Will it be long? Are things ready?” - -When all was ready, the sabers stuck in the snow to mark the barriers, -and the pistols loaded, Nesvítski went up to Pierre. - -“I should not be doing my duty, Count,” he said in timid tones, -“and should not justify your confidence and the honor you have done -me in choosing me for your second, if at this grave, this very -grave, moment I did not tell you the whole truth. I think there is no -sufficient ground for this affair, or for blood to be shed over it.... -You were not right, not quite in the right, you were impetuous...” - -“Oh yes, it is horribly stupid,” said Pierre. - -“Then allow me to express your regrets, and I am sure your opponent -will accept them,” said Nesvítski (who like the others concerned in -the affair, and like everyone in similar cases, did not yet believe that -the affair had come to an actual duel). “You know, Count, it is much -more honorable to admit one’s mistake than to let matters become -irreparable. There was no insult on either side. Allow me to -convey....” - -“No! What is there to talk about?” said Pierre. “It’s all the -same.... Is everything ready?” he added. “Only tell me where to go -and where to shoot,” he said with an unnaturally gentle smile. - -He took the pistol in his hand and began asking about the working of the -trigger, as he had not before held a pistol in his hand—a fact that he -did not wish to confess. - -“Oh yes, like that, I know, I only forgot,” said he. - -“No apologies, none whatever,” said Dólokhov to Denísov (who on -his side had been attempting a reconciliation), and he also went up to -the appointed place. - -The spot chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road, -where the sleighs had been left, in a small clearing in the pine forest -covered with melting snow, the frost having begun to break up during the -last few days. The antagonists stood forty paces apart at the farther -edge of the clearing. The seconds, measuring the paces, left tracks in -the deep wet snow between the place where they had been standing and -Nesvítski’s and Dólokhov’s sabers, which were stuck into the -ground ten paces apart to mark the barrier. It was thawing and misty; at -forty paces’ distance nothing could be seen. For three minutes all had -been ready, but they still delayed and all were silent. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -“Well begin!” said Dólokhov. - -“All right,” said Pierre, still smiling in the same way. A feeling -of dread was in the air. It was evident that the affair so lightly begun -could no longer be averted but was taking its course independently of -men’s will. - -Denísov first went to the barrier and announced: “As the -adve’sawies have wefused a weconciliation, please pwoceed. Take your -pistols, and at the word thwee begin to advance. - -“O-ne! T-wo! Thwee!” he shouted angrily and stepped aside. - -The combatants advanced along the trodden tracks, nearer and nearer to -one another, beginning to see one another through the mist. They had the -right to fire when they liked as they approached the barrier. Dólokhov -walked slowly without raising his pistol, looking intently with his -bright, sparkling blue eyes into his antagonist’s face. His mouth wore -its usual semblance of a smile. - -“So I can fire when I like!” said Pierre, and at the word -“three,” he went quickly forward, missing the trodden path and -stepping into the deep snow. He held the pistol in his right hand at -arm’s length, apparently afraid of shooting himself with it. His left -hand he held carefully back, because he wished to support his right -hand with it and knew he must not do so. Having advanced six paces and -strayed off the track into the snow, Pierre looked down at his feet, -then quickly glanced at Dólokhov and, bending his finger as he had been -shown, fired. Not at all expecting so loud a report, Pierre shuddered -at the sound and then, smiling at his own sensations, stood still. The -smoke, rendered denser by the mist, prevented him from seeing anything -for an instant, but there was no second report as he had expected. He -only heard Dólokhov’s hurried steps, and his figure came in view -through the smoke. He was pressing one hand to his left side, while -the other clutched his drooping pistol. His face was pale. Rostóv ran -toward him and said something. - -“No-o-o!” muttered Dólokhov through his teeth, “no, it’s not -over.” And after stumbling a few staggering steps right up to the -saber, he sank on the snow beside it. His left hand was bloody; he wiped -it on his coat and supported himself with it. His frowning face was -pallid and quivered. - -“Plea...” began Dólokhov, but could not at first pronounce the -word. - -“Please,” he uttered with an effort. - -Pierre, hardly restraining his sobs, began running toward Dólokhov and -was about to cross the space between the barriers, when Dólokhov cried: - -“To your barrier!” and Pierre, grasping what was meant, stopped by -his saber. Only ten paces divided them. Dólokhov lowered his head to -the snow, greedily bit at it, again raised his head, adjusted himself, -drew in his legs and sat up, seeking a firm center of gravity. He sucked -and swallowed the cold snow, his lips quivered but his eyes, still -smiling, glittered with effort and exasperation as he mustered his -remaining strength. He raised his pistol and aimed. - -“Sideways! Cover yourself with your pistol!” ejaculated Nesvítski. - -“Cover yourself!” even Denísov cried to his adversary. - -Pierre, with a gentle smile of pity and remorse, his arms and legs -helplessly spread out, stood with his broad chest directly facing -Dólokhov and looked sorrowfully at him. Denísov, Rostóv, and -Nesvítski closed their eyes. At the same instant they heard a report -and Dólokhov’s angry cry. - -“Missed!” shouted Dólokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards -on the snow. - -Pierre clutched his temples, and turning round went into the forest, -trampling through the deep snow, and muttering incoherent words: - -“Folly... folly! Death... lies...” he repeated, puckering his face. - -Nesvítski stopped him and took him home. - -Rostóv and Denísov drove away with the wounded Dólokhov. - -The latter lay silent in the sleigh with closed eyes and did not answer -a word to the questions addressed to him. But on entering Moscow he -suddenly came to and, lifting his head with an effort, took Rostóv, who -was sitting beside him, by the hand. Rostóv was struck by the -totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous and tender expression on -Dólokhov’s face. - -“Well? How do you feel?” he asked. - -“Bad! But it’s not that, my friend—” said Dólokhov with a -gasping voice. “Where are we? In Moscow, I know. I don’t matter, -but I have killed her, killed... She won’t get over it! She won’t -survive....” - -“Who?” asked Rostóv. - -“My mother! My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother,” and -Dólokhov pressed Rostóv’s hand and burst into tears. - -When he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostóv that he was -living with his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not survive it. -He implored Rostóv to go on and prepare her. - -Rostóv went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise -learned that Dólokhov the brawler, Dólokhov the bully, lived in Moscow -with an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate -of sons and brothers. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Pierre had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both in Petersburg and in -Moscow their house was always full of visitors. The night after the -duel he did not go to his bedroom but, as he often did, remained in his -father’s room, that huge room in which Count Bezúkhov had died. - -He lay down on the sofa meaning to fall asleep and forget all that -had happened to him, but could not do so. Such a storm of feelings, -thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him that he could not fall -asleep, nor even remain in one place, but had to jump up and pace the -room with rapid steps. Now he seemed to see her in the early days of -their marriage, with bare shoulders and a languid, passionate look on -her face, and then immediately he saw beside her Dólokhov’s handsome, -insolent, hard, and mocking face as he had seen it at the banquet, and -then that same face pale, quivering, and suffering, as it had been when -he reeled and sank on the snow. - -“What has happened?” he asked himself. “I have killed her lover, -yes, killed my wife’s lover. Yes, that was it! And why? How did I come -to do it?”—“Because you married her,” answered an inner voice. - -“But in what was I to blame?” he asked. “In marrying her without -loving her; in deceiving yourself and her.” And he vividly recalled -that moment after supper at Prince Vasíli’s, when he spoke those -words he had found so difficult to utter: “I love you.” “It all -comes from that! Even then I felt it,” he thought. “I felt then that -it was not so, that I had no right to do it. And so it turns out.” - -He remembered his honeymoon and blushed at the recollection. -Particularly vivid, humiliating, and shameful was the recollection of -how one day soon after his marriage he came out of the bedroom into his -study a little before noon in his silk dressing gown and found his head -steward there, who, bowing respectfully, looked into his face and at -his dressing gown and smiled slightly, as if expressing respectful -understanding of his employer’s happiness. - -“But how often I have felt proud of her, proud of her majestic beauty -and social tact,” thought he; “been proud of my house, in which she -received all Petersburg, proud of her unapproachability and beauty. So -this is what I was proud of! I then thought that I did not understand -her. How often when considering her character I have told myself that -I was to blame for not understanding her, for not understanding that -constant composure and complacency and lack of all interests or desires, -and the whole secret lies in the terrible truth that she is a depraved -woman. Now I have spoken that terrible word to myself all has become -clear. - -“Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kiss her -naked shoulders. She did not give him the money, but let herself be -kissed. Her father in jest tried to rouse her jealousy, and she replied -with a calm smile that she was not so stupid as to be jealous: ‘Let -him do what he pleases,’ she used to say of me. One day I asked her if -she felt any symptoms of pregnancy. She laughed contemptuously and said -she was not a fool to want to have children, and that she was not going -to have any children by me.” - -Then he recalled the coarseness and bluntness of her thoughts and the -vulgarity of the expressions that were natural to her, though she had -been brought up in the most aristocratic circles. - -“I’m not such a fool.... Just you try it on.... Allez-vous -promener,” * she used to say. Often seeing the success she had with -young and old men and women Pierre could not understand why he did not -love her. - - * “You clear out of this.” - - -“Yes, I never loved her,” said he to himself; “I knew she was a -depraved woman,” he repeated, “but dared not admit it to myself. -And now there’s Dólokhov sitting in the snow with a forced smile and -perhaps dying, while meeting my remorse with some forced bravado!” - -Pierre was one of those people who, in spite of an appearance of what -is called weak character, do not seek a confidant in their troubles. He -digested his sufferings alone. - -“It is all, all her fault,” he said to himself; “but what of that? -Why did I bind myself to her? Why did I say ‘Je vous aime’ * to her, -which was a lie, and worse than a lie? I am guilty and must endure... -what? A slur on my name? A misfortune for life? Oh, that’s -nonsense,” he thought. “The slur on my name and honor—that’s all -apart from myself.” - - * I love you. - -“Louis XVI was executed because they said he was dishonorable and a -criminal,” came into Pierre’s head, “and from their point of -view they were right, as were those too who canonized him and died a -martyr’s death for his sake. Then Robespierre was beheaded for being -a despot. Who is right and who is wrong? No one! But if you are -alive—live: tomorrow you’ll die as I might have died an hour ago. -And is it worth tormenting oneself, when one has only a moment of life -in comparison with eternity?” - -But at the moment when he imagined himself calmed by such reflections, -she suddenly came into his mind as she was at the moments when he had -most strongly expressed his insincere love for her, and he felt the -blood rush to his heart and had again to get up and move about and break -and tear whatever came to his hand. “Why did I tell her that ‘Je -vous aime’?” he kept repeating to himself. And when he had said it -for the tenth time, Molière’s words: “Mais que diable allait-il -faire dans cette galère?” * occurred to him, and he began to laugh at -himself. - - * “But what the devil was he doing in that galley?” - - -In the night he called his valet and told him to pack up to go to -Petersburg. He could not imagine how he could speak to her now. He -resolved to go away next day and leave a letter informing her of his -intention to part from her forever. - -Next morning when the valet came into the room with his coffee, Pierre -was lying asleep on the ottoman with an open book in his hand. - -He woke up and looked round for a while with a startled expression, -unable to realize where he was. - -“The countess told me to inquire whether your excellency was at -home,” said the valet. - -But before Pierre could decide what answer he would send, the countess -herself in a white satin dressing gown embroidered with silver and with -simply dressed hair (two immense plaits twice round her lovely head like -a coronet) entered the room, calm and majestic, except that there was -a wrathful wrinkle on her rather prominent marble brow. With her -imperturbable calm she did not begin to speak in front of the valet. -She knew of the duel and had come to speak about it. She waited till the -valet had set down the coffee things and left the room. Pierre looked -at her timidly over his spectacles, and like a hare surrounded by hounds -who lays back her ears and continues to crouch motionless before her -enemies, he tried to continue reading. But feeling this to be senseless -and impossible, he again glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down -but looked at him with a contemptuous smile, waiting for the valet to -go. - -“Well, what’s this now? What have you been up to now, I should like -to know?” she asked sternly. - -“I? What have I...?” stammered Pierre. - -“So it seems you’re a hero, eh? Come now, what was this duel about? -What is it meant to prove? What? I ask you.” - -Pierre turned over heavily on the ottoman and opened his mouth, but -could not reply. - -“If you won’t answer, I’ll tell you...” Hélène went on. “You -believe everything you’re told. You were told...” Hélène laughed, -“that Dólokhov was my lover,” she said in French with her coarse -plainness of speech, uttering the word amant as casually as any other -word, “and you believed it! Well, what have you proved? What does this -duel prove? That you’re a fool, que vous êtes un sot, but everybody -knew that. What will be the result? That I shall be the laughingstock of -all Moscow, that everyone will say that you, drunk and not knowing what -you were about, challenged a man you are jealous of without cause.” -Hélène raised her voice and became more and more excited, “A man -who’s a better man than you in every way...” - -“Hm... Hm...!” growled Pierre, frowning without looking at her, and -not moving a muscle. - -“And how could you believe he was my lover? Why? Because I like -his company? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should prefer -yours.” - -“Don’t speak to me... I beg you,” muttered Pierre hoarsely. - -“Why shouldn’t I speak? I can speak as I like, and I tell you -plainly that there are not many wives with husbands such as you who -would not have taken lovers (des amants), but I have not done so,” -said she. - -Pierre wished to say something, looked at her with eyes whose strange -expression she did not understand, and lay down again. He was suffering -physically at that moment, there was a weight on his chest and he could -not breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this -suffering, but what he wanted to do was too terrible. - -“We had better separate,” he muttered in a broken voice. - -“Separate? Very well, but only if you give me a fortune,” said -Hélène. “Separate! That’s a thing to frighten me with!” - -Pierre leaped up from the sofa and rushed staggering toward her. - -“I’ll kill you!” he shouted, and seizing the marble top of a table -with a strength he had never before felt, he made a step toward her -brandishing the slab. - -Hélène’s face became terrible, she shrieked and sprang aside. His -father’s nature showed itself in Pierre. He felt the fascination and -delight of frenzy. He flung down the slab, broke it, and swooping -down on her with outstretched hands shouted, “Get out!” in such a -terrible voice that the whole house heard it with horror. God knows what -he would have done at that moment had Hélène not fled from the room. - - -A week later Pierre gave his wife full power to control all his estates -in Great Russia, which formed the larger part of his property, and left -for Petersburg alone. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Two months had elapsed since the news of the battle of Austerlitz and -the loss of Prince Andrew had reached Bald Hills, and in spite of the -letters sent through the embassy and all the searches made, his body had -not been found nor was he on the list of prisoners. What was worst of -all for his relations was the fact that there was still a possibility of -his having been picked up on the battlefield by the people of the -place and that he might now be lying, recovering or dying, alone among -strangers and unable to send news of himself. The gazettes from which -the old prince first heard of the defeat at Austerlitz stated, as usual -very briefly and vaguely, that after brilliant engagements the Russians -had had to retreat and had made their withdrawal in perfect order. The -old prince understood from this official report that our army had been -defeated. A week after the gazette report of the battle of Austerlitz -came a letter from Kutúzov informing the prince of the fate that had -befallen his son. - -“Your son,” wrote Kutúzov, “fell before my eyes, a standard in -his hand and at the head of a regiment—he fell as a hero, worthy of -his father and his fatherland. To the great regret of myself and of the -whole army it is still uncertain whether he is alive or not. I comfort -myself and you with the hope that your son is alive, for otherwise -he would have been mentioned among the officers found on the field of -battle, a list of whom has been sent me under flag of truce.” - -After receiving this news late in the evening, when he was alone in his -study, the old prince went for his walk as usual next morning, but he -was silent with his steward, the gardener, and the architect, and though -he looked very grim he said nothing to anyone. - -When Princess Mary went to him at the usual hour he was working at his -lathe and, as usual, did not look round at her. - -“Ah, Princess Mary!” he said suddenly in an unnatural voice, -throwing down his chisel. (The wheel continued to revolve by its own -impetus, and Princess Mary long remembered the dying creak of that -wheel, which merged in her memory with what followed.) - -She approached him, saw his face, and something gave way within her. Her -eyes grew dim. By the expression of her father’s face, not sad, not -crushed, but angry and working unnaturally, she saw that hanging over -her and about to crush her was some terrible misfortune, the worst -in life, one she had not yet experienced, irreparable and -incomprehensible—the death of one she loved. - -“Father! Andrew!”—said the ungraceful, awkward princess with such -an indescribable charm of sorrow and self-forgetfulness that her father -could not bear her look but turned away with a sob. - -“Bad news! He’s not among the prisoners nor among the killed! -Kutúzov writes...” and he screamed as piercingly as if he wished to -drive the princess away by that scream... “Killed!” - -The princess did not fall down or faint. She was already pale, but on -hearing these words her face changed and something brightened in her -beautiful, radiant eyes. It was as if joy—a supreme joy apart from the -joys and sorrows of this world—overflowed the great grief within her. -She forgot all fear of her father, went up to him, took his hand, and -drawing him down put her arm round his thin, scraggy neck. - -“Father,” she said, “do not turn away from me, let us weep -together.” - -“Scoundrels! Blackguards!” shrieked the old man, turning his face -away from her. “Destroying the army, destroying the men! And why? Go, -go and tell Lise.” - -The princess sank helplessly into an armchair beside her father and -wept. She saw her brother now as he had been at the moment when he took -leave of her and of Lise, his look tender yet proud. She saw him tender -and amused as he was when he put on the little icon. “Did he believe? -Had he repented of his unbelief? Was he now there? There in the realms -of eternal peace and blessedness?” she thought. - -“Father, tell me how it happened,” she asked through her tears. - -“Go! Go! Killed in battle, where the best of Russian men and -Russia’s glory were led to destruction. Go, Princess Mary. Go and tell -Lise. I will follow.” - -When Princess Mary returned from her father, the little princess sat -working and looked up with that curious expression of inner, happy calm -peculiar to pregnant women. It was evident that her eyes did not see -Princess Mary but were looking within... into herself... at something -joyful and mysterious taking place within her. - -“Mary,” she said, moving away from the embroidery frame and lying -back, “give me your hand.” She took her sister-in-law’s hand and -held it below her waist. - -Her eyes were smiling expectantly, her downy lip rose and remained -lifted in childlike happiness. - -Princess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds of her -sister-in-law’s dress. - -“There, there! Do you feel it? I feel so strange. And do you know, -Mary, I am going to love him very much,” said Lise, looking with -bright and happy eyes at her sister-in-law. - -Princess Mary could not lift her head, she was weeping. - -“What is the matter, Mary?” - -“Nothing... only I feel sad... sad about Andrew,” she said, wiping -away her tears on her sister-in-law’s knee. - -Several times in the course of the morning Princess Mary began trying to -prepare her sister-in-law, and every time began to cry. Unobservant as -was the little princess, these tears, the cause of which she did not -understand, agitated her. She said nothing but looked about uneasily as -if in search of something. Before dinner the old prince, of whom she was -always afraid, came into her room with a peculiarly restless and malign -expression and went out again without saying a word. She looked at -Princess Mary, then sat thinking for a while with that expression of -attention to something within her that is only seen in pregnant women, -and suddenly began to cry. - -“Has anything come from Andrew?” she asked. - -“No, you know it’s too soon for news. But my father is anxious and I -feel afraid.” - -“So there’s nothing?” - -“Nothing,” answered Princess Mary, looking firmly with her radiant -eyes at her sister-in-law. - -She had determined not to tell her and persuaded her father to hide the -terrible news from her till after her confinement, which was expected -within a few days. Princess Mary and the old prince each bore and hid -their grief in their own way. The old prince would not cherish any hope: -he made up his mind that Prince Andrew had been killed, and though he -sent an official to Austria to seek for traces of his son, he ordered a -monument from Moscow which he intended to erect in his own garden to his -memory, and he told everybody that his son had been killed. He tried not -to change his former way of life, but his strength failed him. He walked -less, ate less, slept less, and became weaker every day. Princess Mary -hoped. She prayed for her brother as living and was always awaiting news -of his return. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -“Dearest,” said the little princess after breakfast on the morning -of the nineteenth March, and her downy little lip rose from old habit, -but as sorrow was manifest in every smile, the sound of every word, and -even every footstep in that house since the terrible news had come, so -now the smile of the little princess—influenced by the general mood -though without knowing its cause—was such as to remind one still more -of the general sorrow. - -“Dearest, I’m afraid this morning’s fruschtique *—as Fóka the -cook calls it—has disagreed with me.” - - * Frühstück: breakfast. - -“What is the matter with you, my darling? You look pale. Oh, you -are very pale!” said Princess Mary in alarm, running with her soft, -ponderous steps up to her sister-in-law. - -“Your excellency, should not Mary Bogdánovna be sent for?” said one -of the maids who was present. (Mary Bogdánovna was a midwife from the -neighboring town, who had been at Bald Hills for the last fortnight.) - -“Oh yes,” assented Princess Mary, “perhaps that’s it. I’ll go. -Courage, my angel.” She kissed Lise and was about to leave the room. - -“Oh, no, no!” And besides the pallor and the physical suffering -on the little princess’ face, an expression of childish fear of -inevitable pain showed itself. - -“No, it’s only indigestion?... Say it’s only indigestion, say so, -Mary! Say...” And the little princess began to cry capriciously like -a suffering child and to wring her little hands even with some -affectation. Princess Mary ran out of the room to fetch Mary -Bogdánovna. - -“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Oh!” she heard as she left the room. - -The midwife was already on her way to meet her, rubbing her small, plump -white hands with an air of calm importance. - -“Mary Bogdánovna, I think it’s beginning!” said Princess Mary -looking at the midwife with wide-open eyes of alarm. - -“Well, the Lord be thanked, Princess,” said Mary Bogdánovna, not -hastening her steps. “You young ladies should not know anything about -it.” - -“But how is it the doctor from Moscow is not here yet?” said the -princess. (In accordance with Lise’s and Prince Andrew’s wishes they -had sent in good time to Moscow for a doctor and were expecting him at -any moment.) - -“No matter, Princess, don’t be alarmed,” said Mary Bogdánovna. -“We’ll manage very well without a doctor.” - -Five minutes later Princess Mary from her room heard something heavy -being carried by. She looked out. The men servants were carrying the -large leather sofa from Prince Andrew’s study into the bedroom. On -their faces was a quiet and solemn look. - -Princess Mary sat alone in her room listening to the sounds in the -house, now and then opening her door when someone passed and watching -what was going on in the passage. Some women passing with quiet steps in -and out of the bedroom glanced at the princess and turned away. She did -not venture to ask any questions, and shut the door again, now sitting -down in her easy chair, now taking her prayer book, now kneeling before -the icon stand. To her surprise and distress she found that her prayers -did not calm her excitement. Suddenly her door opened softly and her old -nurse, Praskóvya Sávishna, who hardly ever came to that room as the -old prince had forbidden it, appeared on the threshold with a shawl -round her head. - -“I’ve come to sit with you a bit, Másha,” said the nurse, “and -here I’ve brought the prince’s wedding candles to light before his -saint, my angel,” she said with a sigh. - -“Oh, nurse, I’m so glad!” - -“God is merciful, birdie.” - -The nurse lit the gilt candles before the icons and sat down by the door -with her knitting. Princess Mary took a book and began reading. Only -when footsteps or voices were heard did they look at one another, the -princess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encouraging. Everyone in the -house was dominated by the same feeling that Princess Mary experienced -as she sat in her room. But owing to the superstition that the fewer -the people who know of it the less a woman in travail suffers, everyone -tried to pretend not to know; no one spoke of it, but apart from the -ordinary staid and respectful good manners habitual in the prince’s -household, a common anxiety, a softening of the heart, and a -consciousness that something great and mysterious was being accomplished -at that moment made itself felt. - -There was no laughter in the maids’ large hall. In the men servants’ -hall all sat waiting, silently and alert. In the outlying serfs’ -quarters torches and candles were burning and no one slept. The old -prince, stepping on his heels, paced up and down his study and sent -Tíkhon to ask Mary Bogdánovna what news.—“Say only that ‘the -prince told me to ask,’ and come and tell me her answer.” - -“Inform the prince that labor has begun,” said Mary Bogdánovna, -giving the messenger a significant look. - -Tíkhon went and told the prince. - -“Very good!” said the prince closing the door behind him, and -Tíkhon did not hear the slightest sound from the study after that. - -After a while he re-entered it as if to snuff the candles, and, seeing -the prince was lying on the sofa, looked at him, noticed his perturbed -face, shook his head, and going up to him silently kissed him on the -shoulder and left the room without snuffing the candles or saying why he -had entered. The most solemn mystery in the world continued its course. -Evening passed, night came, and the feeling of suspense and softening of -heart in the presence of the unfathomable did not lessen but increased. -No one slept. - -It was one of those March nights when winter seems to wish to resume its -sway and scatters its last snows and storms with desperate fury. A relay -of horses had been sent up the highroad to meet the German doctor from -Moscow who was expected every moment, and men on horseback with lanterns -were sent to the crossroads to guide him over the country road with its -hollows and snow-covered pools of water. - -Princess Mary had long since put aside her book: she sat silent, her -luminous eyes fixed on her nurse’s wrinkled face (every line of which -she knew so well), on the lock of gray hair that escaped from under the -kerchief, and the loose skin that hung under her chin. - -Nurse Sávishna, knitting in hand, was telling in low tones, scarcely -hearing or understanding her own words, what she had told hundreds of -times before: how the late princess had given birth to Princess Mary -in Kishenëv with only a Moldavian peasant woman to help instead of a -midwife. - -“God is merciful, doctors are never needed,” she said. - -Suddenly a gust of wind beat violently against the casement of the -window, from which the double frame had been removed (by order of the -prince, one window frame was removed in each room as soon as the larks -returned), and, forcing open a loosely closed latch, set the damask -curtain flapping and blew out the candle with its chill, snowy draft. -Princess Mary shuddered; her nurse, putting down the stocking she was -knitting, went to the window and leaning out tried to catch the open -casement. The cold wind flapped the ends of her kerchief and her loose -locks of gray hair. - -“Princess, my dear, there’s someone driving up the avenue!” she -said, holding the casement and not closing it. “With lanterns. Most -likely the doctor.” - -“Oh, my God! thank God!” said Princess Mary. “I must go and meet -him, he does not know Russian.” - -Princess Mary threw a shawl over her head and ran to meet the newcomer. -As she was crossing the anteroom she saw through the window a carriage -with lanterns, standing at the entrance. She went out on the stairs. On -a banister post stood a tallow candle which guttered in the draft. On -the landing below, Philip, the footman, stood looking scared and holding -another candle. Still lower, beyond the turn of the staircase, one -could hear the footstep of someone in thick felt boots, and a voice that -seemed familiar to Princess Mary was saying something. - -“Thank God!” said the voice. “And Father?” - -“Gone to bed,” replied the voice of Demyán the house steward, who -was downstairs. - -Then the voice said something more, Demyán replied, and the steps in -the felt boots approached the unseen bend of the staircase more rapidly. - -“It’s Andrew!” thought Princess Mary. “No it can’t be, that -would be too extraordinary,” and at the very moment she thought this, -the face and figure of Prince Andrew, in a fur cloak the deep collar of -which covered with snow, appeared on the landing where the footman -stood with the candle. Yes, it was he, pale, thin, with a changed and -strangely softened but agitated expression on his face. He came up the -stairs and embraced his sister. - -“You did not get my letter?” he asked, and not waiting for a -reply—which he would not have received, for the princess was unable to -speak—he turned back, rapidly mounted the stairs again with the -doctor who had entered the hall after him (they had met at the last post -station), and again embraced his sister. - -“What a strange fate, Másha darling!” And having taken off his -cloak and felt boots, he went to the little princess’ apartment. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -The little princess lay supported by pillows, with a white cap on her -head (the pains had just left her). Strands of her black hair lay round -her inflamed and perspiring cheeks, her charming rosy mouth with its -downy lip was open and she was smiling joyfully. Prince Andrew entered -and paused facing her at the foot of the sofa on which she was lying. -Her glittering eyes, filled with childlike fear and excitement, rested -on him without changing their expression. “I love you all and have -done no harm to anyone; why must I suffer so? Help me!” her look -seemed to say. She saw her husband, but did not realize the significance -of his appearance before her now. Prince Andrew went round the sofa and -kissed her forehead. - -“My darling!” he said—a word he had never used to her before. -“God is merciful....” - -She looked at him inquiringly and with childlike reproach. - -“I expected help from you and I get none, none from you either!” -said her eyes. She was not surprised at his having come; she did -not realize that he had come. His coming had nothing to do with -her sufferings or with their relief. The pangs began again and Mary -Bogdánovna advised Prince Andrew to leave the room. - -The doctor entered. Prince Andrew went out and, meeting Princess Mary, -again joined her. They began talking in whispers, but their talk broke -off at every moment. They waited and listened. - -“Go, dear,” said Princess Mary. - -Prince Andrew went again to his wife and sat waiting in the room next -to hers. A woman came from the bedroom with a frightened face and became -confused when she saw Prince Andrew. He covered his face with his hands -and remained so for some minutes. Piteous, helpless, animal moans came -through the door. Prince Andrew got up, went to the door, and tried to -open it. Someone was holding it shut. - -“You can’t come in! You can’t!” said a terrified voice from -within. - -He began pacing the room. The screaming ceased, and a few more seconds -went by. Then suddenly a terrible shriek—it could not be hers, she -could not scream like that—came from the bedroom. Prince Andrew ran to -the door; the scream ceased and he heard the wail of an infant. - -“What have they taken a baby in there for?” thought Prince Andrew in -the first second. “A baby? What baby...? Why is there a baby there? Or -is the baby born?” - -Then suddenly he realized the joyful significance of that wail; tears -choked him, and leaning his elbows on the window sill he began to cry, -sobbing like a child. The door opened. The doctor with his shirt sleeves -tucked up, without a coat, pale and with a trembling jaw, came out -of the room. Prince Andrew turned to him, but the doctor gave him a -bewildered look and passed by without a word. A woman rushed out and -seeing Prince Andrew stopped, hesitating on the threshold. He went into -his wife’s room. She was lying dead, in the same position he had seen -her in five minutes before and, despite the fixed eyes and the pallor of -the cheeks, the same expression was on her charming childlike face with -its upper lip covered with tiny black hair. - -“I love you all, and have done no harm to anyone; and what have you -done to me?”—said her charming, pathetic, dead face. - -In a corner of the room something red and tiny gave a grunt and squealed -in Mary Bogdánovna’s trembling white hands. - - -Two hours later Prince Andrew, stepping softly, went into his father’s -room. The old man already knew everything. He was standing close to -the door and as soon as it opened his rough old arms closed like a vise -round his son’s neck, and without a word he began to sob like a child. - - -Three days later the little princess was buried, and Prince Andrew went -up the steps to where the coffin stood, to give her the farewell kiss. -And there in the coffin was the same face, though with closed eyes. -“Ah, what have you done to me?” it still seemed to say, and Prince -Andrew felt that something gave way in his soul and that he was guilty -of a sin he could neither remedy nor forget. He could not weep. The -old man too came up and kissed the waxen little hands that lay quietly -crossed one on the other on her breast, and to him, too, her face seemed -to say: “Ah, what have you done to me, and why?” And at the sight -the old man turned angrily away. - - -Another five days passed, and then the young Prince Nicholas Andréevich -was baptized. The wet nurse supported the coverlet with her chin, while -the priest with a goose feather anointed the boy’s little red and -wrinkled soles and palms. - -His grandfather, who was his godfather, trembling and afraid of dropping -him, carried the infant round the battered tin font and handed him over -to the godmother, Princess Mary. Prince Andrew sat in another room, -faint with fear lest the baby should be drowned in the font, and awaited -the termination of the ceremony. He looked up joyfully at the baby when -the nurse brought it to him and nodded approval when she told him that -the wax with the baby’s hair had not sunk in the font but had floated. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Rostóv’s share in Dólokhov’s duel with Bezúkhov was hushed up by -the efforts of the old count, and instead of being degraded to the ranks -as he expected he was appointed an adjutant to the governor general of -Moscow. As a result he could not go to the country with the rest of the -family, but was kept all summer in Moscow by his new duties. Dólokhov -recovered, and Rostóv became very friendly with him during his -convalescence. Dólokhov lay ill at his mother’s who loved him -passionately and tenderly, and old Mary Ivánovna, who had grown fond of -Rostóv for his friendship to her Fédya, often talked to him about her -son. - -“Yes, Count,” she would say, “he is too noble and pure-souled for -our present, depraved world. No one now loves virtue; it seems like -a reproach to everyone. Now tell me, Count, was it right, was it -honorable, of Bezúkhov? And Fédya, with his noble spirit, loved him -and even now never says a word against him. Those pranks in Petersburg -when they played some tricks on a policeman, didn’t they do it -together? And there! Bezúkhov got off scotfree, while Fédya had to -bear the whole burden on his shoulders. Fancy what he had to go through! -It’s true he has been reinstated, but how could they fail to do that? -I think there were not many such gallant sons of the fatherland out -there as he. And now—this duel! Have these people no feeling, or -honor? Knowing him to be an only son, to challenge him and shoot so -straight! It’s well God had mercy on us. And what was it for? Who -doesn’t have intrigues nowadays? Why, if he was so jealous, as I see -things he should have shown it sooner, but he lets it go on for months. -And then to call him out, reckoning on Fédya not fighting because he -owed him money! What baseness! What meanness! I know you understand -Fédya, my dear count; that, believe me, is why I am so fond of you. Few -people do understand him. He is such a lofty, heavenly soul!” - -Dólokhov himself during his convalescence spoke to Rostóv in a way no -one would have expected of him. - -“I know people consider me a bad man!” he said. “Let them! I -don’t care a straw about anyone but those I love; but those I love, -I love so that I would give my life for them, and the others I’d -throttle if they stood in my way. I have an adored, a priceless mother, -and two or three friends—you among them—and as for the rest I only -care about them in so far as they are harmful or useful. And most of -them are harmful, especially the women. Yes, dear boy,” he continued, -“I have met loving, noble, high-minded men, but I have not yet met -any women—countesses or cooks—who were not venal. I have not yet met -that divine purity and devotion I look for in women. If I found such a -one I’d give my life for her! But those!...” and he made a gesture -of contempt. “And believe me, if I still value my life it is -only because I still hope to meet such a divine creature, who will -regenerate, purify, and elevate me. But you don’t understand it.” - -“Oh, yes, I quite understand,” answered Rostóv, who was under his -new friend’s influence. - -In the autumn the Rostóvs returned to Moscow. Early in the winter -Denísov also came back and stayed with them. The first half of the -winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostóv spent in Moscow, was one of the -happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family. Nicholas brought -many young men to his parents’ house. Véra was a handsome girl -of twenty; Sónya a girl of sixteen with all the charm of an opening -flower; Natásha, half grown up and half child, was now childishly -amusing, now girlishly enchanting. - -At that time in the Rostóvs’ house there prevailed an amorous -atmosphere characteristic of homes where there are very young and very -charming girls. Every young man who came to the house—seeing those -impressionable, smiling young faces (smiling probably at their own -happiness), feeling the eager bustle around him, and hearing the fitful -bursts of song and music and the inconsequent but friendly prattle of -young girls ready for anything and full of hope—experienced the same -feeling; sharing with the young folk of the Rostóvs’ household a -readiness to fall in love and an expectation of happiness. - -Among the young men introduced by Rostóv one of the first was -Dólokhov, whom everyone in the house liked except Natásha. She almost -quarreled with her brother about him. She insisted that he was a bad -man, and that in the duel with Bezúkhov, Pierre was right and Dólokhov -wrong, and further that he was disagreeable and unnatural. - -“There’s nothing for me to understand,” she cried out with -resolute self-will, “he is wicked and heartless. There now, I like -your Denísov though he is a rake and all that, still I like him; so -you see I do understand. I don’t know how to put it... with this one -everything is calculated, and I don’t like that. But Denísov...” - -“Oh, Denísov is quite different,” replied Nicholas, implying that -even Denísov was nothing compared to Dólokhov—“you must understand -what a soul there is in Dólokhov, you should see him with his mother. -What a heart!” - -“Well, I don’t know about that, but I am uncomfortable with him. And -do you know he has fallen in love with Sónya?” - -“What nonsense...” - -“I’m certain of it; you’ll see.” - -Natásha’s prediction proved true. Dólokhov, who did not usually care -for the society of ladies, began to come often to the house, and the -question for whose sake he came (though no one spoke of it) was soon -settled. He came because of Sónya. And Sónya, though she would never -have dared to say so, knew it and blushed scarlet every time Dólokhov -appeared. - -Dólokhov often dined at the Rostóvs’, never missed a performance at -which they were present, and went to Iogel’s balls for young people -which the Rostóvs always attended. He was pointedly attentive to Sónya -and looked at her in such a way that not only could she not bear his -glances without coloring, but even the old countess and Natásha blushed -when they saw his looks. - -It was evident that this strange, strong man was under the irresistible -influence of the dark, graceful girl who loved another. - -Rostóv noticed something new in Dólokhov’s relations with Sónya, -but he did not explain to himself what these new relations were. -“They’re always in love with someone,” he thought of Sónya and -Natásha. But he was not as much at ease with Sónya and Dólokhov as -before and was less frequently at home. - -In the autumn of 1806 everybody had again begun talking of the war with -Napoleon with even greater warmth than the year before. Orders were -given to raise recruits, ten men in every thousand for the regular army, -and besides this, nine men in every thousand for the militia. Everywhere -Bonaparte was anathematized and in Moscow nothing but the coming war -was talked of. For the Rostóv family the whole interest of these -preparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of -remaining in Moscow, and only awaited the termination of Denísov’s -furlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment. His -approaching departure did not prevent his amusing himself, but rather -gave zest to his pleasures. He spent the greater part of his time away -from home, at dinners, parties, and balls. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -On the third day after Christmas Nicholas dined at home, a thing he had -rarely done of late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as he and Denísov -were leaving to join their regiment after Epiphany. About twenty people -were present, including Dólokhov and Denísov. - -Never had love been so much in the air, and never had the amorous -atmosphere made itself so strongly felt in the Rostóvs’ house as at -this holiday time. “Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved! -That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one -thing we are interested in here,” said the spirit of the place. - -Nicholas, having as usual exhausted two pairs of horses, without -visiting all the places he meant to go to and where he had been invited, -returned home just before dinner. As soon as he entered he noticed and -felt the tension of the amorous air in the house, and also noticed a -curious embarrassment among some of those present. Sónya, Dólokhov, -and the old countess were especially disturbed, and to a lesser degree -Natásha. Nicholas understood that something must have happened between -Sónya and Dólokhov before dinner, and with the kindly sensitiveness -natural to him was very gentle and wary with them both at dinner. On -that same evening there was to be one of the balls that Iogel (the -dancing master) gave for his pupils during the holidays. - -“Nicholas, will you come to Iogel’s? Please do!” said Natásha. -“He asked you, and Vasíli Dmítrich * is also going.” - - * Denísov. - -“Where would I not go at the countess’ command!” said Denísov, -who at the Rostóvs’ had jocularly assumed the role of Natásha’s -knight. “I’m even weady to dance the pas de châle.” - -“If I have time,” answered Nicholas. “But I promised the -Arkhárovs; they have a party.” - -“And you?” he asked Dólokhov, but as soon as he had asked the -question he noticed that it should not have been put. - -“Perhaps,” coldly and angrily replied Dólokhov, glancing at Sónya, -and, scowling, he gave Nicholas just such a look as he had given Pierre -at the club dinner. - -“There is something up,” thought Nicholas, and he was further -confirmed in this conclusion by the fact that Dólokhov left immediately -after dinner. He called Natásha and asked her what was the matter. - -“And I was looking for you,” said Natásha running out to him. “I -told you, but you would not believe it,” she said triumphantly. “He -has proposed to Sónya!” - -Little as Nicholas had occupied himself with Sónya of late, something -seemed to give way within him at this news. Dólokhov was a suitable and -in some respects a brilliant match for the dowerless, orphan girl. From -the point of view of the old countess and of society it was out of the -question for her to refuse him. And therefore Nicholas’ first feeling -on hearing the news was one of anger with Sónya.... He tried to say, -“That’s capital; of course she’ll forget her childish promises -and accept the offer,” but before he had time to say it Natásha began -again. - -“And fancy! she refused him quite definitely!” adding, after a -pause, “she told him she loved another.” - -“Yes, my Sónya could not have done otherwise!” thought Nicholas. - -“Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, and I know she won’t change -once she has said...” - -“And Mamma pressed her!” said Nicholas reproachfully. - -“Yes,” said Natásha. “Do you know, Nicholas—don’t be -angry—but I know you will not marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but -I know for certain that you won’t marry her.” - -“Now you don’t know that at all!” said Nicholas. “But I must -talk to her. What a darling Sónya is!” he added with a smile. - -“Ah, she is indeed a darling! I’ll send her to you.” - -And Natásha kissed her brother and ran away. - -A minute later Sónya came in with a frightened, guilty, and scared -look. Nicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was the first -time since his return that they had talked alone and about their love. - -“Sophie,” he began, timidly at first and then more and more -boldly, “if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and -advantageous match but a splendid, noble fellow... he is my friend...” - -Sónya interrupted him. - -“I have already refused,” she said hurriedly. - -“If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I...” - -Sónya again interrupted. She gave him an imploring, frightened look. - -“Nicholas, don’t tell me that!” she said. - -“No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say -it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I -love you, and I think I love you more than anyone else....” - -“That is enough for me,” said Sónya, blushing. - -“No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in -love again, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship, -confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young. Mamma does -not wish it. In a word, I make no promise. And I beg you to consider -Dólokhov’s offer,” he said, articulating his friend’s name with -difficulty. - -“Don’t say that to me! I want nothing. I love you as a brother and -always shall, and I want nothing more.” - -“You are an angel: I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid of -misleading you.” - -And Nicholas again kissed her hand. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -Iogel’s were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So said the mothers -as they watched their young people executing their newly learned steps, -and so said the youths and maidens themselves as they danced till they -were ready to drop, and so said the grown-up young men and women who -came to these balls with an air of condescension and found them most -enjoyable. That year two marriages had come of these balls. The two -pretty young Princesses Gorchakóv met suitors there and were married -and so further increased the fame of these dances. What distinguished -them from others was the absence of host or hostess and the presence of -the good-natured Iogel, flying about like a feather and bowing according -to the rules of his art, as he collected the tickets from all his -visitors. There was the fact that only those came who wished to dance -and amuse themselves as girls of thirteen and fourteen do who are -wearing long dresses for the first time. With scarcely any exceptions -they all were, or seemed to be, pretty—so rapturous were their smiles -and so sparkling their eyes. Sometimes the best of the pupils, of whom -Natásha, who was exceptionally graceful, was first, even danced the pas -de châle, but at this last ball only the écossaise, the anglaise, and -the mazurka, which was just coming into fashion, were danced. Iogel had -taken a ballroom in Bezúkhov’s house, and the ball, as everyone said, -was a great success. There were many pretty girls and the Rostóv girls -were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay. -That evening, proud of Dólokhov’s proposal, her refusal, and her -explanation with Nicholas, Sónya twirled about before she left home -so that the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was -transparently radiant with impulsive joy. - -Natásha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a real -ball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin with pink -ribbons. - -Natásha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. She -was not in love with anyone in particular, but with everyone. Whatever -person she happened to look at she was in love with for that moment. - -“Oh, how delightful it is!” she kept saying, running up to Sónya. - -Nicholas and Denísov were walking up and down, looking with kindly -patronage at the dancers. - -“How sweet she is—she will be a weal beauty!” said Denísov. - -“Who?” - -“Countess Natásha,” answered Denísov. - -“And how she dances! What gwace!” he said again after a pause. - -“Who are you talking about?” - -“About your sister,” ejaculated Denísov testily. - -Rostóv smiled. - -“My dear count, you were one of my best pupils—you must dance,” -said little Iogel coming up to Nicholas. “Look how many charming young -ladies—” He turned with the same request to Denísov who was also a -former pupil of his. - -“No, my dear fellow, I’ll be a wallflower,” said Denísov. -“Don’t you wecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?” - -“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only -inattentive, but you had talent—oh yes, you had talent!” - -The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nicholas could not -refuse Iogel and asked Sónya to dance. Denísov sat down by the old -ladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, told -them something funny and kept them amused, while he watched the young -people dancing, Iogel with Natásha, his pride and his best pupil, were -the first couple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his little -feet in low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall with Natásha, who, -though shy, went on carefully executing her steps. Denísov did not -take his eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly -indicated that if he was not dancing it was because he would not and not -because he could not. In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostóv -who was passing: - -“This is not at all the thing,” he said. “What sort of Polish -mazuwka is this? But she does dance splendidly.” - -Knowing that Denísov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly -way in which he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up to Natásha: - -“Go and choose Denísov. He is a real dancer, a wonder!” he said. - -When it came to Natásha’s turn to choose a partner, she rose and, -tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran -timidly to the corner where Denísov sat. She saw that everybody was -looking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Denísov was refusing -though he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them. - -“Please, Vasíli Dmítrich,” Natásha was saying, “do come!” - -“Oh no, let me off, Countess,” Denísov replied. - -“Now then, Váska,” said Nicholas. - -“They coax me as if I were Váska the cat!” said Denísov jokingly. - -“I’ll sing for you a whole evening,” said Natásha. - -“Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with me!” said Denísov, and -he unhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his -partner’s hand firmly, threw back his head, and advanced his foot, -waiting for the beat. Only on horse back and in the mazurka was -Denísov’s short stature not noticeable and he looked the fine fellow -he felt himself to be. At the right beat of the music he looked sideways -at his partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenly stamped with -one foot, bounded from the floor like a ball, and flew round the room -taking his partner with him. He glided silently on one foot half across -the room, and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at -them, when suddenly, clinking his spurs and spreading out his legs, -he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot -clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly round, and, striking his left heel -against his right, flew round again in a circle. Natásha guessed what -he meant to do, and abandoning herself to him followed his lead hardly -knowing how. First he spun her round, holding her now with his left, now -with his right hand, then falling on one knee he twirled her round him, -and again jumping up, dashed so impetuously forward that it seemed as if -he would rush through the whole suite of rooms without drawing breath, -and then he suddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected -steps. When at last, smartly whirling his partner round in front of her -chair, he drew up with a click of his spurs and bowed to her, Natásha -did not even make him a curtsy. She fixed her eyes on him in amazement, -smiling as if she did not recognize him. - -“What does this mean?” she brought out. - -Although Iogel did not acknowledge this to be the real mazurka, everyone -was delighted with Denísov’s skill, he was asked again and again as -a partner, and the old men began smilingly to talk about Poland and the -good old days. Denísov, flushed after the mazurka and mopping himself -with his handkerchief, sat down by Natásha and did not leave her for -the rest of the evening. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -For two days after that Rostóv did not see Dólokhov at his own or at -Dólokhov’s home: on the third day he received a note from him: - -As I do not intend to be at your house again for reasons you know -of, and am going to rejoin my regiment, I am giving a farewell supper -tonight to my friends—come to the English Hotel. - -About ten o’clock Rostóv went to the English Hotel straight from the -theater, where he had been with his family and Denísov. He was at once -shown to the best room, which Dólokhov had taken for that evening. Some -twenty men were gathered round a table at which Dólokhov sat between -two candles. On the table was a pile of gold and paper money, and he -was keeping the bank. Rostóv had not seen him since his proposal and -Sónya’s refusal and felt uncomfortable at the thought of how they -would meet. - -Dólokhov’s clear, cold glance met Rostóv as soon as he entered the -door, as though he had long expected him. - -“It’s a long time since we met,” he said. “Thanks for coming. -I’ll just finish dealing, and then Ilyúshka will come with his -chorus.” - -“I called once or twice at your house,” said Rostóv, reddening. - -Dólokhov made no reply. - -“You may punt,” he said. - -Rostóv recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had once had -with Dólokhov. “None but fools trust to luck in play,” Dólokhov -had then said. - -“Or are you afraid to play with me?” Dólokhov now asked as if -guessing Rostóv’s thought. - -Beneath his smile Rostóv saw in him the mood he had shown at the club -dinner and at other times, when as if tired of everyday life he had felt -a need to escape from it by some strange, and usually cruel, action. - -Rostóv felt ill at ease. He tried, but failed, to find some joke with -which to reply to Dólokhov’s words. But before he had thought of -anything, Dólokhov, looking straight in his face, said slowly and -deliberately so that everyone could hear: - -“Do you remember we had a talk about cards... ‘He’s a fool who -trusts to luck, one should make certain,’ and I want to try.” - -“To try his luck or the certainty?” Rostóv asked himself. - -“Well, you’d better not play,” Dólokhov added, and springing a -new pack of cards said: “Bank, gentlemen!” - -Moving the money forward he prepared to deal. Rostóv sat down by his -side and at first did not play. Dólokhov kept glancing at him. - -“Why don’t you play?” he asked. - -And strange to say Nicholas felt that he could not help taking up a -card, putting a small stake on it, and beginning to play. - -“I have no money with me,” he said. - -“I’ll trust you.” - -Rostóv staked five rubles on a card and lost, staked again, and again -lost. Dólokhov “killed,” that is, beat, ten cards of Rostóv’s -running. - -“Gentlemen,” said Dólokhov after he had dealt for some time. -“Please place your money on the cards or I may get muddled in the -reckoning.” - -One of the players said he hoped he might be trusted. - -“Yes, you might, but I am afraid of getting the accounts mixed. So I -ask you to put the money on your cards,” replied Dólokhov. “Don’t -stint yourself, we’ll settle afterwards,” he added, turning to -Rostóv. - -The game continued; a waiter kept handing round champagne. - -All Rostóv’s cards were beaten and he had eight hundred rubles scored -up against him. He wrote “800 rubles” on a card, but while the -waiter filled his glass he changed his mind and altered it to his usual -stake of twenty rubles. - -“Leave it,” said Dólokhov, though he did not seem to be even -looking at Rostóv, “you’ll win it back all the sooner. I lose to -the others but win from you. Or are you afraid of me?” he asked again. - -Rostóv submitted. He let the eight hundred remain and laid down a seven -of hearts with a torn corner, which he had picked up from the floor. He -well remembered that seven afterwards. He laid down the seven of hearts, -on which with a broken bit of chalk he had written “800 rubles” in -clear upright figures; he emptied the glass of warm champagne that was -handed him, smiled at Dólokhov’s words, and with a sinking heart, -waiting for a seven to turn up, gazed at Dólokhov’s hands which held -the pack. Much depended on Rostóv’s winning or losing on that seven -of hearts. On the previous Sunday the old count had given his son -two thousand rubles, and though he always disliked speaking of money -difficulties had told Nicholas that this was all he could let him have -till May, and asked him to be more economical this time. Nicholas had -replied that it would be more than enough for him and that he gave his -word of honor not to take anything more till the spring. Now only twelve -hundred rubles was left of that money, so that this seven of hearts -meant for him not only the loss of sixteen hundred rubles, but the -necessity of going back on his word. With a sinking heart he watched -Dólokhov’s hands and thought, “Now then, make haste and let me have -this card and I’ll take my cap and drive home to supper with Denísov, -Natásha, and Sónya, and will certainly never touch a card again.” At -that moment his home life, jokes with Pétya, talks with Sónya, duets -with Natásha, piquet with his father, and even his comfortable bed -in the house on the Povarskáya rose before him with such vividness, -clearness, and charm that it seemed as if it were all a lost and -unappreciated bliss, long past. He could not conceive that a stupid -chance, letting the seven be dealt to the right rather than to the left, -might deprive him of all this happiness, newly appreciated and newly -illumined, and plunge him into the depths of unknown and undefined -misery. That could not be, yet he awaited with a sinking heart the -movement of Dólokhov’s hands. Those broad, reddish hands, with hairy -wrists visible from under the shirt cuffs, laid down the pack and took -up a glass and a pipe that were handed him. - -“So you are not afraid to play with me?” repeated Dólokhov, and as -if about to tell a good story he put down the cards, leaned back in his -chair, and began deliberately with a smile: - -“Yes, gentlemen, I’ve been told there’s a rumor going about Moscow -that I’m a sharper, so I advise you to be careful.” - -“Come now, deal!” exclaimed Rostóv. - -“Oh, those Moscow gossips!” said Dólokhov, and he took up the cards -with a smile. - -“Aah!” Rostóv almost screamed lifting both hands to his head. The -seven he needed was lying uppermost, the first card in the pack. He had -lost more than he could pay. - -“Still, don’t ruin yourself!” said Dólokhov with a side glance at -Rostóv as he continued to deal. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -An hour and a half later most of the players were but little interested -in their own play. - -The whole interest was concentrated on Rostóv. Instead of sixteen -hundred rubles he had a long column of figures scored against him, -which he had reckoned up to ten thousand, but that now, as he vaguely -supposed, must have risen to fifteen thousand. In reality it already -exceeded twenty thousand rubles. Dólokhov was no longer listening to -stories or telling them, but followed every movement of Rostóv’s -hands and occasionally ran his eyes over the score against him. He had -decided to play until that score reached forty-three thousand. He -had fixed on that number because forty-three was the sum of his and -Sónya’s joint ages. Rostóv, leaning his head on both hands, sat at -the table which was scrawled over with figures, wet with spilled wine, -and littered with cards. One tormenting impression did not leave him: -that those broad-boned reddish hands with hairy wrists visible from -under the shirt sleeves, those hands which he loved and hated, held him -in their power. - -“Six hundred rubles, ace, a corner, a nine... winning it back’s -impossible... Oh, how pleasant it was at home!... The knave, double or -quits... it can’t be!... And why is he doing this to me?” Rostóv -pondered. Sometimes he staked a large sum, but Dólokhov refused to -accept it and fixed the stake himself. Nicholas submitted to him, and at -one moment prayed to God as he had done on the battlefield at the bridge -over the Enns, and then guessed that the card that came first to hand -from the crumpled heap under the table would save him, now counted the -cords on his coat and took a card with that number and tried staking the -total of his losses on it, then he looked round for aid from the other -players, or peered at the now cold face of Dólokhov and tried to read -what was passing in his mind. - -“He knows of course what this loss means to me. He can’t want my -ruin. Wasn’t he my friend? Wasn’t I fond of him? But it’s not his -fault. What’s he to do if he has such luck?... And it’s not my fault -either,” he thought to himself, “I have done nothing wrong. Have I -killed anyone, or insulted or wished harm to anyone? Why such a terrible -misfortune? And when did it begin? Such a little while ago I came to -this table with the thought of winning a hundred rubles to buy that -casket for Mamma’s name day and then going home. I was so happy, so -free, so lighthearted! And I did not realize how happy I was! When did -that end and when did this new, terrible state of things begin? What -marked the change? I sat all the time in this same place at this table, -chose and placed cards, and watched those broad-boned agile hands in the -same way. When did it happen and what has happened? I am well and strong -and still the same and in the same place. No, it can’t be! Surely it -will all end in nothing!” - -He was flushed and bathed in perspiration, though the room was not hot. -His face was terrible and piteous to see, especially from its helpless -efforts to seem calm. - -The score against him reached the fateful sum of forty-three thousand. -Rostóv had just prepared a card, by bending the corner of which he -meant to double the three thousand just put down to his score, when -Dólokhov, slamming down the pack of cards, put it aside and began -rapidly adding up the total of Rostóv’s debt, breaking the chalk as -he marked the figures in his clear, bold hand. - -“Supper, it’s time for supper! And here are the gypsies!” - -Some swarthy men and women were really entering from the cold outside -and saying something in their gypsy accents. Nicholas understood that it -was all over; but he said in an indifferent tone: - -“Well, won’t you go on? I had a splendid card all ready,” as if it -were the fun of the game which interested him most. - -“It’s all up! I’m lost!” thought he. “Now a bullet through my -brain—that’s all that’s left me!” And at the same time he said -in a cheerful voice: - -“Come now, just this one more little card!” - -“All right!” said Dólokhov, having finished the addition. “All -right! Twenty-one rubles,” he said, pointing to the figure twenty-one -by which the total exceeded the round sum of forty-three thousand; and -taking up a pack he prepared to deal. Rostóv submissively unbent the -corner of his card and, instead of the six thousand he had intended, -carefully wrote twenty-one. - -“It’s all the same to me,” he said. “I only want to see whether -you will let me win this ten, or beat it.” - -Dólokhov began to deal seriously. Oh, how Rostóv detested at that -moment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairy wrists, -which held him in their power.... The ten fell to him. - -“You owe forty-three thousand, Count,” said Dólokhov, and -stretching himself he rose from the table. “One does get tired sitting -so long,” he added. - -“Yes, I’m tired too,” said Rostóv. - -Dólokhov cut him short, as if to remind him that it was not for him to -jest. - -“When am I to receive the money, Count?” - -Rostóv, flushing, drew Dólokhov into the next room. - -“I cannot pay it all immediately. Will you take an I.O.U.?” he said. - -“I say, Rostóv,” said Dólokhov clearly, smiling and looking -Nicholas straight in the eyes, “you know the saying, ‘Lucky in love, -unlucky at cards.’ Your cousin is in love with you, I know.” - -“Oh, it’s terrible to feel oneself so in this man’s power,” -thought Rostóv. He knew what a shock he would inflict on his father and -mother by the news of this loss, he knew what a relief it would be to -escape it all, and felt that Dólokhov knew that he could save him from -all this shame and sorrow, but wanted now to play with him as a cat does -with a mouse. - -“Your cousin...” Dólokhov started to say, but Nicholas interrupted -him. - -“My cousin has nothing to do with this and it’s not necessary to -mention her!” he exclaimed fiercely. - -“Then when am I to have it?” - -“Tomorrow,” replied Rostóv and left the room. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -To say “tomorrow” and keep up a dignified tone was not difficult, -but to go home alone, see his sisters, brother, mother, and father, -confess and ask for money he had no right to after giving his word of -honor, was terrible. - -At home, they had not yet gone to bed. The young people, after returning -from the theater, had had supper and were grouped round the clavichord. -As soon as Nicholas entered, he was enfolded in that poetic atmosphere -of love which pervaded the Rostóv household that winter and, now after -Dólokhov’s proposal and Iogel’s ball, seemed to have grown thicker -round Sónya and Natásha as the air does before a thunderstorm. Sónya -and Natásha, in the light-blue dresses they had worn at the theater, -looking pretty and conscious of it, were standing by the clavichord, -happy and smiling. Véra was playing chess with Shinshín in the drawing -room. The old countess, waiting for the return of her husband and son, -sat playing patience with the old gentlewoman who lived in their house. -Denísov, with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair, sat at the clavichord -striking chords with his short fingers, his legs thrown back and his -eyes rolling as he sang, with his small, husky, but true voice, some -verses called “Enchantress,” which he had composed, and to which he -was trying to fit music: - - Enchantress, say, to my forsaken lyre - What magic power is this recalls me still? - What spark has set my inmost soul on fire, - What is this bliss that makes my fingers thrill? - -He was singing in passionate tones, gazing with his sparkling -black-agate eyes at the frightened and happy Natásha. - -“Splendid! Excellent!” exclaimed Natásha. “Another verse,” she -said, without noticing Nicholas. - -“Everything’s still the same with them,” thought Nicholas, -glancing into the drawing room, where he saw Véra and his mother with -the old lady. - -“Ah, and here’s Nicholas!” cried Natásha, running up to him. - -“Is Papa at home?” he asked. - -“I am so glad you’ve come!” said Natásha, without answering him. -“We are enjoying ourselves! Vasíli Dmítrich is staying a day longer -for my sake! Did you know?” - -“No, Papa is not back yet,” said Sónya. - -“Nicholas, have you come? Come here, dear!” called the old countess -from the drawing room. - -Nicholas went to her, kissed her hand, and sitting down silently at her -table began to watch her hands arranging the cards. From the dancing -room, they still heard the laughter and merry voices trying to persuade -Natásha to sing. - -“All wight! All wight!” shouted Denísov. “It’s no good making -excuses now! It’s your turn to sing the ba’cawolla—I entweat -you!” - -The countess glanced at her silent son. - -“What is the matter?” she asked. - -“Oh, nothing,” said he, as if weary of being continually asked the -same question. “Will Papa be back soon?” - -“I expect so.” - -“Everything’s the same with them. They know nothing about it! Where -am I to go?” thought Nicholas, and went again into the dancing room -where the clavichord stood. - -Sónya was sitting at the clavichord, playing the prelude to -Denísov’s favorite barcarolle. Natásha was preparing to sing. -Denísov was looking at her with enraptured eyes. - -Nicholas began pacing up and down the room. - -“Why do they want to make her sing? How can she sing? There’s -nothing to be happy about!” thought he. - -Sónya struck the first chord of the prelude. - -“My God, I’m a ruined and dishonored man! A bullet through my brain -is the only thing left me—not singing!” his thoughts ran on. “Go -away? But where to? It’s one—let them sing!” - -He continued to pace the room, looking gloomily at Denísov and the -girls and avoiding their eyes. - -“Nikólenka, what is the matter?” Sónya’s eyes fixed on him -seemed to ask. She noticed at once that something had happened to him. - -Nicholas turned away from her. Natásha too, with her quick instinct, -had instantly noticed her brother’s condition. But, though she noticed -it, she was herself in such high spirits at that moment, so far from -sorrow, sadness, or self-reproach, that she purposely deceived herself -as young people often do. “No, I am too happy now to spoil my -enjoyment by sympathy with anyone’s sorrow,” she felt, and she said -to herself: “No, I must be mistaken, he must be feeling happy, just as -I am.” - -“Now, Sónya!” she said, going to the very middle of the room, where -she considered the resonance was best. - -Having lifted her head and let her arms droop lifelessly, as ballet -dancers do, Natásha, rising energetically from her heels to her toes, -stepped to the middle of the room and stood still. - -“Yes, that’s me!” she seemed to say, answering the rapt gaze with -which Denísov followed her. - -“And what is she so pleased about?” thought Nicholas, looking at his -sister. “Why isn’t she dull and ashamed?” - -Natásha took the first note, her throat swelled, her chest rose, -her eyes became serious. At that moment she was oblivious of her -surroundings, and from her smiling lips flowed sounds which anyone may -produce at the same intervals and hold for the same time, but which -leave you cold a thousand times and the thousand and first time thrill -you and make you weep. - -Natásha, that winter, had for the first time begun to sing seriously, -mainly because Denísov so delighted in her singing. She no longer sang -as a child, there was no longer in her singing that comical, childish, -painstaking effect that had been in it before; but she did not yet sing -well, as all the connoisseurs who heard her said: “It is not trained, -but it is a beautiful voice that must be trained.” Only they generally -said this some time after she had finished singing. While that untrained -voice, with its incorrect breathing and labored transitions, was -sounding, even the connoisseurs said nothing, but only delighted in -it and wished to hear it again. In her voice there was a virginal -freshness, an unconsciousness of her own powers, and an as yet untrained -velvety softness, which so mingled with her lack of art in singing that -it seemed as if nothing in that voice could be altered without spoiling -it. - -“What is this?” thought Nicholas, listening to her with widely -opened eyes. “What has happened to her? How she is singing today!” -And suddenly the whole world centered for him on anticipation of the -next note, the next phrase, and everything in the world was divided into -three beats: “Oh mio crudele affetto.”... One, two, three... one, -two, three... One... “Oh mio crudele affetto.”... One, two, three... -One. “Oh, this senseless life of ours!” thought Nicholas. “All -this misery, and money, and Dólokhov, and anger, and honor—it’s all -nonsense... but this is real.... Now then, Natásha, now then, dearest! -Now then, darling! How will she take that si? She’s taken it! Thank -God!” And without noticing that he was singing, to strengthen the si -he sung a second, a third below the high note. “Ah, God! How fine! Did -I really take it? How fortunate!” he thought. - -Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that was finest -in Rostóv’s soul! And this something was apart from everything else -in the world and above everything in the world. “What were losses, and -Dólokhov, and words of honor?... All nonsense! One might kill and rob -and yet be happy....” - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -It was long since Rostóv had felt such enjoyment from music as he -did that day. But no sooner had Natásha finished her barcarolle than -reality again presented itself. He got up without saying a word and went -downstairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later the old count -came in from his club, cheerful and contented. Nicholas, hearing him -drive up, went to meet him. - -“Well—had a good time?” said the old count, smiling gaily and -proudly at his son. - -Nicholas tried to say “Yes,” but could not: and he nearly burst into -sobs. The count was lighting his pipe and did not notice his son’s -condition. - -“Ah, it can’t be avoided!” thought Nicholas, for the first and -last time. And suddenly, in the most casual tone, which made him feel -ashamed of himself, he said, as if merely asking his father to let him -have the carriage to drive to town: - -“Papa, I have come on a matter of business. I was nearly forgetting. I -need some money.” - -“Dear me!” said his father, who was in a specially good humor. “I -told you it would not be enough. How much?” - -“Very much,” said Nicholas flushing, and with a stupid careless -smile, for which he was long unable to forgive himself, “I have lost a -little, I mean a good deal, a great deal—forty three thousand.” - -“What! To whom?... Nonsense!” cried the count, suddenly reddening -with an apoplectic flush over neck and nape as old people do. - -“I promised to pay tomorrow,” said Nicholas. - -“Well!...” said the old count, spreading out his arms and sinking -helplessly on the sofa. - -“It can’t be helped! It happens to everyone!” said the son, with -a bold, free, and easy tone, while in his soul he regarded himself as a -worthless scoundrel whose whole life could not atone for his crime. He -longed to kiss his father’s hands and kneel to beg his forgiveness, -but said, in a careless and even rude voice, that it happens to -everyone! - -The old count cast down his eyes on hearing his son’s words and began -bustlingly searching for something. - -“Yes, yes,” he muttered, “it will be difficult, I fear, difficult -to raise... happens to everybody! Yes, who has not done it?” - -And with a furtive glance at his son’s face, the count went out of the -room.... Nicholas had been prepared for resistance, but had not at all -expected this. - -“Papa! Pa-pa!” he called after him, sobbing, “forgive me!” And -seizing his father’s hand, he pressed it to his lips and burst into -tears. - -While father and son were having their explanation, the mother and -daughter were having one not less important. Natásha came running to -her mother, quite excited. - -“Mamma!... Mamma!... He has made me...” - -“Made what?” - -“Made, made me an offer, Mamma! Mamma!” she exclaimed. - -The countess did not believe her ears. Denísov had proposed. To whom? -To this chit of a girl, Natásha, who not so long ago was playing with -dolls and who was still having lessons. - -“Don’t, Natásha! What nonsense!” she said, hoping it was a joke. - -“Nonsense, indeed! I am telling you the fact,” said Natásha -indignantly. “I come to ask you what to do, and you call it -‘nonsense!’” - -The countess shrugged her shoulders. - -“If it is true that Monsieur Denísov has made you a proposal, tell -him he is a fool, that’s all!” - -“No, he’s not a fool!” replied Natásha indignantly and seriously. - -“Well then, what do you want? You’re all in love nowadays. Well, -if you are in love, marry him!” said the countess, with a laugh of -annoyance. “Good luck to you!” - -“No, Mamma, I’m not in love with him, I suppose I’m not in love -with him.” - -“Well then, tell him so.” - -“Mamma, are you cross? Don’t be cross, dear! Is it my fault?” - -“No, but what is it, my dear? Do you want me to go and tell him?” -said the countess smiling. - -“No, I will do it myself, only tell me what to say. It’s all very -well for you,” said Natásha, with a responsive smile. “You should -have seen how he said it! I know he did not mean to say it, but it came -out accidently.” - -“Well, all the same, you must refuse him.” - -“No, I mustn’t. I am so sorry for him! He’s so nice.” - -“Well then, accept his offer. It’s high time for you to be -married,” answered the countess sharply and sarcastically. - -“No, Mamma, but I’m so sorry for him. I don’t know how I’m to -say it.” - -“And there’s nothing for you to say. I shall speak to him myself,” -said the countess, indignant that they should have dared to treat this -little Natásha as grown up. - -“No, not on any account! I will tell him myself, and you’ll listen -at the door,” and Natásha ran across the drawing room to the dancing -hall, where Denísov was sitting on the same chair by the clavichord -with his face in his hands. - -He jumped up at the sound of her light step. - -“Nataly,” he said, moving with rapid steps toward her, “decide my -fate. It is in your hands.” - -“Vasíli Dmítrich, I’m so sorry for you!... No, but you are so -nice... but it won’t do...not that... but as a friend, I shall always -love you.” - -Denísov bent over her hand and she heard strange sounds she did not -understand. She kissed his rough curly black head. At this instant, they -heard the quick rustle of the countess’ dress. She came up to them. - -“Vasíli Dmítrich, I thank you for the honor,” she said, with an -embarrassed voice, though it sounded severe to Denísov—“but my -daughter is so young, and I thought that, as my son’s friend, you -would have addressed yourself first to me. In that case you would not -have obliged me to give this refusal.” - -“Countess...” said Denísov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face. -He tried to say more, but faltered. - -Natásha could not remain calm, seeing him in such a plight. She began -to sob aloud. - -“Countess, I have done w’ong,” Denísov went on in an unsteady -voice, “but believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family -that I would give my life twice over...” He looked at the countess, -and seeing her severe face said: “Well, good-by, Countess,” and -kissing her hand, he left the room with quick resolute strides, without -looking at Natásha. - - -Next day Rostóv saw Denísov off. He did not wish to stay another -day in Moscow. All Denísov’s Moscow friends gave him a farewell -entertainment at the gypsies’, with the result that he had no -recollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first three -stages of his journey. - -After Denísov’s departure, Rostóv spent another fortnight in Moscow, -without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father could -not at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls’ room. - -Sónya was more tender and devoted to him than ever. It was as if she -wanted to show him that his losses were an achievement that made her -love him all the more, but Nicholas now considered himself unworthy of -her. - -He filled the girls’ albums with verses and music, and having at last -sent Dólokhov the whole forty-three thousand rubles and received his -receipt, he left at the end of November, without taking leave of any of -his acquaintances, to overtake his regiment which was already in Poland. - - - - - -BOOK FIVE: 1806 - 07 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -After his interview with his wife Pierre left for Petersburg. At the -Torzhók post station, either there were no horses or the postmaster -would not supply them. Pierre was obliged to wait. Without undressing, -he lay down on the leather sofa in front of a round table, put his big -feet in their overboots on the table, and began to reflect. - -“Will you have the portmanteaus brought in? And a bed got ready, and -tea?” asked his valet. - -Pierre gave no answer, for he neither heard nor saw anything. He had -begun to think of the last station and was still pondering on the same -question—one so important that he took no notice of what went -on around him. Not only was he indifferent as to whether he got to -Petersburg earlier or later, or whether he secured accommodation at this -station, but compared to the thoughts that now occupied him it was a -matter of indifference whether he remained there for a few hours or for -the rest of his life. - -The postmaster, his wife, the valet, and a peasant woman selling -Torzhók embroidery came into the room offering their services. -Without changing his careless attitude, Pierre looked at them over his -spectacles unable to understand what they wanted or how they could go on -living without having solved the problems that so absorbed him. He had -been engrossed by the same thoughts ever since the day he returned from -Sokólniki after the duel and had spent that first agonizing, sleepless -night. But now, in the solitude of the journey, they seized him with -special force. No matter what he thought about, he always returned to -these same questions which he could not solve and yet could not cease to -ask himself. It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his -life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out, -but went on turning uselessly in the same place. - -The postmaster came in and began obsequiously to beg his excellency to -wait only two hours, when, come what might, he would let his excellency -have the courier horses. It was plain that he was lying and only wanted -to get more money from the traveler. - -“Is this good or bad?” Pierre asked himself. “It is good for me, -bad for another traveler, and for himself it’s unavoidable, because -he needs money for food; the man said an officer had once given him a -thrashing for letting a private traveler have the courier horses. -But the officer thrashed him because he had to get on as quickly as -possible. And I,” continued Pierre, “shot Dólokhov because I -considered myself injured, and Louis XVI was executed because they -considered him a criminal, and a year later they executed those who -executed him—also for some reason. What is bad? What is good? What -should one love and what hate? What does one live for? And what am I? -What is life, and what is death? What power governs all?” - -There was no answer to any of these questions, except one, and that -not a logical answer and not at all a reply to them. The answer was: -“You’ll die and all will end. You’ll die and know all, or cease -asking.” But dying was also dreadful. - -The Torzhók peddler woman, in a whining voice, went on offering her -wares, especially a pair of goatskin slippers. “I have hundreds of -rubles I don’t know what to do with, and she stands in her tattered -cloak looking timidly at me,” he thought. “And what does she -want the money for? As if that money could add a hair’s breadth to -happiness or peace of mind. Can anything in the world make her or me -less a prey to evil and death?—death which ends all and must come -today or tomorrow—at any rate, in an instant as compared with -eternity.” And again he twisted the screw with the stripped thread, -and again it turned uselessly in the same place. - -His servant handed him a half-cut novel, in the form of letters, by -Madame de Souza. He began reading about the sufferings and virtuous -struggles of a certain Emilie de Mansfeld. “And why did she resist -her seducer when she loved him?” he thought. “God could not have put -into her heart an impulse that was against His will. My wife—as she -once was—did not struggle, and perhaps she was right. Nothing has been -found out, nothing discovered,” Pierre again said to himself. “All -we can know is that we know nothing. And that’s the height of human -wisdom.” - -Everything within and around him seemed confused, senseless, and -repellent. Yet in this very repugnance to all his circumstances Pierre -found a kind of tantalizing satisfaction. - -“I make bold to ask your excellency to move a little for this -gentleman,” said the postmaster, entering the room followed by another -traveler, also detained for lack of horses. - -The newcomer was a short, large-boned, yellow-faced, wrinkled old -man, with gray bushy eyebrows overhanging bright eyes of an indefinite -grayish color. - -Pierre took his feet off the table, stood up, and lay down on a bed that -had been got ready for him, glancing now and then at the newcomer, who, -with a gloomy and tired face, was wearily taking off his wraps with the -aid of his servant, and not looking at Pierre. With a pair of felt boots -on his thin bony legs, and keeping on a worn, nankeen-covered, sheepskin -coat, the traveler sat down on the sofa, leaned back his big head with -its broad temples and close-cropped hair, and looked at Bezúkhov. The -stern, shrewd, and penetrating expression of that look struck Pierre. He -felt a wish to speak to the stranger, but by the time he had made up his -mind to ask him a question about the roads, the traveler had closed his -eyes. His shriveled old hands were folded and on the finger of one of -them Pierre noticed a large cast iron ring with a seal representing a -death’s head. The stranger sat without stirring, either resting or, as -it seemed to Pierre, sunk in profound and calm meditation. His servant -was also a yellow, wrinkled old man, without beard or mustache, -evidently not because he was shaven but because they had never grown. -This active old servant was unpacking the traveler’s canteen and -preparing tea. He brought in a boiling samovar. When everything was -ready, the stranger opened his eyes, moved to the table, filled a -tumbler with tea for himself and one for the beardless old man to whom -he passed it. Pierre began to feel a sense of uneasiness, and the -need, even the inevitability, of entering into conversation with this -stranger. - -The servant brought back his tumbler turned upside down, * with an -unfinished bit of nibbled sugar, and asked if anything more would be -wanted. - - * To indicate he did not want more tea. - -“No. Give me the book,” said the stranger. - -The servant handed him a book which Pierre took to be a devotional work, -and the traveler became absorbed in it. Pierre looked at him. All at -once the stranger closed the book, putting in a marker, and again, -leaning with his arms on the back of the sofa, sat in his former -position with his eyes shut. Pierre looked at him and had not time -to turn away when the old man, opening his eyes, fixed his steady and -severe gaze straight on Pierre’s face. - -Pierre felt confused and wished to avoid that look, but the bright old -eyes attracted him irresistibly. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -“I have the pleasure of addressing Count Bezúkhov, if I am not -mistaken,” said the stranger in a deliberate and loud voice. - -Pierre looked silently and inquiringly at him over his spectacles. - -“I have heard of you, my dear sir,” continued the stranger, “and -of your misfortune.” He seemed to emphasize the last word, as if to -say—“Yes, misfortune! Call it what you please, I know that what -happened to you in Moscow was a misfortune.”—“I regret it very -much, my dear sir.” - -Pierre flushed and, hurriedly putting his legs down from the bed, bent -forward toward the old man with a forced and timid smile. - -“I have not referred to this out of curiosity, my dear sir, but for -greater reasons.” - -He paused, his gaze still on Pierre, and moved aside on the sofa by way -of inviting the other to take a seat beside him. Pierre felt reluctant -to enter into conversation with this old man, but, submitting to him -involuntarily, came up and sat down beside him. - -“You are unhappy, my dear sir,” the stranger continued. “You -are young and I am old. I should like to help you as far as lies in my -power.” - -“Oh, yes!” said Pierre, with a forced smile. “I am very grateful -to you. Where are you traveling from?” - -The stranger’s face was not genial, it was even cold and severe, but -in spite of this, both the face and words of his new acquaintance were -irresistibly attractive to Pierre. - -“But if for any reason you don’t feel inclined to talk to me,” -said the old man, “say so, my dear sir.” And he suddenly smiled, in -an unexpected and tenderly paternal way. - -“Oh no, not at all! On the contrary, I am very glad to make your -acquaintance,” said Pierre. And again, glancing at the stranger’s -hands, he looked more closely at the ring, with its skull—a Masonic -sign. - -“Allow me to ask,” he said, “are you a Mason?” - -“Yes, I belong to the Brotherhood of the Freemasons,” said the -stranger, looking deeper and deeper into Pierre’s eyes. “And in -their name and my own I hold out a brotherly hand to you.” - -“I am afraid,” said Pierre, smiling, and wavering between the -confidence the personality of the Freemason inspired in him and his own -habit of ridiculing the Masonic beliefs—“I am afraid I am very far -from understanding—how am I to put it?—I am afraid my way of looking -at the world is so opposed to yours that we shall not understand one -another.” - -“I know your outlook,” said the Mason, “and the view of life you -mention, and which you think is the result of your own mental efforts, -is the one held by the majority of people, and is the invariable fruit -of pride, indolence, and ignorance. Forgive me, my dear sir, but if I -had not known it I should not have addressed you. Your view of life is a -regrettable delusion.” - -“Just as I may suppose you to be deluded,” said Pierre, with a faint -smile. - -“I should never dare to say that I know the truth,” said the Mason, -whose words struck Pierre more and more by their precision and firmness. -“No one can attain to truth by himself. Only by laying stone on stone -with the cooperation of all, by the millions of generations from our -forefather Adam to our own times, is that temple reared which is to be -a worthy dwelling place of the Great God,” he added, and closed his -eyes. - -“I ought to tell you that I do not believe... do not believe in -God,” said Pierre, regretfully and with an effort, feeling it -essential to speak the whole truth. - -The Mason looked intently at Pierre and smiled as a rich man with -millions in hand might smile at a poor fellow who told him that he, poor -man, had not the five rubles that would make him happy. - -“Yes, you do not know Him, my dear sir,” said the Mason. “You -cannot know Him. You do not know Him and that is why you are unhappy.” - -“Yes, yes, I am unhappy,” assented Pierre. “But what am I to -do?” - -“You know Him not, my dear sir, and so you are very unhappy. You do -not know Him, but He is here, He is in me, He is in my words, He is in -thee, and even in those blasphemous words thou hast just uttered!” -pronounced the Mason in a stern and tremulous voice. - -He paused and sighed, evidently trying to calm himself. - -“If He were not,” he said quietly, “you and I would not be -speaking of Him, my dear sir. Of what, of whom, are we speaking? Whom -hast thou denied?” he suddenly asked with exulting austerity and -authority in his voice. “Who invented Him, if He did not exist? Whence -came thy conception of the existence of such an incomprehensible Being? -didst thou, and why did the whole world, conceive the idea of the -existence of such an incomprehensible Being, a Being all-powerful, -eternal, and infinite in all His attributes?...” - -He stopped and remained silent for a long time. - -Pierre could not and did not wish to break this silence. - -“He exists, but to understand Him is hard,” the Mason began again, -looking not at Pierre but straight before him, and turning the leaves -of his book with his old hands which from excitement he could not keep -still. “If it were a man whose existence thou didst doubt I could -bring him to thee, could take him by the hand and show him to thee. But -how can I, an insignificant mortal, show His omnipotence, His infinity, -and all His mercy to one who is blind, or who shuts his eyes that he may -not see or understand Him and may not see or understand his own vileness -and sinfulness?” He paused again. “Who art thou? Thou dreamest that -thou art wise because thou couldst utter those blasphemous words,” he -went on, with a somber and scornful smile. “And thou art more foolish -and unreasonable than a little child, who, playing with the parts of a -skillfully made watch, dares to say that, as he does not understand -its use, he does not believe in the master who made it. To know Him is -hard.... For ages, from our forefather Adam to our own day, we labor to -attain that knowledge and are still infinitely far from our aim; but -in our lack of understanding we see only our weakness and His -greatness....” - -Pierre listened with swelling heart, gazing into the Mason’s face with -shining eyes, not interrupting or questioning him, but believing with -his whole soul what the stranger said. Whether he accepted the wise -reasoning contained in the Mason’s words, or believed as a child -believes, in the speaker’s tone of conviction and earnestness, or -the tremor of the speaker’s voice—which sometimes almost broke—or -those brilliant aged eyes grown old in this conviction, or the calm -firmness and certainty of his vocation, which radiated from his whole -being (and which struck Pierre especially by contrast with his own -dejection and hopelessness)—at any rate, Pierre longed with his whole -soul to believe and he did believe, and felt a joyful sense of comfort, -regeneration, and return to life. - -“He is not to be apprehended by reason, but by life,” said the -Mason. - -“I do not understand,” said Pierre, feeling with dismay doubts -reawakening. He was afraid of any want of clearness, any weakness, in -the Mason’s arguments; he dreaded not to be able to believe in him. -“I don’t understand,” he said, “how it is that the mind of man -cannot attain the knowledge of which you speak.” - -The Mason smiled with his gentle fatherly smile. - -“The highest wisdom and truth are like the purest liquid we may wish -to imbibe,” he said. “Can I receive that pure liquid into an impure -vessel and judge of its purity? Only by the inner purification of myself -can I retain in some degree of purity the liquid I receive.” - -“Yes, yes, that is so,” said Pierre joyfully. - -“The highest wisdom is not founded on reason alone, not on those -worldly sciences of physics, history, chemistry, and the like, into -which intellectual knowledge is divided. The highest wisdom is one. -The highest wisdom has but one science—the science of the whole—the -science explaining the whole creation and man’s place in it. To -receive that science it is necessary to purify and renew one’s inner -self, and so before one can know, it is necessary to believe and to -perfect one’s self. And to attain this end, we have the light called -conscience that God has implanted in our souls.” - -“Yes, yes,” assented Pierre. - -“Look then at thy inner self with the eyes of the spirit, and ask -thyself whether thou art content with thyself. What hast thou attained -relying on reason only? What art thou? You are young, you are rich, you -are clever, you are well educated. And what have you done with all these -good gifts? Are you content with yourself and with your life?” - -“No, I hate my life,” Pierre muttered, wincing. - -“Thou hatest it. Then change it, purify thyself; and as thou art -purified, thou wilt gain wisdom. Look at your life, my dear sir. -How have you spent it? In riotous orgies and debauchery, receiving -everything from society and giving nothing in return. You have become -the possessor of wealth. How have you used it? What have you done -for your neighbor? Have you ever thought of your tens of thousands -of slaves? Have you helped them physically and morally? No! You have -profited by their toil to lead a profligate life. That is what you have -done. Have you chosen a post in which you might be of service to your -neighbor? No! You have spent your life in idleness. Then you married, my -dear sir—took on yourself responsibility for the guidance of a young -woman; and what have you done? You have not helped her to find the way -of truth, my dear sir, but have thrust her into an abyss of deceit and -misery. A man offended you and you shot him, and you say you do not -know God and hate your life. There is nothing strange in that, my dear -sir!” - -After these words, the Mason, as if tired by his long discourse, again -leaned his arms on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Pierre -looked at that aged, stern, motionless, almost lifeless face and moved -his lips without uttering a sound. He wished to say, “Yes, a vile, -idle, vicious life!” but dared not break the silence. - -The Mason cleared his throat huskily, as old men do, and called his -servant. - -“How about the horses?” he asked, without looking at Pierre. - -“The exchange horses have just come,” answered the servant. “Will -you not rest here?” - -“No, tell them to harness.” - -“Can he really be going away leaving me alone without having told me -all, and without promising to help me?” thought Pierre, rising with -downcast head; and he began to pace the room, glancing occasionally at -the Mason. “Yes, I never thought of it, but I have led a contemptible -and profligate life, though I did not like it and did not want to,” -thought Pierre. “But this man knows the truth and, if he wished to, -could disclose it to me.” - -Pierre wished to say this to the Mason, but did not dare to. The -traveler, having packed his things with his practiced hands, began -fastening his coat. When he had finished, he turned to Bezúkhov, and -said in a tone of indifferent politeness: - -“Where are you going to now, my dear sir?” - -“I?... I’m going to Petersburg,” answered Pierre, in a childlike, -hesitating voice. “I thank you. I agree with all you have said. But -do not suppose me to be so bad. With my whole soul I wish to be what you -would have me be, but I have never had help from anyone.... But it is -I, above all, who am to blame for everything. Help me, teach me, and -perhaps I may...” - -Pierre could not go on. He gulped and turned away. - -The Mason remained silent for a long time, evidently considering. - -“Help comes from God alone,” he said, “but such measure of help as -our Order can bestow it will render you, my dear sir. You are going to -Petersburg. Hand this to Count Willarski” (he took out his notebook -and wrote a few words on a large sheet of paper folded in four). -“Allow me to give you a piece of advice. When you reach the capital, -first of all devote some time to solitude and self-examination and do -not resume your former way of life. And now I wish you a good journey, -my dear sir,” he added, seeing that his servant had entered... “and -success.” - -The traveler was Joseph Alexéevich Bazdéev, as Pierre saw from the -postmaster’s book. Bazdéev had been one of the best-known Freemasons -and Martinists, even in Novíkov’s time. For a long while after he had -gone, Pierre did not go to bed or order horses but paced up and down -the room, pondering over his vicious past, and with a rapturous sense -of beginning anew pictured to himself the blissful, irreproachable, -virtuous future that seemed to him so easy. It seemed to him that he had -been vicious only because he had somehow forgotten how good it is to -be virtuous. Not a trace of his former doubts remained in his soul. He -firmly believed in the possibility of the brotherhood of men united in -the aim of supporting one another in the path of virtue, and that is how -Freemasonry presented itself to him. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -On reaching Petersburg Pierre did not let anyone know of his arrival, -he went nowhere and spent whole days in reading Thomas à Kempis, whose -book had been sent him by someone unknown. One thing he continually -realized as he read that book: the joy, hitherto unknown to him, -of believing in the possibility of attaining perfection, and in the -possibility of active brotherly love among men, which Joseph Alexéevich -had revealed to him. A week after his arrival, the young Polish count, -Willarski, whom Pierre had known slightly in Petersburg society, came -into his room one evening in the official and ceremonious manner in -which Dólokhov’s second had called on him, and, having closed the -door behind him and satisfied himself that there was nobody else in the -room, addressed Pierre. - -“I have come to you with a message and an offer, Count,” he -said without sitting down. “A person of very high standing in our -Brotherhood has made application for you to be received into our Order -before the usual term and has proposed to me to be your sponsor. I -consider it a sacred duty to fulfill that person’s wishes. Do you wish -to enter the Brotherhood of Freemasons under my sponsorship?” - -The cold, austere tone of this man, whom he had almost always before met -at balls, amiably smiling in the society of the most brilliant women, -surprised Pierre. - -“Yes, I do wish it,” said he. - -Willarski bowed his head. - -“One more question, Count,” he said, “which I beg you to answer -in all sincerity—not as a future Mason but as an honest man: have you -renounced your former convictions—do you believe in God?” - -Pierre considered. - -“Yes... yes, I believe in God,” he said. - -“In that case...” began Willarski, but Pierre interrupted him. - -“Yes, I do believe in God,” he repeated. - -“In that case we can go,” said Willarski. “My carriage is at your -service.” - -Willarski was silent throughout the drive. To Pierre’s inquiries as -to what he must do and how he should answer, Willarski only replied that -brothers more worthy than he would test him and that Pierre had only to -tell the truth. - -Having entered the courtyard of a large house where the Lodge had its -headquarters, and having ascended a dark staircase, they entered a small -well-lit anteroom where they took off their cloaks without the aid of -a servant. From there they passed into another room. A man in strange -attire appeared at the door. Willarski, stepping toward him, said -something to him in French in an undertone and then went up to a small -wardrobe in which Pierre noticed garments such as he had never seen -before. Having taken a kerchief from the cupboard, Willarski bound -Pierre’s eyes with it and tied it in a knot behind, catching some -hairs painfully in the knot. Then he drew his face down, kissed him, and -taking him by the hand led him forward. The hairs tied in the knot hurt -Pierre and there were lines of pain on his face and a shamefaced smile. -His huge figure, with arms hanging down and with a puckered, though -smiling face, moved after Willarski with uncertain, timid steps. - -Having led him about ten paces, Willarski stopped. - -“Whatever happens to you,” he said, “you must bear it all manfully -if you have firmly resolved to join our Brotherhood.” (Pierre nodded -affirmatively.) “When you hear a knock at the door, you will uncover -your eyes,” added Willarski. “I wish you courage and success,” -and, pressing Pierre’s hand, he went out. - -Left alone, Pierre went on smiling in the same way. Once or twice -he shrugged his shoulders and raised his hand to the kerchief, as if -wishing to take it off, but let it drop again. The five minutes spent -with his eyes bandaged seemed to him an hour. His arms felt numb, -his legs almost gave way, it seemed to him that he was tired out. He -experienced a variety of most complex sensations. He felt afraid of what -would happen to him and still more afraid of showing his fear. He felt -curious to know what was going to happen and what would be revealed to -him; but most of all, he felt joyful that the moment had come when he -would at last start on that path of regeneration and on the actively -virtuous life of which he had been dreaming since he met Joseph -Alexéevich. Loud knocks were heard at the door. Pierre took the bandage -off his eyes and glanced around him. The room was in black darkness, -only a small lamp was burning inside something white. Pierre went nearer -and saw that the lamp stood on a black table on which lay an open book. -The book was the Gospel, and the white thing with the lamp inside was a -human skull with its cavities and teeth. After reading the first words -of the Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with -God,” Pierre went round the table and saw a large open box filled -with something. It was a coffin with bones inside. He was not at all -surprised by what he saw. Hoping to enter on an entirely new life quite -unlike the old one, he expected everything to be unusual, even more -unusual than what he was seeing. A skull, a coffin, the Gospel—it -seemed to him that he had expected all this and even more. Trying -to stimulate his emotions he looked around. “God, death, love, the -brotherhood of man,” he kept saying to himself, associating these -words with vague yet joyful ideas. The door opened and someone came in. - -By the dim light, to which Pierre had already become accustomed, he -saw a rather short man. Having evidently come from the light into the -darkness, the man paused, then moved with cautious steps toward the -table and placed on it his small leather-gloved hands. - -This short man had on a white leather apron which covered his chest and -part of his legs; he had on a kind of necklace above which rose a high -white ruffle, outlining his rather long face which was lit up from -below. - -“For what have you come hither?” asked the newcomer, turning in -Pierre’s direction at a slight rustle made by the latter. “Why have -you, who do not believe in the truth of the light and who have not -seen the light, come here? What do you seek from us? Wisdom, virtue, -enlightenment?” - -At the moment the door opened and the stranger came in, Pierre felt a -sense of awe and veneration such as he had experienced in his boyhood at -confession; he felt himself in the presence of one socially a complete -stranger, yet nearer to him through the brotherhood of man. With bated -breath and beating heart he moved toward the Rhetor (by which name the -brother who prepared a seeker for entrance into the Brotherhood was -known). Drawing nearer, he recognized in the Rhetor a man he knew, -Smolyanínov, and it mortified him to think that the newcomer was an -acquaintance—he wished him simply a brother and a virtuous instructor. -For a long time he could not utter a word, so that the Rhetor had to -repeat his question. - -“Yes... I... I... desire regeneration,” Pierre uttered with -difficulty. - -“Very well,” said Smolyanínov, and went on at once: “Have you any -idea of the means by which our holy Order will help you to reach your -aim?” said he quietly and quickly. - -“I... hope... for guidance... help... in regeneration,” said Pierre, -with a trembling voice and some difficulty in utterance due to his -excitement and to being unaccustomed to speak of abstract matters in -Russian. - -“What is your conception of Freemasonry?” - -“I imagine that Freemasonry is the fraternity and equality of men who -have virtuous aims,” said Pierre, feeling ashamed of the inadequacy -of his words for the solemnity of the moment, as he spoke. “I -imagine...” - -“Good!” said the Rhetor quickly, apparently satisfied with -this answer. “Have you sought for means of attaining your aim in -religion?” - -“No, I considered it erroneous and did not follow it,” said Pierre, -so softly that the Rhetor did not hear him and asked him what he was -saying. “I have been an atheist,” answered Pierre. - -“You are seeking for truth in order to follow its laws in your life, -therefore you seek wisdom and virtue. Is that not so?” said the -Rhetor, after a moment’s pause. - -“Yes, yes,” assented Pierre. - -The Rhetor cleared his throat, crossed his gloved hands on his breast, -and began to speak. - -“Now I must disclose to you the chief aim of our Order,” he said, -“and if this aim coincides with yours, you may enter our Brotherhood -with profit. The first and chief object of our Order, the foundation on -which it rests and which no human power can destroy, is the preservation -and handing on to posterity of a certain important mystery... which -has come down to us from the remotest ages, even from the first man—a -mystery on which perhaps the fate of mankind depends. But since this -mystery is of such a nature that nobody can know or use it unless he be -prepared by long and diligent self-purification, not everyone can hope -to attain it quickly. Hence we have a secondary aim, that of preparing -our members as much as possible to reform their hearts, to purify and -enlighten their minds, by means handed on to us by tradition from those -who have striven to attain this mystery, and thereby to render them -capable of receiving it. - -“By purifying and regenerating our members we try, thirdly, to improve -the whole human race, offering it in our members an example of piety -and virtue, and thereby try with all our might to combat the evil which -sways the world. Think this over and I will come to you again.” - -“To combat the evil which sways the world...” Pierre repeated, and a -mental image of his future activity in this direction rose in his mind. -He imagined men such as he had himself been a fortnight ago, and he -addressed an edifying exhortation to them. He imagined to himself -vicious and unfortunate people whom he would assist by word and deed, -imagined oppressors whose victims he would rescue. Of the three -objects mentioned by the Rhetor, this last, that of improving mankind, -especially appealed to Pierre. The important mystery mentioned by the -Rhetor, though it aroused his curiosity, did not seem to him essential, -and the second aim, that of purifying and regenerating himself, did not -much interest him because at that moment he felt with delight that he -was already perfectly cured of his former faults and was ready for all -that was good. - -Half an hour later, the Rhetor returned to inform the seeker of the -seven virtues, corresponding to the seven steps of Solomon’s temple, -which every Freemason should cultivate in himself. These virtues were: -1. Discretion, the keeping of the secrets of the Order. 2. Obedience to -those of higher ranks in the Order. 3. Morality. 4. Love of mankind. 5. -Courage. 6. Generosity. 7. The love of death. - -“In the seventh place, try, by the frequent thought of death,” the -Rhetor said, “to bring yourself to regard it not as a dreaded foe, but -as a friend that frees the soul grown weary in the labors of virtue -from this distressful life, and leads it to its place of recompense and -peace.” - -“Yes, that must be so,” thought Pierre, when after these words the -Rhetor went away, leaving him to solitary meditation. “It must be so, -but I am still so weak that I love my life, the meaning of which is only -now gradually opening before me.” But five of the other virtues which -Pierre recalled, counting them on his fingers, he felt already in his -soul: courage, generosity, morality, love of mankind, and especially -obedience—which did not even seem to him a virtue, but a joy. (He now -felt so glad to be free from his own lawlessness and to submit his will -to those who knew the indubitable truth.) He forgot what the seventh -virtue was and could not recall it. - -The third time the Rhetor came back more quickly and asked Pierre -whether he was still firm in his intention and determined to submit to -all that would be required of him. - -“I am ready for everything,” said Pierre. - -“I must also inform you,” said the Rhetor, “that our Order -delivers its teaching not in words only but also by other means, which -may perhaps have a stronger effect on the sincere seeker after wisdom -and virtue than mere words. This chamber with what you see therein -should already have suggested to your heart, if it is sincere, more than -words could do. You will perhaps also see in your further initiation a -like method of enlightenment. Our Order imitates the ancient societies -that explained their teaching by hieroglyphics. A hieroglyph,” said -the Rhetor, “is an emblem of something not cognizable by the senses -but which possesses qualities resembling those of the symbol.” - -Pierre knew very well what a hieroglyph was, but dared not speak. He -listened to the Rhetor in silence, feeling from all he said that his -ordeal was about to begin. - -“If you are resolved, I must begin your initiation,” said the Rhetor -coming closer to Pierre. “In token of generosity I ask you to give me -all your valuables.” - -“But I have nothing here,” replied Pierre, supposing that he was -asked to give up all he possessed. - -“What you have with you: watch, money, rings....” - -Pierre quickly took out his purse and watch, but could not manage for -some time to get the wedding ring off his fat finger. When that had been -done, the Rhetor said: - -“In token of obedience, I ask you to undress.” - -Pierre took off his coat, waistcoat, and left boot according to the -Rhetor’s instructions. The Mason drew the shirt back from Pierre’s -left breast, and stooping down pulled up the left leg of his trousers -to above the knee. Pierre hurriedly began taking off his right boot also -and was going to tuck up the other trouser leg to save this stranger the -trouble, but the Mason told him that was not necessary and gave him -a slipper for his left foot. With a childlike smile of embarrassment, -doubt, and self-derision, which appeared on his face against his will, -Pierre stood with his arms hanging down and legs apart, before his -brother Rhetor, and awaited his further commands. - -“And now, in token of candor, I ask you to reveal to me your chief -passion,” said the latter. - -“My passion! I have had so many,” replied Pierre. - -“That passion which more than all others caused you to waver on the -path of virtue,” said the Mason. - -Pierre paused, seeking a reply. - -“Wine? Gluttony? Idleness? Laziness? Irritability? Anger? Women?” -He went over his vices in his mind, not knowing to which of them to give -the pre-eminence. - -“Women,” he said in a low, scarcely audible voice. - -The Mason did not move and for a long time said nothing after this -answer. At last he moved up to Pierre and, taking the kerchief that lay -on the table, again bound his eyes. - -“For the last time I say to you—turn all your attention upon -yourself, put a bridle on your senses, and seek blessedness, not in -passion but in your own heart. The source of blessedness is not without -us but within....” - -Pierre had already long been feeling in himself that refreshing source -of blessedness which now flooded his heart with glad emotion. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Soon after this there came into the dark chamber to fetch Pierre, not -the Rhetor but Pierre’s sponsor, Willarski, whom he recognized by his -voice. To fresh questions as to the firmness of his resolution Pierre -replied: “Yes, yes, I agree,” and with a beaming, childlike smile, -his fat chest uncovered, stepping unevenly and timidly in one slippered -and one booted foot, he advanced, while Willarski held a sword to his -bare chest. He was conducted from that room along passages that turned -backwards and forwards and was at last brought to the doors of the -Lodge. Willarski coughed, he was answered by the Masonic knock with -mallets, the doors opened before them. A bass voice (Pierre was still -blindfolded) questioned him as to who he was, when and where he was -born, and so on. Then he was again led somewhere still blindfolded, -and as they went along he was told allegories of the toils of his -pilgrimage, of holy friendship, of the Eternal Architect of the -universe, and of the courage with which he should endure toils and -dangers. During these wanderings, Pierre noticed that he was spoken -of now as the “Seeker,” now as the “Sufferer,” and now as the -“Postulant,” to the accompaniment of various knockings with -mallets and swords. As he was being led up to some object he noticed a -hesitation and uncertainty among his conductors. He heard those around -him disputing in whispers and one of them insisting that he should be -led along a certain carpet. After that they took his right hand, placed -it on something, and told him to hold a pair of compasses to his left -breast with the other hand and to repeat after someone who read aloud -an oath of fidelity to the laws of the Order. The candles were then -extinguished and some spirit lighted, as Pierre knew by the smell, and -he was told that he would now see the lesser light. The bandage was -taken off his eyes and, by the faint light of the burning spirit, -Pierre, as in a dream, saw several men standing before him, wearing -aprons like the Rhetor’s and holding swords in their hands pointed at -his breast. Among them stood a man whose white shirt was stained with -blood. On seeing this, Pierre moved forward with his breast toward the -swords, meaning them to pierce it. But the swords were drawn back from -him and he was at once blindfolded again. - -“Now thou hast seen the lesser light,” uttered a voice. Then the -candles were relit and he was told that he would see the full light; the -bandage was again removed and more than ten voices said together: “Sic -transit gloria mundi.” - -Pierre gradually began to recover himself and looked about at the room -and at the people in it. Round a long table covered with black sat some -twelve men in garments like those he had already seen. Some of them -Pierre had met in Petersburg society. In the President’s chair sat a -young man he did not know, with a peculiar cross hanging from his -neck. On his right sat the Italian abbé whom Pierre had met at -Anna Pávlovna’s two years before. There were also present a very -distinguished dignitary and a Swiss who had formerly been tutor at the -Kurágins’. All maintained a solemn silence, listening to the words -of the President, who held a mallet in his hand. Let into the wall was -a star-shaped light. At one side of the table was a small carpet with -various figures worked upon it, at the other was something resembling an -altar on which lay a Testament and a skull. Round it stood seven large -candlesticks like those used in churches. Two of the brothers led Pierre -up to the altar, placed his feet at right angles, and bade him lie down, -saying that he must prostrate himself at the Gates of the Temple. - -“He must first receive the trowel,” whispered one of the brothers. - -“Oh, hush, please!” said another. - -Pierre, perplexed, looked round with his shortsighted eyes without -obeying, and suddenly doubts arose in his mind. “Where am I? What am -I doing? Aren’t they laughing at me? Shan’t I be ashamed to remember -this?” But these doubts only lasted a moment. Pierre glanced at -the serious faces of those around, remembered all he had already gone -through, and realized that he could not stop halfway. He was aghast -at his hesitation and, trying to arouse his former devotional feeling, -prostrated himself before the Gates of the Temple. And really, the -feeling of devotion returned to him even more strongly than before. When -he had lain there some time, he was told to get up, and a white leather -apron, such as the others wore, was put on him: he was given a trowel -and three pairs of gloves, and then the Grand Master addressed him. He -told him that he should try to do nothing to stain the whiteness of that -apron, which symbolized strength and purity; then of the unexplained -trowel, he told him to toil with it to cleanse his own heart from vice, -and indulgently to smooth with it the heart of his neighbor. As to the -first pair of gloves, a man’s, he said that Pierre could not know -their meaning but must keep them. The second pair of man’s gloves -he was to wear at the meetings, and finally of the third, a pair of -women’s gloves, he said: “Dear brother, these woman’s gloves are -intended for you too. Give them to the woman whom you shall honor most -of all. This gift will be a pledge of your purity of heart to her whom -you select to be your worthy helpmeet in Masonry.” And after a pause, -he added: “But beware, dear brother, that these gloves do not deck -hands that are unclean.” While the Grand Master said these last words -it seemed to Pierre that he grew embarrassed. Pierre himself grew still -more confused, blushed like a child till tears came to his eyes, began -looking about him uneasily, and an awkward pause followed. - -This silence was broken by one of the brethren, who led Pierre up to the -rug and began reading to him from a manuscript book an explanation of -all the figures on it: the sun, the moon, a hammer, a plumb line, a -trowel, a rough stone and a squared stone, a pillar, three windows, and -so on. Then a place was assigned to Pierre, he was shown the signs of -the Lodge, told the password, and at last was permitted to sit down. -The Grand Master began reading the statutes. They were very long, and -Pierre, from joy, agitation, and embarrassment, was not in a state to -understand what was being read. He managed to follow only the last words -of the statutes and these remained in his mind. - -“In our temples we recognize no other distinctions,” read the Grand -Master, “but those between virtue and vice. Beware of making any -distinctions which may infringe equality. Fly to a brother’s aid -whoever he may be, exhort him who goeth astray, raise him that falleth, -never bear malice or enmity toward thy brother. Be kindly and courteous. -Kindle in all hearts the flame of virtue. Share thy happiness with thy -neighbor, and may envy never dim the purity of that bliss. Forgive thy -enemy, do not avenge thyself except by doing him good. Thus fulfilling -the highest law thou shalt regain traces of the ancient dignity which -thou hast lost.” - -He finished and, getting up, embraced and kissed Pierre, who, with tears -of joy in his eyes, looked round him, not knowing how to answer the -congratulations and greetings from acquaintances that met him on all -sides. He acknowledged no acquaintances but saw in all these men only -brothers, and burned with impatience to set to work with them. - -The Grand Master rapped with his mallet. All the Masons sat down in -their places, and one of them read an exhortation on the necessity of -humility. - -The Grand Master proposed that the last duty should be performed, -and the distinguished dignitary who bore the title of “Collector -of Alms” went round to all the brothers. Pierre would have liked -to subscribe all he had, but fearing that it might look like pride -subscribed the same amount as the others. - -The meeting was at an end, and on reaching home Pierre felt as if he had -returned from a long journey on which he had spent dozens of years, had -become completely changed, and had quite left behind his former habits -and way of life. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -The day after he had been received into the Lodge, Pierre was sitting at -home reading a book and trying to fathom the significance of the Square, -one side of which symbolized God, another moral things, a third -physical things, and the fourth a combination of these. Now and then -his attention wandered from the book and the Square and he formed in -imagination a new plan of life. On the previous evening at the Lodge, he -had heard that a rumor of his duel had reached the Emperor and that it -would be wiser for him to leave Petersburg. Pierre proposed going to his -estates in the south and there attending to the welfare of his serfs. -He was joyfully planning this new life, when Prince Vasíli suddenly -entered the room. - -“My dear fellow, what have you been up to in Moscow? Why have you -quarreled with Hélène, mon cher? You are under a delusion,” said -Prince Vasíli, as he entered. “I know all about it, and I can tell -you positively that Hélène is as innocent before you as Christ was -before the Jews.” - -Pierre was about to reply, but Prince Vasíli interrupted him. - -“And why didn’t you simply come straight to me as to a friend? I -know all about it and understand it all,” he said. “You behaved as -becomes a man who values his honor, perhaps too hastily, but we won’t -go into that. But consider the position in which you are placing her and -me in the eyes of society, and even of the court,” he added, lowering -his voice. “She is living in Moscow and you are here. Remember, -dear boy,” and he drew Pierre’s arm downwards, “it is simply a -misunderstanding. I expect you feel it so yourself. Let us write her -a letter at once, and she’ll come here and all will be explained, or -else, my dear boy, let me tell you it’s quite likely you’ll have to -suffer for it.” - -Prince Vasíli gave Pierre a significant look. - -“I know from reliable sources that the Dowager Empress is taking a -keen interest in the whole affair. You know she is very gracious to -Hélène.” - -Pierre tried several times to speak, but, on one hand, Prince Vasíli -did not let him and, on the other, Pierre himself feared to begin to -speak in the tone of decided refusal and disagreement in which he had -firmly resolved to answer his father-in-law. Moreover, the words of the -Masonic statutes, “be kindly and courteous,” recurred to him. He -blinked, went red, got up and sat down again, struggling with himself -to do what was for him the most difficult thing in life—to say an -unpleasant thing to a man’s face, to say what the other, whoever -he might be, did not expect. He was so used to submitting to Prince -Vasíli’s tone of careless self-assurance that he felt he would be -unable to withstand it now, but he also felt that on what he said now -his future depended—whether he would follow the same old road, or that -new path so attractively shown him by the Masons, on which he firmly -believed he would be reborn to a new life. - -“Now, dear boy,” said Prince Vasíli playfully, “say ‘yes,’ -and I’ll write to her myself, and we will kill the fatted calf.” - -But before Prince Vasíli had finished his playful speech, Pierre, -without looking at him, and with a kind of fury that made him like his -father, muttered in a whisper: - -“Prince, I did not ask you here. Go, please go!” And he jumped up -and opened the door for him. - -“Go!” he repeated, amazed at himself and glad to see the look of -confusion and fear that showed itself on Prince Vasíli’s face. - -“What’s the matter with you? Are you ill?” - -“Go!” the quivering voice repeated. And Prince Vasíli had to go -without receiving any explanation. - -A week later, Pierre, having taken leave of his new friends, the Masons, -and leaving large sums of money with them for alms, went away to his -estates. His new brethren gave him letters to the Kiev and Odessa Masons -and promised to write to him and guide him in his new activity. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -The duel between Pierre and Dólokhov was hushed up and, in spite of -the Emperor’s severity regarding duels at that time, neither the -principals nor their seconds suffered for it. But the story of the duel, -confirmed by Pierre’s rupture with his wife, was the talk of society. -Pierre who had been regarded with patronizing condescension when he was -an illegitimate son, and petted and extolled when he was the best -match in Russia, had sunk greatly in the esteem of society after his -marriage—when the marriageable daughters and their mothers had nothing -to hope from him—especially as he did not know how, and did not -wish, to court society’s favor. Now he alone was blamed for what had -happened, he was said to be insanely jealous and subject like his -father to fits of bloodthirsty rage. And when after Pierre’s -departure Hélène returned to Petersburg, she was received by all her -acquaintances not only cordially, but even with a shade of deference -due to her misfortune. When conversation turned on her husband Hélène -assumed a dignified expression, which with characteristic tact she had -acquired though she did not understand its significance. This expression -suggested that she had resolved to endure her troubles uncomplainingly -and that her husband was a cross laid upon her by God. Prince Vasíli -expressed his opinion more openly. He shrugged his shoulders when Pierre -was mentioned and, pointing to his forehead, remarked: - -“A bit touched—I always said so.” - -“I said from the first,” declared Anna Pávlovna referring to -Pierre, “I said at the time and before anyone else” (she insisted -on her priority) “that that senseless young man was spoiled by the -depraved ideas of these days. I said so even at the time when everybody -was in raptures about him, when he had just returned from abroad, and -when, if you remember, he posed as a sort of Marat at one of my soirees. -And how has it ended? I was against this marriage even then and foretold -all that has happened.” - -Anna Pávlovna continued to give on free evenings the same kind of -soirees as before—such as she alone had the gift of arranging—at -which was to be found “the cream of really good society, the bloom -of the intellectual essence of Petersburg,” as she herself put it. -Besides this refined selection of society Anna Pávlovna’s receptions -were also distinguished by the fact that she always presented some new -and interesting person to the visitors and that nowhere else was the -state of the political thermometer of legitimate Petersburg court -society so dearly and distinctly indicated. - -Toward the end of 1806, when all the sad details of Napoleon’s -destruction of the Prussian army at Jena and Auerstädt and the -surrender of most of the Prussian fortresses had been received, when our -troops had already entered Prussia and our second war with Napoleon -was beginning, Anna Pávlovna gave one of her soirees. The “cream of -really good society” consisted of the fascinating Hélène, forsaken -by her husband, Mortemart, the delightful Prince Hippolyte who had -just returned from Vienna, two diplomatists, the old aunt, a young man -referred to in that drawing room as “a man of great merit” (un homme -de beaucoup de mérite), a newly appointed maid of honor and her mother, -and several other less noteworthy persons. - -The novelty Anna Pávlovna was setting before her guests that evening -was Borís Drubetskóy, who had just arrived as a special messenger from -the Prussian army and was aide-de-camp to a very important personage. - -The temperature shown by the political thermometer to the company that -evening was this: - -“Whatever the European sovereigns and commanders may do to -countenance Bonaparte, and to cause me, and us in general, annoyance and -mortification, our opinion of Bonaparte cannot alter. We shall not cease -to express our sincere views on that subject, and can only say to the -King of Prussia and others: ‘So much the worse for you. Tu l’as -voulu, George Dandin,’ that’s all we have to say about it!” - -When Borís, who was to be served up to the guests, entered the drawing -room, almost all the company had assembled, and the conversation, guided -by Anna Pávlovna, was about our diplomatic relations with Austria and -the hope of an alliance with her. - -Borís, grown more manly and looking fresh, rosy and self-possessed, -entered the drawing room elegantly dressed in the uniform of an -aide-de-camp and was duly conducted to pay his respects to the aunt and -then brought back to the general circle. - -Anna Pávlovna gave him her shriveled hand to kiss and introduced him to -several persons whom he did not know, giving him a whispered description -of each. - -“Prince Hippolyte Kurágin—charming young fellow; M. -Kronq,—chargé d’affaires from Copenhagen—a profound intellect,” -and simply, “Mr. Shítov—a man of great merit”—this of the man -usually so described. - -Thanks to Anna Mikháylovna’s efforts, his own tastes, and the -peculiarities of his reserved nature, Borís had managed during his -service to place himself very advantageously. He was aide-de-camp to a -very important personage, had been sent on a very important mission to -Prussia, and had just returned from there as a special messenger. He had -become thoroughly conversant with that unwritten code with which he had -been so pleased at Olmütz and according to which an ensign might rank -incomparably higher than a general, and according to which what was -needed for success in the service was not effort or work, or courage, or -perseverance, but only the knowledge of how to get on with those who can -grant rewards, and he was himself often surprised at the rapidity of his -success and at the inability of others to understand these things. -In consequence of this discovery his whole manner of life, all -his relations with old friends, all his plans for his future, were -completely altered. He was not rich, but would spend his last groat to -be better dressed than others, and would rather deprive himself of many -pleasures than allow himself to be seen in a shabby equipage or appear -in the streets of Petersburg in an old uniform. He made friends with -and sought the acquaintance of only those above him in position and -who could therefore be of use to him. He liked Petersburg and despised -Moscow. The remembrance of the Rostóvs’ house and of his childish -love for Natásha was unpleasant to him and he had not once been to see -the Rostóvs since the day of his departure for the army. To be in Anna -Pávlovna’s drawing room he considered an important step up in the -service, and he at once understood his role, letting his hostess make -use of whatever interest he had to offer. He himself carefully scanned -each face, appraising the possibilities of establishing intimacy with -each of those present, and the advantages that might accrue. He took -the seat indicated to him beside the fair Hélène and listened to the -general conversation. - -“Vienna considers the bases of the proposed treaty so unattainable -that not even a continuity of most brilliant successes would secure -them, and she doubts the means we have of gaining them. That is the -actual phrase used by the Vienna cabinet,” said the Danish chargé -d’affaires. - -“The doubt is flattering,” said “the man of profound intellect,” -with a subtle smile. - -“We must distinguish between the Vienna cabinet and the Emperor of -Austria,” said Mortemart. “The Emperor of Austria can never have -thought of such a thing, it is only the cabinet that says it.” - -“Ah, my dear vicomte,” put in Anna Pávlovna, “L’Urope” (for -some reason she called it Urope as if that were a specially refined -French pronunciation which she could allow herself when conversing with -a Frenchman), “L’Urope ne sera jamais notre alliée sincère.” * - - * “Europe will never be our sincere ally.” - - -After that Anna Pávlovna led up to the courage and firmness of the King -of Prussia, in order to draw Borís into the conversation. - -Borís listened attentively to each of the speakers, awaiting his turn, -but managed meanwhile to look round repeatedly at his neighbor, the -beautiful Hélène, whose eyes several times met those of the handsome -young aide-de-camp with a smile. - -Speaking of the position of Prussia, Anna Pávlovna very naturally asked -Borís to tell them about his journey to Glogau and in what state he -found the Prussian army. Borís, speaking with deliberation, told them -in pure, correct French many interesting details about the armies and -the court, carefully abstaining from expressing an opinion of his -own about the facts he was recounting. For some time he engrossed the -general attention, and Anna Pávlovna felt that the novelty she had -served up was received with pleasure by all her visitors. The greatest -attention of all to Borís’ narrative was shown by Hélène. She asked -him several questions about his journey and seemed greatly interested in -the state of the Prussian army. As soon as he had finished she turned to -him with her usual smile. - -“You absolutely must come and see me,” she said in a tone that -implied that, for certain considerations he could not know of, this was -absolutely necessary. - -“On Tuesday between eight and nine. It will give me great pleasure.” - -Borís promised to fulfill her wish and was about to begin a -conversation with her, when Anna Pávlovna called him away on the -pretext that her aunt wished to hear him. - -“You know her husband, of course?” said Anna Pávlovna, closing her -eyes and indicating Hélène with a sorrowful gesture. “Ah, she is -such an unfortunate and charming woman! Don’t mention him before -her—please don’t! It is too painful for her!” - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -When Borís and Anna Pávlovna returned to the others Prince Hippolyte -had the ear of the company. - -Bending forward in his armchair he said: “Le Roi de Prusse!” and -having said this laughed. Everyone turned toward him. - -“Le Roi de Prusse?” Hippolyte said interrogatively, again laughing, -and then calmly and seriously sat back in his chair. Anna Pávlovna -waited for him to go on, but as he seemed quite decided to say no more -she began to tell of how at Potsdam the impious Bonaparte had stolen the -sword of Frederick the Great. - -“It is the sword of Frederick the Great which I...” she began, but -Hippolyte interrupted her with the words: “Le Roi de Prusse...” and -again, as soon as all turned toward him, excused himself and said no -more. - -Anna Pávlovna frowned. Mortemart, Hippolyte’s friend, addressed him -firmly. - -“Come now, what about your Roi de Prusse?” - -Hippolyte laughed as if ashamed of laughing. - -“Oh, it’s nothing. I only wished to say...” (he wanted to repeat -a joke he had heard in Vienna and which he had been trying all that -evening to get in) “I only wished to say that we are wrong to fight -pour le Roi de Prusse!” - -Borís smiled circumspectly, so that it might be taken as ironical -or appreciative according to the way the joke was received. Everybody -laughed. - -“Your joke is too bad, it’s witty but unjust,” said Anna -Pávlovna, shaking her little shriveled finger at him. - -“We are not fighting pour le Roi de Prusse, but for right principles. -Oh, that wicked Prince Hippolyte!” she said. - -The conversation did not flag all evening and turned chiefly on the -political news. It became particularly animated toward the end of the -evening when the rewards bestowed by the Emperor were mentioned. - -“You know N— N— received a snuffbox with the portrait last -year?” said “the man of profound intellect.” “Why shouldn’t -S— S— get the same distinction?” - -“Pardon me! A snuffbox with the Emperor’s portrait is a reward but -not a distinction,” said the diplomatist—“a gift, rather.” - -“There are precedents, I may mention Schwarzenberg.” - -“It’s impossible,” replied another. - -“Will you bet? The ribbon of the order is a different matter....” - -When everybody rose to go, Hélène who had spoken very little all -the evening again turned to Borís, asking him in a tone of caressing -significant command to come to her on Tuesday. - -“It is of great importance to me,” she said, turning with a smile -toward Anna Pávlovna, and Anna Pávlovna, with the same sad smile with -which she spoke of her exalted patroness, supported Hélène’s wish. - -It seemed as if from some words Borís had spoken that evening about the -Prussian army, Hélène had suddenly found it necessary to see him. -She seemed to promise to explain that necessity to him when he came on -Tuesday. - -But on Tuesday evening, having come to Hélène’s splendid salon, -Borís received no clear explanation of why it had been necessary for -him to come. There were other guests and the countess talked little to -him, and only as he kissed her hand on taking leave said unexpectedly -and in a whisper, with a strangely unsmiling face: “Come to dinner -tomorrow... in the evening. You must come.... Come!” - -During that stay in Petersburg, Borís became an intimate in the -countess’ house. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -The war was flaming up and nearing the Russian frontier. Everywhere one -heard curses on Bonaparte, “the enemy of mankind.” Militiamen and -recruits were being enrolled in the villages, and from the seat of -war came contradictory news, false as usual and therefore variously -interpreted. The life of old Prince Bolkónski, Prince Andrew, and -Princess Mary had greatly changed since 1805. - -In 1806 the old prince was made one of the eight commanders in chief -then appointed to supervise the enrollment decreed throughout Russia. -Despite the weakness of age, which had become particularly noticeable -since the time when he thought his son had been killed, he did not think -it right to refuse a duty to which he had been appointed by the Emperor -himself, and this fresh opportunity for action gave him new energy -and strength. He was continually traveling through the three provinces -entrusted to him, was pedantic in the fulfillment of his duties, severe -to cruel with his subordinates, and went into everything down to the -minutest details himself. Princess Mary had ceased taking lessons in -mathematics from her father, and when the old prince was at home went -to his study with the wet nurse and little Prince Nicholas (as his -grandfather called him). The baby Prince Nicholas lived with his wet -nurse and nurse Sávishna in the late princess’ rooms and Princess -Mary spent most of the day in the nursery, taking a mother’s place to -her little nephew as best she could. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, seemed -passionately fond of the boy, and Princess Mary often deprived herself -to give her friend the pleasure of dandling the little angel—as she -called her nephew—and playing with him. - -Near the altar of the church at Bald Hills there was a chapel over the -tomb of the little princess, and in this chapel was a marble monument -brought from Italy, representing an angel with outspread wings ready to -fly upwards. The angel’s upper lip was slightly raised as though -about to smile, and once on coming out of the chapel Prince Andrew and -Princess Mary admitted to one another that the angel’s face reminded -them strangely of the little princess. But what was still stranger, -though of this Prince Andrew said nothing to his sister, was that in the -expression the sculptor had happened to give the angel’s face, Prince -Andrew read the same mild reproach he had read on the face of his dead -wife: “Ah, why have you done this to me?” - -Soon after Prince Andrew’s return the old prince made over to him a -large estate, Boguchárovo, about twenty-five miles from Bald Hills. -Partly because of the depressing memories associated with Bald Hills, -partly because Prince Andrew did not always feel equal to bearing with -his father’s peculiarities, and partly because he needed solitude, -Prince Andrew made use of Boguchárovo, began building and spent most of -his time there. - -After the Austerlitz campaign Prince Andrew had firmly resolved not -to continue his military service, and when the war recommenced -and everybody had to serve, he took a post under his father in the -recruitment so as to avoid active service. The old prince and his son -seemed to have changed roles since the campaign of 1805. The old man, -roused by activity, expected the best results from the new campaign, -while Prince Andrew on the contrary, taking no part in the war and -secretly regretting this, saw only the dark side. - -On February 26, 1807, the old prince set off on one of his circuits. -Prince Andrew remained at Bald Hills as usual during his father’s -absence. Little Nicholas had been unwell for four days. The coachman who -had driven the old prince to town returned bringing papers and letters -for Prince Andrew. - -Not finding the young prince in his study the valet went with the -letters to Princess Mary’s apartments, but did not find him there. He -was told that the prince had gone to the nursery. - -“If you please, your excellency, Pétrusha has brought some papers,” -said one of the nursemaids to Prince Andrew who was sitting on a -child’s little chair while, frowning and with trembling hands, he -poured drops from a medicine bottle into a wineglass half full of water. - -“What is it?” he said crossly, and, his hand shaking -unintentionally, he poured too many drops into the glass. He threw the -mixture onto the floor and asked for some more water. The maid brought -it. - -There were in the room a child’s cot, two boxes, two armchairs, a -table, a child’s table, and the little chair on which Prince Andrew -was sitting. The curtains were drawn, and a single candle was burning on -the table, screened by a bound music book so that the light did not fall -on the cot. - -“My dear,” said Princess Mary, addressing her brother from beside -the cot where she was standing, “better wait a bit... later...” - -“Oh, leave off, you always talk nonsense and keep putting things -off—and this is what comes of it!” said Prince Andrew in an -exasperated whisper, evidently meaning to wound his sister. - -“My dear, really... it’s better not to wake him... he’s asleep,” -said the princess in a tone of entreaty. - -Prince Andrew got up and went on tiptoe up to the little bed, wineglass -in hand. - -“Perhaps we’d really better not wake him,” he said hesitating. - -“As you please... really... I think so... but as you please,” said -Princess Mary, evidently intimidated and confused that her opinion -had prevailed. She drew her brother’s attention to the maid who was -calling him in a whisper. - -It was the second night that neither of them had slept, watching the boy -who was in a high fever. These last days, mistrusting their household -doctor and expecting another for whom they had sent to town, they had -been trying first one remedy and then another. Worn out by sleeplessness -and anxiety they threw their burden of sorrow on one another and -reproached and disputed with each other. - -“Pétrusha has come with papers from your father,” whispered the -maid. - -Prince Andrew went out. - -“Devil take them!” he muttered, and after listening to the verbal -instructions his father had sent and taking the correspondence and his -father’s letter, he returned to the nursery. - -“Well?” he asked. - -“Still the same. Wait, for heaven’s sake. Karl Ivánich always says -that sleep is more important than anything,” whispered Princess Mary -with a sigh. - -Prince Andrew went up to the child and felt him. He was burning hot. - -“Confound you and your Karl Ivánich!” He took the glass with the -drops and again went up to the cot. - -“Andrew, don’t!” said Princess Mary. - -But he scowled at her angrily though also with suffering in his eyes, -and stooped glass in hand over the infant. - -“But I wish it,” he said. “I beg you—give it him!” - -Princess Mary shrugged her shoulders but took the glass submissively -and calling the nurse began giving the medicine. The child screamed -hoarsely. Prince Andrew winced and, clutching his head, went out and sat -down on a sofa in the next room. - -He still had all the letters in his hand. Opening them mechanically he -began reading. The old prince, now and then using abbreviations, wrote -in his large elongated hand on blue paper as follows: - -Have just this moment received by special messenger very joyful -news—if it’s not false. Bennigsen seems to have obtained a complete -victory over Buonaparte at Eylau. In Petersburg everyone is rejoicing, -and the rewards sent to the army are innumerable. Though he is a -German—I congratulate him! I can’t make out what the commander at -Kórchevo—a certain Khandrikóv—is up to; till now the additional -men and provisions have not arrived. Gallop off to him at once and -say I’ll have his head off if everything is not here in a week. -Have received another letter about the Preussisch-Eylau battle -from Pétenka—he took part in it—and it’s all true. When -mischief-makers don’t meddle even a German beats Buonaparte. He is -said to be fleeing in great disorder. Mind you gallop off to Kórchevo -without delay and carry out instructions! - -Prince Andrew sighed and broke the seal of another envelope. It was -a closely written letter of two sheets from Bilíbin. He folded it up -without reading it and reread his father’s letter, ending with the -words: “Gallop off to Kórchevo and carry out instructions!” - -“No, pardon me, I won’t go now till the child is better,” thought -he, going to the door and looking into the nursery. - -Princess Mary was still standing by the cot, gently rocking the baby. - -“Ah yes, and what else did he say that’s unpleasant?” thought -Prince Andrew, recalling his father’s letter. “Yes, we have gained -a victory over Bonaparte, just when I’m not serving. Yes, yes, he’s -always poking fun at me.... Ah, well! Let him!” And he began reading -Bilíbin’s letter which was written in French. He read without -understanding half of it, read only to forget, if but for a moment, what -he had too long been thinking of so painfully to the exclusion of all -else. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Bilíbin was now at army headquarters in a diplomatic capacity, and -though he wrote in French and used French jests and French idioms, -he described the whole campaign with a fearless self-censure and -self-derision genuinely Russian. Bilíbin wrote that the obligation of -diplomatic discretion tormented him, and he was happy to have in Prince -Andrew a reliable correspondent to whom he could pour out the bile he -had accumulated at the sight of all that was being done in the army. -The letter was old, having been written before the battle at -Preussisch-Eylau. - -“Since the day of our brilliant success at Austerlitz,” wrote -Bilíbin, “as you know, my dear prince, I never leave headquarters. I -have certainly acquired a taste for war, and it is just as well for me; -what I have seen during these last three months is incredible. - -“I begin ab ovo. ‘The enemy of the human race,’ as you know, -attacks the Prussians. The Prussians are our faithful allies who have -only betrayed us three times in three years. We take up their cause, but -it turns out that ‘the enemy of the human race’ pays no heed to -our fine speeches and in his rude and savage way throws himself on the -Prussians without giving them time to finish the parade they had begun, -and in two twists of the hand he breaks them to smithereens and installs -himself in the palace at Potsdam. - -“‘I most ardently desire,’ writes the King of Prussia to -Bonaparte, ‘that Your Majesty should be received and treated in my -palace in a manner agreeable to yourself, and in so far as circumstances -allowed, I have hastened to take all steps to that end. May I have -succeeded!’ The Prussian generals pride themselves on being polite to -the French and lay down their arms at the first demand. - -“The head of the garrison at Glogau, with ten thousand men, asks the -King of Prussia what he is to do if he is summoned to surrender.... All -this is absolutely true. - -“In short, hoping to settle matters by taking up a warlike attitude, -it turns out that we have landed ourselves in war, and what is more, -in war on our own frontiers, with and for the King of Prussia. We have -everything in perfect order, only one little thing is lacking, namely, -a commander in chief. As it was considered that the Austerlitz success -might have been more decisive had the commander in chief not been so -young, all our octogenarians were reviewed, and of Prozoróvski -and Kámenski the latter was preferred. The general comes to us, -Suvórov-like, in a kibítka, and is received with acclamations of joy -and triumph. - -“On the 4th, the first courier arrives from Petersburg. The mails -are taken to the field marshal’s room, for he likes to do everything -himself. I am called in to help sort the letters and take those meant -for us. The field marshal looks on and waits for letters addressed -to him. We search, but none are to be found. The field marshal grows -impatient and sets to work himself and finds letters from the Emperor -to Count T., Prince V., and others. Then he bursts into one of his wild -furies and rages at everyone and everything, seizes the letters, opens -them, and reads those from the Emperor addressed to others. ‘Ah! So -that’s the way they treat me! No confidence in me! Ah, ordered to keep -an eye on me! Very well then! Get along with you!’ So he writes the -famous order of the day to General Bennigsen: - -“‘I am wounded and cannot ride and consequently cannot command the -army. You have brought your army corps to Pultúsk, routed: here it is -exposed, and without fuel or forage, so something must be done, and, as -you yourself reported to Count Buxhöwden yesterday, you must think of -retreating to our frontier—which do today.’ - -“‘From all my riding,’ he writes to the Emperor, ‘I have got a -saddle sore which, coming after all my previous journeys, quite prevents -my riding and commanding so vast an army, so I have passed on the -command to the general next in seniority, Count Buxhöwden, having sent -him my whole staff and all that belongs to it, advising him if there is -a lack of bread, to move farther into the interior of Prussia, for only -one day’s ration of bread remains, and in some regiments none at all, -as reported by the division commanders, Ostermann and Sedmorétzki, and -all that the peasants had has been eaten up. I myself will remain in -hospital at Ostrolenka till I recover. In regard to which I humbly -submit my report, with the information that if the army remains in its -present bivouac another fortnight there will not be a healthy man left -in it by spring. - -“‘Grant leave to retire to his country seat to an old man who is -already in any case dishonored by being unable to fulfill the great and -glorious task for which he was chosen. I shall await your most gracious -permission here in hospital, that I may not have to play the part of a -secretary rather than commander in the army. My removal from the army -does not produce the slightest stir—a blind man has left it. There are -thousands such as I in Russia.’ - -“The field marshal is angry with the Emperor and he punishes us all, -isn’t it logical? - -“This is the first act. Those that follow are naturally increasingly -interesting and entertaining. After the field marshal’s departure -it appears that we are within sight of the enemy and must give battle. -Buxhöwden is commander in chief by seniority, but General Bennigsen -does not quite see it; more particularly as it is he and his corps who -are within sight of the enemy and he wishes to profit by the opportunity -to fight a battle ‘on his own hand’ as the Germans say. He does so. -This is the battle of Pultúsk, which is considered a great victory but -in my opinion was nothing of the kind. We civilians, as you know, have -a very bad way of deciding whether a battle was won or lost. Those who -retreat after a battle have lost it is what we say; and according to -that it is we who lost the battle of Pultúsk. In short, we retreat -after the battle but send a courier to Petersburg with news of a -victory, and General Bennigsen, hoping to receive from Petersburg the -post of commander in chief as a reward for his victory, does not give up -the command of the army to General Buxhöwden. During this interregnum -we begin a very original and interesting series of maneuvers. Our aim is -no longer, as it should be, to avoid or attack the enemy, but solely to -avoid General Buxhöwden who by right of seniority should be our chief. -So energetically do we pursue this aim that after crossing an unfordable -river we burn the bridges to separate ourselves from our enemy, who at -the moment is not Bonaparte but Buxhöwden. General Buxhöwden was all -but attacked and captured by a superior enemy force as a result of one -of these maneuvers that enabled us to escape him. Buxhöwden pursues -us—we scuttle. He hardly crosses the river to our side before we -recross to the other. At last our enemy, Buxhöwden, catches us and -attacks. Both generals are angry, and the result is a challenge on -Buxhöwden’s part and an epileptic fit on Bennigsen’s. But at the -critical moment the courier who carried the news of our victory at -Pultúsk to Petersburg returns bringing our appointment as commander in -chief, and our first foe, Buxhöwden, is vanquished; we can now turn -our thoughts to the second, Bonaparte. But as it turns out, just at -that moment a third enemy rises before us—namely the Orthodox Russian -soldiers, loudly demanding bread, meat, biscuits, fodder, and whatnot! -The stores are empty, the roads impassable. The Orthodox begin looting, -and in a way of which our last campaign can give you no idea. Half the -regiments form bands and scour the countryside and put everything -to fire and sword. The inhabitants are totally ruined, the hospitals -overflow with sick, and famine is everywhere. Twice the marauders even -attack our headquarters, and the commander in chief has to ask for a -battalion to disperse them. During one of these attacks they carried off -my empty portmanteau and my dressing gown. The Emperor proposes to give -all commanders of divisions the right to shoot marauders, but I much -fear this will oblige one half the army to shoot the other.” - -At first Prince Andrew read with his eyes only, but after a while, -in spite of himself (although he knew how far it was safe to trust -Bilíbin), what he had read began to interest him more and more. When he -had read thus far, he crumpled the letter up and threw it away. It was -not what he had read that vexed him, but the fact that the life out -there in which he had now no part could perturb him. He shut his eyes, -rubbed his forehead as if to rid himself of all interest in what he -had read, and listened to what was passing in the nursery. Suddenly he -thought he heard a strange noise through the door. He was seized with -alarm lest something should have happened to the child while he was -reading the letter. He went on tiptoe to the nursery door and opened it. - -Just as he went in he saw that the nurse was hiding something from him -with a scared look and that Princess Mary was no longer by the cot. - -“My dear,” he heard what seemed to him her despairing whisper behind -him. - -As often happens after long sleeplessness and long anxiety, he was -seized by an unreasoning panic—it occurred to him that the child was -dead. All that he saw and heard seemed to confirm this terror. - -“All is over,” he thought, and a cold sweat broke out on his -forehead. He went to the cot in confusion, sure that he would find it -empty and that the nurse had been hiding the dead baby. He drew the -curtain aside and for some time his frightened, restless eyes could not -find the baby. At last he saw him: the rosy boy had tossed about till he -lay across the bed with his head lower than the pillow, and was smacking -his lips in his sleep and breathing evenly. - -Prince Andrew was as glad to find the boy like that, as if he had -already lost him. He bent over him and, as his sister had taught him, -tried with his lips whether the child was still feverish. The soft -forehead was moist. Prince Andrew touched the head with his hand; even -the hair was wet, so profusely had the child perspired. He was not dead, -but evidently the crisis was over and he was convalescent. Prince Andrew -longed to snatch up, to squeeze, to hold to his heart, this helpless -little creature, but dared not do so. He stood over him, gazing at his -head and at the little arms and legs which showed under the blanket. He -heard a rustle behind him and a shadow appeared under the curtain of -the cot. He did not look round, but still gazing at the infant’s face -listened to his regular breathing. The dark shadow was Princess Mary, -who had come up to the cot with noiseless steps, lifted the curtain, -and dropped it again behind her. Prince Andrew recognized her without -looking and held out his hand to her. She pressed it. - -“He has perspired,” said Prince Andrew. - -“I was coming to tell you so.” - -The child moved slightly in his sleep, smiled, and rubbed his forehead -against the pillow. - -Prince Andrew looked at his sister. In the dim shadow of the curtain her -luminous eyes shone more brightly than usual from the tears of joy that -were in them. She leaned over to her brother and kissed him, slightly -catching the curtain of the cot. Each made the other a warning gesture -and stood still in the dim light beneath the curtain as if not wishing -to leave that seclusion where they three were shut off from all the -world. Prince Andrew was the first to move away, ruffling his hair -against the muslin of the curtain. - -“Yes, this is the one thing left me now,” he said with a sigh. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Soon after his admission to the Masonic Brotherhood, Pierre went to the -Kiev province, where he had the greatest number of serfs, taking with -him full directions which he had written down for his own guidance as to -what he should do on his estates. - -When he reached Kiev he sent for all his stewards to the head office -and explained to them his intentions and wishes. He told them that steps -would be taken immediately to free his serfs—and that till then they -were not to be overburdened with labor, women while nursing their babies -were not to be sent to work, assistance was to be given to the serfs, -punishments were to be admonitory and not corporal, and hospitals, -asylums, and schools were to be established on all the estates. Some of -the stewards (there were semiliterate foremen among them) listened with -alarm, supposing these words to mean that the young count was displeased -with their management and embezzlement of money, some after their first -fright were amused by Pierre’s lisp and the new words they had not -heard before, others simply enjoyed hearing how the master talked, while -the cleverest among them, including the chief steward, understood from -this speech how they could best handle the master for their own ends. - -The chief steward expressed great sympathy with Pierre’s intentions, -but remarked that besides these changes it would be necessary to go into -the general state of affairs which was far from satisfactory. - -Despite Count Bezúkhov’s enormous wealth, since he had come into an -income which was said to amount to five hundred thousand rubles a year, -Pierre felt himself far poorer than when his father had made him -an allowance of ten thousand rubles. He had a dim perception of the -following budget: - -About 80,000 went in payments on all the estates to the Land Bank, about -30,000 went for the upkeep of the estate near Moscow, the town house, -and the allowance to the three princesses; about 15,000 was given in -pensions and the same amount for asylums; 150,000 alimony was sent to -the countess; about 70,000 went for interest on debts. The building of a -new church, previously begun, had cost about 10,000 in each of the last -two years, and he did not know how the rest, about 100,000 rubles, was -spent, and almost every year he was obliged to borrow. Besides this the -chief steward wrote every year telling him of fires and bad harvests, -or of the necessity of rebuilding factories and workshops. So the first -task Pierre had to face was one for which he had very little aptitude or -inclination—practical business. - -He discussed estate affairs every day with his chief steward. But -he felt that this did not forward matters at all. He felt that these -consultations were detached from real affairs and did not link up with -them or make them move. On the one hand, the chief steward put the state -of things to him in the very worst light, pointing out the necessity of -paying off the debts and undertaking new activities with serf labor, -to which Pierre did not agree. On the other hand, Pierre demanded that -steps should be taken to liberate the serfs, which the steward met by -showing the necessity of first paying off the loans from the Land Bank, -and the consequent impossibility of a speedy emancipation. - -The steward did not say it was quite impossible, but suggested selling -the forests in the province of Kostromá, the land lower down the river, -and the Crimean estate, in order to make it possible: all of which -operations according to him were connected with such complicated -measures—the removal of injunctions, petitions, permits, and so -on—that Pierre became quite bewildered and only replied: - -“Yes, yes, do so.” - -Pierre had none of the practical persistence that would have enabled him -to attend to the business himself and so he disliked it and only tried -to pretend to the steward that he was attending to it. The steward -for his part tried to pretend to the count that he considered these -consultations very valuable for the proprietor and troublesome to -himself. - -In Kiev Pierre found some people he knew, and strangers hastened to make -his acquaintance and joyfully welcomed the rich newcomer, the -largest landowner of the province. Temptations to Pierre’s greatest -weakness—the one to which he had confessed when admitted to the -Lodge—were so strong that he could not resist them. Again whole days, -weeks, and months of his life passed in as great a rush and were as much -occupied with evening parties, dinners, lunches, and balls, giving him -no time for reflection, as in Petersburg. Instead of the new life he had -hoped to lead he still lived the old life, only in new surroundings. - -Of the three precepts of Freemasonry Pierre realized that he did not -fulfill the one which enjoined every Mason to set an example of moral -life, and that of the seven virtues he lacked two—morality and the -love of death. He consoled himself with the thought that he fulfilled -another of the precepts—that of reforming the human race—and had -other virtues—love of his neighbor, and especially generosity. - -In the spring of 1807 he decided to return to Petersburg. On the way he -intended to visit all his estates and see for himself how far his orders -had been carried out and in what state were the serfs whom God had -entrusted to his care and whom he intended to benefit. - -The chief steward, who considered the young count’s attempts almost -insane—unprofitable to himself, to the count, and to the serfs—made -some concessions. Continuing to represent the liberation of the serfs -as impracticable, he arranged for the erection of large -buildings—schools, hospitals, and asylums—on all the estates -before the master arrived. Everywhere preparations were made not for -ceremonious welcomes (which he knew Pierre would not like), but for just -such gratefully religious ones, with offerings of icons and the bread -and salt of hospitality, as, according to his understanding of his -master, would touch and delude him. - -The southern spring, the comfortable rapid traveling in a Vienna -carriage, and the solitude of the road, all had a gladdening effect on -Pierre. The estates he had not before visited were each more picturesque -than the other; the serfs everywhere seemed thriving and touchingly -grateful for the benefits conferred on them. Everywhere were receptions, -which though they embarrassed Pierre awakened a joyful feeling in the -depth of his heart. In one place the peasants presented him with bread -and salt and an icon of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, asking permission, -as a mark of their gratitude for the benefits he had conferred on them, -to build a new chantry to the church at their own expense in honor -of Peter and Paul, his patron saints. In another place the women with -infants in arms met him to thank him for releasing them from hard -work. On a third estate the priest, bearing a cross, came to meet -him surrounded by children whom, by the count’s generosity, he was -instructing in reading, writing, and religion. On all his estates Pierre -saw with his own eyes brick buildings erected or in course of erection, -all on one plan, for hospitals, schools, and almshouses, which were soon -to be opened. Everywhere he saw the stewards’ accounts, according to -which the serfs’ manorial labor had been diminished, and heard the -touching thanks of deputations of serfs in their full-skirted blue -coats. - -What Pierre did not know was that the place where they presented him -with bread and salt and wished to build a chantry in honor of Peter and -Paul was a market village where a fair was held on St. Peter’s day, -and that the richest peasants (who formed the deputation) had begun -the chantry long before, but that nine tenths of the peasants in that -villages were in a state of the greatest poverty. He did not know that -since the nursing mothers were no longer sent to work on his land, they -did still harder work on their own land. He did not know that the priest -who met him with the cross oppressed the peasants by his exactions, and -that the pupils’ parents wept at having to let him take their children -and secured their release by heavy payments. He did not know that the -brick buildings, built to plan, were being built by serfs whose manorial -labor was thus increased, though lessened on paper. He did not know -that where the steward had shown him in the accounts that the serfs’ -payments had been diminished by a third, their obligatory manorial work -had been increased by a half. And so Pierre was delighted with his visit -to his estates and quite recovered the philanthropic mood in which -he had left Petersburg, and wrote enthusiastic letters to his -“brother-instructor” as he called the Grand Master. - -“How easy it is, how little effort it needs, to do so much good,” -thought Pierre, “and how little attention we pay to it!” - -He was pleased at the gratitude he received, but felt abashed at -receiving it. This gratitude reminded him of how much more he might do -for these simple, kindly people. - -The chief steward, a very stupid but cunning man who saw perfectly -through the naïve and intelligent count and played with him as with -a toy, seeing the effect these prearranged receptions had on Pierre, -pressed him still harder with proofs of the impossibility and above all -the uselessness of freeing the serfs, who were quite happy as it was. - -Pierre in his secret soul agreed with the steward that it would be -difficult to imagine happier people, and that God only knew what would -happen to them when they were free, but he insisted, though reluctantly, -on what he thought right. The steward promised to do all in his power to -carry out the count’s wishes, seeing clearly that not only would the -count never be able to find out whether all measures had been taken for -the sale of the land and forests and to release them from the Land Bank, -but would probably never even inquire and would never know that the -newly erected buildings were standing empty and that the serfs continued -to give in money and work all that other people’s serfs gave—that is -to say, all that could be got out of them. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Returning from his journey through South Russia in the happiest state -of mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had of visiting his -friend Bolkónski, whom he had not seen for two years. - -Boguchárovo lay in a flat uninteresting part of the country among -fields and forests of fir and birch, which were partly cut down. The -house lay behind a newly dug pond filled with water to the brink and -with banks still bare of grass. It was at the end of a village that -stretched along the highroad in the midst of a young copse in which were -a few fir trees. - -The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, outhouses, stables, a -bathhouse, a lodge, and a large brick house with semicircular façade -still in course of construction. Round the house was a garden newly laid -out. The fences and gates were new and solid; two fire pumps and a -water cart, painted green, stood in a shed; the paths were straight, -the bridges were strong and had handrails. Everything bore an impress of -tidiness and good management. Some domestic serfs Pierre met, in reply -to inquiries as to where the prince lived, pointed out a small newly -built lodge close to the pond. Antón, a man who had looked after Prince -Andrew in his boyhood, helped Pierre out of his carriage, said that the -prince was at home, and showed him into a clean little anteroom. - -Pierre was struck by the modesty of the small though clean house after -the brilliant surroundings in which he had last met his friend in -Petersburg. - -He quickly entered the small reception room with its still-unplastered -wooden walls redolent of pine, and would have gone farther, but Antón -ran ahead on tiptoe and knocked at a door. - -“Well, what is it?” came a sharp, unpleasant voice. - -“A visitor,” answered Antón. - -“Ask him to wait,” and the sound was heard of a chair being pushed -back. - -Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and suddenly came face to -face with Prince Andrew, who came out frowning and looking old. Pierre -embraced him and lifting his spectacles kissed his friend on the cheek -and looked at him closely. - -“Well, I did not expect you, I am very glad,” said Prince Andrew. - -Pierre said nothing; he looked fixedly at his friend with surprise. He -was struck by the change in him. His words were kindly and there was a -smile on his lips and face, but his eyes were dull and lifeless and in -spite of his evident wish to do so he could not give them a joyous -and glad sparkle. Prince Andrew had grown thinner, paler, and more -manly-looking, but what amazed and estranged Pierre till he got used -to it were his inertia and a wrinkle on his brow indicating prolonged -concentration on some one thought. - -As is usually the case with people meeting after a prolonged separation, -it was long before their conversation could settle on anything. They -put questions and gave brief replies about things they knew ought to -be talked over at length. At last the conversation gradually settled on -some of the topics at first lightly touched on: their past life, plans -for the future, Pierre’s journeys and occupations, the war, and so -on. The preoccupation and despondency which Pierre had noticed in his -friend’s look was now still more clearly expressed in the smile -with which he listened to Pierre, especially when he spoke with joyful -animation of the past or the future. It was as if Prince Andrew would -have liked to sympathize with what Pierre was saying, but could not. -The latter began to feel that it was in bad taste to speak of his -enthusiasms, dreams, and hopes of happiness or goodness, in Prince -Andrew’s presence. He was ashamed to express his new Masonic views, -which had been particularly revived and strengthened by his late tour. -He checked himself, fearing to seem naïve, yet he felt an irresistible -desire to show his friend as soon as possible that he was now a quite -different, and better, Pierre than he had been in Petersburg. - -“I can’t tell you how much I have lived through since then. I hardly -know myself again.” - -“Yes, we have altered much, very much, since then,” said Prince -Andrew. - -“Well, and you? What are your plans?” - -“Plans!” repeated Prince Andrew ironically. “My plans?” he said, -as if astonished at the word. “Well, you see, I’m building. I mean -to settle here altogether next year....” - -Pierre looked silently and searchingly into Prince Andrew’s face, -which had grown much older. - -“No, I meant to ask...” Pierre began, but Prince Andrew interrupted -him. - -“But why talk of me?... Talk to me, yes, tell me about your travels -and all you have been doing on your estates.” - -Pierre began describing what he had done on his estates, trying as far -as possible to conceal his own part in the improvements that had been -made. Prince Andrew several times prompted Pierre’s story of what he -had been doing, as though it were all an old-time story, and he listened -not only without interest but even as if ashamed of what Pierre was -telling him. - -Pierre felt uncomfortable and even depressed in his friend’s company -and at last became silent. - -“I’ll tell you what, my dear fellow,” said Prince Andrew, who -evidently also felt depressed and constrained with his visitor, “I am -only bivouacking here and have just come to look round. I am going back -to my sister today. I will introduce you to her. But of course you know -her already,” he said, evidently trying to entertain a visitor with -whom he now found nothing in common. “We will go after dinner. And -would you now like to look round my place?” - -They went out and walked about till dinnertime, talking of the political -news and common acquaintances like people who do not know each other -intimately. Prince Andrew spoke with some animation and interest only of -the new homestead he was constructing and its buildings, but even here, -while on the scaffolding, in the midst of a talk explaining the future -arrangements of the house, he interrupted himself: - -“However, this is not at all interesting. Let us have dinner, and then -we’ll set off.” - -At dinner, conversation turned on Pierre’s marriage. - -“I was very much surprised when I heard of it,” said Prince Andrew. - -Pierre blushed, as he always did when it was mentioned, and said -hurriedly: “I will tell you some time how it all happened. But you -know it is all over, and forever.” - -“Forever?” said Prince Andrew. “Nothing’s forever.” - -“But you know how it all ended, don’t you? You heard of the duel?” - -“And so you had to go through that too!” - -“One thing I thank God for is that I did not kill that man,” said -Pierre. - -“Why so?” asked Prince Andrew. “To kill a vicious dog is a very -good thing really.” - -“No, to kill a man is bad—wrong.” - -“Why is it wrong?” urged Prince Andrew. “It is not given to man -to know what is right and what is wrong. Men always did and always will -err, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong.” - -“What does harm to another is wrong,” said Pierre, feeling with -pleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrew was -roused, had begun to talk, and wanted to express what had brought him to -his present state. - -“And who has told you what is bad for another man?” he asked. - -“Bad! Bad!” exclaimed Pierre. “We all know what is bad for -ourselves.” - -“Yes, we know that, but the harm I am conscious of in myself is -something I cannot inflict on others,” said Prince Andrew, growing -more and more animated and evidently wishing to express his new outlook -to Pierre. He spoke in French. “I only know two very real evils in -life: remorse and illness. The only good is the absence of those evils. -To live for myself avoiding those two evils is my whole philosophy -now.” - -“And love of one’s neighbor, and self-sacrifice?” began Pierre. -“No, I can’t agree with you! To live only so as not to do evil and -not to have to repent is not enough. I lived like that, I lived for -myself and ruined my life. And only now when I am living, or at least -trying” (Pierre’s modesty made him correct himself) “to live for -others, only now have I understood all the happiness of life. No, I -shall not agree with you, and you do not really believe what you are -saying.” Prince Andrew looked silently at Pierre with an ironic smile. - -“When you see my sister, Princess Mary, you’ll get on with her,” -he said. “Perhaps you are right for yourself,” he added after -a short pause, “but everyone lives in his own way. You lived for -yourself and say you nearly ruined your life and only found happiness -when you began living for others. I experienced just the reverse. I -lived for glory.—And after all what is glory? The same love of others, -a desire to do something for them, a desire for their approval.—So I -lived for others, and not almost, but quite, ruined my life. And I have -become calmer since I began to live only for myself.” - -“But what do you mean by living only for yourself?” asked Pierre, -growing excited. “What about your son, your sister, and your -father?” - -“But that’s just the same as myself—they are not others,” -explained Prince Andrew. “The others, one’s neighbors, le prochain, -as you and Princess Mary call it, are the chief source of all error and -evil. Le prochain—your Kiev peasants to whom you want to do good.” - -And he looked at Pierre with a mocking, challenging expression. He -evidently wished to draw him on. - -“You are joking,” replied Pierre, growing more and more excited. -“What error or evil can there be in my wishing to do good, and even -doing a little—though I did very little and did it very badly? What -evil can there be in it if unfortunate people, our serfs, people like -ourselves, were growing up and dying with no idea of God and truth -beyond ceremonies and meaningless prayers and are now instructed in -a comforting belief in future life, retribution, recompense, and -consolation? What evil and error are there in it, if people were dying -of disease without help while material assistance could so easily be -rendered, and I supplied them with a doctor, a hospital, and an asylum -for the aged? And is it not a palpable, unquestionable good if a -peasant, or a woman with a baby, has no rest day or night and I give -them rest and leisure?” said Pierre, hurrying and lisping. “And -I have done that though badly and to a small extent; but I have done -something toward it and you cannot persuade me that it was not a good -action, and more than that, you can’t make me believe that you do not -think so yourself. And the main thing is,” he continued, “that I -know, and know for certain, that the enjoyment of doing this good is the -only sure happiness in life.” - -“Yes, if you put it like that it’s quite a different matter,” said -Prince Andrew. “I build a house and lay out a garden, and you build -hospitals. The one and the other may serve as a pastime. But what’s -right and what’s good must be judged by one who knows all, but not by -us. Well, you want an argument,” he added, “come on then.” - -They rose from the table and sat down in the entrance porch which served -as a veranda. - -“Come, let’s argue then,” said Prince Andrew, “You talk of -schools,” he went on, crooking a finger, “education and so forth; -that is, you want to raise him” (pointing to a peasant who passed by -them taking off his cap) “from his animal condition and awaken in him -spiritual needs, while it seems to me that animal happiness is the only -happiness possible, and that is just what you want to deprive him of. -I envy him, but you want to make him what I am, without giving him my -means. Then you say, ‘lighten his toil.’ But as I see it, physical -labor is as essential to him, as much a condition of his existence, as -mental activity is to you or me. You can’t help thinking. I go to bed -after two in the morning, thoughts come and I can’t sleep but toss -about till dawn, because I think and can’t help thinking, just as -he can’t help plowing and mowing; if he didn’t, he would go to the -drink shop or fall ill. Just as I could not stand his terrible physical -labor but should die of it in a week, so he could not stand my physical -idleness, but would grow fat and die. The third thing—what else was -it you talked about?” and Prince Andrew crooked a third finger. “Ah, -yes, hospitals, medicine. He has a fit, he is dying, and you come and -bleed him and patch him up. He will drag about as a cripple, a burden to -everybody, for another ten years. It would be far easier and simpler for -him to die. Others are being born and there are plenty of them as it is. -It would be different if you grudged losing a laborer—that’s how I -regard him—but you want to cure him from love of him. And he does not -want that. And besides, what a notion that medicine ever cured anyone! -Killed them, yes!” said he, frowning angrily and turning away from -Pierre. - -Prince Andrew expressed his ideas so clearly and distinctly that it was -evident he had reflected on this subject more than once, and he spoke -readily and rapidly like a man who has not talked for a long time. His -glance became more animated as his conclusions became more hopeless. - -“Oh, that is dreadful, dreadful!” said Pierre. “I don’t -understand how one can live with such ideas. I had such moments -myself not long ago, in Moscow and when traveling, but at such times I -collapsed so that I don’t live at all—everything seems hateful to -me... myself most of all. Then I don’t eat, don’t wash... and how is -it with you?...” - -“Why not wash? That is not cleanly,” said Prince Andrew; “on the -contrary one must try to make one’s life as pleasant as possible. -I’m alive, that is not my fault, so I must live out my life as best I -can without hurting others.” - -“But with such ideas what motive have you for living? One would sit -without moving, undertaking nothing....” - -“Life as it is leaves one no peace. I should be thankful to do -nothing, but here on the one hand the local nobility have done me the -honor to choose me to be their marshal; it was all I could do to get -out of it. They could not understand that I have not the necessary -qualifications for it—the kind of good-natured, fussy shallowness -necessary for the position. Then there’s this house, which must be -built in order to have a nook of one’s own in which to be quiet. And -now there’s this recruiting.” - -“Why aren’t you serving in the army?” - -“After Austerlitz!” said Prince Andrew gloomily. “No, thank you -very much! I have promised myself not to serve again in the active -Russian army. And I won’t—not even if Bonaparte were here at -Smolénsk threatening Bald Hills—even then I wouldn’t serve in the -Russian army! Well, as I was saying,” he continued, recovering his -composure, “now there’s this recruiting. My father is chief in -command of the Third District, and my only way of avoiding active -service is to serve under him.” - -“Then you are serving?” - -“I am.” - -He paused a little while. - -“And why do you serve?” - -“Why, for this reason! My father is one of the most remarkable men of -his time. But he is growing old, and though not exactly cruel he has too -energetic a character. He is so accustomed to unlimited power that he is -terrible, and now he has this authority of a commander in chief of -the recruiting, granted by the Emperor. If I had been two hours late -a fortnight ago he would have had a paymaster’s clerk at Yúkhnovna -hanged,” said Prince Andrew with a smile. “So I am serving because -I alone have any influence with my father, and now and then can save him -from actions which would torment him afterwards.” - -“Well, there you see!” - -“Yes, but it is not as you imagine,” Prince Andrew continued. “I -did not, and do not, in the least care about that scoundrel of a clerk -who had stolen some boots from the recruits; I should even have been -very glad to see him hanged, but I was sorry for my father—that again -is for myself.” - -Prince Andrew grew more and more animated. His eyes glittered feverishly -while he tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions there was no -desire to do good to his neighbor. - -“There now, you wish to liberate your serfs,” he continued; “that -is a very good thing, but not for you—I don’t suppose you ever had -anyone flogged or sent to Siberia—and still less for your serfs. If -they are beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I don’t suppose they are -any the worse off. In Siberia they lead the same animal life, and the -stripes on their bodies heal, and they are happy as before. But it is -a good thing for proprietors who perish morally, bring remorse upon -themselves, stifle this remorse and grow callous, as a result of being -able to inflict punishments justly and unjustly. It is those people I -pity, and for their sake I should like to liberate the serfs. You -may not have seen, but I have seen, how good men brought up in those -traditions of unlimited power, in time when they grow more irritable, -become cruel and harsh, are conscious of it, but cannot restrain -themselves and grow more and more miserable.” - -Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre could not help thinking -that these thoughts had been suggested to Prince Andrew by his -father’s case. - -He did not reply. - -“So that’s what I’m sorry for—human dignity, peace of mind, -purity, and not the serfs’ backs and foreheads, which, beat and shave -as you may, always remain the same backs and foreheads.” - -“No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never agree with you,” said -Pierre. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -In the evening Andrew and Pierre got into the open carriage and drove to -Bald Hills. Prince Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke the silence now and -then with remarks which showed that he was in a good temper. - -Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the improvements he was making in -his husbandry. - -Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering in monosyllables and -apparently immersed in his own thoughts. - -He was thinking that Prince Andrew was unhappy, had gone astray, did not -see the true light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid, enlighten, and -raise him. But as soon as he thought of what he should say, he felt that -Prince Andrew with one word, one argument, would upset all his teaching, -and he shrank from beginning, afraid of exposing to possible ridicule -what to him was precious and sacred. - -“No, but why do you think so?” Pierre suddenly began, lowering his -head and looking like a bull about to charge, “why do you think so? -You should not think so.” - -“Think? What about?” asked Prince Andrew with surprise. - -“About life, about man’s destiny. It can’t be so. I myself thought -like that, and do you know what saved me? Freemasonry! No, don’t -smile. Freemasonry is not a religious ceremonial sect, as I thought -it was: Freemasonry is the best expression of the best, the eternal, -aspects of humanity.” - -And he began to explain Freemasonry as he understood it to Prince -Andrew. He said that Freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity freed -from the bonds of State and Church, a teaching of equality, brotherhood, -and love. - -“Only our holy brotherhood has the real meaning of life, all the rest -is a dream,” said Pierre. “Understand, my dear fellow, that outside -this union all is filled with deceit and falsehood and I agree with you -that nothing is left for an intelligent and good man but to live out -his life, like you, merely trying not to harm others. But make our -fundamental convictions your own, join our brotherhood, give yourself up -to us, let yourself be guided, and you will at once feel yourself, as I -have felt myself, a part of that vast invisible chain the beginning of -which is hidden in heaven,” said Pierre. - -Prince Andrew, looking straight in front of him, listened in silence to -Pierre’s words. More than once, when the noise of the wheels prevented -his catching what Pierre said, he asked him to repeat it, and by the -peculiar glow that came into Prince Andrew’s eyes and by his silence, -Pierre saw that his words were not in vain and that Prince Andrew would -not interrupt him or laugh at what he said. - -They reached a river that had overflowed its banks and which they had to -cross by ferry. While the carriage and horses were being placed on it, -they also stepped on the raft. - -Prince Andrew, leaning his arms on the raft railing, gazed silently at -the flooding waters glittering in the setting sun. - -“Well, what do you think about it?” Pierre asked. “Why are you -silent?” - -“What do I think about it? I am listening to you. It’s all very -well.... You say: join our brotherhood and we will show you the aim of -life, the destiny of man, and the laws which govern the world. But who -are we? Men. How is it you know everything? Why do I alone not see what -you see? You see a reign of goodness and truth on earth, but I don’t -see it.” - -Pierre interrupted him. - -“Do you believe in a future life?” he asked. - -“A future life?” Prince Andrew repeated, but Pierre, giving him no -time to reply, took the repetition for a denial, the more readily as he -knew Prince Andrew’s former atheistic convictions. - -“You say you can’t see a reign of goodness and truth on earth. Nor -could I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as the end -of everything. On earth, here on this earth” (Pierre pointed to -the fields), “there is no truth, all is false and evil; but in the -universe, in the whole universe there is a kingdom of truth, and we who -are now the children of earth are—eternally—children of the -whole universe. Don’t I feel in my soul that I am part of this vast -harmonious whole? Don’t I feel that I form one link, one step, between -the lower and higher beings, in this vast harmonious multitude of -beings in whom the Deity—the Supreme Power if you prefer the term—is -manifest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading from plant to man, -why should I suppose it breaks off at me and does not go farther and -farther? I feel that I cannot vanish, since nothing vanishes in this -world, but that I shall always exist and always have existed. I feel -that beyond me and above me there are spirits, and that in this world -there is truth.” - -“Yes, that is Herder’s theory,” said Prince Andrew, “but it is -not that which can convince me, dear friend—life and death are what -convince. What convinces is when one sees a being dear to one, bound -up with one’s own life, before whom one was to blame and had hoped to -make it right” (Prince Andrew’s voice trembled and he turned away), -“and suddenly that being is seized with pain, suffers, and ceases to -exist.... Why? It cannot be that there is no answer. And I believe there -is.... That’s what convinces, that is what has convinced me,” said -Prince Andrew. - -“Yes, yes, of course,” said Pierre, “isn’t that what I’m -saying?” - -“No. All I say is that it is not argument that convinces me of the -necessity of a future life, but this: when you go hand in hand with -someone and all at once that person vanishes there, into nowhere, and -you yourself are left facing that abyss, and look in. And I have looked -in....” - -“Well, that’s it then! You know that there is a there and there is a -Someone? There is the future life. The Someone is—God.” - -Prince Andrew did not reply. The carriage and horses had long since been -taken off, onto the farther bank, and reharnessed. The sun had sunk half -below the horizon and an evening frost was starring the puddles near -the ferry, but Pierre and Andrew, to the astonishment of the footmen, -coachmen, and ferrymen, still stood on the raft and talked. - -“If there is a God and future life, there is truth and good, and -man’s highest happiness consists in striving to attain them. We must -live, we must love, and we must believe that we live not only today on -this scrap of earth, but have lived and shall live forever, there, in -the Whole,” said Pierre, and he pointed to the sky. - -Prince Andrew stood leaning on the railing of the raft listening to -Pierre, and he gazed with his eyes fixed on the red reflection of the -sun gleaming on the blue waters. There was perfect stillness. Pierre -became silent. The raft had long since stopped and only the waves of the -current beat softly against it below. Prince Andrew felt as if the sound -of the waves kept up a refrain to Pierre’s words, whispering: - -“It is true, believe it.” - -He sighed, and glanced with a radiant, childlike, tender look at -Pierre’s face, flushed and rapturous, but yet shy before his superior -friend. - -“Yes, if it only were so!” said Prince Andrew. “However, it is -time to get on,” he added, and, stepping off the raft, he looked up -at the sky to which Pierre had pointed, and for the first time since -Austerlitz saw that high, everlasting sky he had seen while lying on -that battlefield; and something that had long been slumbering, something -that was best within him, suddenly awoke, joyful and youthful, in his -soul. It vanished as soon as he returned to the customary conditions -of his life, but he knew that this feeling which he did not know how to -develop existed within him. His meeting with Pierre formed an epoch in -Prince Andrew’s life. Though outwardly he continued to live in the -same old way, inwardly he began a new life. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -It was getting dusk when Prince Andrew and Pierre drove up to the front -entrance of the house at Bald Hills. As they approached the house, -Prince Andrew with a smile drew Pierre’s attention to a commotion -going on at the back porch. A woman, bent with age, with a wallet on her -back, and a short, long-haired, young man in a black garment had rushed -back to the gate on seeing the carriage driving up. Two women ran out -after them, and all four, looking round at the carriage, ran in dismay -up the steps of the back porch. - -“Those are Mary’s ‘God’s folk,’” said Prince Andrew. “They -have mistaken us for my father. This is the one matter in which she -disobeys him. He orders these pilgrims to be driven away, but she -receives them.” - -“But what are ‘God’s folk’?” asked Pierre. - -Prince Andrew had no time to answer. The servants came out to meet them, -and he asked where the old prince was and whether he was expected back -soon. - -The old prince had gone to the town and was expected back any minute. - -Prince Andrew led Pierre to his own apartments, which were always kept -in perfect order and readiness for him in his father’s house; he -himself went to the nursery. - -“Let us go and see my sister,” he said to Pierre when he returned. -“I have not found her yet, she is hiding now, sitting with her -‘God’s folk.’ It will serve her right, she will be confused, but -you will see her ‘God’s folk.’ It’s really very curious.” - -“What are ‘God’s folk’?” asked Pierre. - -“Come, and you’ll see for yourself.” - -Princess Mary really was disconcerted and red patches came on her face -when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps burning before the icon -stand, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monk’s -cassock, sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar. Near them, in an -armchair, sat a thin, shriveled, old woman, with a meek expression on -her childlike face. - -“Andrew, why didn’t you warn me?” said the princess, with mild -reproach, as she stood before her pilgrims like a hen before her -chickens. - -“Charmée de vous voir. Je suis très contente de vous voir,” * she -said to Pierre as he kissed her hand. She had known him as a child, and -now his friendship with Andrew, his misfortune with his wife, and above -all his kindly, simple face disposed her favorably toward him. She -looked at him with her beautiful radiant eyes and seemed to say, “I -like you very much, but please don’t laugh at my people.” After -exchanging the first greetings, they sat down. - - * “Delighted to see you. I am very glad to see you.” - - -“Ah, and Ivánushka is here too!” said Prince Andrew, glancing with -a smile at the young pilgrim. - -“Andrew!” said Princess Mary, imploringly. “Il faut que vous -sachiez que c’est une femme,” * said Prince Andrew to Pierre. - -“Andrew, au nom de Dieu!” *(2) Princess Mary repeated. - - * “You must know that this is a woman.” - - * (2) “For heaven’s sake.” - - -It was evident that Prince Andrew’s ironical tone toward the pilgrims -and Princess Mary’s helpless attempts to protect them were their -customary long-established relations on the matter. - -“Mais, ma bonne amie,” said Prince Andrew, “vous devriez au -contraire m’être reconnaissante de ce que j’explique à Pierre -votre intimité avec ce jeune homme.” * - - * “But, my dear, you ought on the contrary to be grateful to - me for explaining to Pierre your intimacy with this young - man.” - - -“Really?” said Pierre, gazing over his spectacles with curiosity and -seriousness (for which Princess Mary was specially grateful to him) into -Ivánushka’s face, who, seeing that she was being spoken about, looked -round at them all with crafty eyes. - -Princess Mary’s embarrassment on her people’s account was quite -unnecessary. They were not in the least abashed. The old woman, lowering -her eyes but casting side glances at the newcomers, had turned her cup -upside down and placed a nibbled bit of sugar beside it, and sat -quietly in her armchair, though hoping to be offered another cup of tea. -Ivánushka, sipping out of her saucer, looked with sly womanish eyes -from under her brows at the young men. - -“Where have you been? To Kiev?” Prince Andrew asked the old woman. - -“I have, good sir,” she answered garrulously. “Just at -Christmastime I was deemed worthy to partake of the holy and heavenly -sacrament at the shrine of the saint. And now I’m from Kolyázin, -master, where a great and wonderful blessing has been revealed.” - -“And was Ivánushka with you?” - -“I go by myself, benefactor,” said Ivánushka, trying to speak in a -bass voice. “I only came across Pelagéya in Yúkhnovo....” - -Pelagéya interrupted her companion; she evidently wished to tell what -she had seen. - -“In Kolyázin, master, a wonderful blessing has been revealed.” - -“What is it? Some new relics?” asked Prince Andrew. - -“Andrew, do leave off,” said Princess Mary. “Don’t tell him, -Pelagéya.” - -“No... why not, my dear, why shouldn’t I? I like him. He is kind, -he is one of God’s chosen, he’s a benefactor, he once gave me ten -rubles, I remember. When I was in Kiev, Crazy Cyril says to me (he’s -one of God’s own and goes barefoot summer and winter), he says, -‘Why are you not going to the right place? Go to Kolyázin where a -wonder-working icon of the Holy Mother of God has been revealed.’ On -hearing those words I said good-by to the holy folk and went.” - -All were silent, only the pilgrim woman went on in measured tones, -drawing in her breath. - -“So I come, master, and the people say to me: ‘A great blessing has -been revealed, holy oil trickles from the cheeks of our blessed Mother, -the Holy Virgin Mother of God.’...” - -“All right, all right, you can tell us afterwards,” said Princess -Mary, flushing. - -“Let me ask her,” said Pierre. “Did you see it yourselves?” he -inquired. - -“Oh, yes, master, I was found worthy. Such a brightness on the face -like the light of heaven, and from the blessed Mother’s cheek it drops -and drops....” - -“But, dear me, that must be a fraud!” said Pierre, naïvely, who had -listened attentively to the pilgrim. - -“Oh, master, what are you saying?” exclaimed the horrified -Pelagéya, turning to Princess Mary for support. - -“They impose on the people,” he repeated. - -“Lord Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the pilgrim woman, crossing herself. -“Oh, don’t speak so, master! There was a general who did not -believe, and said, ‘The monks cheat,’ and as soon as he’d said it -he went blind. And he dreamed that the Holy Virgin Mother of the Kiev -catacombs came to him and said, ‘Believe in me and I will make you -whole.’ So he begged: ‘Take me to her, take me to her.’ It’s the -real truth I’m telling you, I saw it myself. So he was brought, quite -blind, straight to her, and he goes up to her and falls down and says, -‘Make me whole,’ says he, ‘and I’ll give thee what the Tsar -bestowed on me.’ I saw it myself, master, the star is fixed into the -icon. Well, and what do you think? He received his sight! It’s a sin -to speak so. God will punish you,” she said admonishingly, turning to -Pierre. - -“How did the star get into the icon?” Pierre asked. - -“And was the Holy Mother promoted to the rank of general?” said -Prince Andrew, with a smile. - -Pelagéya suddenly grew quite pale and clasped her hands. - -“Oh, master, master, what a sin! And you who have a son!” she began, -her pallor suddenly turning to a vivid red. “Master, what have you -said? God forgive you!” And she crossed herself. “Lord forgive him! -My dear, what does it mean?...” she asked, turning to Princess -Mary. She got up and, almost crying, began to arrange her wallet. She -evidently felt frightened and ashamed to have accepted charity in a -house where such things could be said, and was at the same time sorry to -have now to forgo the charity of this house. - -“Now, why need you do it?” said Princess Mary. “Why did you come -to me?...” - -“Come, Pelagéya, I was joking,” said Pierre. “Princesse, ma -parole, je n’ai pas voulu l’offenser. * I did not mean anything, -I was only joking,” he said, smiling shyly and trying to efface his -offense. “It was all my fault, and Andrew was only joking.” - - * “Princess, on my word, I did not wish to offend her.” - - -Pelagéya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierre’s face there was such a -look of sincere penitence, and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly now at -her and now at Pierre, that she was gradually reassured. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -The pilgrim woman was appeased and, being encouraged to talk, gave a -long account of Father Amphilochus, who led so holy a life that his -hands smelled of incense, and how on her last visit to Kiev some monks -she knew let her have the keys of the catacombs, and how she, taking -some dried bread with her, had spent two days in the catacombs with -the saints. “I’d pray awhile to one, ponder awhile, then go on to -another. I’d sleep a bit and then again go and kiss the relics, and -there was such peace all around, such blessedness, that one don’t want -to come out, even into the light of heaven again.” - -Pierre listened to her attentively and seriously. Prince Andrew went out -of the room, and then, leaving “God’s folk” to finish their tea, -Princess Mary took Pierre into the drawing room. - -“You are very kind,” she said to him. - -“Oh, I really did not mean to hurt her feelings. I understand them so -well and have the greatest respect for them.” - -Princess Mary looked at him silently and smiled affectionately. - -“I have known you a long time, you see, and am as fond of you as of a -brother,” she said. “How do you find Andrew?” she added hurriedly, -not giving him time to reply to her affectionate words. “I am very -anxious about him. His health was better in the winter, but last spring -his wound reopened and the doctor said he ought to go away for a -cure. And I am also very much afraid for him spiritually. He has not a -character like us women who, when we suffer, can weep away our sorrows. -He keeps it all within him. Today he is cheerful and in good spirits, -but that is the effect of your visit—he is not often like that. If -you could persuade him to go abroad. He needs activity, and this quiet -regular life is very bad for him. Others don’t notice it, but I see -it.” - -Toward ten o’clock the men servants rushed to the front door, hearing -the bells of the old prince’s carriage approaching. Prince Andrew and -Pierre also went out into the porch. - -“Who’s that?” asked the old prince, noticing Pierre as he got out -of the carriage. - -“Ah! Very glad! Kiss me,” he said, having learned who the young -stranger was. - -The old prince was in a good temper and very gracious to Pierre. - -Before supper, Prince Andrew, coming back to his father’s study, found -him disputing hotly with his visitor. Pierre was maintaining that a time -would come when there would be no more wars. The old prince disputed it -chaffingly, but without getting angry. - -“Drain the blood from men’s veins and put in water instead, then -there will be no more war! Old women’s nonsense—old women’s -nonsense!” he repeated, but still he patted Pierre affectionately -on the shoulder, and then went up to the table where Prince Andrew, -evidently not wishing to join in the conversation, was looking over the -papers his father had brought from town. The old prince went up to him -and began to talk business. - -“The marshal, a Count Rostóv, hasn’t sent half his contingent. He -came to town and wanted to invite me to dinner—I gave him a pretty -dinner!... And there, look at this.... Well, my boy,” the old prince -went on, addressing his son and patting Pierre on the shoulder. “A -fine fellow—your friend—I like him! He stirs me up. Another says -clever things and one doesn’t care to listen, but this one talks -rubbish yet stirs an old fellow up. Well, go! Get along! Perhaps I’ll -come and sit with you at supper. We’ll have another dispute. Make -friends with my little fool, Princess Mary,” he shouted after Pierre, -through the door. - -Only now, on his visit to Bald Hills, did Pierre fully realize the -strength and charm of his friendship with Prince Andrew. That charm was -not expressed so much in his relations with him as with all his family -and with the household. With the stern old prince and the gentle, timid -Princess Mary, though he had scarcely known them, Pierre at once felt -like an old friend. They were all fond of him already. Not only Princess -Mary, who had been won by his gentleness with the pilgrims, gave him her -most radiant looks, but even the one-year-old “Prince Nicholas” (as -his grandfather called him) smiled at Pierre and let himself be taken -in his arms, and Michael Ivánovich and Mademoiselle Bourienne looked at -him with pleasant smiles when he talked to the old prince. - -The old prince came in to supper; this was evidently on Pierre’s -account. And during the two days of the young man’s visit he was -extremely kind to him and told him to visit them again. - -When Pierre had gone and the members of the household met together, they -began to express their opinions of him as people always do after a new -acquaintance has left, but as seldom happens, no one said anything but -what was good of him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -When returning from his leave, Rostóv felt, for the first time, how -close was the bond that united him to Denísov and the whole regiment. - -On approaching it, Rostóv felt as he had done when approaching his home -in Moscow. When he saw the first hussar with the unbuttoned uniform -of his regiment, when he recognized red-haired Deméntyev and saw the -picket ropes of the roan horses, when Lavrúshka gleefully shouted to -his master, “The count has come!” and Denísov, who had been asleep -on his bed, ran all disheveled out of the mud hut to embrace him, -and the officers collected round to greet the new arrival, Rostóv -experienced the same feeling as when his mother, his father, and his -sister had embraced him, and tears of joy choked him so that he could -not speak. The regiment was also a home, and as unalterably dear and -precious as his parents’ house. - -When he had reported himself to the commander of the regiment and had -been reassigned to his former squadron, had been on duty and had gone -out foraging, when he had again entered into all the little interests -of the regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty and bound in one -narrow, unchanging frame, he experienced the same sense of peace, of -moral support, and the same sense of being at home here in his own -place, as he had felt under the parental roof. But here was none of -all that turmoil of the world at large, where he did not know his right -place and took mistaken decisions; here was no Sónya with whom he -ought, or ought not, to have an explanation; here was no possibility of -going there or not going there; here there were not twenty-four hours -in the day which could be spent in such a variety of ways; there was not -that innumerable crowd of people of whom not one was nearer to him or -farther from him than another; there were none of those uncertain and -undefined money relations with his father, and nothing to recall that -terrible loss to Dólokhov. Here, in the regiment, all was clear and -simple. The whole world was divided into two unequal parts: one, our -Pávlograd regiment; the other, all the rest. And the rest was no -concern of his. In the regiment, everything was definite: who was -lieutenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, who a bad one, and most -of all, who was a comrade. The canteenkeeper gave one credit, one’s -pay came every four months, there was nothing to think out or decide, -you had only to do nothing that was considered bad in the Pávlograd -regiment and, when given an order, to do what was clearly, distinctly, -and definitely ordered—and all would be well. - -Having once more entered into the definite conditions of this regimental -life, Rostóv felt the joy and relief a tired man feels on lying down to -rest. Life in the regiment, during this campaign, was all the pleasanter -for him, because, after his loss to Dólokhov (for which, in spite -of all his family’s efforts to console him, he could not forgive -himself), he had made up his mind to atone for his fault by serving, -not as he had done before, but really well, and by being a perfectly -first-rate comrade and officer—in a word, a splendid man altogether, a -thing which seemed so difficult out in the world, but so possible in the -regiment. - -After his losses, he had determined to pay back his debt to his parents -in five years. He received ten thousand rubles a year, but now resolved -to take only two thousand and leave the rest to repay the debt to his -parents. - -Our army, after repeated retreats and advances and battles at Pultúsk -and Preussisch-Eylau, was concentrated near Bartenstein. It was awaiting -the Emperor’s arrival and the beginning of a new campaign. - -The Pávlograd regiment, belonging to that part of the army which had -served in the 1805 campaign, had been recruiting up to strength in -Russia, and arrived too late to take part in the first actions of the -campaign. It had been neither at Pultúsk nor at Preussisch-Eylau and, -when it joined the army in the field in the second half of the campaign, -was attached to Plátov’s division. - -Plátov’s division was acting independently of the main army. Several -times parts of the Pávlograd regiment had exchanged shots with -the enemy, had taken prisoners, and once had even captured Marshal -Oudinot’s carriages. In April the Pávlograds were stationed immovably -for some weeks near a totally ruined and deserted German village. - -A thaw had set in, it was muddy and cold, the ice on the river broke, -and the roads became impassable. For days neither provisions for the -men nor fodder for the horses had been issued. As no transports could -arrive, the men dispersed about the abandoned and deserted villages, -searching for potatoes, but found few even of these. - -Everything had been eaten up and the inhabitants had all fled—if any -remained, they were worse than beggars and nothing more could be taken -from them; even the soldiers, usually pitiless enough, instead of taking -anything from them, often gave them the last of their rations. - -The Pávlograd regiment had had only two men wounded in action, but had -lost nearly half its men from hunger and sickness. In the hospitals, -death was so certain that soldiers suffering from fever, or the swelling -that came from bad food, preferred to remain on duty, and hardly able -to drag their legs went to the front rather than to the hospitals. -When spring came on, the soldiers found a plant just showing out of the -ground that looked like asparagus, which, for some reason, they called -“Máshka’s sweet root.” It was very bitter, but they wandered -about the fields seeking it and dug it out with their sabers and ate it, -though they were ordered not to do so, as it was a noxious plant. That -spring a new disease broke out among the soldiers, a swelling of the -arms, legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating this root. -But in spite of all this, the soldiers of Denísov’s squadron fed -chiefly on “Máshka’s sweet root,” because it was the second week -that the last of the biscuits were being doled out at the rate of half a -pound a man and the last potatoes received had sprouted and frozen. - -The horses also had been fed for a fortnight on straw from the thatched -roofs and had become terribly thin, though still covered with tufts of -felty winter hair. - -Despite this destitution, the soldiers and officers went on living just -as usual. Despite their pale swollen faces and tattered uniforms, the -hussars formed line for roll call, kept things in order, groomed their -horses, polished their arms, brought in straw from the thatched roofs in -place of fodder, and sat down to dine round the caldrons from which -they rose up hungry, joking about their nasty food and their hunger. As -usual, in their spare time, they lit bonfires, steamed themselves before -them naked; smoked, picked out and baked sprouting rotten potatoes, told -and listened to stories of Potëmkin’s and Suvórov’s campaigns, or -to legends of Alësha the Sly, or the priest’s laborer Mikólka. - -The officers, as usual, lived in twos and threes in the roofless, -half-ruined houses. The seniors tried to collect straw and potatoes and, -in general, food for the men. The younger ones occupied themselves as -before, some playing cards (there was plenty of money, though there was -no food), some with more innocent games, such as quoits and skittles. -The general trend of the campaign was rarely spoken of, partly because -nothing certain was known about it, partly because there was a vague -feeling that in the main it was going badly. - -Rostóv lived, as before, with Denísov, and since their furlough they -had become more friendly than ever. Denísov never spoke of Rostóv’s -family, but by the tender friendship his commander showed him, Rostóv -felt that the elder hussar’s luckless love for Natásha played a part -in strengthening their friendship. Denísov evidently tried to expose -Rostóv to danger as seldom as possible, and after an action greeted his -safe return with evident joy. On one of his foraging expeditions, in -a deserted and ruined village to which he had come in search of -provisions, Rostóv found a family consisting of an old Pole and his -daughter with an infant in arms. They were half clad, hungry, too weak -to get away on foot and had no means of obtaining a conveyance. Rostóv -brought them to his quarters, placed them in his own lodging, and -kept them for some weeks while the old man was recovering. One of his -comrades, talking of women, began chaffing Rostóv, saying that he was -more wily than any of them and that it would not be a bad thing if he -introduced to them the pretty Polish girl he had saved. Rostóv took -the joke as an insult, flared up, and said such unpleasant things to the -officer that it was all Denísov could do to prevent a duel. When -the officer had gone away, Denísov, who did not himself know what -Rostóv’s relations with the Polish girl might be, began to upbraid -him for his quickness of temper, and Rostóv replied: - -“Say what you like.... She is like a sister to me, and I can’t tell -you how it offended me... because... well, for that reason....” - -Denísov patted him on the shoulder and began rapidly pacing the room -without looking at Rostóv, as was his way at moments of deep feeling. - -“Ah, what a mad bweed you Wostóvs are!” he muttered, and Rostóv -noticed tears in his eyes. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -In April the troops were enlivened by news of the Emperor’s arrival, -but Rostóv had no chance of being present at the review he held at -Bartenstein, as the Pávlograds were at the outposts far beyond that -place. - -They were bivouacking. Denísov and Rostóv were living in an earth hut, -dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches and turf. The -hut was made in the following manner, which had then come into vogue. A -trench was dug three and a half feet wide, four feet eight inches deep, -and eight feet long. At one end of the trench, steps were cut out and -these formed the entrance and vestibule. The trench itself was the room, -in which the lucky ones, such as the squadron commander, had a board, -lying on piles at the end opposite the entrance, to serve as a table. On -each side of the trench, the earth was cut out to a breadth of about two -and a half feet, and this did duty for bedsteads and couches. The roof -was so constructed that one could stand up in the middle of the trench -and could even sit up on the beds if one drew close to the table. -Denísov, who was living luxuriously because the soldiers of his -squadron liked him, had also a board in the roof at the farther end, -with a piece of (broken but mended) glass in it for a window. When it -was very cold, embers from the soldiers’ campfire were placed on -a bent sheet of iron on the steps in the “reception room”—as -Denísov called that part of the hut—and it was then so warm that the -officers, of whom there were always some with Denísov and Rostóv, sat -in their shirt sleeves. - -In April, Rostóv was on orderly duty. One morning, between seven and -eight, returning after a sleepless night, he sent for embers, changed -his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank tea, got warm, -then tidied up the things on the table and in his own corner, and, -his face glowing from exposure to the wind and with nothing on but his -shirt, lay down on his back, putting his arms under his head. He was -pleasantly considering the probability of being promoted in a few days -for his last reconnoitering expedition, and was awaiting Denísov, who -had gone out somewhere and with whom he wanted a talk. - -Suddenly he heard Denísov shouting in a vibrating voice behind the hut, -evidently much excited. Rostóv moved to the window to see whom he was -speaking to, and saw the quartermaster, Topchéenko. - -“I ordered you not to let them eat that Máshka woot stuff!” -Denísov was shouting. “And I saw with my own eyes how Lazarchúk -bwought some fwom the fields.” - -“I have given the order again and again, your honor, but they don’t -obey,” answered the quartermaster. - -Rostóv lay down again on his bed and thought complacently: “Let -him fuss and bustle now, my job’s done and I’m lying -down—capitally!” He could hear that Lavrúshka—that sly, bold -orderly of Denísov’s—was talking, as well as the quartermaster. -Lavrúshka was saying something about loaded wagons, biscuits, and oxen -he had seen when he had gone out for provisions. - -Then Denísov’s voice was heard shouting farther and farther away. -“Saddle! Second platoon!” - -“Where are they off to now?” thought Rostóv. - -Five minutes later, Denísov came into the hut, climbed with muddy boots -on the bed, lit his pipe, furiously scattered his things about, took -his leaded whip, buckled on his saber, and went out again. In answer to -Rostóv’s inquiry where he was going, he answered vaguely and crossly -that he had some business. - -“Let God and our gweat monarch judge me afterwards!” said Denísov -going out, and Rostóv heard the hoofs of several horses splashing -through the mud. He did not even trouble to find out where Denísov had -gone. Having got warm in his corner, he fell asleep and did not leave -the hut till toward evening. Denísov had not yet returned. The weather -had cleared up, and near the next hut two officers and a cadet were -playing sváyka, laughing as they threw their missiles which buried -themselves in the soft mud. Rostóv joined them. In the middle of the -game, the officers saw some wagons approaching with fifteen hussars on -their skinny horses behind them. The wagons escorted by the hussars drew -up to the picket ropes and a crowd of hussars surrounded them. - -“There now, Denísov has been worrying,” said Rostóv, “and here -are the provisions.” - -“So they are!” said the officers. “Won’t the soldiers be -glad!” - -A little behind the hussars came Denísov, accompanied by two infantry -officers with whom he was talking. - -Rostóv went to meet them. - -“I warn you, Captain,” one of the officers, a short thin man, -evidently very angry, was saying. - -“Haven’t I told you I won’t give them up?” replied Denísov. - -“You will answer for it, Captain. It is mutiny—seizing the transport -of one’s own army. Our men have had nothing to eat for two days.” - -“And mine have had nothing for two weeks,” said Denísov. - -“It is robbery! You’ll answer for it, sir!” said the infantry -officer, raising his voice. - -“Now, what are you pestewing me for?” cried Denísov, suddenly -losing his temper. “I shall answer for it and not you, and you’d -better not buzz about here till you get hurt. Be off! Go!” he shouted -at the officers. - -“Very well, then!” shouted the little officer, undaunted and not -riding away. “If you are determined to rob, I’ll...” - -“Go to the devil! quick ma’ch, while you’re safe and sound!” and -Denísov turned his horse on the officer. - -“Very well, very well!” muttered the officer, threateningly, and -turning his horse he trotted away, jolting in his saddle. - -“A dog astwide a fence! A weal dog astwide a fence!” shouted -Denísov after him (the most insulting expression a cavalryman can -address to a mounted infantryman) and riding up to Rostóv, he burst out -laughing. - -“I’ve taken twansports from the infantwy by force!” he said. -“After all, can’t let our men starve.” - -The wagons that had reached the hussars had been consigned to an -infantry regiment, but learning from Lavrúshka that the transport -was unescorted, Denísov with his hussars had seized it by force. The -soldiers had biscuits dealt out to them freely, and they even shared -them with the other squadrons. - -The next day the regimental commander sent for Denísov, and holding his -fingers spread out before his eyes said: - -“This is how I look at this affair: I know nothing about it and -won’t begin proceedings, but I advise you to ride over to the staff -and settle the business there in the commissariat department and if -possible sign a receipt for such and such stores received. If not, as -the demand was booked against an infantry regiment, there will be a row -and the affair may end badly.” - -From the regimental commander’s, Denísov rode straight to the staff -with a sincere desire to act on this advice. In the evening he came -back to his dugout in a state such as Rostóv had never yet seen him in. -Denísov could not speak and gasped for breath. When Rostóv asked what -was the matter, he only uttered some incoherent oaths and threats in a -hoarse, feeble voice. - -Alarmed at Denísov’s condition, Rostóv suggested that he should -undress, drink some water, and send for the doctor. - -“Twy me for wobbewy... oh! Some more water... Let them twy me, but -I’ll always thwash scoundwels... and I’ll tell the Empewo’... -Ice...” he muttered. - -The regimental doctor, when he came, said it was absolutely necessary -to bleed Denísov. A deep saucer of black blood was taken from his hairy -arm and only then was he able to relate what had happened to him. - -“I get there,” began Denísov. “‘Now then, where’s your -chief’s quarters?’ They were pointed out. ‘Please to wait.’ -‘I’ve widden twenty miles and have duties to attend to and no time -to wait. Announce me.’ Vewy well, so out comes their head -chief—also took it into his head to lecture me: ‘It’s -wobbewy!’—‘Wobbewy,’ I say, ‘is not done by man who seizes -pwovisions to feed his soldiers, but by him who takes them to fill his -own pockets!’ ‘Will you please be silent?’ ‘Vewy good!’ Then -he says: ‘Go and give a weceipt to the commissioner, but your affair -will be passed on to headquarters.’ I go to the commissioner. I enter, -and at the table... who do you think? No, but wait a bit!... Who is it -that’s starving us?” shouted Denísov, hitting the table with the -fist of his newly bled arm so violently that the table nearly broke down -and the tumblers on it jumped about. “Telyánin! ‘What? So it’s -you who’s starving us to death! Is it? Take this and this!’ and I -hit him so pat, stwaight on his snout... ‘Ah, what a... what a...!’ -and I sta’ted fwashing him... Well, I’ve had a bit of fun I can tell -you!” cried Denísov, gleeful and yet angry, his white teeth showing -under his black mustache. “I’d have killed him if they hadn’t -taken him away!” - -“But what are you shouting for? Calm yourself,” said Rostóv. -“You’ve set your arm bleeding afresh. Wait, we must tie it up -again.” - -Denísov was bandaged up again and put to bed. Next day he woke calm and -cheerful. - -But at noon the adjutant of the regiment came into Rostóv’s and -Denísov’s dugout with a grave and serious face and regretfully showed -them a paper addressed to Major Denísov from the regimental commander -in which inquiries were made about yesterday’s occurrence. The -adjutant told them that the affair was likely to take a very bad -turn: that a court-martial had been appointed, and that in view of the -severity with which marauding and insubordination were now regarded, -degradation to the ranks would be the best that could be hoped for. - -The case, as represented by the offended parties, was that, after -seizing the transports, Major Denísov, being drunk, went to the chief -quartermaster and without any provocation called him a thief, threatened -to strike him, and on being led out had rushed into the office and given -two officials a thrashing, and dislocated the arm of one of them. - -In answer to Rostóv’s renewed questions, Denísov said, laughing, -that he thought he remembered that some other fellow had got mixed up -in it, but that it was all nonsense and rubbish, and he did not in the -least fear any kind of trial, and that if those scoundrels dared attack -him he would give them an answer that they would not easily forget. - -Denísov spoke contemptuously of the whole matter, but Rostóv knew him -too well not to detect that (while hiding it from others) at heart -he feared a court-martial and was worried over the affair, which was -evidently taking a bad turn. Every day, letters of inquiry and notices -from the court arrived, and on the first of May, Denísov was ordered -to hand the squadron over to the next in seniority and appear before -the staff of his division to explain his violence at the commissariat -office. On the previous day Plátov reconnoitered with two Cossack -regiments and two squadrons of hussars. Denísov, as was his wont, rode -out in front of the outposts, parading his courage. A bullet fired by -a French sharpshooter hit him in the fleshy part of his leg. Perhaps at -another time Denísov would not have left the regiment for so slight a -wound, but now he took advantage of it to excuse himself from appearing -at the staff and went into hospital. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -In June the battle of Friedland was fought, in which the Pávlograds did -not take part, and after that an armistice was proclaimed. Rostóv, who -felt his friend’s absence very much, having no news of him since he -left and feeling very anxious about his wound and the progress of his -affairs, took advantage of the armistice to get leave to visit Denísov -in hospital. - -The hospital was in a small Prussian town that had been twice devastated -by Russian and French troops. Because it was summer, when it is so -beautiful out in the fields, the little town presented a particularly -dismal appearance with its broken roofs and fences, its foul streets, -tattered inhabitants, and the sick and drunken soldiers wandering about. - -The hospital was in a brick building with some of the window frames and -panes broken and a courtyard surrounded by the remains of a wooden fence -that had been pulled to pieces. Several bandaged soldiers, with pale -swollen faces, were sitting or walking about in the sunshine in the -yard. - -Directly Rostóv entered the door he was enveloped by a smell of -putrefaction and hospital air. On the stairs he met a Russian army -doctor smoking a cigar. The doctor was followed by a Russian assistant. - -“I can’t tear myself to pieces,” the doctor was saying. “Come to -Makár Alexéevich in the evening. I shall be there.” - -The assistant asked some further questions. - -“Oh, do the best you can! Isn’t it all the same?” The doctor -noticed Rostóv coming upstairs. - -“What do you want, sir?” said the doctor. “What do you want? -The bullets having spared you, do you want to try typhus? This is a -pesthouse, sir.” - -“How so?” asked Rostóv. - -“Typhus, sir. It’s death to go in. Only we two, Makéev and I” (he -pointed to the assistant), “keep on here. Some five of us doctors have -died in this place.... When a new one comes he is done for in a week,” -said the doctor with evident satisfaction. “Prussian doctors have been -invited here, but our allies don’t like it at all.” - -Rostóv explained that he wanted to see Major Denísov of the hussars, -who was wounded. - -“I don’t know. I can’t tell you, sir. Only think! I am alone in -charge of three hospitals with more than four hundred patients! It’s -well that the charitable Prussian ladies send us two pounds of coffee -and some lint each month or we should be lost!” he laughed. “Four -hundred, sir, and they’re always sending me fresh ones. There are four -hundred? Eh?” he asked, turning to the assistant. - -The assistant looked fagged out. He was evidently vexed and impatient -for the talkative doctor to go. - -“Major Denísov,” Rostóv said again. “He was wounded at -Molliten.” - -“Dead, I fancy. Eh, Makéev?” queried the doctor, in a tone of -indifference. - -The assistant, however, did not confirm the doctor’s words. - -“Is he tall and with reddish hair?” asked the doctor. - -Rostóv described Denísov’s appearance. - -“There was one like that,” said the doctor, as if pleased. “That -one is dead, I fancy. However, I’ll look up our list. We had a list. -Have you got it, Makéev?” - -“Makár Alexéevich has the list,” answered the assistant. “But if -you’ll step into the officers’ wards you’ll see for yourself,” -he added, turning to Rostóv. - -“Ah, you’d better not go, sir,” said the doctor, “or you may -have to stay here yourself.” - -But Rostóv bowed himself away from the doctor and asked the assistant -to show him the way. - -“Only don’t blame me!” the doctor shouted up after him. - -Rostóv and the assistant went into the dark corridor. The smell was so -strong there that Rostóv held his nose and had to pause and collect -his strength before he could go on. A door opened to the right, and an -emaciated sallow man on crutches, barefoot and in underclothing, limped -out and, leaning against the doorpost, looked with glittering envious -eyes at those who were passing. Glancing in at the door, Rostóv -saw that the sick and wounded were lying on the floor on straw and -overcoats. - -“May I go in and look?” - -“What is there to see?” said the assistant. - -But, just because the assistant evidently did not want him to go in, -Rostóv entered the soldiers’ ward. The foul air, to which he had -already begun to get used in the corridor, was still stronger here. It -was a little different, more pungent, and one felt that this was where -it originated. - -In the long room, brightly lit up by the sun through the large windows, -the sick and wounded lay in two rows with their heads to the walls, and -leaving a passage in the middle. Most of them were unconscious and -paid no attention to the newcomers. Those who were conscious raised -themselves or lifted their thin yellow faces, and all looked intently at -Rostóv with the same expression of hope, of relief, reproach, and -envy of another’s health. Rostóv went to the middle of the room and -looking through the open doors into the two adjoining rooms saw the same -thing there. He stood still, looking silently around. He had not at all -expected such a sight. Just before him, almost across the middle of the -passage on the bare floor, lay a sick man, probably a Cossack to judge -by the cut of his hair. The man lay on his back, his huge arms and legs -outstretched. His face was purple, his eyes were rolled back so that -only the whites were seen, and on his bare legs and arms which were -still red, the veins stood out like cords. He was knocking the back of -his head against the floor, hoarsely uttering some word which he kept -repeating. Rostóv listened and made out the word. It was “drink, -drink, a drink!” Rostóv glanced round, looking for someone who would -put this man back in his place and bring him water. - -“Who looks after the sick here?” he asked the assistant. - -Just then a commissariat soldier, a hospital orderly, came in from the -next room, marching stiffly, and drew up in front of Rostóv. - -“Good day, your honor!” he shouted, rolling his eyes at Rostóv and -evidently mistaking him for one of the hospital authorities. - -“Get him to his place and give him some water,” said Rostóv, -pointing to the Cossack. - -“Yes, your honor,” the soldier replied complacently, and rolling -his eyes more than ever he drew himself up still straighter, but did not -move. - -“No, it’s impossible to do anything here,” thought Rostóv, -lowering his eyes, and he was going out, but became aware of an intense -look fixed on him on his right, and he turned. Close to the corner, on -an overcoat, sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a -skeleton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostóv. -The man’s neighbor on one side whispered something to him, pointing -at Rostóv, who noticed that the old man wanted to speak to him. He drew -nearer and saw that the old man had only one leg bent under him, the -other had been amputated above the knee. His neighbor on the other side, -who lay motionless some distance from him with his head thrown back, was -a young soldier with a snub nose. His pale waxen face was still freckled -and his eyes were rolled back. Rostóv looked at the young soldier and a -cold chill ran down his back. - -“Why, this one seems...” he began, turning to the assistant. - -“And how we’ve been begging, your honor,” said the old soldier, -his jaw quivering. “He’s been dead since morning. After all we’re -men, not dogs.” - -“I’ll send someone at once. He shall be taken away—taken away at -once,” said the assistant hurriedly. “Let us go, your honor.” - -“Yes, yes, let us go,” said Rostóv hastily, and lowering his -eyes and shrinking, he tried to pass unnoticed between the rows of -reproachful envious eyes that were fixed upon him, and went out of the -room. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostóv to the officers’ -wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stood open. There -were beds in these rooms and the sick and wounded officers were lying or -sitting on them. Some were walking about the rooms in hospital dressing -gowns. The first person Rostóv met in the officers’ ward was a thin -little man with one arm, who was walking about the first room in a -nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a pipe between his teeth. -Rostóv looked at him, trying to remember where he had seen him before. - -“See where we’ve met again!” said the little man. “Túshin, -Túshin, don’t you remember, who gave you a lift at Schön Grabern? -And I’ve had a bit cut off, you see...” he went on with a smile, -pointing to the empty sleeve of his dressing gown. “Looking for -Vasíli Dmítrich Denísov? My neighbor,” he added, when he heard -who Rostóv wanted. “Here, here,” and Túshin led him into the next -room, from whence came sounds of several laughing voices. - -“How can they laugh, or even live at all here?” thought Rostóv, -still aware of that smell of decomposing flesh that had been so strong -in the soldiers’ ward, and still seeming to see fixed on him those -envious looks which had followed him out from both sides, and the face -of that young soldier with eyes rolled back. - -Denísov lay asleep on his bed with his head under the blanket, though -it was nearly noon. - -“Ah, Wostóv? How are you, how are you?” he called out, still in the -same voice as in the regiment, but Rostóv noticed sadly that under this -habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feeling showed -itself in the expression of Denísov’s face and the intonations of his -voice. - -His wound, though a slight one, had not yet healed even now, six weeks -after he had been hit. His face had the same swollen pallor as the faces -of the other hospital patients, but it was not this that struck Rostóv. -What struck him was that Denísov did not seem glad to see him, and -smiled at him unnaturally. He did not ask about the regiment, nor about -the general state of affairs, and when Rostóv spoke of these matters -did not listen. - -Rostóv even noticed that Denísov did not like to be reminded of the -regiment, or in general of that other free life which was going on -outside the hospital. He seemed to try to forget that old life and -was only interested in the affair with the commissariat officers. On -Rostóv’s inquiry as to how the matter stood, he at once produced from -under his pillow a paper he had received from the commission and the -rough draft of his answer to it. He became animated when he began -reading his paper and specially drew Rostóv’s attention to the -stinging rejoinders he made to his enemies. His hospital companions, -who had gathered round Rostóv—a fresh arrival from the world -outside—gradually began to disperse as soon as Denísov began reading -his answer. Rostóv noticed by their faces that all those gentlemen had -already heard that story more than once and were tired of it. Only the -man who had the next bed, a stout Uhlan, continued to sit on his bed, -gloomily frowning and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed Túshin still -listened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the middle of the reading, -the Uhlan interrupted Denísov. - -“But what I say is,” he said, turning to Rostóv, “it would be -best simply to petition the Emperor for pardon. They say great rewards -will now be distributed, and surely a pardon would be granted....” - -“Me petition the Empewo’!” exclaimed Denísov, in a voice to which -he tried hard to give the old energy and fire, but which sounded like -an expression of irritable impotence. “What for? If I were a wobber I -would ask mercy, but I’m being court-martialed for bwinging wobbers -to book. Let them twy me, I’m not afwaid of anyone. I’ve served -the Tsar and my countwy honowably and have not stolen! And am I to be -degwaded?... Listen, I’m w’iting to them stwaight. This is what I -say: ‘If I had wobbed the Tweasuwy...’” - -“It’s certainly well written,” said Túshin, “but that’s not -the point, Vasíli Dmítrich,” and he also turned to Rostóv. “One -has to submit, and Vasíli Dmítrich doesn’t want to. You know the -auditor told you it was a bad business.” - -“Well, let it be bad,” said Denísov. - -“The auditor wrote out a petition for you,” continued Túshin, -“and you ought to sign it and ask this gentleman to take it. No doubt -he” (indicating Rostóv) “has connections on the staff. You won’t -find a better opportunity.” - -“Haven’t I said I’m not going to gwovel?” Denísov interrupted -him, went on reading his paper. - -Rostóv had not the courage to persuade Denísov, though he -instinctively felt that the way advised by Túshin and the other -officers was the safest, and though he would have been glad to be of -service to Denísov. He knew his stubborn will and straightforward hasty -temper. - -When the reading of Denísov’s virulent reply, which took more than an -hour, was over, Rostóv said nothing, and he spent the rest of the day -in a most dejected state of mind amid Denísov’s hospital comrades, -who had gathered round him, telling them what he knew and listening to -their stories. Denísov was moodily silent all the evening. - -Late in the evening, when Rostóv was about to leave, he asked Denísov -whether he had no commission for him. - -“Yes, wait a bit,” said Denísov, glancing round at the officers, -and taking his papers from under his pillow he went to the window, where -he had an inkpot, and sat down to write. - -“It seems it’s no use knocking one’s head against a wall!” he -said, coming from the window and giving Rostóv a large envelope. In -it was the petition to the Emperor drawn up by the auditor, in -which Denísov, without alluding to the offenses of the commissariat -officials, simply asked for pardon. - -“Hand it in. It seems...” - -He did not finish, but gave a painfully unnatural smile. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -Having returned to the regiment and told the commander the state of -Denísov’s affairs, Rostóv rode to Tilsit with the letter to the -Emperor. - -On the thirteenth of June the French and Russian Emperors arrived in -Tilsit. Borís Drubetskóy had asked the important personage on whom he -was in attendance, to include him in the suite appointed for the stay at -Tilsit. - -“I should like to see the great man,” he said, alluding to Napoleon, -whom hitherto he, like everyone else, had always called Buonaparte. - -“You are speaking of Buonaparte?” asked the general, smiling. - -Borís looked at his general inquiringly and immediately saw that he was -being tested. - -“I am speaking, Prince, of the Emperor Napoleon,” he replied. The -general patted him on the shoulder, with a smile. - -“You will go far,” he said, and took him to Tilsit with him. - -Borís was among the few present at the Niemen on the day the two -Emperors met. He saw the raft, decorated with monograms, saw Napoleon -pass before the French Guards on the farther bank of the river, saw the -pensive face of the Emperor Alexander as he sat in silence in a tavern -on the bank of the Niemen awaiting Napoleon’s arrival, saw both -Emperors get into boats, and saw how Napoleon—reaching the raft -first—stepped quickly forward to meet Alexander and held out his hand -to him, and how they both retired into the pavilion. Since he had begun -to move in the highest circles Borís had made it his habit to watch -attentively all that went on around him and to note it down. At the time -of the meeting at Tilsit he asked the names of those who had come with -Napoleon and about the uniforms they wore, and listened attentively to -words spoken by important personages. At the moment the Emperors went -into the pavilion he looked at his watch, and did not forget to look at -it again when Alexander came out. The interview had lasted an hour and -fifty-three minutes. He noted this down that same evening, among other -facts he felt to be of historic importance. As the Emperor’s suite -was a very small one, it was a matter of great importance, for a man who -valued his success in the service, to be at Tilsit on the occasion of -this interview between the two Emperors, and having succeeded in this, -Borís felt that henceforth his position was fully assured. He had not -only become known, but people had grown accustomed to him and accepted -him. Twice he had executed commissions to the Emperor himself, so -that the latter knew his face, and all those at court, far from -cold-shouldering him as at first when they considered him a newcomer, -would now have been surprised had he been absent. - -Borís lodged with another adjutant, the Polish Count Zhilínski. -Zhilínski, a Pole brought up in Paris, was rich, and passionately -fond of the French, and almost every day of the stay at Tilsit, French -officers of the Guard and from French headquarters were dining and -lunching with him and Borís. - -On the evening of the twenty-fourth of June, Count Zhilínski arranged a -supper for his French friends. The guest of honor was an aide-de-camp of -Napoleon’s, there were also several French officers of the Guard, -and a page of Napoleon’s, a young lad of an old aristocratic French -family. That same day, Rostóv, profiting by the darkness to avoid being -recognized in civilian dress, came to Tilsit and went to the lodging -occupied by Borís and Zhilínski. - -Rostóv, in common with the whole army from which he came, was far -from having experienced the change of feeling toward Napoleon and the -French—who from being foes had suddenly become friends—that had -taken place at headquarters and in Borís. In the army, Bonaparte and -the French were still regarded with mingled feelings of anger, contempt, -and fear. Only recently, talking with one of Plátov’s Cossack -officers, Rostóv had argued that if Napoleon were taken prisoner he -would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a criminal. Quite lately, -happening to meet a wounded French colonel on the road, Rostóv had -maintained with heat that peace was impossible between a legitimate -sovereign and the criminal Bonaparte. Rostóv was therefore unpleasantly -struck by the presence of French officers in Borís’ lodging, dressed -in uniforms he had been accustomed to see from quite a different point -of view from the outposts of the flank. As soon as he noticed a French -officer, who thrust his head out of the door, that warlike feeling of -hostility which he always experienced at the sight of the enemy suddenly -seized him. He stopped at the threshold and asked in Russian whether -Drubetskóy lived there. Borís, hearing a strange voice in the -anteroom, came out to meet him. An expression of annoyance showed itself -for a moment on his face on first recognizing Rostóv. - -“Ah, it’s you? Very glad, very glad to see you,” he said, however, -coming toward him with a smile. But Rostóv had noticed his first -impulse. - -“I’ve come at a bad time I think. I should not have come, but I have -business,” he said coldly. - -“No, I only wonder how you managed to get away from your regiment. -Dans un moment je suis à vous,” * he said, answering someone who -called him. - - * “In a minute I shall be at your disposal.” - - -“I see I’m intruding,” Rostóv repeated. - -The look of annoyance had already disappeared from Borís’ face: -having evidently reflected and decided how to act, he very quietly took -both Rostóv’s hands and led him into the next room. His eyes, looking -serenely and steadily at Rostóv, seemed to be veiled by something, -as if screened by blue spectacles of conventionality. So it seemed to -Rostóv. - -“Oh, come now! As if you could come at a wrong time!” said Borís, -and he led him into the room where the supper table was laid and -introduced him to his guests, explaining that he was not a civilian, but -an hussar officer, and an old friend of his. - -“Count Zhilínski—le Comte N. N.—le Capitaine S. S.,” said he, -naming his guests. Rostóv looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowed -reluctantly, and remained silent. - -Zhilínski evidently did not receive this new Russian person very -willingly into his circle and did not speak to Rostóv. Borís did not -appear to notice the constraint the newcomer produced and, with the same -pleasant composure and the same veiled look in his eyes with which -he had met Rostóv, tried to enliven the conversation. One of the -Frenchmen, with the politeness characteristic of his countrymen, -addressed the obstinately taciturn Rostóv, saying that the latter had -probably come to Tilsit to see the Emperor. - -“No, I came on business,” replied Rostóv, briefly. - -Rostóv had been out of humor from the moment he noticed the look of -dissatisfaction on Borís’ face, and as always happens to those in a -bad humor, it seemed to him that everyone regarded him with aversion -and that he was in everybody’s way. He really was in their way, for he -alone took no part in the conversation which again became general. The -looks the visitors cast on him seemed to say: “And what is he sitting -here for?” He rose and went up to Borís. - -“Anyhow, I’m in your way,” he said in a low tone. “Come and talk -over my business and I’ll go away.” - -“Oh, no, not at all,” said Borís. “But if you are tired, come and -lie down in my room and have a rest.” - -“Yes, really...” - -They went into the little room where Borís slept. Rostóv, without -sitting down, began at once, irritably (as if Borís were to blame in -some way) telling him about Denísov’s affair, asking him whether, -through his general, he could and would intercede with the Emperor on -Denísov’s behalf and get Denísov’s petition handed in. When he -and Borís were alone, Rostóv felt for the first time that he could not -look Borís in the face without a sense of awkwardness. Borís, with one -leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender -fingers of his right, listened to Rostóv as a general listens to the -report of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into -Rostóv’s eyes with the same veiled look. Each time this happened -Rostóv felt uncomfortable and cast down his eyes. - -“I have heard of such cases and know that His Majesty is very severe -in such affairs. I think it would be best not to bring it before the -Emperor, but to apply to the commander of the corps.... But in general, -I think...” - -“So you don’t want to do anything? Well then, say so!” Rostóv -almost shouted, not looking Borís in the face. - -Borís smiled. - -“On the contrary, I will do what I can. Only I thought...” - -At that moment Zhilínski’s voice was heard calling Borís. - -“Well then, go, go, go...” said Rostóv, and refusing supper and -remaining alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a long -time, hearing the lighthearted French conversation from the next room. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -Rostóv had come to Tilsit the day least suitable for a petition -on Denísov’s behalf. He could not himself go to the general in -attendance as he was in mufti and had come to Tilsit without permission -to do so, and Borís, even had he wished to, could not have done so on -the following day. On that day, June 27, the preliminaries of peace were -signed. The Emperors exchanged decorations: Alexander received the Cross -of the Legion of Honor and Napoleon the Order of St. Andrew of the -First Degree, and a dinner had been arranged for the evening, given by -a battalion of the French Guards to the Preobrazhénsk battalion. The -Emperors were to be present at that banquet. - -Rostóv felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable with Borís that, when the -latter looked in after supper, he pretended to be asleep, and early next -morning went away, avoiding Borís. In his civilian clothes and a -round hat, he wandered about the town, staring at the French and their -uniforms and at the streets and houses where the Russian and French -Emperors were staying. In a square he saw tables being set up and -preparations made for the dinner; he saw the Russian and French colors -draped from side to side of the streets, with huge monograms A and N. In -the windows of the houses also flags and bunting were displayed. - -“Borís doesn’t want to help me and I don’t want to ask him. -That’s settled,” thought Nicholas. “All is over between us, but -I won’t leave here without having done all I can for Denísov and -certainly not without getting his letter to the Emperor. The Emperor!... -He is here!” thought Rostóv, who had unconsciously returned to the -house where Alexander lodged. - -Saddled horses were standing before the house and the suite were -assembling, evidently preparing for the Emperor to come out. - -“I may see him at any moment,” thought Rostóv. “If only I were -to hand the letter direct to him and tell him all... could they really -arrest me for my civilian clothes? Surely not! He would understand on -whose side justice lies. He understands everything, knows everything. -Who can be more just, more magnanimous than he? And even if they did -arrest me for being here, what would it matter?” thought he, looking -at an officer who was entering the house the Emperor occupied. “After -all, people do go in.... It’s all nonsense! I’ll go in and hand -the letter to the Emperor myself so much the worse for Drubetskóy who -drives me to it!” And suddenly with a determination he himself did not -expect, Rostóv felt for the letter in his pocket and went straight to -the house. - -“No, I won’t miss my opportunity now, as I did after Austerlitz,” -he thought, expecting every moment to meet the monarch, and conscious of -the blood that rushed to his heart at the thought. “I will fall at -his feet and beseech him. He will lift me up, will listen, and will even -thank me. ‘I am happy when I can do good, but to remedy injustice is -the greatest happiness,’” Rostóv fancied the sovereign saying. And -passing people who looked after him with curiosity, he entered the porch -of the Emperor’s house. - -A broad staircase led straight up from the entry, and to the right he -saw a closed door. Below, under the staircase, was a door leading to the -lower floor. - -“Whom do you want?” someone inquired. - -“To hand in a letter, a petition, to His Majesty,” said Nicholas, -with a tremor in his voice. - -“A petition? This way, to the officer on duty” (he was shown the -door leading downstairs), “only it won’t be accepted.” - -On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostóv grew frightened at what -he was doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so -fascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away, -but the official who had questioned him opened the door, and Rostóv -entered. - -A short stout man of about thirty, in white breeches and high boots and -a batiste shirt that he had evidently only just put on, standing in that -room, and his valet was buttoning on to the back of his breeches a -new pair of handsome silk-embroidered braces that, for some reason, -attracted Rostóv’s attention. This man was speaking to someone in the -adjoining room. - -“A good figure and in her first bloom,” he was saying, but on seeing -Rostóv, he stopped short and frowned. - -“What is it? A petition?” - -“What is it?” asked the person in the other room. - -“Another petitioner,” answered the man with the braces. - -“Tell him to come later. He’ll be coming out directly, we must -go.” - -“Later... later! Tomorrow. It’s too late...” - -Rostóv turned and was about to go, but the man in the braces stopped -him. - -“Whom have you come from? Who are you?” - -“I come from Major Denísov,” answered Rostóv. - -“Are you an officer?” - -“Lieutenant Count Rostóv.” - -“What audacity! Hand it in through your commander. And go along with -you... go,” and he continued to put on the uniform the valet handed -him. - -Rostóv went back into the hall and noticed that in the porch there were -many officers and generals in full parade uniform, whom he had to pass. - -Cursing his temerity, his heart sinking at the thought of finding -himself at any moment face to face with the Emperor and being put to -shame and arrested in his presence, fully alive now to the impropriety -of his conduct and repenting of it, Rostóv, with downcast eyes, was -making his way out of the house through the brilliant suite when a -familiar voice called him and a hand detained him. - -“What are you doing here, sir, in civilian dress?” asked a deep -voice. - -It was a cavalry general who had obtained the Emperor’s special favor -during this campaign, and who had formerly commanded the division in -which Rostóv was serving. - -Rostóv, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing the kindly, -jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in an excited voice -told him the whole affair, asking him to intercede for Denísov, whom -the general knew. Having heard Rostóv to the end, the general shook his -head gravely. - -“I’m sorry, sorry for that fine fellow. Give me the letter.” - -Hardly had Rostóv handed him the letter and finished explaining -Denísov’s case, when hasty steps and the jingling of spurs were heard -on the stairs, and the general, leaving him, went to the porch. The -gentlemen of the Emperor’s suite ran down the stairs and went to their -horses. Hayne, the same groom who had been at Austerlitz, led up the -Emperor’s horse, and the faint creak of a footstep Rostóv knew at -once was heard on the stairs. Forgetting the danger of being recognized, -Rostóv went close to the porch, together with some inquisitive -civilians, and again, after two years, saw those features he adored: -that same face and same look and step, and the same union of majesty and -mildness.... And the feeling of enthusiasm and love for his sovereign -rose again in Rostóv’s soul in all its old force. In the uniform of -the Preobrazhénsk regiment—white chamois-leather breeches and high -boots—and wearing a star Rostóv did not know (it was that of the -Légion d’honneur), the monarch came out into the porch, putting on -his gloves and carrying his hat under his arm. He stopped and looked -about him, brightening everything around by his glance. He spoke a few -words to some of the generals, and, recognizing the former commander of -Rostóv’s division, smiled and beckoned to him. - -All the suite drew back and Rostóv saw the general talking for some -time to the Emperor. - -The Emperor said a few words to him and took a step toward his horse. -Again the crowd of members of the suite and street gazers (among whom -was Rostóv) moved nearer to the Emperor. Stopping beside his horse, -with his hand on the saddle, the Emperor turned to the cavalry general -and said in a loud voice, evidently wishing to be heard by all: - -“I cannot do it, General. I cannot, because the law is stronger than -I,” and he raised his foot to the stirrup. - -The general bowed his head respectfully, and the monarch mounted and -rode down the street at a gallop. Beside himself with enthusiasm, -Rostóv ran after him with the crowd. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -The Emperor rode to the square where, facing one another, a battalion -of the Preobrazhénsk regiment stood on the right and a battalion of the -French Guards in their bearskin caps on the left. - -As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, which presented -arms, another group of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, and -at the head of them Rostóv recognized Napoleon. It could be no one -else. He came at a gallop, wearing a small hat, a blue uniform open over -a white vest, and the St. Andrew ribbon over his shoulder. He was riding -a very fine thoroughbred gray Arab horse with a crimson gold-embroidered -saddlecloth. On approaching Alexander he raised his hat, and as he did -so, Rostóv, with his cavalryman’s eye, could not help noticing -that Napoleon did not sit well or firmly in the saddle. The battalions -shouted “Hurrah!” and “Vive l’Empereur!” Napoleon said -something to Alexander, and both Emperors dismounted and took each -other’s hands. Napoleon’s face wore an unpleasant and artificial -smile. Alexander was saying something affable to him. - -In spite of the trampling of the French gendarmes’ horses, which -were pushing back the crowd, Rostóv kept his eyes on every movement -of Alexander and Bonaparte. It struck him as a surprise that Alexander -treated Bonaparte as an equal and that the latter was quite at ease with -the Tsar, as if such relations with an Emperor were an everyday matter -to him. - -Alexander and Napoleon, with the long train of their suites, approached -the right flank of the Preobrazhénsk battalion and came straight up to -the crowd standing there. The crowd unexpectedly found itself so close -to the Emperors that Rostóv, standing in the front row, was afraid he -might be recognized. - -“Sire, I ask your permission to present the Legion of Honor to the -bravest of your soldiers,” said a sharp, precise voice, articulating -every letter. - -This was said by the undersized Napoleon, looking up straight into -Alexander’s eyes. Alexander listened attentively to what was said to -him and, bending his head, smiled pleasantly. - -“To him who has borne himself most bravely in this last war,” added -Napoleon, accentuating each syllable, as with a composure and assurance -exasperating to Rostóv, he ran his eyes over the Russian ranks drawn -up before him, who all presented arms with their eyes fixed on their -Emperor. - -“Will Your Majesty allow me to consult the colonel?” said Alexander -and took a few hasty steps toward Prince Kozlóvski, the commander of -the battalion. - -Bonaparte meanwhile began taking the glove off his small white hand, -tore it in doing so, and threw it away. An aide-de-camp behind him -rushed forward and picked it up. - -“To whom shall it be given?” the Emperor Alexander asked Kozlóvski, -in Russian in a low voice. - -“To whomever Your Majesty commands.” - -The Emperor knit his brows with dissatisfaction and, glancing back, -remarked: - -“But we must give him an answer.” - -Kozlóvski scanned the ranks resolutely and included Rostóv in his -scrutiny. - -“Can it be me?” thought Rostóv. - -“Lázarev!” the colonel called, with a frown, and Lázarev, the -first soldier in the rank, stepped briskly forward. - -“Where are you off to? Stop here!” voices whispered to Lázarev who -did not know where to go. Lázarev stopped, casting a sidelong look at -his colonel in alarm. His face twitched, as often happens to soldiers -called before the ranks. - -Napoleon slightly turned his head, and put his plump little hand out -behind him as if to take something. The members of his suite, guessing -at once what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passed -something from one to another, and a page—the same one Rostóv -had seen the previous evening at Borís’—ran forward and, bowing -respectfully over the outstretched hand and not keeping it waiting a -moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon. Napoleon, without looking, -pressed two fingers together and the badge was between them. Then he -approached Lázarev (who rolled his eyes and persistently gazed at his -own monarch), looked round at the Emperor Alexander to imply that what -he was now doing was done for the sake of his ally, and the small white -hand holding the Order touched one of Lázarev’s buttons. It was as if -Napoleon knew that it was only necessary for his hand to deign to touch -that soldier’s breast for the soldier to be forever happy, rewarded, -and distinguished from everyone else in the world. Napoleon merely laid -the cross on Lázarev’s breast and, dropping his hand, turned toward -Alexander as though sure that the cross would adhere there. And it -really did. - -Officious hands, Russian and French, immediately seized the cross and -fastened it to the uniform. Lázarev glanced morosely at the little -man with white hands who was doing something to him and, still standing -motionless presenting arms, looked again straight into Alexander’s -eyes, as if asking whether he should stand there, or go away, or do -something else. But receiving no orders, he remained for some time in -that rigid position. - -The Emperors remounted and rode away. The Preobrazhénsk battalion, -breaking rank, mingled with the French Guards and sat down at the tables -prepared for them. - -Lázarev sat in the place of honor. Russian and French officers embraced -him, congratulated him, and pressed his hands. Crowds of officers and -civilians drew near merely to see him. A rumble of Russian and French -voices and laughter filled the air round the tables in the square. -Two officers with flushed faces, looking cheerful and happy, passed by -Rostóv. - -“What d’you think of the treat? All on silver plate,” one of them -was saying. “Have you seen Lázarev?” - -“I have.” - -“Tomorrow, I hear, the Preobrazhénskis will give them a dinner.” - -“Yes, but what luck for Lázarev! Twelve hundred francs’ pension for -life.” - -“Here’s a cap, lads!” shouted a Preobrazhénsk soldier, donning a -shaggy French cap. - -“It’s a fine thing! First-rate!” - -“Have you heard the password?” asked one Guards’ officer of -another. “The day before yesterday it was ‘Napoléon, France, -bravoure’; yesterday, ‘Alexandre, Russie, grandeur.’ One day our -Emperor gives it and next day Napoleon. Tomorrow our Emperor will send -a St. George’s Cross to the bravest of the French Guards. It has to be -done. He must respond in kind.” - -Borís, too, with his friend Zhilínski, came to see the Preobrazhénsk -banquet. On his way back, he noticed Rostóv standing by the corner of a -house. - -“Rostóv! How d’you do? We missed one another,” he said, and could -not refrain from asking what was the matter, so strangely dismal and -troubled was Rostóv’s face. - -“Nothing, nothing,” replied Rostóv. - -“You’ll call round?” - -“Yes, I will.” - -Rostóv stood at that corner for a long time, watching the feast from a -distance. In his mind, a painful process was going on which he could -not bring to a conclusion. Terrible doubts rose in his soul. Now he -remembered Denísov with his changed expression, his submission, and the -whole hospital, with arms and legs torn off and its dirt and disease. So -vividly did he recall that hospital stench of dead flesh that he -looked round to see where the smell came from. Next he thought of that -self-satisfied Bonaparte, with his small white hand, who was now an -Emperor, liked and respected by Alexander. Then why those severed -arms and legs and those dead men?... Then again he thought of Lázarev -rewarded and Denísov punished and unpardoned. He caught himself -harboring such strange thoughts that he was frightened. - -The smell of the food the Preobrazhénskis were eating and a sense of -hunger recalled him from these reflections; he had to get something to -eat before going away. He went to a hotel he had noticed that morning. -There he found so many people, among them officers who, like himself, -had come in civilian clothes, that he had difficulty in getting a -dinner. Two officers of his own division joined him. The conversation -naturally turned on the peace. The officers, his comrades, like most of -the army, were dissatisfied with the peace concluded after the battle of -Friedland. They said that had we held out a little longer Napoleon would -have been done for, as his troops had neither provisions nor ammunition. -Nicholas ate and drank (chiefly the latter) in silence. He finished a -couple of bottles of wine by himself. The process in his mind went on -tormenting him without reaching a conclusion. He feared to give way to -his thoughts, yet could not get rid of them. Suddenly, on one of the -officers’ saying that it was humiliating to look at the French, -Rostóv began shouting with uncalled-for wrath, and therefore much to -the surprise of the officers: - -“How can you judge what’s best?” he cried, the blood suddenly -rushing to his face. “How can you judge the Emperor’s actions? What -right have we to argue? We cannot comprehend either the Emperor’s aims -or his actions!” - -“But I never said a word about the Emperor!” said the officer, -justifying himself, and unable to understand Rostóv’s outburst, -except on the supposition that he was drunk. - -But Rostóv did not listen to him. - -“We are not diplomatic officials, we are soldiers and nothing more,” -he went on. “If we are ordered to die, we must die. If we’re -punished, it means that we have deserved it, it’s not for us to judge. -If the Emperor pleases to recognize Bonaparte as Emperor and to conclude -an alliance with him, it means that that is the right thing to do. If -once we begin judging and arguing about everything, nothing sacred -will be left! That way we shall be saying there is no God—nothing!” -shouted Nicholas, banging the table—very little to the point as it -seemed to his listeners, but quite relevantly to the course of his own -thoughts. - -“Our business is to do our duty, to fight and not to think! That’s -all....” said he. - -“And to drink,” said one of the officers, not wishing to quarrel. - -“Yes, and to drink,” assented Nicholas. “Hullo there! Another -bottle!” he shouted. - -In 1808 the Emperor Alexander went to Erfurt for a fresh interview with -the Emperor Napoleon, and in the upper circles of Petersburg there was -much talk of the grandeur of this important meeting. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -In 1809 the intimacy between “the world’s two arbiters,” as -Napoleon and Alexander were called, was such that when Napoleon declared -war on Austria a Russian corps crossed the frontier to co-operate with -our old enemy Bonaparte against our old ally the Emperor of Austria, and -in court circles the possibility of marriage between Napoleon and one -of Alexander’s sisters was spoken of. But besides considerations of -foreign policy, the attention of Russian society was at that time keenly -directed on the internal changes that were being undertaken in all the -departments of government. - -Life meanwhile—real life, with its essential interests of health and -sickness, toil and rest, and its intellectual interests in thought, -science, poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, and passions—went on -as usual, independently of and apart from political friendship or enmity -with Napoleon Bonaparte and from all the schemes of reconstruction. - - - - - -BOOK SIX: 1808 - 10 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Prince Andrew had spent two years continuously in the country. - -All the plans Pierre had attempted on his estates—and constantly -changing from one thing to another had never accomplished—were carried -out by Prince Andrew without display and without perceptible difficulty. - -He had in the highest degree a practical tenacity which Pierre lacked, -and without fuss or strain on his part this set things going. - -On one of his estates the three hundred serfs were liberated and became -free agricultural laborers—this being one of the first examples of -the kind in Russia. On other estates the serfs’ compulsory labor was -commuted for a quitrent. A trained midwife was engaged for Boguchárovo -at his expense, and a priest was paid to teach reading and writing to -the children of the peasants and household serfs. - -Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald Hills with his father and his -son, who was still in the care of nurses. The other half he spent in -“Boguchárovo Cloister,” as his father called Prince Andrew’s -estate. Despite the indifference to the affairs of the world he had -expressed to Pierre, he diligently followed all that went on, received -many books, and to his surprise noticed that when he or his father had -visitors from Petersburg, the very vortex of life, these people lagged -behind himself—who never left the country—in knowledge of what was -happening in home and foreign affairs. - -Besides being occupied with his estates and reading a great variety of -books, Prince Andrew was at this time busy with a critical survey of -our last two unfortunate campaigns, and with drawing up a proposal for a -reform of the army rules and regulations. - -In the spring of 1809 he went to visit the Ryazán estates which had -been inherited by his son, whose guardian he was. - -Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in the calèche looking at the new -grass, the first leaves on the birches, and the first puffs of white -spring clouds floating across the clear blue sky. He was not thinking of -anything, but looked absent-mindedly and cheerfully from side to side. - -They crossed the ferry where he had talked with Pierre the year before. -They went through the muddy village, past threshing floors and green -fields of winter rye, downhill where snow still lodged near the bridge, -uphill where the clay had been liquefied by the rain, past strips of -stubble land and bushes touched with green here and there, and into a -birch forest growing on both sides of the road. In the forest it was -almost hot, no wind could be felt. The birches with their sticky green -leaves were motionless, and lilac-colored flowers and the first blades -of green grass were pushing up and lifting last year’s leaves. The -coarse evergreen color of the small fir trees scattered here and there -among the birches was an unpleasant reminder of winter. On entering the -forest the horses began to snort and sweated visibly. - -Peter the footman made some remark to the coachman; the latter assented. -But apparently the coachman’s sympathy was not enough for Peter, and -he turned on the box toward his master. - -“How pleasant it is, your excellency!” he said with a respectful -smile. - -“What?” - -“It’s pleasant, your excellency!” - -“What is he talking about?” thought Prince Andrew. “Oh, the -spring, I suppose,” he thought as he turned round. “Yes, really -everything is green already.... How early! The birches and cherry and -alders too are coming out.... But the oaks show no sign yet. Ah, here is -one oak!” - -At the edge of the road stood an oak. Probably ten times the age of the -birches that formed the forest, it was ten times as thick and twice as -tall as they. It was an enormous tree, its girth twice as great as a -man could embrace, and evidently long ago some of its branches had been -broken off and its bark scarred. With its huge ungainly limbs sprawling -unsymmetrically, and its gnarled hands and fingers, it stood an aged, -stern, and scornful monster among the smiling birch trees. Only the -dead-looking evergreen firs dotted about in the forest, and this oak, -refused to yield to the charm of spring or notice either the spring or -the sunshine. - -“Spring, love, happiness!” this oak seemed to say. “Are you not -weary of that stupid, meaningless, constantly repeated fraud? Always the -same and always a fraud? There is no spring, no sun, no happiness! Look -at those cramped dead firs, ever the same, and at me too, sticking out -my broken and barked fingers just where they have grown, whether from my -back or my sides: as they have grown so I stand, and I do not believe in -your hopes and your lies.” - -As he passed through the forest Prince Andrew turned several times to -look at that oak, as if expecting something from it. Under the oak, -too, were flowers and grass, but it stood among them scowling, rigid, -misshapen, and grim as ever. - -“Yes, the oak is right, a thousand times right,” thought Prince -Andrew. “Let others—the young—yield afresh to that fraud, but we -know life, our life is finished!” - -A whole sequence of new thoughts, hopeless but mournfully pleasant, rose -in his soul in connection with that tree. During this journey he, as -it were, considered his life afresh and arrived at his old conclusion, -restful in its hopelessness: that it was not for him to begin anything -anew—but that he must live out his life, content to do no harm, and -not disturbing himself or desiring anything. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -Prince Andrew had to see the Marshal of the Nobility for the district -in connection with the affairs of the Ryazán estate of which he was -trustee. This Marshal was Count Ilyá Rostóv, and in the middle of May -Prince Andrew went to visit him. - -It was now hot spring weather. The whole forest was already clothed in -green. It was dusty and so hot that on passing near water one longed to -bathe. - -Prince Andrew, depressed and preoccupied with the business about which -he had to speak to the Marshal, was driving up the avenue in the grounds -of the Rostóvs’ house at Otrádnoe. He heard merry girlish cries -behind some trees on the right and saw a group of girls running to cross -the path of his calèche. Ahead of the rest and nearer to him ran a -dark-haired, remarkably slim, pretty girl in a yellow chintz dress, with -a white handkerchief on her head from under which loose locks of hair -escaped. The girl was shouting something but, seeing that he was a -stranger, ran back laughing without looking at him. - -Suddenly, he did not know why, he felt a pang. The day was so beautiful, -the sun so bright, everything around so gay, but that slim pretty girl -did not know, or wish to know, of his existence and was contented and -cheerful in her own separate—probably foolish—but bright and happy -life. “What is she so glad about? What is she thinking of? Not of -the military regulations or of the arrangement of the Ryazán serfs’ -quitrents. Of what is she thinking? Why is she so happy?” Prince -Andrew asked himself with instinctive curiosity. - -In 1809 Count Ilyá Rostóv was living at Otrádnoe just as he had done -in former years, that is, entertaining almost the whole province with -hunts, theatricals, dinners, and music. He was glad to see Prince -Andrew, as he was to see any new visitor, and insisted on his staying -the night. - -During the dull day, in the course of which he was entertained by -his elderly hosts and by the more important of the visitors (the old -count’s house was crowded on account of an approaching name day), -Prince Andrew repeatedly glanced at Natásha, gay and laughing among the -younger members of the company, and asked himself each time, “What is -she thinking about? Why is she so glad?” - -That night, alone in new surroundings, he was long unable to sleep. He -read awhile and then put out his candle, but relit it. It was hot in the -room, the inside shutters of which were closed. He was cross with the -stupid old man (as he called Rostóv), who had made him stay by assuring -him that some necessary documents had not yet arrived from town, and he -was vexed with himself for having stayed. - -He got up and went to the window to open it. As soon as he opened the -shutters the moonlight, as if it had long been watching for this, burst -into the room. He opened the casement. The night was fresh, bright, and -very still. Just before the window was a row of pollard trees, looking -black on one side and with a silvery light on the other. Beneath the -trees grew some kind of lush, wet, bushy vegetation with silver-lit -leaves and stems here and there. Farther back beyond the dark trees a -roof glittered with dew, to the right was a leafy tree with brilliantly -white trunk and branches, and above it shone the moon, nearly at its -full, in a pale, almost starless, spring sky. Prince Andrew leaned his -elbows on the window ledge and his eyes rested on that sky. - -His room was on the first floor. Those in the rooms above were also -awake. He heard female voices overhead. - -“Just once more,” said a girlish voice above him which Prince Andrew -recognized at once. - -“But when are you coming to bed?” replied another voice. - -“I won’t, I can’t sleep, what’s the use? Come now for the last -time.” - -Two girlish voices sang a musical passage—the end of some song. - -“Oh, how lovely! Now go to sleep, and there’s an end of it.” - -“You go to sleep, but I can’t,” said the first voice, coming -nearer to the window. She was evidently leaning right out, for the -rustle of her dress and even her breathing could be heard. Everything -was stone-still, like the moon and its light and the shadows. Prince -Andrew, too, dared not stir, for fear of betraying his unintentional -presence. - -“Sónya! Sónya!” he again heard the first speaker. “Oh, how can -you sleep? Only look how glorious it is! Ah, how glorious! Do wake up, -Sónya!” she said almost with tears in her voice. “There never, -never was such a lovely night before!” - -Sónya made some reluctant reply. - -“Do just come and see what a moon!... Oh, how lovely! Come here.... -Darling, sweetheart, come here! There, you see? I feel like sitting down -on my heels, putting my arms round my knees like this, straining tight, -as tight as possible, and flying away! Like this....” - -“Take care, you’ll fall out.” - -He heard the sound of a scuffle and Sónya’s disapproving voice: -“It’s past one o’clock.” - -“Oh, you only spoil things for me. All right, go, go!” - -Again all was silent, but Prince Andrew knew she was still sitting -there. From time to time he heard a soft rustle and at times a sigh. - -“O God, O God! What does it mean?” she suddenly exclaimed. “To bed -then, if it must be!” and she slammed the casement. - -“For her I might as well not exist!” thought Prince Andrew while he -listened to her voice, for some reason expecting yet fearing that she -might say something about him. “There she is again! As if it were on -purpose,” thought he. - -In his soul there suddenly arose such an unexpected turmoil of youthful -thoughts and hopes, contrary to the whole tenor of his life, that unable -to explain his condition to himself he lay down and fell asleep at once. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -Next morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and not -waiting for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home. - -It was already the beginning of June when on his return journey he drove -into the birch forest where the gnarled old oak had made so strange and -memorable an impression on him. In the forest the harness bells sounded -yet more muffled than they had done six weeks before, for now all was -thick, shady, and dense, and the young firs dotted about in the forest -did not jar on the general beauty but, lending themselves to the mood -around, were delicately green with fluffy young shoots. - -The whole day had been hot. Somewhere a storm was gathering, but only -a small cloud had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprinkling the road -and the sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark in the shade, -the right side glittered in the sunlight, wet and shiny and scarcely -swayed by the breeze. Everything was in blossom, the nightingales -trilled, and their voices reverberated now near, now far away. - -“Yes, here in this forest was that oak with which I agreed,” thought -Prince Andrew. “But where is it?” he again wondered, gazing at -the left side of the road, and without recognizing it he looked with -admiration at the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured, -spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt and -slightly trembling in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled -fingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them in -evidence now. Through the hard century-old bark, even where there were -no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the old -veteran could have produced. - -“Yes, it is the same oak,” thought Prince Andrew, and all at once he -was seized by an unreasoning springtime feeling of joy and renewal. All -the best moments of his life suddenly rose to his memory. Austerlitz -with the lofty heavens, his wife’s dead reproachful face, Pierre at -the ferry, that girl thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night -itself and the moon, and... all this rushed suddenly to his mind. - -“No, life is not over at thirty-one!” Prince Andrew suddenly decided -finally and decisively. “It is not enough for me to know what I have -in me—everyone must know it: Pierre, and that young girl who wanted to -fly away into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life may not be -lived for myself alone while others live so apart from it, but so that -it may be reflected in them all, and they and I may live in harmony!” - - -On reaching home Prince Andrew decided to go to Petersburg that autumn -and found all sorts of reasons for this decision. A whole series of -sensible and logical considerations showing it to be essential for him -to go to Petersburg, and even to re-enter the service, kept springing -up in his mind. He could not now understand how he could ever even have -doubted the necessity of taking an active share in life, just as a month -before he had not understood how the idea of leaving the quiet country -could ever enter his head. It now seemed clear to him that all his -experience of life must be senselessly wasted unless he applied it to -some kind of work and again played an active part in life. He did not -even remember how formerly, on the strength of similar wretched logical -arguments, it had seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if -he now, after the lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to believe -in the possibility of being useful and in the possibility of happiness -or love. Now reason suggested quite the opposite. After that journey -to Ryazán he found the country dull; his former pursuits no longer -interested him, and often when sitting alone in his study he got up, -went to the mirror, and gazed a long time at his own face. Then he would -turn away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curled à la -grecque looked tenderly and gaily at him out of the gilt frame. She -did not now say those former terrible words to him, but looked simply, -merrily, and inquisitively at him. And Prince Andrew, crossing his -arms behind him, long paced the room, now frowning, now smiling, as -he reflected on those irrational, inexpressible thoughts, secret as a -crime, which altered his whole life and were connected with Pierre, with -fame, with the girl at the window, the oak, and woman’s beauty -and love. And if anyone came into his room at such moments he was -particularly cold, stern, and above all unpleasantly logical. - -“My dear,” Princess Mary entering at such a moment would say, -“little Nicholas can’t go out today, it’s very cold.” - -“If it were hot,” Prince Andrew would reply at such times very dryly -to his sister, “he could go out in his smock, but as it is cold he -must wear warm clothes, which were designed for that purpose. That is -what follows from the fact that it is cold; and not that a child who -needs fresh air should remain at home,” he would add with extreme -logic, as if punishing someone for those secret illogical emotions that -stirred within him. - -At such moments Princess Mary would think how intellectual work dries -men up. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Prince Andrew arrived in Petersburg in August, 1809. It was the time -when the youthful Speránski was at the zenith of his fame and his -reforms were being pushed forward with the greatest energy. That same -August the Emperor was thrown from his calèche, injured his leg, and -remained three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Speránski every day and no -one else. At that time the two famous decrees were being prepared -that so agitated society—abolishing court ranks and introducing -examinations to qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor and -State Councilor—and not merely these but a whole state constitution, -intended to change the existing order of government in Russia: legal, -administrative, and financial, from the Council of State down to the -district tribunals. Now those vague liberal dreams with which the -Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne, and which he had tried to put -into effect with the aid of his associates, Czartorýski, Novosíltsev, -Kochubéy, and Strógonov—whom he himself in jest had called his -Comité de salut public—were taking shape and being realized. - -Now all these men were replaced by Speránski on the civil side, and -Arakchéev on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew, as a -gentleman of the chamber, presented himself at court and at a levee. The -Emperor, though he met him twice, did not favor him with a single word. -It had always seemed to Prince Andrew before that he was antipathetic -to the Emperor and that the latter disliked his face and personality -generally, and in the cold, repellent glance the Emperor gave him, he -now found further confirmation of this surmise. The courtiers explained -the Emperor’s neglect of him by His Majesty’s displeasure at -Bolkónski’s not having served since 1805. - -“I know myself that one cannot help one’s sympathies and -antipathies,” thought Prince Andrew, “so it will not do to present -my proposal for the reform of the army regulations to the Emperor -personally, but the project will speak for itself.” - -He mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friend -of his father’s. The field marshal made an appointment to see him, -received him graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A few -days later Prince Andrew received notice that he was to go to see the -Minister of War, Count Arakchéev. - - -On the appointed day Prince Andrew entered Count Arakchéev’s waiting -room at nine in the morning. - -He did not know Arakchéev personally, had never seen him, and all he -had heard of him inspired him with but little respect for the man. - -“He is Minister of War, a man trusted by the Emperor, and I need not -concern myself about his personal qualities: he has been commissioned to -consider my project, so he alone can get it adopted,” thought Prince -Andrew as he waited among a number of important and unimportant people -in Count Arakchéev’s waiting room. - -During his service, chiefly as an adjutant, Prince Andrew had seen the -anterooms of many important men, and the different types of such rooms -were well known to him. Count Arakchéev’s anteroom had quite a -special character. The faces of the unimportant people awaiting their -turn for an audience showed embarrassment and servility; the faces of -those of higher rank expressed a common feeling of awkwardness, covered -by a mask of unconcern and ridicule of themselves, their situation, and -the person for whom they were waiting. Some walked thoughtfully up and -down, others whispered and laughed. Prince Andrew heard the nickname -“Síla Andréevich” and the words, “Uncle will give it to us -hot,” in reference to Count Arakchéev. One general (an important -personage), evidently feeling offended at having to wait so long, sat -crossing and uncrossing his legs and smiling contemptuously to himself. - -But the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on all -faces—that of fear. Prince Andrew for the second time asked the -adjutant on duty to take in his name, but received an ironical look and -was told that his turn would come in due course. After some others had -been shown in and out of the minister’s room by the adjutant on duty, -an officer who struck Prince Andrew by his humiliated and frightened air -was admitted at that terrible door. This officer’s audience lasted a -long time. Then suddenly the grating sound of a harsh voice was heard -from the other side of the door, and the officer—with pale face and -trembling lips—came out and passed through the waiting room, clutching -his head. - -After this Prince Andrew was conducted to the door and the officer on -duty said in a whisper, “To the right, at the window.” - -Prince Andrew entered a plain tidy room and saw at the table a man of -forty with a long waist, a long closely cropped head, deep wrinkles, -scowling brows above dull greenish-hazel eyes and an overhanging red -nose. Arakchéev turned his head toward him without looking at him. - -“What is your petition?” asked Arakchéev. - -“I am not petitioning, your excellency,” returned Prince Andrew -quietly. - -Arakchéev’s eyes turned toward him. - -“Sit down,” said he. “Prince Bolkónski?” - -“I am not petitioning about anything. His Majesty the Emperor has -deigned to send your excellency a project submitted by me...” - -“You see, my dear sir, I have read your project,” interrupted -Arakchéev, uttering only the first words amiably and then—again -without looking at Prince Andrew—relapsing gradually into a tone of -grumbling contempt. “You are proposing new military laws? There are -many laws but no one to carry out the old ones. Nowadays everybody -designs laws, it is easier writing than doing.” - -“I came at His Majesty the Emperor’s wish to learn from your -excellency how you propose to deal with the memorandum I have -presented,” said Prince Andrew politely. - -“I have endorsed a resolution on your memorandum and sent it to the -committee. I do not approve of it,” said Arakchéev, rising and taking -a paper from his writing table. “Here!” and he handed it to Prince -Andrew. - -Across the paper was scrawled in pencil, without capital letters, -misspelled, and without punctuation: “Unsoundly constructed because -resembles an imitation of the French military code and from the Articles -of War needlessly deviating.” - -“To what committee has the memorandum been referred?” inquired -Prince Andrew. - -“To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have recommended that -your honor should be appointed a member, but without a salary.” - -Prince Andrew smiled. - -“I don’t want one.” - -“A member without salary,” repeated Arakchéev. “I have the -honor... Eh! Call the next one! Who else is there?” he shouted, bowing -to Prince Andrew. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -While waiting for the announcement of his appointment to the committee -Prince Andrew looked up his former acquaintances, particularly those he -knew to be in power and whose aid he might need. In Petersburg he now -experienced the same feeling he had had on the eve of a battle, when -troubled by anxious curiosity and irresistibly attracted to the ruling -circles where the future, on which the fate of millions depended, was -being shaped. From the irritation of the older men, the curiosity of the -uninitiated, the reserve of the initiated, the hurry and preoccupation -of everyone, and the innumerable committees and commissions of whose -existence he learned every day, he felt that now, in 1809, here in -Petersburg a vast civil conflict was in preparation, the commander in -chief of which was a mysterious person he did not know, but who was -supposed to be a man of genius—Speránski. And this movement of -reconstruction of which Prince Andrew had a vague idea, and Speránski -its chief promoter, began to interest him so keenly that the question -of the army regulations quickly receded to a secondary place in his -consciousness. - -Prince Andrew was most favorably placed to secure good reception in the -highest and most diverse Petersburg circles of the day. The reforming -party cordially welcomed and courted him, in the first place because -he was reputed to be clever and very well read, and secondly because by -liberating his serfs he had obtained the reputation of being a liberal. -The party of the old and dissatisfied, who censured the innovations, -turned to him expecting his sympathy in their disapproval of the -reforms, simply because he was the son of his father. The feminine -society world welcomed him gladly, because he was rich, distinguished, a -good match, and almost a newcomer, with a halo of romance on account -of his supposed death and the tragic loss of his wife. Besides this -the general opinion of all who had known him previously was that he had -greatly improved during these last five years, having softened and grown -more manly, lost his former affectation, pride, and contemptuous irony, -and acquired the serenity that comes with years. People talked about -him, were interested in him, and wanted to meet him. - -The day after his interview with Count Arakchéev, Prince Andrew spent -the evening at Count Kochubéy’s. He told the count of his interview -with Síla Andréevich (Kochubéy spoke of Arakchéev by that nickname -with the same vague irony Prince Andrew had noticed in the Minister of -War’s anteroom). - -“Mon cher, even in this case you can’t do without Michael -Mikháylovich Speránski. He manages everything. I’ll speak to him. He -has promised to come this evening.” - -“What has Speránski to do with the army regulations?” asked Prince -Andrew. - -Kochubéy shook his head smilingly, as if surprised at Bolkónski’s -simplicity. - -“We were talking to him about you a few days ago,” Kochubéy -continued, “and about your freed plowmen.” - -“Oh, is it you, Prince, who have freed your serfs?” said an old man -of Catherine’s day, turning contemptuously toward Bolkónski. - -“It was a small estate that brought in no profit,” replied Prince -Andrew, trying to extenuate his action so as not to irritate the old man -uselessly. - -“Afraid of being late...” said the old man, looking at Kochubéy. - -“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he continued. “Who -will plow the land if they are set free? It is easy to write laws, but -difficult to rule.... Just the same as now—I ask you, Count—who will -be heads of the departments when everybody has to pass examinations?” - -“Those who pass the examinations, I suppose,” replied Kochubéy, -crossing his legs and glancing round. - -“Well, I have Pryánichnikov serving under me, a splendid man, a -priceless man, but he’s sixty. Is he to go up for examination?” - -“Yes, that’s a difficulty, as education is not at all general, -but...” - -Count Kochubéy did not finish. He rose, took Prince Andrew by the arm, -and went to meet a tall, bald, fair man of about forty with a large open -forehead and a long face of unusual and peculiar whiteness, who was -just entering. The newcomer wore a blue swallow-tail coat with a -cross suspended from his neck and a star on his left breast. It was -Speránski. Prince Andrew recognized him at once, and felt a throb -within him, as happens at critical moments of life. Whether it was from -respect, envy, or anticipation, he did not know. Speránski’s whole -figure was of a peculiar type that made him easily recognizable. In -the society in which Prince Andrew lived he had never seen anyone who -together with awkward and clumsy gestures possessed such calmness and -self-assurance; he had never seen so resolute yet gentle an expression -as that in those half-closed, rather humid eyes, or so firm a smile that -expressed nothing; nor had he heard such a refined, smooth, soft -voice; above all he had never seen such delicate whiteness of face or -hands—hands which were broad, but very plump, soft, and white. Such -whiteness and softness Prince Andrew had only seen on the faces of -soldiers who had been long in hospital. This was Speránski, Secretary -of State, reporter to the Emperor and his companion at Erfurt, where he -had more than once met and talked with Napoleon. - -Speránski did not shift his eyes from one face to another as people -involuntarily do on entering a large company and was in no hurry to -speak. He spoke slowly, with assurance that he would be listened to, and -he looked only at the person with whom he was conversing. - -Prince Andrew followed Speránski’s every word and movement with -particular attention. As happens to some people, especially to men -who judge those near to them severely, he always on meeting -anyone new—especially anyone whom, like Speránski, he knew by -reputation—expected to discover in him the perfection of human -qualities. - -Speránski told Kochubéy he was sorry he had been unable to come sooner -as he had been detained at the palace. He did not say that the Emperor -had kept him, and Prince Andrew noticed this affectation of modesty. -When Kochubéy introduced Prince Andrew, Speránski slowly turned -his eyes to Bolkónski with his customary smile and looked at him in -silence. - -“I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I had heard of you, as -everyone has,” he said after a pause. - -Kochubéy said a few words about the reception Arakchéev had given -Bolkónski. Speránski smiled more markedly. - -“The chairman of the Committee on Army Regulations is my good friend -Monsieur Magnítski,” he said, fully articulating every word and -syllable, “and if you like I can put you in touch with him.” He -paused at the full stop. “I hope you will find him sympathetic and -ready to co-operate in promoting all that is reasonable.” - -A circle soon formed round Speránski, and the old man who had talked -about his subordinate Pryánichnikov addressed a question to him. - -Prince Andrew without joining in the conversation watched every movement -of Speránski’s: this man, not long since an insignificant divinity -student, who now, Bolkónski thought, held in his hands—those plump -white hands—the fate of Russia. Prince Andrew was struck by the -extraordinarily disdainful composure with which Speránski answered -the old man. He appeared to address condescending words to him from -an immeasurable height. When the old man began to speak too loud, -Speránski smiled and said he could not judge of the advantage or -disadvantage of what pleased the sovereign. - -Having talked for a little while in the general circle, Speránski rose -and coming up to Prince Andrew took him along to the other end of the -room. It was clear that he thought it necessary to interest himself in -Bolkónski. - -“I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, during the animated -conversation in which that venerable gentleman involved me,” he said -with a mildly contemptuous smile, as if intimating by that smile that he -and Prince Andrew understood the insignificance of the people with whom -he had just been talking. This flattered Prince Andrew. “I have known -of you for a long time: first from your action with regard to your -serfs, a first example, of which it is very desirable that there should -be more imitators; and secondly because you are one of those gentlemen -of the chamber who have not considered themselves offended by the new -decree concerning the ranks allotted to courtiers, which is causing so -much gossip and tittle-tattle.” - -“No,” said Prince Andrew, “my father did not wish me to take -advantage of the privilege. I began the service from the lower grade.” - -“Your father, a man of the last century, evidently stands above our -contemporaries who so condemn this measure which merely re-establishes -natural justice.” - -“I think, however, that these condemnations have some ground,” -returned Prince Andrew, trying to resist Speránski’s influence, of -which he began to be conscious. He did not like to agree with him in -everything and felt a wish to contradict. Though he usually spoke easily -and well, he felt a difficulty in expressing himself now while talking -with Speránski. He was too much absorbed in observing the famous -man’s personality. - -“Grounds of personal ambition maybe,” Speránski put in quietly. - -“And of state interest to some extent,” said Prince Andrew. - -“What do you mean?” asked Speránski quietly, lowering his eyes. - -“I am an admirer of Montesquieu,” replied Prince Andrew, “and -his idea that le principe des monarchies est l’honneur me paraît -incontestable. Certains droits et privilèges de la noblesse me -paraissent être des moyens de soutenir ce sentiment.” * - - * “The principle of monarchies is honor seems to me - incontestable. Certain rights and privileges for the - aristocracy appear to me a means of maintaining that - sentiment.” - - -The smile vanished from Speránski’s white face, which was much -improved by the change. Probably Prince Andrew’s thought interested -him. - -“Si vous envisagez la question sous ce point de vue,” * he began, -pronouncing French with evident difficulty, and speaking even slower -than in Russian but quite calmly. - - * “If you regard the question from that point of view.” - - -Speránski went on to say that honor, l’honneur, cannot be upheld by -privileges harmful to the service; that honor, l’honneur, is either a -negative concept of not doing what is blameworthy or it is a source of -emulation in pursuit of commendation and rewards, which recognize it. -His arguments were concise, simple, and clear. - -“An institution upholding honor, the source of emulation, is one -similar to the Légion d’honneur of the great Emperor Napoleon, not -harmful but helpful to the success of the service, but not a class or -court privilege.” - -“I do not dispute that, but it cannot be denied that court privileges -have attained the same end,” returned Prince Andrew. “Every courtier -considers himself bound to maintain his position worthily.” - -“Yet you do not care to avail yourself of the privilege, Prince,” -said Speránski, indicating by a smile that he wished to finish amiably -an argument which was embarrassing for his companion. “If you will -do me the honor of calling on me on Wednesday,” he added, “I will, -after talking with Magnítski, let you know what may interest you, and -shall also have the pleasure of a more detailed chat with you.” - -Closing his eyes, he bowed à la française, without taking leave, and -trying to attract as little attention as possible, he left the room. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -During the first weeks of his stay in Petersburg Prince Andrew felt the -whole trend of thought he had formed during his life of seclusion quite -overshadowed by the trifling cares that engrossed him in that city. - -On returning home in the evening he would jot down in his notebook four -or five necessary calls or appointments for certain hours. The mechanism -of life, the arrangement of the day so as to be in time everywhere, -absorbed the greater part of his vital energy. He did nothing, did -not even think or find time to think, but only talked, and talked -successfully, of what he had thought while in the country. - -He sometimes noticed with dissatisfaction that he repeated the same -remark on the same day in different circles. But he was so busy for -whole days together that he had no time to notice that he was thinking -of nothing. - -As he had done on their first meeting at Kochubéy’s, Speránski -produced a strong impression on Prince Andrew on the Wednesday, when he -received him tête-à-tête at his own house and talked to him long and -confidentially. - -To Bolkónski so many people appeared contemptible and insignificant -creatures, and he so longed to find in someone the living ideal of that -perfection toward which he strove, that he readily believed that in -Speránski he had found this ideal of a perfectly rational and virtuous -man. Had Speránski sprung from the same class as himself and possessed -the same breeding and traditions, Bolkónski would soon have discovered -his weak, human, unheroic sides; but as it was, Speránski’s strange -and logical turn of mind inspired him with respect all the more because -he did not quite understand him. Moreover, Speránski, either because he -appreciated the other’s capacity or because he considered it necessary -to win him to his side, showed off his dispassionate calm reasonableness -before Prince Andrew and flattered him with that subtle flattery which -goes hand in hand with self-assurance and consists in a tacit assumption -that one’s companion is the only man besides oneself capable of -understanding the folly of the rest of mankind and the reasonableness -and profundity of one’s own ideas. - -During their long conversation on Wednesday evening, Speránski more -than once remarked: “We regard everything that is above the common -level of rooted custom...” or, with a smile: “But we want the wolves -to be fed and the sheep to be safe...” or: “They cannot understand -this...” and all in a way that seemed to say: “We, you and I, -understand what they are and who we are.” - -This first long conversation with Speránski only strengthened in Prince -Andrew the feeling he had experienced toward him at their first meeting. -He saw in him a remarkable, clear-thinking man of vast intellect who by -his energy and persistence had attained power, which he was using solely -for the welfare of Russia. In Prince Andrew’s eyes Speránski was the -man he would himself have wished to be—one who explained all the facts -of life reasonably, considered important only what was rational, and -was capable of applying the standard of reason to everything. Everything -seemed so simple and clear in Speránski’s exposition that Prince -Andrew involuntarily agreed with him about everything. If he replied and -argued, it was only because he wished to maintain his independence and -not submit to Speránski’s opinions entirely. Everything was right -and everything was as it should be: only one thing disconcerted Prince -Andrew. This was Speránski’s cold, mirrorlike look, which did not -allow one to penetrate to his soul, and his delicate white hands, which -Prince Andrew involuntarily watched as one does watch the hands of -those who possess power. This mirrorlike gaze and those delicate hands -irritated Prince Andrew, he knew not why. He was unpleasantly -struck, too, by the excessive contempt for others that he observed in -Speránski, and by the diversity of lines of argument he used to -support his opinions. He made use of every kind of mental device, except -analogy, and passed too boldly, it seemed to Prince Andrew, from one -to another. Now he would take up the position of a practical man and -condemn dreamers; now that of a satirist, and laugh ironically at his -opponents; now grow severely logical, or suddenly rise to the realm of -metaphysics. (This last resource was one he very frequently employed.) -He would transfer a question to metaphysical heights, pass on to -definitions of space, time, and thought, and, having deduced the -refutation he needed, would again descend to the level of the original -discussion. - -In general the trait of Speránski’s mentality which struck Prince -Andrew most was his absolute and unshakable belief in the power and -authority of reason. It was evident that the thought could never occur -to him which to Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that it is -after all impossible to express all one thinks; and that he had never -felt the doubt, “Is not all I think and believe nonsense?” And -it was just this peculiarity of Speránski’s mind that particularly -attracted Prince Andrew. - -During the first period of their acquaintance Bolkónski felt a -passionate admiration for him similar to that which he had once felt for -Bonaparte. The fact that Speránski was the son of a village priest, -and that stupid people might meanly despise him on account of his -humble origin (as in fact many did), caused Prince Andrew to cherish his -sentiment for him the more, and unconsciously to strengthen it. - -On that first evening Bolkónski spent with him, having mentioned the -Commission for the Revision of the Code of Laws, Speránski told him -sarcastically that the Commission had existed for a hundred and fifty -years, had cost millions, and had done nothing except that Rosenkampf -had stuck labels on the corresponding paragraphs of the different codes. - -“And that is all the state has for the millions it has spent,” said -he. “We want to give the Senate new juridical powers, but we have no -laws. That is why it is a sin for men like you, Prince, not to serve in -these times!” - -Prince Andrew said that for that work an education in jurisprudence was -needed which he did not possess. - -“But nobody possesses it, so what would you have? It is a vicious -circle from which we must break a way out.” - -A week later Prince Andrew was a member of the Committee on Army -Regulations and—what he had not at all expected—was chairman of a -section of the committee for the revision of the laws. At Speránski’s -request he took the first part of the Civil Code that was being drawn up -and, with the aid of the Code Napoléon and the Institutes of Justinian, -he worked at formulating the section on Personal Rights. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Nearly two years before this, in 1808, Pierre on returning to Petersburg -after visiting his estates had involuntarily found himself in a leading -position among the Petersburg Freemasons. He arranged dining and funeral -lodge meetings, enrolled new members, and busied himself uniting various -lodges and acquiring authentic charters. He gave money for the erection -of temples and supplemented as far as he could the collection of alms, -in regard to which the majority of members were stingy and irregular. -He supported almost singlehanded a poorhouse the order had founded in -Petersburg. - -His life meanwhile continued as before, with the same infatuations and -dissipations. He liked to dine and drink well, and though he considered -it immoral and humiliating could not resist the temptations of the -bachelor circles in which he moved. - -Amid the turmoil of his activities and distractions, however, Pierre at -the end of a year began to feel that the more firmly he tried to rest -upon it, the more Masonic ground on which he stood gave way under him. -At the same time he felt that the deeper the ground sank under him the -closer bound he involuntarily became to the order. When he had joined -the Freemasons he had experienced the feeling of one who confidently -steps onto the smooth surface of a bog. When he put his foot down it -sank in. To make quite sure of the firmness of the ground, he put -his other foot down and sank deeper still, became stuck in it, and -involuntarily waded knee-deep in the bog. - -Joseph Alexéevich was not in Petersburg—he had of late stood aside -from the affairs of the Petersburg lodges, and lived almost entirely in -Moscow. All the members of the lodges were men Pierre knew in ordinary -life, and it was difficult for him to regard them merely as Brothers in -Freemasonry and not as Prince B. or Iván Vasílevich D., whom he knew -in society mostly as weak and insignificant men. Under the Masonic -aprons and insignia he saw the uniforms and decorations at which they -aimed in ordinary life. Often after collecting alms, and reckoning up -twenty to thirty rubles received for the most part in promises from a -dozen members, of whom half were as well able to pay as himself, Pierre -remembered the Masonic vow in which each Brother promised to devote -all his belongings to his neighbor, and doubts on which he tried not to -dwell arose in his soul. - -He divided the Brothers he knew into four categories. In the first he -put those who did not take an active part in the affairs of the lodges -or in human affairs, but were exclusively occupied with the mystical -science of the order: with questions of the threefold designation of -God, the three primordial elements—sulphur, mercury, and salt—or -the meaning of the square and all the various figures of the temple of -Solomon. Pierre respected this class of Brothers to which the elder ones -chiefly belonged, including, Pierre thought, Joseph Alexéevich himself, -but he did not share their interests. His heart was not in the mystical -aspect of Freemasonry. - -In the second category Pierre reckoned himself and others like him, -seeking and vacillating, who had not yet found in Freemasonry a straight -and comprehensible path, but hoped to do so. - -In the third category he included those Brothers (the majority) who saw -nothing in Freemasonry but the external forms and ceremonies, and prized -the strict performance of these forms without troubling about their -purport or significance. Such were Willarski and even the Grand Master -of the principal lodge. - -Finally, to the fourth category also a great many Brothers belonged, -particularly those who had lately joined. These according to Pierre’s -observations were men who had no belief in anything, nor desire for -anything, but joined the Freemasons merely to associate with the wealthy -young Brothers who were influential through their connections or rank, -and of whom there were very many in the lodge. - -Pierre began to feel dissatisfied with what he was doing. Freemasonry, -at any rate as he saw it here, sometimes seemed to him based merely -on externals. He did not think of doubting Freemasonry itself, but -suspected that Russian Masonry had taken a wrong path and deviated -from its original principles. And so toward the end of the year he went -abroad to be initiated into the higher secrets of the order. - -In the summer of 1809 Pierre returned to Petersburg. Our Freemasons knew -from correspondence with those abroad that Bezúkhov had obtained the -confidence of many highly placed persons, had been initiated into many -mysteries, had been raised to a higher grade, and was bringing back with -him much that might conduce to the advantage of the Masonic cause -in Russia. The Petersburg Freemasons all came to see him, tried to -ingratiate themselves with him, and it seemed to them all that he was -preparing something for them and concealing it. - -A solemn meeting of the lodge of the second degree was convened, at -which Pierre promised to communicate to the Petersburg Brothers what -he had to deliver to them from the highest leaders of their order. The -meeting was a full one. After the usual ceremonies Pierre rose and began -his address. - -“Dear Brothers,” he began, blushing and stammering, with a written -speech in his hand, “it is not sufficient to observe our mysteries in -the seclusion of our lodge—we must act—act! We are drowsing, but we -must act.” Pierre raised his notebook and began to read. - -“For the dissemination of pure truth and to secure the triumph of -virtue,” he read, “we must cleanse men from prejudice, diffuse -principles in harmony with the spirit of the times, undertake the -education of the young, unite ourselves in indissoluble bonds with the -wisest men, boldly yet prudently overcome superstitions, infidelity, and -folly, and form of those devoted to us a body linked together by unity -of purpose and possessed of authority and power. - -“To attain this end we must secure a preponderance of virtue over vice -and must endeavor to secure that the honest man may, even in this world, -receive a lasting reward for his virtue. But in these great endeavors we -are gravely hampered by the political institutions of today. What is -to be done in these circumstances? To favor revolutions, overthrow -everything, repel force by force?... No! We are very far from that. -Every violent reform deserves censure, for it quite fails to remedy -evil while men remain what they are, and also because wisdom needs no -violence. - -“The whole plan of our order should be based on the idea of -preparing men of firmness and virtue bound together by unity of -conviction—aiming at the punishment of vice and folly, and patronizing -talent and virtue: raising worthy men from the dust and attaching -them to our Brotherhood. Only then will our order have the power -unobtrusively to bind the hands of the protectors of disorder and to -control them without their being aware of it. In a word, we must found a -form of government holding universal sway, which should be diffused over -the whole world without destroying the bonds of citizenship, and beside -which all other governments can continue in their customary course and -do everything except what impedes the great aim of our order, which -is to obtain for virtue the victory over vice. This aim was that of -Christianity itself. It taught men to be wise and good and for their -own benefit to follow the example and instruction of the best and wisest -men. - -“At that time, when everything was plunged in darkness, preaching -alone was of course sufficient. The novelty of Truth endowed her with -special strength, but now we need much more powerful methods. It is -now necessary that man, governed by his senses, should find in virtue -a charm palpable to those senses. It is impossible to eradicate the -passions; but we must strive to direct them to a noble aim, and it is -therefore necessary that everyone should be able to satisfy his passions -within the limits of virtue. Our order should provide means to that end. - -“As soon as we have a certain number of worthy men in every state, -each of them again training two others and all being closely united, -everything will be possible for our order, which has already in secret -accomplished much for the welfare of mankind.” - -This speech not only made a strong impression, but created excitement in -the lodge. The majority of the Brothers, seeing in it dangerous designs -of Illuminism, * met it with a coldness that surprised Pierre. The Grand -Master began answering him, and Pierre began developing his views with -more and more warmth. It was long since there had been so stormy a -meeting. Parties were formed, some accusing Pierre of Illuminism, others -supporting him. At that meeting he was struck for the first time by -the endless variety of men’s minds, which prevents a truth from ever -presenting itself identically to two persons. Even those members -who seemed to be on his side understood him in their own way with -limitations and alterations he could not agree to, as what he always -wanted most was to convey his thought to others just as he himself -understood it. - - * The Illuminati sought to substitute republican for - monarchical institutions. - -At the end of the meeting the Grand Master with irony and ill-will -reproved Bezúkhov for his vehemence and said it was not love of virtue -alone, but also a love of strife that had moved him in the dispute. -Pierre did not answer him and asked briefly whether his proposal would -be accepted. He was told that it would not, and without waiting for the -usual formalities he left the lodge and went home. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Again Pierre was overtaken by the depression he so dreaded. For three -days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at -home receiving no one and going nowhere. - -It was just then that he received a letter from his wife, who implored -him to see her, telling him how grieved she was about him and how she -wished to devote her whole life to him. - -At the end of the letter she informed him that in a few days she would -return to Petersburg from abroad. - -Following this letter one of the Masonic Brothers whom Pierre respected -less than the others forced his way in to see him and, turning the -conversation upon Pierre’s matrimonial affairs, by way of fraternal -advice expressed the opinion that his severity to his wife was wrong -and that he was neglecting one of the first rules of Freemasonry by not -forgiving the penitent. - -At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince Vasíli’s wife, sent to -him imploring him to come if only for a few minutes to discuss a most -important matter. Pierre saw that there was a conspiracy against him and -that they wanted to reunite him with his wife, and in the mood he then -was, this was not even unpleasant to him. Nothing mattered to him. -Nothing in life seemed to him of much importance, and under the -influence of the depression that possessed him he valued neither his -liberty nor his resolution to punish his wife. - -“No one is right and no one is to blame; so she too is not to -blame,” he thought. - -If he did not at once give his consent to a reunion with his wife, it -was only because in his state of depression he did not feel able to take -any step. Had his wife come to him, he would not have turned her away. -Compared to what preoccupied him, was it not a matter of indifference -whether he lived with his wife or not? - -Without replying either to his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierre late -one night prepared for a journey and started for Moscow to see Joseph -Alexéevich. This is what he noted in his diary: - -Moscow, 17th November - -I have just returned from my benefactor, and hasten to write down what I -have experienced. Joseph Alexéevich is living poorly and has for three -years been suffering from a painful disease of the bladder. No one has -ever heard him utter a groan or a word of complaint. From morning till -late at night, except when he eats his very plain food, he is working -at science. He received me graciously and made me sit down on the bed -on which he lay. I made the sign of the Knights of the East and of -Jerusalem, and he responded in the same manner, asking me with a mild -smile what I had learned and gained in the Prussian and Scottish lodges. -I told him everything as best I could, and told him what I had proposed -to our Petersburg lodge, of the bad reception I had encountered, and of -my rupture with the Brothers. Joseph Alexéevich, having remained silent -and thoughtful for a good while, told me his view of the matter, which -at once lit up for me my whole past and the future path I should follow. -He surprised me by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of -the order: (1) The preservation and study of the mystery. (2) The -purification and reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) The -improvement of the human race by striving for such purification. Which -is the principal aim of these three? Certainly self-reformation and -self-purification. Only to this aim can we always strive independently -of circumstances. But at the same time just this aim demands the -greatest efforts of us; and so, led astray by pride, losing sight of -this aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery which in our -impurity we are unworthy to receive, or seek the reformation of -the human race while ourselves setting an example of baseness and -profligacy. Illuminism is not a pure doctrine, just because it is -attracted by social activity and puffed up by pride. On this ground -Joseph Alexéevich condemned my speech and my whole activity, and in the -depth of my soul I agreed with him. Talking of my family affairs he said -to me, “the chief duty of a true Mason, as I have told you, lies in -perfecting himself. We often think that by removing all the difficulties -of our life we shall more quickly reach our aim, but on the contrary, -my dear sir, it is only in the midst of worldly cares that we can attain -our three chief aims: (1) Self-knowledge—for man can only know himself -by comparison, (2) Self-perfecting, which can only be attained by -conflict, and (3) The attainment of the chief virtue—love of death. -Only the vicissitudes of life can show us its vanity and develop our -innate love of death or of rebirth to a new life.” These words are all -the more remarkable because, in spite of his great physical sufferings, -Joseph Alexéevich is never weary of life though he loves death, for -which—in spite of the purity and loftiness of his inner man—he does -not yet feel himself sufficiently prepared. My benefactor then explained -to me fully the meaning of the Great Square of creation and pointed out -to me that the numbers three and seven are the basis of everything. He -advised me not to avoid intercourse with the Petersburg Brothers, but -to take up only second-grade posts in the lodge, to try, while -diverting the Brothers from pride, to turn them toward the true path -self-knowledge and self-perfecting. Besides this he advised me for -myself personally above all to keep a watch over myself, and to that end -he gave me a notebook, the one I am now writing in and in which I will -in future note down all my actions. - -Petersburg, 23rd November - -I am again living with my wife. My mother-in-law came to me in tears and -said that Hélène was here and that she implored me to hear her; that -she was innocent and unhappy at my desertion, and much more. I knew -that if I once let myself see her I should not have strength to go on -refusing what she wanted. In my perplexity I did not know whose aid and -advice to seek. Had my benefactor been here he would have told me what -to do. I went to my room and reread Joseph Alexéevich’s letters and -recalled my conversations with him, and deduced from it all that I -ought not to refuse a supplicant, and ought to reach a helping hand to -everyone—especially to one so closely bound to me—and that I must -bear my cross. But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, then -let union with her have only a spiritual aim. That is what I decided, -and what I wrote to Joseph Alexéevich. I told my wife that I begged her -to forget the past, to forgive me whatever wrong I may have done her, -and that I had nothing to forgive. It gave me joy to tell her this. She -need not know how hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled on -the upper floor of this big house and am experiencing a happy feeling of -regeneration. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -At that time, as always happens, the highest society that met at court -and at the grand balls was divided into several circles, each with its -own particular tone. The largest of these was the French circle of the -Napoleonic alliance, the circle of Count Rumyántsev and Caulaincourt. -In this group Hélène, as soon as she had settled in Petersburg with -her husband, took a very prominent place. She was visited by the members -of the French embassy and by many belonging to that circle and noted for -their intellect and polished manners. - -Hélène had been at Erfurt during the famous meeting of the Emperors -and had brought from there these connections with the Napoleonic -notabilities. At Erfurt her success had been brilliant. Napoleon himself -had noticed her in the theater and said of her: “C’est un superbe -animal.” * Her success as a beautiful and elegant woman did not -surprise Pierre, for she had become even handsomer than before. What did -surprise him was that during these last two years his wife had succeeded -in gaining the reputation “d’ une femme charmante, aussi spirituelle -que belle.” *(2) The distinguished Prince de Ligne wrote her -eight-page letters. Bilíbin saved up his epigrams to produce them -in Countess Bezúkhova’s presence. To be received in the Countess -Bezúkhova’s salon was regarded as a diploma of intellect. Young men -read books before attending Hélène’s evenings, to have something to -say in her salon, and secretaries of the embassy, and even ambassadors, -confided diplomatic secrets to her, so that in a way Hélène was a -power. Pierre, who knew she was very stupid, sometimes attended, with a -strange feeling of perplexity and fear, her evenings and dinner parties, -where politics, poetry, and philosophy were discussed. At these parties -his feelings were like those of a conjuror who always expects his trick -to be found out at any moment. But whether because stupidity was just -what was needed to run such a salon, or because those who were deceived -found pleasure in the deception, at any rate it remained unexposed and -Hélène Bezúkhova’s reputation as a lovely and clever woman became -so firmly established that she could say the emptiest and stupidest -things and everybody would go into raptures over every word of hers -and look for a profound meaning in it of which she herself had no -conception. - - * “That’s a superb animal.” - - * (2) “Of a charming woman, as witty as she is lovely.” - - -Pierre was just the husband needed for a brilliant society woman. He was -that absent-minded crank, a grand seigneur husband who was in no one’s -way, and far from spoiling the high tone and general impression of the -drawing room, he served, by the contrast he presented to her, as an -advantageous background to his elegant and tactful wife. Pierre during -the last two years, as a result of his continual absorption in abstract -interests and his sincere contempt for all else, had acquired in his -wife’s circle, which did not interest him, that air of unconcern, -indifference, and benevolence toward all, which cannot be acquired -artificially and therefore inspires involuntary respect. He entered -his wife’s drawing room as one enters a theater, was acquainted with -everybody, equally pleased to see everyone, and equally indifferent to -them all. Sometimes he joined in a conversation which interested him -and, regardless of whether any “gentlemen of the embassy” were -present or not, lispingly expressed his views, which were sometimes not -at all in accord with the accepted tone of the moment. But the general -opinion concerning the queer husband of “the most distinguished woman -in Petersburg” was so well established that no one took his freaks -seriously. - -Among the many young men who frequented her house every day, Borís -Drubetskóy, who had already achieved great success in the service, was -the most intimate friend of the Bezúkhov household since Hélène’s -return from Erfurt. Hélène spoke of him as “mon page” and treated -him like a child. Her smile for him was the same as for everybody, -but sometimes that smile made Pierre uncomfortable. Toward him Borís -behaved with a particularly dignified and sad deference. This shade -of deference also disturbed Pierre. He had suffered so painfully three -years before from the mortification to which his wife had subjected him -that he now protected himself from the danger of its repetition, first -by not being a husband to his wife, and secondly by not allowing himself -to suspect. - -“No, now that she has become a bluestocking she has finally renounced -her former infatuations,” he told himself. “There has never been -an instance of a bluestocking being carried away by affairs of the -heart”—a statement which, though gathered from an unknown source, -he believed implicitly. Yet strange to say Borís’ presence in his -wife’s drawing room (and he was almost always there) had a physical -effect upon Pierre; it constricted his limbs and destroyed the -unconsciousness and freedom of his movements. - -“What a strange antipathy,” thought Pierre, “yet I used to like -him very much.” - -In the eyes of the world Pierre was a great gentleman, the rather blind -and absurd husband of a distinguished wife, a clever crank who did -nothing but harmed nobody and was a first-rate, good-natured fellow. But -a complex and difficult process of internal development was taking place -all this time in Pierre’s soul, revealing much to him and causing him -many spiritual doubts and joys. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in it during -that time: - - -24th November - -Got up at eight, read the Scriptures, then went to my duties. (By Joseph -Alexéevich’s advice Pierre had entered the service of the state and -served on one of the committees.) Returned home for dinner and dined -alone—the countess had many visitors I do not like. I ate and drank -moderately and after dinner copied out some passages for the Brothers. -In the evening I went down to the countess and told a funny story about -B., and only remembered that I ought not to have done so when everybody -laughed loudly at it. - -I am going to bed with a happy and tranquil mind. Great God, help me to -walk in Thy paths, (1) to conquer anger by calmness and deliberation, -(2) to vanquish lust by self-restraint and repulsion, (3) to withdraw -from worldliness, but not avoid (a) the service of the state, (b) family -duties, (c) relations with my friends, and the management of my affairs. - - -27th November - -I got up late. On waking I lay long in bed yielding to sloth. O God, -help and strengthen me that I may walk in Thy ways! Read the Scriptures, -but without proper feeling. Brother Urúsov came and we talked about -worldly vanities. He told me of the Emperor’s new projects. I began -to criticize them, but remembered my rules and my benefactor’s -words—that a true Freemason should be a zealous worker for the state -when his aid is required and a quiet onlooker when not called on to -assist. My tongue is my enemy. Brothers G. V. and O. visited me and we -had a preliminary talk about the reception of a new Brother. They laid -on me the duty of Rhetor. I feel myself weak and unworthy. Then our -talk turned to the interpretation of the seven pillars and steps of the -Temple, the seven sciences, the seven virtues, the seven vices, and the -seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Brother O. was very eloquent. In the -evening the admission took place. The new decoration of the Premises -contributed much to the magnificence of the spectacle. It was Borís -Drubetskóy who was admitted. I nominated him and was the Rhetor. A -strange feeling agitated me all the time I was alone with him in the -dark chamber. I caught myself harboring a feeling of hatred toward him -which I vainly tried to overcome. That is why I should really like -to save him from evil and lead him into the path of truth, but evil -thoughts of him did not leave me. It seemed to me that his object in -entering the Brotherhood was merely to be intimate and in favor with -members of our lodge. Apart from the fact that he had asked me several -times whether N. and S. were members of our lodge (a question to which I -could not reply) and that according to my observation he is incapable of -feeling respect for our holy order and is too preoccupied and satisfied -with the outer man to desire spiritual improvement, I had no cause to -doubt him, but he seemed to me insincere, and all the time I stood -alone with him in the dark temple it seemed to me that he was smiling -contemptuously at my words, and I wished really to stab his bare breast -with the sword I held to it. I could not be eloquent, nor could I -frankly mention my doubts to the Brothers and to the Grand Master. Great -Architect of Nature, help me to find the true path out of the labyrinth -of lies! - - -After this, three pages were left blank in the diary, and then the -following was written: - - -I have had a long and instructive talk alone with Brother V., who -advised me to hold fast by Brother A. Though I am unworthy, much was -revealed to me. Adonai is the name of the creator of the world. Elohim -is the name of the ruler of all. The third name is the name unutterable -which means the All. Talks with Brother V. strengthen, refresh, and -support me in the path of virtue. In his presence doubt has no place. -The distinction between the poor teachings of mundane science and our -sacred all-embracing teaching is clear to me. Human sciences dissect -everything to comprehend it, and kill everything to examine it. In the -holy science of our order all is one, all is known in its entirety and -life. The Trinity—the three elements of matter—are sulphur, mercury, -and salt. Sulphur is of an oily and fiery nature; in combination with -salt by its fiery nature it arouses a desire in the latter by means -of which it attracts mercury, seizes it, holds it, and in combination -produces other bodies. Mercury is a fluid, volatile, spiritual essence. -Christ, the Holy Spirit, Him!... - - -3rd December - -Awoke late, read the Scriptures but was apathetic. Afterwards went and -paced up and down the large hall. I wished to meditate, but instead my -imagination pictured an occurrence of four years ago, when Dólokhov, -meeting me in Moscow after our duel, said he hoped I was enjoying -perfect peace of mind in spite of my wife’s absence. At the time I -gave him no answer. Now I recalled every detail of that meeting and in -my mind gave him the most malevolent and bitter replies. I recollected -myself and drove away that thought only when I found myself glowing with -anger, but I did not sufficiently repent. Afterwards Borís Drubetskóy -came and began relating various adventures. His coming vexed me from the -first, and I said something disagreeable to him. He replied. I flared -up and said much that was unpleasant and even rude to him. He became -silent, and I recollected myself only when it was too late. My God, I -cannot get on with him at all. The cause of this is my egotism. I set -myself above him and so become much worse than he, for he is lenient -to my rudeness while I on the contrary nourish contempt for him. O God, -grant that in his presence I may rather see my own vileness, and behave -so that he too may benefit. After dinner I fell asleep and as I was -drowsing off I clearly heard a voice saying in my left ear, “Thy -day!” - -I dreamed that I was walking in the dark and was suddenly surrounded by -dogs, but I went on undismayed. Suddenly a smallish dog seized my left -thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I began to throttle it with -my hands. Scarcely had I torn it off before another, a bigger one, began -biting me. I lifted it up, but the higher I lifted it the bigger and -heavier it grew. And suddenly Brother A. came and, taking my arm, led -me to a building to enter which we had to pass along a narrow plank. -I stepped on it, but it bent and gave way and I began to clamber up a -fence which I could scarcely reach with my hands. After much effort I -dragged myself up, so that my leg hung down on one side and my body on -the other. I looked round and saw Brother A. standing on the fence and -pointing me to a broad avenue and garden, and in the garden was a large -and beautiful building. I woke up. O Lord, great Architect of Nature, -help me to tear from myself these dogs—my passions especially the -last, which unites in itself the strength of all the former ones, and -aid me to enter that temple of virtue to a vision of which I attained in -my dream. - - -7th December - -I dreamed that Joseph Alexéevich was sitting in my house, and that I -was very glad and wished to entertain him. It seemed as if I chattered -incessantly with other people and suddenly remembered that this could -not please him, and I wished to come close to him and embrace him. But -as soon as I drew near I saw that his face had changed and grown young, -and he was quietly telling me something about the teaching of our order, -but so softly that I could not hear it. Then it seemed that we all left -the room and something strange happened. We were sitting or lying on -the floor. He was telling me something, and I wished to show him my -sensibility, and not listening to what he was saying I began picturing -to myself the condition of my inner man and the grace of God sanctifying -me. And tears came into my eyes, and I was glad he noticed this. But he -looked at me with vexation and jumped up, breaking off his remarks. I -felt abashed and asked whether what he had been saying did not concern -me; but he did not reply, gave me a kind look, and then we suddenly -found ourselves in my bedroom where there is a double bed. He lay down -on the edge of it and I burned with longing to caress him and lie down -too. And he said, “Tell me frankly what is your chief temptation? Do -you know it? I think you know it already.” Abashed by this question, -I replied that sloth was my chief temptation. He shook his head -incredulously; and even more abashed, I said that though I was living -with my wife as he advised, I was not living with her as her husband. To -this he replied that one should not deprive a wife of one’s embraces -and gave me to understand that that was my duty. But I replied that -I should be ashamed to do it, and suddenly everything vanished. And I -awoke and found in my mind the text from the Gospel: “The life was -the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness -comprehended it not.” Joseph Alexéevich’s face had looked young -and bright. That day I received a letter from my benefactor in which he -wrote about “conjugal duties.” - - -9th December - -I had a dream from which I awoke with a throbbing heart. I saw that -I was in Moscow in my house, in the big sitting room, and Joseph -Alexéevich came in from the drawing room. I seemed to know at once that -the process of regeneration had already taken place in him, and I rushed -to meet him. I embraced him and kissed his hands, and he said, “Hast -thou noticed that my face is different?” I looked at him, still -holding him in my arms, and saw that his face was young, but that he -had no hair on his head and his features were quite changed. And I said, -“I should have known you had I met you by chance,” and I thought to -myself, “Am I telling the truth?” And suddenly I saw him lying like -a dead body; then he gradually recovered and went with me into my study -carrying a large book of sheets of drawing paper; I said, “I drew -that,” and he answered by bowing his head. I opened the book, and on -all the pages there were excellent drawings. And in my dream I knew -that these drawings represented the love adventures of the soul with its -beloved. And on its pages I saw a beautiful representation of a maiden -in transparent garments and with a transparent body, flying up to the -clouds. And I seemed to know that this maiden was nothing else than a -representation of the Song of Songs. And looking at those drawings I -dreamed I felt that I was doing wrong, but could not tear myself away -from them. Lord, help me! My God, if Thy forsaking me is Thy doing, Thy -will be done; but if I am myself the cause, teach me what I should do! I -shall perish of my debauchery if Thou utterly desertest me! - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -The Rostóvs’ monetary affairs had not improved during the two years -they had spent in the country. - -Though Nicholas Rostóv had kept firmly to his resolution and was still -serving modestly in an obscure regiment, spending comparatively little, -the way of life at Otrádnoe—Mítenka’s management of affairs, in -particular—was such that the debts inevitably increased every year. -The only resource obviously presenting itself to the old count was to -apply for an official post, so he had come to Petersburg to look for one -and also, as he said, to let the lassies enjoy themselves for the last -time. - -Soon after their arrival in Petersburg Berg proposed to Véra and was -accepted. - -Though in Moscow the Rostóvs belonged to the best society without -themselves giving it a thought, yet in Petersburg their circle of -acquaintances was a mixed and indefinite one. In Petersburg they were -provincials, and the very people they had entertained in Moscow without -inquiring to what set they belonged, here looked down on them. - -The Rostóvs lived in the same hospitable way in Petersburg as in -Moscow, and the most diverse people met at their suppers. Country -neighbors from Otrádnoe, impoverished old squires and their daughters, -Perónskaya a maid of honor, Pierre Bezúkhov, and the son of their -district postmaster who had obtained a post in Petersburg. Among the -men who very soon became frequent visitors at the Rostóvs’ house in -Petersburg were Borís, Pierre whom the count had met in the street and -dragged home with him, and Berg who spent whole days at the Rostóvs’ -and paid the eldest daughter, Countess Véra, the attentions a young man -pays when he intends to propose. - -Not in vain had Berg shown everybody his right hand wounded at -Austerlitz and held a perfectly unnecessary sword in his left. He -narrated that episode so persistently and with so important an air that -everyone believed in the merit and usefulness of his deed, and he had -obtained two decorations for Austerlitz. - -In the Finnish war he also managed to distinguish himself. He had picked -up the scrap of a grenade that had killed an aide-de-camp standing near -the commander in chief and had taken it to his commander. Just as he had -done after Austerlitz, he related this occurrence at such length and -so insistently that everyone again believed it had been necessary to do -this, and he received two decorations for the Finnish war also. In -1809 he was a captain in the Guards, wore medals, and held some special -lucrative posts in Petersburg. - -Though some skeptics smiled when told of Berg’s merits, it could not -be denied that he was a painstaking and brave officer, on excellent -terms with his superiors, and a moral young man with a brilliant career -before him and an assured position in society. - -Four years before, meeting a German comrade in the stalls of a Moscow -theater, Berg had pointed out Véra Rostóva to him and had said in -German, “das soll mein Weib werden,” * and from that moment had -made up his mind to marry her. Now in Petersburg, having considered the -Rostóvs’ position and his own, he decided that the time had come to -propose. - - * “That girl shall be my wife.” - - -Berg’s proposal was at first received with a perplexity that was not -flattering to him. At first it seemed strange that the son of an obscure -Livonian gentleman should propose marriage to a Countess Rostóva; but -Berg’s chief characteristic was such a naïve and good natured egotism -that the Rostóvs involuntarily came to think it would be a good thing, -since he himself was so firmly convinced that it was good, indeed -excellent. Moreover, the Rostóvs’ affairs were seriously embarrassed, -as the suitor could not but know; and above all, Véra was twenty-four, -had been taken out everywhere, and though she was certainly good-looking -and sensible, no one up to now had proposed to her. So they gave their -consent. - -“You see,” said Berg to his comrade, whom he called “friend” -only because he knew that everyone has friends, “you see, I have -considered it all, and should not marry if I had not thought it all out -or if it were in any way unsuitable. But on the contrary, my papa and -mamma are now provided for—I have arranged that rent for them in the -Baltic Provinces—and I can live in Petersburg on my pay, and with -her fortune and my good management we can get along nicely. I am not -marrying for money—I consider that dishonorable—but a wife should -bring her share and a husband his. I have my position in the service, -she has connections and some means. In our times that is worth -something, isn’t it? But above all, she is a handsome, estimable girl, -and she loves me....” - -Berg blushed and smiled. - -“And I love her, because her character is sensible and very good. -Now the other sister, though they are the same family, is quite -different—an unpleasant character and has not the same intelligence. -She is so... you know?... Unpleasant... But my fiancée!... Well, you -will be coming,” he was going to say, “to dine,” but changed his -mind and said “to take tea with us,” and quickly doubling up his -tongue he blew a small round ring of tobacco smoke, perfectly embodying -his dream of happiness. - -After the first feeling of perplexity aroused in the parents by Berg’s -proposal, the holiday tone of joyousness usual at such times took -possession of the family, but the rejoicing was external and insincere. -In the family’s feeling toward this wedding a certain awkwardness -and constraint was evident, as if they were ashamed of not having loved -Véra sufficiently and of being so ready to get her off their hands. The -old count felt this most. He would probably have been unable to state -the cause of his embarrassment, but it resulted from the state of his -affairs. He did not know at all how much he had, what his debts amounted -to, or what dowry he could give Véra. When his daughters were born -he had assigned to each of them, for her dowry, an estate with three -hundred serfs; but one of these estates had already been sold, and the -other was mortgaged and the interest so much in arrears that it would -have to be sold, so that it was impossible to give it to Véra. Nor had -he any money. - -Berg had already been engaged a month, and only a week remained before -the wedding, but the count had not yet decided in his own mind the -question of the dowry, nor spoken to his wife about it. At one time the -count thought of giving her the Ryazán estate or of selling a forest, -at another time of borrowing money on a note of hand. A few days before -the wedding Berg entered the count’s study early one morning and, with -a pleasant smile, respectfully asked his future father-in-law to let -him know what Véra’s dowry would be. The count was so disconcerted by -this long-foreseen inquiry that without consideration he gave the first -reply that came into his head. “I like your being businesslike about -it.... I like it. You shall be satisfied....” - -And patting Berg on the shoulder he got up, wishing to end the -conversation. But Berg, smiling pleasantly, explained that if he did not -know for certain how much Véra would have and did not receive at least -part of the dowry in advance, he would have to break matters off. - -“Because, consider, Count—if I allowed myself to marry now -without having definite means to maintain my wife, I should be acting -badly....” - -The conversation ended by the count, who wished to be generous and to -avoid further importunity, saying that he would give a note of hand -for eighty thousand rubles. Berg smiled meekly, kissed the count on the -shoulder, and said that he was very grateful, but that it was impossible -for him to arrange his new life without receiving thirty thousand in -ready money. “Or at least twenty thousand, Count,” he added, “and -then a note of hand for only sixty thousand.” - -“Yes, yes, all right!” said the count hurriedly. “Only excuse me, -my dear fellow, I’ll give you twenty thousand and a note of hand for -eighty thousand as well. Yes, yes! Kiss me.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -Natásha was sixteen and it was the year 1809, the very year to which -she had counted on her fingers with Borís after they had kissed four -years ago. Since then she had not seen him. Before Sónya and her -mother, if Borís happened to be mentioned, she spoke quite freely of -that episode as of some childish, long-forgotten matter that was not -worth mentioning. But in the secret depths of her soul the question -whether her engagement to Borís was a jest or an important, binding -promise tormented her. - -Since Borís left Moscow in 1805 to join the army he had not seen the -Rostóvs. He had been in Moscow several times, and had passed near -Otrádnoe, but had never been to see them. - -Sometimes it occurred to Natásha that he did not wish to see her, and -this conjecture was confirmed by the sad tone in which her elders spoke -of him. - -“Nowadays old friends are not remembered,” the countess would say -when Borís was mentioned. - -Anna Mikháylovna also had of late visited them less frequently, seemed -to hold herself with particular dignity, and always spoke rapturously -and gratefully of the merits of her son and the brilliant career on -which he had entered. When the Rostóvs came to Petersburg Borís called -on them. - -He drove to their house in some agitation. The memory of Natásha was -his most poetic recollection. But he went with the firm intention of -letting her and her parents feel that the childish relations between -himself and Natásha could not be binding either on her or on him. He -had a brilliant position in society thanks to his intimacy with Countess -Bezúkhova, a brilliant position in the service thanks to the patronage -of an important personage whose complete confidence he enjoyed, and he -was beginning to make plans for marrying one of the richest heiresses in -Petersburg, plans which might very easily be realized. When he entered -the Rostóvs’ drawing room Natásha was in her own room. When she -heard of his arrival she almost ran into the drawing room, flushed and -beaming with a more than cordial smile. - -Borís remembered Natásha in a short dress, with dark eyes shining from -under her curls and boisterous, childish laughter, as he had known her -four years before; and so he was taken aback when quite a different -Natásha entered, and his face expressed rapturous astonishment. This -expression on his face pleased Natásha. - -“Well, do you recognize your little madcap playmate?” asked the -countess. - -Borís kissed Natásha’s hand and said that he was astonished at the -change in her. - -“How handsome you have grown!” - -“I should think so!” replied Natásha’s laughing eyes. - -“And is Papa older?” she asked. - -Natásha sat down and, without joining in Borís’ conversation with -the countess, silently and minutely studied her childhood’s suitor. He -felt the weight of that resolute and affectionate scrutiny and glanced -at her occasionally. - -Borís’ uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his hair was brushed were all -comme il faut and in the latest fashion. This Natásha noticed at once. -He sat rather sideways in the armchair next to the countess, arranging -with his right hand the cleanest of gloves that fitted his left hand -like a skin, and he spoke with a particularly refined compression of his -lips about the amusements of the highest Petersburg society, recalling -with mild irony old times in Moscow and Moscow acquaintances. It was -not accidentally, Natásha felt, that he alluded, when speaking of the -highest aristocracy, to an ambassador’s ball he had attended, and to -invitations he had received from N.N. and S.S. - -All this time Natásha sat silent, glancing up at him from under her -brows. This gaze disturbed and confused Borís more and more. He looked -round more frequently toward her, and broke off in what he was saying. -He did not stay more than ten minutes, then rose and took his leave. The -same inquisitive, challenging, and rather mocking eyes still looked -at him. After his first visit Borís said to himself that Natásha -attracted him just as much as ever, but that he must not yield to that -feeling, because to marry her, a girl almost without fortune, would -mean ruin to his career, while to renew their former relations without -intending to marry her would be dishonorable. Borís made up his mind -to avoid meeting Natásha, but despite that resolution he called again -a few days later and began calling often and spending whole days at the -Rostóvs’. It seemed to him that he ought to have an explanation with -Natásha and tell her that the old times must be forgotten, that in -spite of everything... she could not be his wife, that he had no means, -and they would never let her marry him. But he failed to do so and felt -awkward about entering on such an explanation. From day to day he -became more and more entangled. It seemed to her mother and Sónya that -Natásha was in love with Borís as of old. She sang him his favorite -songs, showed him her album, making him write in it, did not allow him -to allude to the past, letting it be understood how delightful was the -present; and every day he went away in a fog, without having said what -he meant to, and not knowing what he was doing or why he came, or how -it would all end. He left off visiting Hélène and received reproachful -notes from her every day, and yet he continued to spend whole days with -the Rostóvs. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -One night when the old countess, in nightcap and dressing jacket, -without her false curls, and with her poor little knob of hair showing -under her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and groaning on a rug and -bowing to the ground in prayer, her door creaked and Natásha, also in -a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare feet and her hair in -curlpapers, ran in. The countess—her prayerful mood dispelled—looked -round and frowned. She was finishing her last prayer: “Can it be that -this couch will be my grave?” Natásha, flushed and eager, seeing -her mother in prayer, suddenly checked her rush, half sat down, and -unconsciously put out her tongue as if chiding herself. Seeing that -her mother was still praying she ran on tiptoe to the bed and, rapidly -slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off her slippers and -jumped onto the bed the countess had feared might become her grave. This -couch was high, with a feather bed and five pillows each smaller than -the one below. Natásha jumped on it, sank into the feather bed, rolled -over to the wall, and began snuggling up the bedclothes as she settled -down, raising her knees to her chin, kicking out and laughing almost -inaudibly, now covering herself up head and all, and now peeping at her -mother. The countess finished her prayers and came to the bed with a -stern face, but seeing, that Natásha’s head was covered, she smiled -in her kind, weak way. - -“Now then, now then!” said she. - -“Mamma, can we have a talk? Yes?” said Natásha. “Now, just one on -your throat and another... that’ll do!” And seizing her mother round -the neck, she kissed her on the throat. In her behavior to her mother -Natásha seemed rough, but she was so sensitive and tactful that however -she clasped her mother she always managed to do it without hurting her -or making her feel uncomfortable or displeased. - -“Well, what is it tonight?” said the mother, having arranged her -pillows and waited until Natásha, after turning over a couple of times, -had settled down beside her under the quilt, spread out her arms, and -assumed a serious expression. - -These visits of Natásha’s at night before the count returned from his -club were one of the greatest pleasures of both mother, and daughter. - -“What is it tonight?—But I have to tell you...” - -Natásha put her hand on her mother’s mouth. - -“About Borís... I know,” she said seriously; “that’s what I -have come about. Don’t say it—I know. No, do tell me!” and she -removed her hand. “Tell me, Mamma! He’s nice?” - -“Natásha, you are sixteen. At your age I was married. You say Borís -is nice. He is very nice, and I love him like a son. But what then?... -What are you thinking about? You have quite turned his head, I can see -that....” - -As she said this the countess looked round at her daughter. Natásha -was lying looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany -sphinxes carved on the corners of the bedstead, so that the countess -only saw her daughter’s face in profile. That face struck her by its -peculiarly serious and concentrated expression. - -Natásha was listening and considering. - -“Well, what then?” said she. - -“You have quite turned his head, and why? What do you want of him? You -know you can’t marry him.” - -“Why not?” said Natásha, without changing her position. - -“Because he is young, because he is poor, because he is a relation... -and because you yourself don’t love him.” - -“How do you know?” - -“I know. It is not right, darling!” - -“But if I want to...” said Natásha. - -“Leave off talking nonsense,” said the countess. - -“But if I want to...” - -“Natásha, I am in earnest...” - -Natásha did not let her finish. She drew the countess’ large hand to -her, kissed it on the back and then on the palm, then again turned it -over and began kissing first one knuckle, then the space between the -knuckles, then the next knuckle, whispering, “January, February, -March, April, May. Speak, Mamma, why don’t you say anything? Speak!” -said she, turning to her mother, who was tenderly gazing at her daughter -and in that contemplation seemed to have forgotten all she had wished to -say. - -“It won’t do, my love! Not everyone will understand this friendship -dating from your childish days, and to see him so intimate with you may -injure you in the eyes of other young men who visit us, and above all -it torments him for nothing. He may already have found a suitable and -wealthy match, and now he’s half crazy.” - -“Crazy?” repeated Natásha. - -“I’ll tell you some things about myself. I had a cousin...” - -“I know! Cyril Matvéich... but he is old.” - -“He was not always old. But this is what I’ll do, Natásha, I’ll -have a talk with Borís. He need not come so often....” - -“Why not, if he likes to?” - -“Because I know it will end in nothing....” - -“How can you know? No, Mamma, don’t speak to him! What nonsense!” -said Natásha in the tone of one being deprived of her property. -“Well, I won’t marry, but let him come if he enjoys it and I enjoy -it.” Natásha smiled and looked at her mother. “Not to marry, but -just so,” she added. - -“How so, my pet?” - -“Just so. There’s no need for me to marry him. But... just so.” - -“Just so, just so,” repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she -went off into a good humored, unexpected, elderly laugh. - -“Don’t laugh, stop!” cried Natásha. “You’re shaking the whole -bed! You’re awfully like me, just such another giggler.... Wait...” -and she seized the countess’ hands and kissed a knuckle of the little -finger, saying, “June,” and continued, kissing, “July, August,” -on the other hand. “But, Mamma, is he very much in love? What do you -think? Was anybody ever so much in love with you? And he’s very nice, -very, very nice. Only not quite my taste—he is so narrow, like the -dining-room clock.... Don’t you understand? Narrow, you know—gray, -light gray...” - -“What rubbish you’re talking!” said the countess. - -Natásha continued: “Don’t you really understand? Nicholas would -understand.... Bezúkhov, now, is blue, dark-blue and red, and he is -square.” - -“You flirt with him too,” said the countess, laughing. - -“No, he is a Freemason, I have found out. He is fine, dark-blue and -red.... How can I explain it to you?” - -“Little countess!” the count’s voice called from behind the door. -“You’re not asleep?” Natásha jumped up, snatched up her slippers, -and ran barefoot to her own room. - -It was a long time before she could sleep. She kept thinking that no one -could understand all that she understood and all there was in her. - -“Sónya?” she thought, glancing at that curled-up, sleeping little -kitten with her enormous plait of hair. “No, how could she? She’s -virtuous. She fell in love with Nicholas and does not wish to know -anything more. Even Mamma does not understand. It is wonderful how -clever I am and how... charming she is,” she went on, speaking -of herself in the third person, and imagining it was some very wise -man—the wisest and best of men—who was saying it of her. “There -is everything, everything in her,” continued this man. “She is -unusually intelligent, charming... and then she is pretty, uncommonly -pretty, and agile—she swims and rides splendidly... and her voice! One -can really say it’s a wonderful voice!” - -She hummed a scrap from her favorite opera by Cherubini, threw herself -on her bed, laughed at the pleasant thought that she would immediately -fall asleep, called Dunyásha the maid to put out the candle, and before -Dunyásha had left the room had already passed into yet another happier -world of dreams, where everything was as light and beautiful as in -reality, and even more so because it was different. - -Next day the countess called Borís aside and had a talk with him, after -which he ceased coming to the Rostóvs’. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -On the thirty-first of December, New Year’s Eve, 1809 - 10 an old -grandee of Catherine’s day was giving a ball and midnight supper. The -diplomatic corps and the Emperor himself were to be present. - -The grandee’s well-known mansion on the English Quay glittered with -innumerable lights. Police were stationed at the brightly lit entrance -which was carpeted with red baize, and not only gendarmes but dozens of -police officers and even the police master himself stood at the porch. -Carriages kept driving away and fresh ones arriving, with red-liveried -footmen and footmen in plumed hats. From the carriages emerged men -wearing uniforms, stars, and ribbons, while ladies in satin and ermine -cautiously descended the carriage steps which were let down for them -with a clatter, and then walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize -at the entrance. - -Almost every time a new carriage drove up a whisper ran through the -crowd and caps were doffed. - -“The Emperor?... No, a minister... prince... ambassador. Don’t you -see the plumes?...” was whispered among the crowd. - -One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and -mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day. - -A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostóvs, who were -to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed. - -There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball in the -Rostóv family, many fears that the invitation would not arrive, that -the dresses would not be ready, or that something would not be arranged -as it should be. - -Márya Ignátevna Perónskaya, a thin and shallow maid of honor at -the court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend and relation of the -countess and piloted the provincial Rostóvs in Petersburg high society, -was to accompany them to the ball. - -They were to call for her at her house in the Taurida Gardens at ten -o’clock, but it was already five minutes to ten, and the girls were -not yet dressed. - -Natásha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up at eight that -morning and had been in a fever of excitement and activity all day. All -her powers since morning had been concentrated on ensuring that they -all—she herself, Mamma, and Sónya—should be as well dressed as -possible. Sónya and her mother put themselves entirely in her hands. -The countess was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, and the two -girls white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on their bodices and -their hair dressed à la grecque. - -Everything essential had already been done; feet, hands, necks, and -ears washed, perfumed, and powdered, as befits a ball; the openwork -silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons were already on; the -hairdressing was almost done. Sónya was finishing dressing and so was -the countess, but Natásha, who had bustled about helping them all, was -behindhand. She was still sitting before a looking-glass with a dressing -jacket thrown over her slender shoulders. Sónya stood ready dressed in -the middle of the room and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her -dainty finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went -through it. - -“That’s not the way, that’s not the way, Sónya!” cried Natásha -turning her head and clutching with both hands at her hair which the -maid who was dressing it had not time to release. “That bow is not -right. Come here!” - -Sónya sat down and Natásha pinned the ribbon on differently. - -“Allow me, Miss! I can’t do it like that,” said the maid who was -holding Natásha’s hair. - -“Oh, dear! Well then, wait. That’s right, Sónya.” - -“Aren’t you ready? It is nearly ten,” came the countess’ voice. - -“Directly! Directly! And you, Mamma?” - -“I have only my cap to pin on.” - -“Don’t do it without me!” called Natásha. “You won’t do it -right.” - -“But it’s already ten.” - -They had decided to be at the ball by half-past ten, and Natásha had -still to get dressed and they had to call at the Taurida Gardens. - -When her hair was done, Natásha, in her short petticoat from under -which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother’s dressing jacket, -ran up to Sónya, scrutinized her, and then ran to her mother. Turning -her mother’s head this way and that, she fastened on the cap and, -hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who were turning -up the hem of her skirt. - -The cause of the delay was Natásha’s skirt, which was too long. -Two maids were turning up the hem and hurriedly biting off the ends of -thread. A third with pins in her mouth was running about between the -countess and Sónya, and a fourth held the whole of the gossamer garment -up high on one uplifted hand. - -“Mávra, quicker, darling!” - -“Give me my thimble, Miss, from there...” - -“Whenever will you be ready?” asked the count coming to the door. -“Here is some scent. Perónskaya must be tired of waiting.” - -“It’s ready, Miss,” said the maid, holding up the shortened gauze -dress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking something off it, as if -by this to express a consciousness of the airiness and purity of what -she held. - -Natásha began putting on the dress. - -“In a minute! In a minute! Don’t come in, Papa!” she cried to her -father as he opened the door—speaking from under the filmy skirt which -still covered her whole face. - -Sónya slammed the door to. A minute later they let the count in. He was -wearing a blue swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings, and was perfumed -and his hair pomaded. - -“Oh, Papa! how nice you look! Charming!” cried Natásha, as she -stood in the middle of the room smoothing out the folds of the gauze. - -“If you please, Miss! allow me,” said the maid, who on her knees was -pulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side of her -mouth to the other with her tongue. - -“Say what you like,” exclaimed Sónya, in a despairing voice as she -looked at Natásha, “say what you like, it’s still too long.” - -Natásha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dress -was too long. - -“Really, madam, it is not at all too long,” said Mávra, crawling on -her knees after her young lady. - -“Well, if it’s too long we’ll tack it up... we’ll tack it up -in one minute,” said the resolute Dunyásha taking a needle that was -stuck on the front of her little shawl and, still kneeling on the floor, -set to work once more. - -At that moment, with soft steps, the countess came in shyly, in her cap -and velvet gown. - -“Oo-oo, my beauty!” exclaimed the count, “she looks better than -any of you!” - -He would have embraced her but, blushing, she stepped aside fearing to -be rumpled. - -“Mamma, your cap, more to this side,” said Natásha. “I’ll -arrange it,” and she rushed forward so that the maids who were tacking -up her skirt could not move fast enough and a piece of gauze was torn -off. - -“Oh goodness! What has happened? Really it was not my fault!” - -“Never mind, I’ll run it up, it won’t show,” said Dunyásha. - -“What a beauty—a very queen!” said the nurse as she came to the -door. “And Sónya! They are lovely!” - -At a quarter past ten they at last got into their carriages and started. -But they had still to call at the Taurida Gardens. - -Perónskaya was quite ready. In spite of her age and plainness she -had gone through the same process as the Rostóvs, but with less -flurry—for to her it was a matter of routine. Her ugly old body was -washed, perfumed, and powdered in just the same way. She had washed -behind her ears just as carefully, and when she entered her drawing -room in her yellow dress, wearing her badge as maid of honor, her old -lady’s maid was as full of rapturous admiration as the Rostóvs’ -servants had been. - -She praised the Rostóvs’ toilets. They praised her taste and toilet, -and at eleven o’clock, careful of their coiffures and dresses, they -settled themselves in their carriages and drove off. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -Natásha had not had a moment free since early morning and had not once -had time to think of what lay before her. - -In the damp chill air and crowded closeness of the swaying carriage, she -for the first time vividly imagined what was in store for her there at -the ball, in those brightly lighted rooms—with music, flowers, dances, -the Emperor, and all the brilliant young people of Petersburg. The -prospect was so splendid that she hardly believed it would come true, -so out of keeping was it with the chill darkness and closeness of the -carriage. She understood all that awaited her only when, after stepping -over the red baize at the entrance, she entered the hall, took off her -fur cloak, and, beside Sónya and in front of her mother, mounted the -brightly illuminated stairs between the flowers. Only then did she -remember how she must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the majestic -air she considered indispensable for a girl on such an occasion. But, -fortunately for her, she felt her eyes growing misty, she saw nothing -clearly, her pulse beat a hundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed -at her heart. She could not assume that pose, which would have made her -ridiculous, and she moved on almost fainting from excitement and trying -with all her might to conceal it. And this was the very attitude that -became her best. Before and behind them other visitors were entering, -also talking in low tones and wearing ball dresses. The mirrors on the -landing reflected ladies in white, pale-blue, and pink dresses, with -diamonds and pearls on their bare necks and arms. - -Natásha looked in the mirrors and could not distinguish her reflection -from the others. All was blended into one brilliant procession. -On entering the ballroom the regular hum of voices, footsteps, and -greetings deafened Natásha, and the light and glitter dazzled her still -more. The host and hostess, who had already been standing at the door -for half an hour repeating the same words to the various arrivals, -“Charmé de vous voir,” * greeted the Rostóvs and Perónskaya in -the same manner. - - * “Delighted to see you.” - - -The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose in her -black hair, both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess’ eye -involuntarily rested longer on the slim Natásha. She looked at her -and gave her alone a special smile in addition to her usual smile as -hostess. Looking at her she may have recalled the golden, irrecoverable -days of her own girlhood and her own first ball. The host also followed -Natásha with his eyes and asked the count which was his daughter. - -“Charming!” said he, kissing the tips of his fingers. - -In the ballroom guests stood crowding at the entrance doors awaiting -the Emperor. The countess took up a position in one of the front rows -of that crowd. Natásha heard and felt that several people were asking -about her and looking at her. She realized that those noticing her liked -her, and this observation helped to calm her. - -“There are some like ourselves and some worse,” she thought. - -Perónskaya was pointing out to the countess the most important people -at the ball. - -“That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see? That gray-haired man,” -she said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly -hair, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said. - -“Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, Countess Bezúkhova,” -said Perónskaya, indicating Hélène who had just entered. “How -lovely! She is quite equal to Márya Antónovna. See how the men, young -and old, pay court to her. Beautiful and clever... they say Prince -—— is quite mad about her. But see, those two, though not -good-looking, are even more run after.” - -She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a very plain -daughter. - -“She is a splendid match, a millionairess,” said Perónskaya. “And -look, here come her suitors.” - -“That is Bezúkhova’s brother, Anatole Kurágin,” she said, -indicating a handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them -with head erect, looking at something over the heads of the ladies. -“He’s handsome, isn’t he? I hear they will marry him to that rich -girl. But your cousin, Drubetskóy, is also very attentive to her. They -say she has millions. Oh yes, that’s the French ambassador himself!” -she replied to the countess’ inquiry about Caulaincourt. “Looks as -if he were a king! All the same, the French are charming, very charming. -No one more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, she is still the -most beautiful of them all, our Márya Antónovna! And how simply she -is dressed! Lovely! And that stout one in spectacles is the universal -Freemason,” she went on, indicating Pierre. “Put him beside his wife -and he looks a regular buffoon!” - -Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through the crowd -and nodding to right and left as casually and good-naturedly as if he -were passing through a crowd at a fair. He pushed through, evidently -looking for someone. - -Natásha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, “the -buffoon,” as Perónskaya had called him, and knew he was looking for -them, and for her in particular. He had promised to be at the ball and -introduce partners to her. - -But before he reached them Pierre stopped beside a very handsome, dark -man of middle height, and in a white uniform, who stood by a window -talking to a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon. Natásha at once -recognized the shorter and younger man in the white uniform: it was -Bolkónski, who seemed to her to have grown much younger, happier, and -better-looking. - -“There’s someone else we know—Bolkónski, do you see, Mamma?” -said Natásha, pointing out Prince Andrew. “You remember, he stayed a -night with us at Otrádnoe.” - -“Oh, you know him?” said Perónskaya. “I can’t bear him. Il fait -à présent la pluie et le beau temps. * He’s too proud for anything. -Takes after his father. And he’s hand in glove with Speránski, -writing some project or other. Just look how he treats the ladies! -There’s one talking to him and he has turned away,” she said, -pointing at him. “I’d give it to him if he treated me as he does -those ladies.” - - * “He is all the rage just now.” - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Suddenly everybody stirred, began talking, and pressed forward and then -back, and between the two rows, which separated, the Emperor entered to -the sounds of music that had immediately struck up. Behind him walked -his host and hostess. He walked in rapidly, bowing to right and left -as if anxious to get the first moments of the reception over. The band -played the polonaise in vogue at that time on account of the words that -had been set to it, beginning: “Alexander, Elisaveta, all our hearts -you ravish quite...” The Emperor passed on to the drawing room, the -crowd made a rush for the doors, and several persons with excited faces -hurried there and back again. Then the crowd hastily retired from -the drawing room door, at which the Emperor reappeared talking to the -hostess. A young man, looking distraught, pounced down on the ladies, -asking them to move aside. Some ladies, with faces betraying complete -forgetfulness of all the rules of decorum, pushed forward to the -detriment of their toilets. The men began to choose partners and take -their places for the polonaise. - -Everyone moved back, and the Emperor came smiling out of the drawing -room leading his hostess by the hand but not keeping time to the -music. The host followed with Márya Antónovna Narýshkina; then -came ambassadors, ministers, and various generals, whom Perónskaya -diligently named. More than half the ladies already had partners -and were taking up, or preparing to take up, their positions for the -polonaise. Natásha felt that she would be left with her mother and -Sónya among a minority of women who crowded near the wall, not having -been invited to dance. She stood with her slender arms hanging down, -her scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regularly, and with -bated breath and glittering, frightened eyes gazed straight before -her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery. She was -not concerned about the Emperor or any of those great people whom -Perónskaya was pointing out—she had but one thought: “Is it -possible no one will ask me, that I shall not be among the first to -dance? Is it possible that not one of all these men will notice me? -They do not even seem to see me, or if they do they look as if they -were saying, ‘Ah, she’s not the one I’m after, so it’s not worth -looking at her!’ No, it’s impossible,” she thought. “They must -know how I long to dance, how splendidly I dance, and how they would -enjoy dancing with me.” - -The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerable -time, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natásha’s ears. -She wanted to cry. Perónskaya had left them. The count was at the -other end of the room. She and the countess and Sónya were standing by -themselves as in the depths of a forest amid that crowd of strangers, -with no one interested in them and not wanted by anyone. Prince Andrew -with a lady passed by, evidently not recognizing them. The handsome -Anatole was smilingly talking to a partner on his arm and looked at -Natásha as one looks at a wall. Borís passed them twice and each time -turned away. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came up to them. - -This family gathering seemed humiliating to Natásha—as if there were -nowhere else for the family to talk but here at the ball. She did not -listen to or look at Véra, who was telling her something about her own -green dress. - -At last the Emperor stopped beside his last partner (he had danced -with three) and the music ceased. A worried aide-de-camp ran up to the -Rostóvs requesting them to stand farther back, though as it was they -were already close to the wall, and from the gallery resounded the -distinct, precise, enticingly rhythmical strains of a waltz. The Emperor -looked smilingly down the room. A minute passed but no one had yet begun -dancing. An aide-de-camp, the Master of Ceremonies, went up to Countess -Bezúkhova and asked her to dance. She smilingly raised her hand and -laid it on his shoulder without looking at him. The aide-de-camp, an -adept in his art, grasping his partner firmly round her waist, with -confident deliberation started smoothly, gliding first round the edge of -the circle, then at the corner of the room he caught Hélène’s -left hand and turned her, the only sound audible, apart from the -ever-quickening music, being the rhythmic click of the spurs on his -rapid, agile feet, while at every third beat his partner’s velvet -dress spread out and seemed to flash as she whirled round. Natásha -gazed at them and was ready to cry because it was not she who was -dancing that first turn of the waltz. - -Prince Andrew, in the white uniform of a cavalry colonel, wearing -stockings and dancing shoes, stood looking animated and bright in the -front row of the circle not far from the Rostóvs. Baron Firhoff was -talking to him about the first sitting of the Council of State to be -held next day. Prince Andrew, as one closely connected with Speránski -and participating in the work of the legislative commission, could give -reliable information about that sitting, concerning which various rumors -were current. But not listening to what Firhoff was saying, he was -gazing now at the sovereign and now at the men intending to dance who -had not yet gathered courage to enter the circle. - -Prince Andrew was watching these men abashed by the Emperor’s -presence, and the women who were breathlessly longing to be asked to -dance. - -Pierre came up to him and caught him by the arm. - -“You always dance. I have a protégée, the young Rostóva, here. Ask -her,” he said. - -“Where is she?” asked Bolkónski. “Excuse me!” he added, turning -to the baron, “we will finish this conversation elsewhere—at a ball -one must dance.” He stepped forward in the direction Pierre indicated. -The despairing, dejected expression of Natásha’s face caught his eye. -He recognized her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was her début, -remembered her conversation at the window, and with an expression of -pleasure on his face approached Countess Rostóva. - -“Allow me to introduce you to my daughter,” said the countess, with -heightened color. - -“I have the pleasure of being already acquainted, if the countess -remembers me,” said Prince Andrew with a low and courteous bow quite -belying Perónskaya’s remarks about his rudeness, and approaching -Natásha he held out his arm to grasp her waist before he had completed -his invitation. He asked her to waltz. That tremulous expression on -Natásha’s face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly -brightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile. - -“I have long been waiting for you,” that frightened happy little -girl seemed to say by the smile that replaced the threatened tears, as -she raised her hand to Prince Andrew’s shoulder. They were the second -couple to enter the circle. Prince Andrew was one of the best dancers of -his day and Natásha danced exquisitely. Her little feet in their white -satin dancing shoes did their work swiftly, lightly, and independently -of herself, while her face beamed with ecstatic happiness. Her slender -bare arms and neck were not beautiful—compared to Hélène’s her -shoulders looked thin and her bosom undeveloped. But Hélène seemed, as -it were, hardened by a varnish left by the thousands of looks that had -scanned her person, while Natásha was like a girl exposed for the first -time, who would have felt very much ashamed had she not been assured -that this was absolutely necessary. - -Prince Andrew liked dancing, and wishing to escape as quickly as -possible from the political and clever talk which everyone addressed -to him, wishing also to break up the circle of restraint he disliked, -caused by the Emperor’s presence, he danced, and had chosen Natásha -because Pierre pointed her out to him and because she was the first -pretty girl who caught his eye; but scarcely had he embraced that -slender supple figure and felt her stirring so close to him and smiling -so near him than the wine of her charm rose to his head, and he -felt himself revived and rejuvenated when after leaving her he stood -breathing deeply and watching the other dancers. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -After Prince Andrew, Borís came up to ask Natásha for a dance, and -then the aide-de-camp who had opened the ball, and several other young -men, so that, flushed and happy, and passing on her superfluous partners -to Sónya, she did not cease dancing all the evening. She noticed and -saw nothing of what occupied everyone else. Not only did she fail to -notice that the Emperor talked a long time with the French ambassador, -and how particularly gracious he was to a certain lady, or that Prince -So-and-so and So-and-so did and said this and that, and that Hélène -had great success and was honored by the special attention of So-and-so, -but she did not even see the Emperor, and only noticed that he had gone -because the ball became livelier after his departure. For one of the -merry cotillions before supper Prince Andrew was again her partner. He -reminded her of their first encounter in the Otrádnoe avenue, and how -she had been unable to sleep that moonlight night, and told her how he -had involuntarily overheard her. Natásha blushed at that recollection -and tried to excuse herself, as if there had been something to be -ashamed of in what Prince Andrew had overheard. - -Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrew liked meeting -someone there not of the conventional society stamp. And such was -Natásha, with her surprise, her delight, her shyness, and even her -mistakes in speaking French. With her he behaved with special care and -tenderness, sitting beside her and talking of the simplest and most -unimportant matters; he admired her shy grace. In the middle of the -cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natásha, still out of -breath, was returning to her seat when another dancer chose her. She was -tired and panting and evidently thought of declining, but immediately -put her hand gaily on the man’s shoulder, smiling at Prince Andrew. - -“I’d be glad to sit beside you and rest: I’m tired; but you see -how they keep asking me, and I’m glad of it, I’m happy and I love -everybody, and you and I understand it all,” and much, much more was -said in her smile. When her partner left her Natásha ran across the -room to choose two ladies for the figure. - -“If she goes to her cousin first and then to another lady, she will be -my wife,” said Prince Andrew to himself quite to his own surprise, as -he watched her. She did go first to her cousin. - -“What rubbish sometimes enters one’s head!” thought Prince Andrew, -“but what is certain is that that girl is so charming, so original, -that she won’t be dancing here a month before she will be married.... -Such as she are rare here,” he thought, as Natásha, readjusting a -rose that was slipping on her bodice, settled herself beside him. - -When the cotillion was over the old count in his blue coat came up to -the dancers. He invited Prince Andrew to come and see them, and asked -his daughter whether she was enjoying herself. Natásha did not answer -at once but only looked up with a smile that said reproachfully: “How -can you ask such a question?” - -“I have never enjoyed myself so much before!” she said, and Prince -Andrew noticed how her thin arms rose quickly as if to embrace her -father and instantly dropped again. Natásha was happier than she had -ever been in her life. She was at that height of bliss when one becomes -completely kind and good and does not believe in the possibility of -evil, unhappiness, or sorrow. - -At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by the position -his wife occupied in court circles. He was gloomy and absent-minded. A -deep furrow ran across his forehead, and standing by a window he stared -over his spectacles seeing no one. - -On her way to supper Natásha passed him. - -Pierre’s gloomy, unhappy look struck her. She stopped in front of him. -She wished to help him, to bestow on him the superabundance of her own -happiness. - -“How delightful it is, Count!” said she. “Isn’t it?” - -Pierre smiled absent-mindedly, evidently not grasping what she said. - -“Yes, I am very glad,” he said. - -“How can people be dissatisfied with anything?” thought Natásha. -“Especially such a capital fellow as Bezúkhov!” In Natásha’s -eyes all the people at the ball alike were good, kind, and splendid -people, loving one another; none of them capable of injuring -another—and so they ought all to be happy. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -Next day Prince Andrew thought of the ball, but his mind did not dwell -on it long. “Yes, it was a very brilliant ball,” and then... “Yes, -that little Rostóva is very charming. There’s something fresh, -original, un-Petersburg-like about her that distinguishes her.” That -was all he thought about yesterday’s ball, and after his morning tea -he set to work. - -But either from fatigue or want of sleep he was ill-disposed for work -and could get nothing done. He kept criticizing his own work, as he -often did, and was glad when he heard someone coming. - -The visitor was Bítski, who served on various committees, frequented -all the societies in Petersburg, and a passionate devotee of the new -ideas and of Speránski, and a diligent Petersburg newsmonger—one of -those men who choose their opinions like their clothes according to -the fashion, but who for that very reason appear to be the warmest -partisans. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran into Prince -Andrew’s room with a preoccupied air and at once began talking. He -had just heard particulars of that morning’s sitting of the Council -of State opened by the Emperor, and he spoke of it enthusiastically. The -Emperor’s speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech such as -only constitutional monarchs deliver. “The Sovereign plainly said -that the Council and Senate are estates of the realm, he said that the -government must rest not on authority but on secure bases. The Emperor -said that the fiscal system must be reorganized and the accounts -published,” recounted Bítski, emphasizing certain words and opening -his eyes significantly. - -“Ah, yes! Today’s events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in our -history,” he concluded. - -Prince Andrew listened to the account of the opening of the Council of -State, which he had so impatiently awaited and to which he had attached -such importance, and was surprised that this event, now that it had -taken place, did not affect him, and even seemed quite insignificant. He -listened with quiet irony to Bítski’s enthusiastic account of it. A -very simple thought occurred to him: “What does it matter to me or to -Bítski what the Emperor was pleased to say at the Council? Can all that -make me any happier or better?” - -And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed all the interest Prince -Andrew had felt in the impending reforms. He was going to dine that -evening at Speránski’s, “with only a few friends,” as the host -had said when inviting him. The prospect of that dinner in the intimate -home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested Prince -Andrew, especially as he had not yet seen Speránski in his domestic -surroundings, but now he felt disinclined to go to it. - -At the appointed hour, however, he entered the modest house Speránski -owned in the Taurida Gardens. In the parqueted dining room this small -house, remarkable for its extreme cleanliness (suggesting that of a -monastery), Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found the friendly -gathering of Speránski’s intimate acquaintances already assembled -at five o’clock. There were no ladies present except Speránski’s -little daughter (long-faced like her father) and her governess. The -other guests were Gervais, Magnítski, and Stolýpin. While still in -the anteroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and a ringing staccato -laugh—a laugh such as one hears on the stage. Someone—it sounded -like Speránski—was distinctly ejaculating ha-ha-ha. Prince Andrew -had never before heard Speránski’s famous laugh, and this ringing, -high-pitched laughter from a statesman made a strange impression on him. - -He entered the dining room. The whole company were standing between two -windows at a small table laid with hors-d’oeuvres. Speránski, wearing -a gray swallow-tail coat with a star on the breast, and evidently still -the same waistcoat and high white stock he had worn at the meeting of -the Council of State, stood at the table with a beaming countenance. His -guests surrounded him. Magnítski, addressing himself to Speránski, -was relating an anecdote, and Speránski was laughing in advance at -what Magnítski was going to say. When Prince Andrew entered the room -Magnítski’s words were again crowned by laughter. Stolýpin gave -a deep bass guffaw as he munched a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais -laughed softly with a hissing chuckle, and Speránski in a high-pitched -staccato manner. - -Still laughing, Speránski held out his soft white hand to Prince -Andrew. - -“Very pleased to see you, Prince,” he said. “One moment...” he -went on, turning to Magnítski and interrupting his story. “We have -agreed that this is a dinner for recreation, with not a word about -business!” and turning again to the narrator he began to laugh afresh. - -Prince Andrew looked at the laughing Speránski with astonishment, -regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was not -Speránski but someone else. Everything that had formerly appeared -mysterious and fascinating in Speránski suddenly became plain and -unattractive. - -At dinner the conversation did not cease for a moment and seemed to -consist of the contents of a book of funny anecdotes. Before Magnítski -had finished his story someone else was anxious to relate something -still funnier. Most of the anecdotes, if not relating to the state -service, related to people in the service. It seemed that in this -company the insignificance of those people was so definitely accepted -that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good humored -ridicule. Speránski related how at the Council that morning a deaf -dignitary, when asked his opinion, replied that he thought so too. -Gervais gave a long account of an official revision, remarkable for the -stupidity of everybody concerned. Stolýpin, stuttering, broke into -the conversation and began excitedly talking of the abuses that existed -under the former order of things—threatening to give a serious turn -to the conversation. Magnítski starting quizzing Stolýpin about his -vehemence. Gervais intervened with a joke, and the talk reverted to its -former lively tone. - -Evidently Speránski liked to rest after his labors and find amusement -in a circle of friends, and his guests, understanding his wish, tried -to enliven him and amuse themselves. But their gaiety seemed to Prince -Andrew mirthless and tiresome. Speránski’s high-pitched voice struck -him unpleasantly, and the incessant laughter grated on him like a false -note. Prince Andrew did not laugh and feared that he would be a damper -on the spirits of the company, but no one took any notice of his being -out of harmony with the general mood. They all seemed very gay. - -He tried several times to join in the conversation, but his remarks were -tossed aside each time like a cork thrown out of the water, and he could -not jest with them. - -There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said, it was witty and -might have been funny, but it lacked just that something which is the -salt of mirth, and they were not even aware that such a thing existed. - -After dinner Speránski’s daughter and her governess rose. He patted -the little girl with his white hand and kissed her. And that gesture, -too, seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew. - -The men remained at table over their port—English fashion. In the -midst of a conversation that was started about Napoleon’s Spanish -affairs, which they all agreed in approving, Prince Andrew began to -express a contrary opinion. Speránski smiled and, with an evident wish -to prevent the conversation from taking an unpleasant course, told a -story that had no connection with the previous conversation. For a few -moments all were silent. - -Having sat some time at table, Speránski corked a bottle of wine and, -remarking, “Nowadays good wine rides in a carriage and pair,” passed -it to the servant and got up. All rose and continuing to talk loudly -went into the drawing room. Two letters brought by a courier were handed -to Speránski and he took them to his study. As soon as he had left -the room the general merriment stopped and the guests began to converse -sensibly and quietly with one another. - -“Now for the recitation!” said Speránski on returning from -his study. “A wonderful talent!” he said to Prince Andrew, and -Magnítski immediately assumed a pose and began reciting some humorous -verses in French which he had composed about various well-known -Petersburg people. He was interrupted several times by applause. When -the verses were finished Prince Andrew went up to Speránski and took -his leave. - -“Where are you off to so early?” asked Speránski. - -“I promised to go to a reception.” - -They said no more. Prince Andrew looked closely into those mirrorlike, -impenetrable eyes, and felt that it had been ridiculous of him to have -expected anything from Speránski and from any of his own activities -connected with him, or ever to have attributed importance to what -Speránski was doing. That precise, mirthless laughter rang in Prince -Andrew’s ears long after he had left the house. - -When he reached home Prince Andrew began thinking of his life in -Petersburg during those last four months as if it were something new. He -recalled his exertions and solicitations, and the history of his project -of army reform, which had been accepted for consideration and which they -were trying to pass over in silence simply because another, a very poor -one, had already been prepared and submitted to the Emperor. He thought -of the meetings of a committee of which Berg was a member. He remembered -how carefully and at what length everything relating to form and -procedure was discussed at those meetings, and how sedulously and -promptly all that related to the gist of the business was evaded. He -recalled his labors on the Legal Code, and how painstakingly he had -translated the articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian, -and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly pictured to himself -Boguchárovo, his occupations in the country, his journey to Ryazán; -he remembered the peasants and Dron the village elder, and mentally -applying to them the Personal Rights he had divided into paragraphs, he -felt astonished that he could have spent so much time on such useless -work. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -Next day Prince Andrew called at a few houses he had not visited before, -and among them at the Rostóvs’ with whom he had renewed acquaintance -at the ball. Apart from considerations of politeness which demanded the -call, he wanted to see that original, eager girl who had left such a -pleasant impression on his mind, in her own home. - -Natásha was one of the first to meet him. She was wearing a dark-blue -house dress in which Prince Andrew thought her even prettier than in -her ball dress. She and all the Rostóv family welcomed him as an old -friend, simply and cordially. The whole family, whom he had formerly -judged severely, now seemed to him to consist of excellent, simple, -and kindly people. The old count’s hospitality and good nature, which -struck one especially in Petersburg as a pleasant surprise, were such -that Prince Andrew could not refuse to stay to dinner. “Yes,” -he thought, “they are capital people, who of course have not the -slightest idea what a treasure they possess in Natásha; but they are -kindly folk and form the best possible setting for this strikingly -poetic, charming girl, overflowing with life!” - -In Natásha Prince Andrew was conscious of a strange world completely -alien to him and brimful of joys unknown to him, a different world, -that in the Otrádnoe avenue and at the window that moonlight night -had already begun to disconcert him. Now this world disconcerted him no -longer and was no longer alien to him, but he himself having entered it -found in it a new enjoyment. - -After dinner Natásha, at Prince Andrew’s request, went to the -clavichord and began singing. Prince Andrew stood by a window talking -to the ladies and listened to her. In the midst of a phrase he ceased -speaking and suddenly felt tears choking him, a thing he had thought -impossible for him. He looked at Natásha as she sang, and something new -and joyful stirred in his soul. He felt happy and at the same time sad. -He had absolutely nothing to weep about yet he was ready to weep. What -about? His former love? The little princess? His disillusionments?... -His hopes for the future?... Yes and no. The chief reason was a sudden, -vivid sense of the terrible contrast between something infinitely great -and illimitable within him and that limited and material something that -he, and even she, was. This contrast weighed on and yet cheered him -while she sang. - -As soon as Natásha had finished she went up to him and asked how he -liked her voice. She asked this and then became confused, feeling that -she ought not to have asked it. He smiled, looking at her, and said he -liked her singing as he liked everything she did. - -Prince Andrew left the Rostóvs’ late in the evening. He went to bed -from habit, but soon realized that he could not sleep. Having lit his -candle he sat up in bed, then got up, then lay down again not at all -troubled by his sleeplessness: his soul was as fresh and joyful as if he -had stepped out of a stuffy room into God’s own fresh air. It did not -enter his head that he was in love with Natásha; he was not thinking -about her, but only picturing her to himself, and in consequence all -life appeared in a new light. “Why do I strive, why do I toil in this -narrow, confined frame, when life, all life with all its joys, is open -to me?” said he to himself. And for the first time for a very long -while he began making happy plans for the future. He decided that he -must attend to his son’s education by finding a tutor and putting -the boy in his charge, then he ought to retire from the service and go -abroad, and see England, Switzerland and Italy. “I must use my freedom -while I feel so much strength and youth in me,” he said to himself. -“Pierre was right when he said one must believe in the possibility of -happiness in order to be happy, and now I do believe in it. Let the dead -bury their dead, but while one has life one must live and be happy!” -thought he. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody in -Moscow and Petersburg, came to see him. Berg arrived in an immaculate -brand-new uniform, with his hair pomaded and brushed forward over his -temples as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair. - -“I have just been to see the countess, your wife. Unfortunately she -could not grant my request, but I hope, Count, I shall be more fortunate -with you,” he said with a smile. - -“What is it you wish, Colonel? I am at your service.” - -“I have now quite settled in my new rooms, Count” (Berg said -this with perfect conviction that this information could not but be -agreeable), “and so I wish to arrange just a small party for my own -and my wife’s friends.” (He smiled still more pleasantly.) “I -wished to ask the countess and you to do me the honor of coming to tea -and to supper.” - -Only Countess Hélène, considering the society of such people as the -Bergs beneath her, could be cruel enough to refuse such an invitation. -Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect at his house a small -but select company, and why this would give him pleasure, and why though -he grudged spending money on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared -to run into some expense for the sake of good society—that Pierre -could not refuse, and promised to come. - -“But don’t be late, Count, if I may venture to ask; about ten -minutes to eight, please. We shall make up a rubber. Our general is -coming. He is very good to me. We shall have supper, Count. So you will -do me the favor.” - -Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived at the -Bergs’ house, not at ten but at fifteen minutes to eight. - -Having prepared everything necessary for the party, the Bergs were ready -for their guests’ arrival. - -In their new, clean, and light study with its small busts and pictures -and new furniture sat Berg and his wife. Berg, closely buttoned up in -his new uniform, sat beside his wife explaining to her that one always -could and should be acquainted with people above one, because only then -does one get satisfaction from acquaintances. - -“You can get to know something, you can ask for something. See how I -managed from my first promotion.” (Berg measured his life not by years -but by promotions.) “My comrades are still nobodies, while I am only -waiting for a vacancy to command a regiment, and have the happiness to -be your husband.” (He rose and kissed Véra’s hand, and on the way -to her straightened out a turned-up corner of the carpet.) “And -how have I obtained all this? Chiefly by knowing how to choose my -aquaintances. It goes without saying that one must be conscientious and -methodical.” - -Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority over a weak woman, and -paused, reflecting that this dear wife of his was after all but a weak -woman who could not understand all that constitutes a man’s dignity, -what it was ein Mann zu sein. * Véra at the same time smiling with a -sense of superiority over her good, conscientious husband, who all the -same understood life wrongly, as according to Véra all men did. Berg, -judging by his wife, thought all women weak and foolish. Véra, judging -only by her husband and generalizing from that observation, supposed -that all men, though they understand nothing and are conceited and -selfish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone. - - * To be a man. - -Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully, so as not to crush her lace -fichu for which he had paid a good price, kissing her straight on the -lips. - -“The only thing is, we mustn’t have children too soon,” he -continued, following an unconscious sequence of ideas. - -“Yes,” answered Véra, “I don’t at all want that. We must live -for society.” - -“Princess Yusúpova wore one exactly like this,” said Berg, pointing -to the fichu with a happy and kindly smile. - -Just then Count Bezúkhov was announced. Husband and wife glanced at one -another, both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each mentally claiming -the honor of this visit. - -“This is what comes of knowing how to make acquaintances,” thought -Berg. “This is what comes of knowing how to conduct oneself.” - -“But please don’t interrupt me when I am entertaining the guests,” -said Véra, “because I know what interests each of them and what to -say to different people.” - -Berg smiled again. - -“It can’t be helped: men must sometimes have masculine -conversation,” said he. - -They received Pierre in their small, new drawing room, where it was -impossible to sit down anywhere without disturbing its symmetry, -neatness, and order; so it was quite comprehensible and not strange that -Berg, having generously offered to disturb the symmetry of an armchair -or of the sofa for his dear guest, but being apparently painfully -undecided on the matter himself, eventually left the visitor to settle -the question of selection. Pierre disturbed the symmetry by moving a -chair for himself, and Berg and Véra immediately began their evening -party, interrupting each other in their efforts to entertain their -guest. - -Véra, having decided in her own mind that Pierre ought to be -entertained with conversation about the French embassy, at once began -accordingly. Berg, having decided that masculine conversation was -required, interrupted his wife’s remarks and touched on the question -of the war with Austria, and unconsciously jumped from the general -subject to personal considerations as to the proposals made him to take -part in the Austrian campaign and the reasons why he had declined them. -Though the conversation was very incoherent and Véra was angry at the -intrusion of the masculine element, both husband and wife felt with -satisfaction that, even if only one guest was present, their evening had -begun very well and was as like as two peas to every other evening party -with its talk, tea, and lighted candles. - -Before long Borís, Berg’s old comrade, arrived. There was a shade of -condescension and patronage in his treatment of Berg and Véra. After -Borís came a lady with the colonel, then the general himself, then the -Rostóvs, and the party became unquestionably exactly like all other -evening parties. Berg and Véra could not repress their smiles of -satisfaction at the sight of all this movement in their drawing room, -at the sound of the disconnected talk, the rustling of dresses, and the -bowing and scraping. Everything was just as everybody always has it, -especially so the general, who admired the apartment, patted Berg on the -shoulder, and with parental authority superintended the setting out of -the table for boston. The general sat down by Count Ilyá Rostóv, who -was next to himself the most important guest. The old people sat with -the old, the young with the young, and the hostess at the tea table, on -which stood exactly the same kind of cakes in a silver cake basket as -the Panins had at their party. Everything was just as it was everywhere -else. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -Pierre, as one of the principal guests, had to sit down to boston -with Count Rostóv, the general, and the colonel. At the card table he -happened to be directly facing Natásha, and was struck by a curious -change that had come over her since the ball. She was silent, and not -only less pretty than at the ball, but only redeemed from plainness by -her look of gentle indifference to everything around. - -“What’s the matter with her?” thought Pierre, glancing at her. -She was sitting by her sister at the tea table, and reluctantly, without -looking at him, made some reply to Borís who sat down beside her. After -playing out a whole suit and to his partner’s delight taking five -tricks, Pierre, hearing greetings and the steps of someone who had -entered the room while he was picking up his tricks, glanced again at -Natásha. - -“What has happened to her?” he asked himself with still greater -surprise. - -Prince Andrew was standing before her, saying something to her with a -look of tender solicitude. She, having raised her head, was looking up -at him, flushed and evidently trying to master her rapid breathing. And -the bright glow of some inner fire that had been suppressed was again -alight in her. She was completely transformed and from a plain girl had -again become what she had been at the ball. - -Prince Andrew went up to Pierre, and the latter noticed a new and -youthful expression in his friend’s face. - -Pierre changed places several times during the game, sitting now with -his back to Natásha and now facing her, but during the whole of the six -rubbers he watched her and his friend. - -“Something very important is happening between them,” thought -Pierre, and a feeling that was both joyful and painful agitated him and -made him neglect the game. - -After six rubbers the general got up, saying that it was no use playing -like that, and Pierre was released. Natásha on one side was talking -with Sónya and Borís, and Véra with a subtle smile was saying -something to Prince Andrew. Pierre went up to his friend and, asking -whether they were talking secrets, sat down beside them. Véra, having -noticed Prince Andrew’s attentions to Natásha, decided that at a -party, a real evening party, subtle allusions to the tender passion were -absolutely necessary and, seizing a moment when Prince Andrew was alone, -began a conversation with him about feelings in general and about her -sister. With so intellectual a guest as she considered Prince Andrew to -be, she felt that she had to employ her diplomatic tact. - -When Pierre went up to them he noticed that Véra was being carried away -by her self-satisfied talk, but that Prince Andrew seemed embarrassed, a -thing that rarely happened with him. - -“What do you think?” Véra was saying with an arch smile. “You are -so discerning, Prince, and understand people’s characters so well at -a glance. What do you think of Natalie? Could she be constant in her -attachments? Could she, like other women” (Véra meant herself), -“love a man once for all and remain true to him forever? That is what -I consider true love. What do you think, Prince?” - -“I know your sister too little,” replied Prince Andrew, with a -sarcastic smile under which he wished to hide his embarrassment, “to -be able to solve so delicate a question, and then I have noticed that -the less attractive a woman is the more constant she is likely to be,” -he added, and looked up at Pierre who was just approaching them. - -“Yes, that is true, Prince. In our days,” continued -Véra—mentioning “our days” as people of limited intelligence are -fond of doing, imagining that they have discovered and appraised the -peculiarities of “our days” and that human characteristics change -with the times—“in our days a girl has so much freedom that the -pleasure of being courted often stifles real feeling in her. And it must -be confessed that Natalie is very susceptible.” This return to -the subject of Natalie caused Prince Andrew to knit his brows with -discomfort: he was about to rise, but Véra continued with a still more -subtle smile: - -“I think no one has been more courted than she,” she went on, “but -till quite lately she never cared seriously for anyone. Now you know, -Count,” she said to Pierre, “even our dear cousin Borís, who, -between ourselves, was very far gone in the land of tenderness...” -(alluding to a map of love much in vogue at that time). - -Prince Andrew frowned and remained silent. - -“You are friendly with Borís, aren’t you?” asked Véra. - -“Yes, I know him....” - -“I expect he has told you of his childish love for Natásha?” - -“Oh, there was childish love?” suddenly asked Prince Andrew, -blushing unexpectedly. - -“Yes, you know between cousins intimacy often leads to love. Le -cousinage est un dangereux voisinage. * Don’t you think so?” - - * “Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.” - - -“Oh, undoubtedly!” said Prince Andrew, and with sudden and unnatural -liveliness he began chaffing Pierre about the need to be very careful -with his fifty-year-old Moscow cousins, and in the midst of these -jesting remarks he rose, taking Pierre by the arm, and drew him aside. - -“Well?” asked Pierre, seeing his friend’s strange animation with -surprise, and noticing the glance he turned on Natásha as he rose. - -“I must... I must have a talk with you,” said Prince Andrew. “You -know that pair of women’s gloves?” (He referred to the Masonic -gloves given to a newly initiated Brother to present to the woman he -loved.) “I... but no, I will talk to you later on,” and with a -strange light in his eyes and restlessness in his movements, Prince -Andrew approached Natásha and sat down beside her. Pierre saw how -Prince Andrew asked her something and how she flushed as she replied. - -But at that moment Berg came to Pierre and began insisting that he -should take part in an argument between the general and the colonel on -the affairs in Spain. - -Berg was satisfied and happy. The smile of pleasure never left his face. -The party was very successful and quite like other parties he had -seen. Everything was similar: the ladies’ subtle talk, the cards, the -general raising his voice at the card table, and the samovar and the tea -cakes; only one thing was lacking that he had always seen at the evening -parties he wished to imitate. They had not yet had a loud conversation -among the men and a dispute about something important and clever. Now -the general had begun such a discussion and so Berg drew Pierre to it. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -Next day, having been invited by the count, Prince Andrew dined with the -Rostóvs and spent the rest of the day there. - -Everyone in the house realized for whose sake Prince Andrew came, and -without concealing it he tried to be with Natásha all day. Not only in -the soul of the frightened yet happy and enraptured Natásha, but in the -whole house, there was a feeling of awe at something important that was -bound to happen. The countess looked with sad and sternly serious eyes -at Prince Andrew when he talked to Natásha and timidly started some -artificial conversation about trifles as soon as he looked her way. -Sónya was afraid to leave Natásha and afraid of being in the way when -she was with them. Natásha grew pale, in a panic of expectation, when -she remained alone with him for a moment. Prince Andrew surprised her by -his timidity. She felt that he wanted to say something to her but could -not bring himself to do so. - -In the evening, when Prince Andrew had left, the countess went up to -Natásha and whispered: “Well, what?” - -“Mamma! For heaven’s sake don’t ask me anything now! One can’t -talk about that,” said Natásha. - -But all the same that night Natásha, now agitated and now frightened, -lay a long time in her mother’s bed gazing straight before her. She -told her how he had complimented her, how he told her he was going -abroad, asked her where they were going to spend the summer, and then -how he had asked her about Borís. - -“But such a... such a... never happened to me before!” she said. -“Only I feel afraid in his presence. I am always afraid when I’m -with him. What does that mean? Does it mean that it’s the real thing? -Yes? Mamma, are you asleep?” - -“No, my love; I am frightened myself,” answered her mother. “Now -go!” - -“All the same I shan’t sleep. What silliness, to sleep! Mummy! -Mummy! such a thing never happened to me before,” she said, surprised -and alarmed at the feeling she was aware of in herself. “And could we -ever have thought!...” - -It seemed to Natásha that even at the time she first saw Prince Andrew -at Otrádnoe she had fallen in love with him. It was as if she feared -this strange, unexpected happiness of meeting again the very man she had -then chosen (she was firmly convinced she had done so) and of finding -him, as it seemed, not indifferent to her. - -“And it had to happen that he should come specially to Petersburg -while we are here. And it had to happen that we should meet at that -ball. It is fate. Clearly it is fate that everything led up to this! -Already then, directly I saw him I felt something peculiar.” - -“What else did he say to you? What are those verses? Read them...” -said her mother, thoughtfully, referring to some verses Prince Andrew -had written in Natásha’s album. - -“Mamma, one need not be ashamed of his being a widower?” - -“Don’t, Natásha! Pray to God. ‘Marriages are made in -heaven,’” said her mother. - -“Darling Mummy, how I love you! How happy I am!” cried Natásha, -shedding tears of joy and excitement and embracing her mother. - -At that very time Prince Andrew was sitting with Pierre and telling him -of his love for Natásha and his firm resolve to make her his wife. - -That day Countess Hélène had a reception at her house. The French -ambassador was there, and a foreign prince of the blood who had of -late become a frequent visitor of hers, and many brilliant ladies and -gentlemen. Pierre, who had come downstairs, walked through the rooms and -struck everyone by his preoccupied, absent-minded, and morose air. - -Since the ball he had felt the approach of a fit of nervous depression -and had made desperate efforts to combat it. Since the intimacy of -his wife with the royal prince, Pierre had unexpectedly been made a -gentleman of the bedchamber, and from that time he had begun to feel -oppressed and ashamed in court society, and dark thoughts of the vanity -of all things human came to him oftener than before. At the same time -the feeling he had noticed between his protégée Natásha and Prince -Andrew accentuated his gloom by the contrast between his own position -and his friend’s. He tried equally to avoid thinking about his wife, -and about Natásha and Prince Andrew; and again everything seemed to him -insignificant in comparison with eternity; again the question: for what? -presented itself; and he forced himself to work day and night at Masonic -labors, hoping to drive away the evil spirit that threatened him. Toward -midnight, after he had left the countess’ apartments, he was sitting -upstairs in a shabby dressing gown, copying out the original transaction -of the Scottish lodge of Freemasons at a table in his low room cloudy -with tobacco smoke, when someone came in. It was Prince Andrew. - -“Ah, it’s you!” said Pierre with a preoccupied, dissatisfied air. -“And I, you see, am hard at it.” He pointed to his manuscript book -with that air of escaping from the ills of life with which unhappy -people look at their work. - -Prince Andrew, with a beaming, ecstatic expression of renewed life on -his face, paused in front of Pierre and, not noticing his sad look, -smiled at him with the egotism of joy. - -“Well, dear heart,” said he, “I wanted to tell you about it -yesterday and I have come to do so today. I never experienced anything -like it before. I am in love, my friend!” - -Suddenly Pierre heaved a deep sigh and dumped his heavy person down on -the sofa beside Prince Andrew. - -“With Natásha Rostóva, yes?” said he. - -“Yes, yes! Who else should it be? I should never have believed it, -but the feeling is stronger than I. Yesterday I tormented myself and -suffered, but I would not exchange even that torment for anything in -the world, I have not lived till now. At last I live, but I can’t -live without her! But can she love me?... I am too old for her.... Why -don’t you speak?” - -“I? I? What did I tell you?” said Pierre suddenly, rising and -beginning to pace up and down the room. “I always thought it.... That -girl is such a treasure... she is a rare girl.... My dear friend, -I entreat you, don’t philosophize, don’t doubt, marry, marry, -marry.... And I am sure there will not be a happier man than you.” - -“But what of her?” - -“She loves you.” - -“Don’t talk rubbish...” said Prince Andrew, smiling and looking -into Pierre’s eyes. - -“She does, I know,” Pierre cried fiercely. - -“But do listen,” returned Prince Andrew, holding him by the -arm. “Do you know the condition I am in? I must talk about it to -someone.” - -“Well, go on, go on. I am very glad,” said Pierre, and his face -really changed, his brow became smooth, and he listened gladly to Prince -Andrew. Prince Andrew seemed, and really was, quite a different, quite -a new man. Where was his spleen, his contempt for life, his -disillusionment? Pierre was the only person to whom he made up his mind -to speak openly; and to him he told all that was in his soul. Now he -boldly and lightly made plans for an extended future, said he could not -sacrifice his own happiness to his father’s caprice, and spoke of how -he would either make his father consent to this marriage and love her, -or would do without his consent; then he marveled at the feeling that -had mastered him as at something strange, apart from and independent of -himself. - -“I should not have believed anyone who told me that I was capable of -such love,” said Prince Andrew. “It is not at all the same feeling -that I knew in the past. The whole world is now for me divided into two -halves: one half is she, and there all is joy, hope, light: the -other half is everything where she is not, and there is all gloom and -darkness....” - -“Darkness and gloom,” reiterated Pierre: “yes, yes, I understand -that.” - -“I cannot help loving the light, it is not my fault. And I am very -happy! You understand me? I know you are glad for my sake.” - -“Yes, yes,” Pierre assented, looking at his friend with a touched -and sad expression in his eyes. The brighter Prince Andrew’s lot -appeared to him, the gloomier seemed his own. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -Prince Andrew needed his father’s consent to his marriage, and to -obtain this he started for the country next day. - -His father received his son’s communication with external composure, -but inward wrath. He could not comprehend how anyone could wish to -alter his life or introduce anything new into it, when his own life -was already ending. “If only they would let me end my days as I want -to,” thought the old man, “then they might do as they please.” -With his son, however, he employed the diplomacy he reserved for -important occasions and, adopting a quiet tone, discussed the whole -matter. - -In the first place the marriage was not a brilliant one as regards -birth, wealth, or rank. Secondly, Prince Andrew was no longer as young -as he had been and his health was poor (the old man laid special stress -on this), while she was very young. Thirdly, he had a son whom it would -be a pity to entrust to a chit of a girl. “Fourthly and finally,” -the father said, looking ironically at his son, “I beg you to put it -off for a year: go abroad, take a cure, look out as you wanted to for -a German tutor for Prince Nicholas. Then if your love or passion or -obstinacy—as you please—is still as great, marry! And that’s my -last word on it. Mind, the last...” concluded the prince, in a tone -which showed that nothing would make him alter his decision. - -Prince Andrew saw clearly that the old man hoped that his feelings, or -his fiancée’s, would not stand a year’s test, or that he (the old -prince himself) would die before then, and he decided to conform to his -father’s wish—to propose, and postpone the wedding for a year. - -Three weeks after the last evening he had spent with the Rostóvs, -Prince Andrew returned to Petersburg. - - -Next day after her talk with her mother Natásha expected Bolkónski all -day, but he did not come. On the second and third day it was the same. -Pierre did not come either and Natásha, not knowing that Prince Andrew -had gone to see his father, could not explain his absence to herself. - -Three weeks passed in this way. Natásha had no desire to go out -anywhere and wandered from room to room like a shadow, idle and -listless; she wept secretly at night and did not go to her mother in the -evenings. She blushed continually and was irritable. It seemed to her -that everybody knew about her disappointment and was laughing at her and -pitying her. Strong as was her inward grief, this wound to her vanity -intensified her misery. - -Once she came to her mother, tried to say something, and suddenly began -to cry. Her tears were those of an offended child who does not know why -it is being punished. - -The countess began to soothe Natásha, who after first listening to her -mother’s words, suddenly interrupted her: - -“Leave off, Mamma! I don’t think, and don’t want to think about -it! He just came and then left off, left off....” - -Her voice trembled, and she again nearly cried, but recovered and went -on quietly: - -“And I don’t at all want to get married. And I am afraid of him; I -have now become quite calm, quite calm.” - -The day after this conversation Natásha put on the old dress which -she knew had the peculiar property of conducing to cheerfulness in the -mornings, and that day she returned to the old way of life which she had -abandoned since the ball. Having finished her morning tea she went to -the ballroom, which she particularly liked for its loud resonance, and -began singing her solfeggio. When she had finished her first exercise -she stood still in the middle of the room and sang a musical phrase that -particularly pleased her. She listened joyfully (as though she had not -expected it) to the charm of the notes reverberating, filling the -whole empty ballroom, and slowly dying away; and all at once she felt -cheerful. “What’s the good of making so much of it? Things are nice -as it is,” she said to herself, and she began walking up and down the -room, not stepping simply on the resounding parquet but treading with -each step from the heel to the toe (she had on a new and favorite pair -of shoes) and listening to the regular tap of the heel and creak of -the toe as gladly as she had to the sounds of her own voice. Passing a -mirror she glanced into it. “There, that’s me!” the expression of -her face seemed to say as she caught sight of herself. “Well, and very -nice too! I need nobody.” - -A footman wanted to come in to clear away something in the room but she -would not let him, and having closed the door behind him continued her -walk. That morning she had returned to her favorite mood—love of, -and delight in, herself. “How charming that Natásha is!” she said -again, speaking as some third, collective, male person. “Pretty, -a good voice, young, and in nobody’s way if only they leave her in -peace.” But however much they left her in peace she could not now be -at peace, and immediately felt this. - -In the hall the porch door opened, and someone asked, “At home?” and -then footsteps were heard. Natásha was looking at the mirror, but did -not see herself. She listened to the sounds in the hall. When she saw -herself, her face was pale. It was he. She knew this for certain, though -she hardly heard his voice through the closed doors. - -Pale and agitated, Natásha ran into the drawing room. - -“Mamma! Bolkónski has come!” she said. “Mamma, it is awful, it is -unbearable! I don’t want... to be tormented? What am I to do?...” - -Before the countess could answer, Prince Andrew entered the room with -an agitated and serious face. As soon as he saw Natásha his face -brightened. He kissed the countess’ hand and Natásha’s, and sat -down beside the sofa. - -“It is long since we had the pleasure...” began the countess, -but Prince Andrew interrupted her by answering her intended question, -obviously in haste to say what he had to. - -“I have not been to see you all this time because I have been at my -father’s. I had to talk over a very important matter with him. I only -got back last night,” he said glancing at Natásha; “I want to have -a talk with you, Countess,” he added after a moment’s pause. - -The countess lowered her eyes, sighing deeply. - -“I am at your disposal,” she murmured. - -Natásha knew that she ought to go away, but was unable to do so: -something gripped her throat, and regardless of manners she stared -straight at Prince Andrew with wide-open eyes. - -“At once? This instant!... No, it can’t be!” she thought. - -Again he glanced at her, and that glance convinced her that she was not -mistaken. Yes, at once, that very instant, her fate would be decided. - -“Go, Natásha! I will call you,” said the countess in a whisper. - -Natásha glanced with frightened imploring eyes at Prince Andrew and at -her mother and went out. - -“I have come, Countess, to ask for your daughter’s hand,” said -Prince Andrew. - -The countess’ face flushed hotly, but she said nothing. - -“Your offer...” she began at last sedately. He remained silent, -looking into her eyes. “Your offer...” (she grew confused) “is -agreeable to us, and I accept your offer. I am glad. And my husband... I -hope... but it will depend on her....” - -“I will speak to her when I have your consent.... Do you give it to -me?” said Prince Andrew. - -“Yes,” replied the countess. She held out her hand to him, and with -a mixed feeling of estrangement and tenderness pressed her lips to his -forehead as he stooped to kiss her hand. She wished to love him as a -son, but felt that to her he was a stranger and a terrifying man. “I -am sure my husband will consent,” said the countess, “but your -father...” - -“My father, to whom I have told my plans, has made it an express -condition of his consent that the wedding is not to take place for a -year. And I wished to tell you of that,” said Prince Andrew. - -“It is true that Natásha is still young, but—so long as that?...” - -“It is unavoidable,” said Prince Andrew with a sigh. - -“I will send her to you,” said the countess, and left the room. - -“Lord have mercy upon us!” she repeated while seeking her daughter. - -Sónya said that Natásha was in her bedroom. Natásha was sitting on -the bed, pale and dry-eyed, and was gazing at the icons and whispering -something as she rapidly crossed herself. Seeing her mother she jumped -up and flew to her. - -“Well, Mamma?... Well?...” - -“Go, go to him. He is asking for your hand,” said the countess, -coldly it seemed to Natásha. “Go... go,” said the mother, sadly and -reproachfully, with a deep sigh, as her daughter ran away. - -Natásha never remembered how she entered the drawing room. When she -came in and saw him she paused. “Is it possible that this stranger -has now become everything to me?” she asked herself, and immediately -answered, “Yes, everything! He alone is now dearer to me than -everything in the world.” Prince Andrew came up to her with downcast -eyes. - -“I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you. May I hope?” - -He looked at her and was struck by the serious impassioned expression of -her face. Her face said: “Why ask? Why doubt what you cannot but know? -Why speak, when words cannot express what one feels?” - -She drew near to him and stopped. He took her hand and kissed it. - -“Do you love me?” - -“Yes, yes!” Natásha murmured as if in vexation. Then she sighed -loudly and, catching her breath more and more quickly, began to sob. - -“What is it? What’s the matter?” - -“Oh, I am so happy!” she replied, smiled through her tears, bent -over closer to him, paused for an instant as if asking herself whether -she might, and then kissed him. - -Prince Andrew held her hands, looked into her eyes, and did not find -in his heart his former love for her. Something in him had suddenly -changed; there was no longer the former poetic and mystic charm of -desire, but there was pity for her feminine and childish weakness, fear -at her devotion and trustfulness, and an oppressive yet joyful sense of -the duty that now bound him to her forever. The present feeling, though -not so bright and poetic as the former, was stronger and more serious. - -“Did your mother tell you that it cannot be for a year?” asked -Prince Andrew, still looking into her eyes. - -“Is it possible that I—the ‘chit of a girl,’ as everybody called -me,” thought Natásha—“is it possible that I am now to be the -wife and the equal of this strange, dear, clever man whom even my father -looks up to? Can it be true? Can it be true that there can be no -more playing with life, that now I am grown up, that on me now lies -a responsibility for my every word and deed? Yes, but what did he ask -me?” - -“No,” she replied, but she had not understood his question. - -“Forgive me!” he said. “But you are so young, and I have already -been through so much in life. I am afraid for you, you do not yet know -yourself.” - -Natásha listened with concentrated attention, trying but failing to -take in the meaning of his words. - -“Hard as this year which delays my happiness will be,” continued -Prince Andrew, “it will give you time to be sure of yourself. I ask -you to make me happy in a year, but you are free: our engagement shall -remain a secret, and should you find that you do not love me, or should -you come to love...” said Prince Andrew with an unnatural smile. - -“Why do you say that?” Natásha interrupted him. “You know that -from the very day you first came to Otrádnoe I have loved you,” she -cried, quite convinced that she spoke the truth. - -“In a year you will learn to know yourself....” - -“A whole year!” Natásha repeated suddenly, only now realizing that -the marriage was to be postponed for a year. “But why a year? Why a -year?...” - -Prince Andrew began to explain to her the reasons for this delay. -Natásha did not hear him. - -“And can’t it be helped?” she asked. Prince Andrew did not reply, -but his face expressed the impossibility of altering that decision. - -“It’s awful! Oh, it’s awful! awful!” Natásha suddenly cried, -and again burst into sobs. “I shall die, waiting a year: it’s -impossible, it’s awful!” She looked into her lover’s face and saw -in it a look of commiseration and perplexity. - -“No, no! I’ll do anything!” she said, suddenly checking her tears. -“I am so happy.” - -The father and mother came into the room and gave the betrothed couple -their blessing. - -From that day Prince Andrew began to frequent the Rostóvs’ as -Natásha’s affianced lover. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -No betrothal ceremony took place and Natásha’s engagement to -Bolkónski was not announced; Prince Andrew insisted on that. He said -that as he was responsible for the delay he ought to bear the whole -burden of it; that he had given his word and bound himself forever, but -that he did not wish to bind Natásha and gave her perfect freedom. If -after six months she felt that she did not love him she would have full -right to reject him. Naturally neither Natásha nor her parents wished -to hear of this, but Prince Andrew was firm. He came every day to the -Rostóvs’, but did not behave to Natásha as an affianced lover: he -did not use the familiar thou, but said you to her, and kissed only her -hand. After their engagement, quite different, intimate, and natural -relations sprang up between them. It was as if they had not known each -other till now. Both liked to recall how they had regarded each other -when as yet they were nothing to one another; they felt themselves -now quite different beings: then they were artificial, now natural and -sincere. At first the family felt some constraint in intercourse with -Prince Andrew; he seemed a man from another world, and for a long time -Natásha trained the family to get used to him, proudly assuring them -all that he only appeared to be different, but was really just like all -of them, and that she was not afraid of him and no one else ought to be. -After a few days they grew accustomed to him, and without restraint in -his presence pursued their usual way of life, in which he took his part. -He could talk about rural economy with the count, fashions with the -countess and Natásha, and about albums and fancywork with Sónya. -Sometimes the household both among themselves and in his presence -expressed their wonder at how it had all happened, and at the evident -omens there had been of it: Prince Andrew’s coming to Otrádnoe and -their coming to Petersburg, and the likeness between Natásha and Prince -Andrew which her nurse had noticed on his first visit, and Andrew’s -encounter with Nicholas in 1805, and many other incidents betokening -that it had to be. - -In the house that poetic dullness and quiet reigned which always -accompanies the presence of a betrothed couple. Often when all sitting -together everyone kept silent. Sometimes the others would get up and -go away and the couple, left alone, still remained silent. They rarely -spoke of their future life. Prince Andrew was afraid and ashamed to -speak of it. Natásha shared this as she did all his feelings, which she -constantly divined. Once she began questioning him about his son. Prince -Andrew blushed, as he often did now—Natásha particularly liked it in -him—and said that his son would not live with them. - -“Why not?” asked Natásha in a frightened tone. - -“I cannot take him away from his grandfather, and besides...” - -“How I should have loved him!” said Natásha, immediately guessing -his thought; “but I know you wish to avoid any pretext for finding -fault with us.” - -Sometimes the old count would come up, kiss Prince Andrew, and ask -his advice about Pétya’s education or Nicholas’ service. The -old countess sighed as she looked at them; Sónya was always getting -frightened lest she should be in the way and tried to find excuses for -leaving them alone, even when they did not wish it. When Prince Andrew -spoke (he could tell a story very well), Natásha listened to him -with pride; when she spoke she noticed with fear and joy that he gazed -attentively and scrutinizingly at her. She asked herself in perplexity: -“What does he look for in me? He is trying to discover something by -looking at me! What if what he seeks in me is not there?” Sometimes -she fell into one of the mad, merry moods characteristic of her, and -then she particularly loved to hear and see how Prince Andrew laughed. -He seldom laughed, but when he did he abandoned himself entirely to his -laughter, and after such a laugh she always felt nearer to him. Natásha -would have been completely happy if the thought of the separation -awaiting her and drawing near had not terrified her, just as the mere -thought of it made him turn pale and cold. - -On the eve of his departure from Petersburg Prince Andrew brought with -him Pierre, who had not been to the Rostóvs’ once since the ball. -Pierre seemed disconcerted and embarrassed. He was talking to the -countess, and Natásha sat down beside a little chess table with Sónya, -thereby inviting Prince Andrew to come too. He did so. - -“You have known Bezúkhov a long time?” he asked. “Do you like -him?” - -“Yes, he’s a dear, but very absurd.” - -And as usual when speaking of Pierre, she began to tell anecdotes of his -absent-mindedness, some of which had even been invented about him. - -“Do you know I have entrusted him with our secret? I have known him -from childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalie,” Prince -Andrew said with sudden seriousness—“I am going away and heaven -knows what may happen. You may cease to... all right, I know I am not -to say that. Only this, then: whatever may happen to you when I am not -here...” - -“What can happen?” - -“Whatever trouble may come,” Prince Andrew continued, “I beg -you, Mademoiselle Sophie, whatever may happen, to turn to him alone for -advice and help! He is a most absent-minded and absurd fellow, but he -has a heart of gold.” - -Neither her father, nor her mother, nor Sónya, nor Prince Andrew -himself could have foreseen how the separation from her lover would act -on Natásha. Flushed and agitated she went about the house all that day, -dry-eyed, occupied with most trivial matters as if not understanding -what awaited her. She did not even cry when, on taking leave, he kissed -her hand for the last time. “Don’t go!” she said in a tone -that made him wonder whether he really ought not to stay and which he -remembered long afterwards. Nor did she cry when he was gone; but -for several days she sat in her room dry-eyed, taking no interest in -anything and only saying now and then, “Oh, why did he go away?” - -But a fortnight after his departure, to the surprise of those around -her, she recovered from her mental sickness just as suddenly and became -her old self again, but with a change in her moral physiognomy, as a -child gets up after a long illness with a changed expression of face. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -During that year after his son’s departure, Prince Nicholas -Bolkónski’s health and temper became much worse. He grew still more -irritable, and it was Princess Mary who generally bore the brunt of his -frequent fits of unprovoked anger. He seemed carefully to seek out -her tender spots so as to torture her mentally as harshly as possible. -Princess Mary had two passions and consequently two joys—her nephew, -little Nicholas, and religion—and these were the favorite subjects -of the prince’s attacks and ridicule. Whatever was spoken of he would -bring round to the superstitiousness of old maids, or the petting -and spoiling of children. “You want to make him”—little -Nicholas—“into an old maid like yourself! A pity! Prince Andrew -wants a son and not an old maid,” he would say. Or, turning to -Mademoiselle Bourienne, he would ask her in Princess Mary’s presence -how she liked our village priests and icons and would joke about them. - -He continually hurt Princess Mary’s feelings and tormented her, but it -cost her no effort to forgive him. Could he be to blame toward her, or -could her father, whom she knew loved her in spite of it all, be unjust? -And what is justice? The princess never thought of that proud word -“justice.” All the complex laws of man centered for her in one clear -and simple law—the law of love and self-sacrifice taught us by Him who -lovingly suffered for mankind though He Himself was God. What had she to -do with the justice or injustice of other people? She had to endure and -love, and that she did. - -During the winter Prince Andrew had come to Bald Hills and had been gay, -gentle, and more affectionate than Princess Mary had known him for a -long time past. She felt that something had happened to him, but he said -nothing to her about his love. Before he left he had a long talk with -his father about something, and Princess Mary noticed that before his -departure they were dissatisfied with one another. - -Soon after Prince Andrew had gone, Princess Mary wrote to her friend -Julie Karágina in Petersburg, whom she had dreamed (as all girls dream) -of marrying to her brother, and who was at that time in mourning for her -own brother, killed in Turkey. - -Sorrow, it seems, is our common lot, my dear, tender friend Julie. - -Your loss is so terrible that I can only explain it to myself as a -special providence of God who, loving you, wishes to try you and your -excellent mother. Oh, my friend! Religion, and religion alone, can—I -will not say comfort us—but save us from despair. Religion alone can -explain to us what without its help man cannot comprehend: why, for what -cause, kind and noble beings able to find happiness in life—not merely -harming no one but necessary to the happiness of others—are called -away to God, while cruel, useless, harmful persons, or such as are a -burden to themselves and to others, are left living. The first death I -saw, and one I shall never forget—that of my dear sister-in-law—left -that impression on me. Just as you ask destiny why your splendid brother -had to die, so I asked why that angel Lise, who not only never wronged -anyone, but in whose soul there were never any unkind thoughts, had to -die. And what do you think, dear friend? Five years have passed since -then, and already I, with my petty understanding, begin to see clearly -why she had to die, and in what way that death was but an expression -of the infinite goodness of the Creator, whose every action, though -generally incomprehensible to us, is but a manifestation of His infinite -love for His creatures. Perhaps, I often think, she was too angelically -innocent to have the strength to perform all a mother’s duties. As a -young wife she was irreproachable; perhaps she could not have been so -as a mother. As it is, not only has she left us, and particularly Prince -Andrew, with the purest regrets and memories, but probably she will -there receive a place I dare not hope for myself. But not to speak of -her alone, that early and terrible death has had the most beneficent -influence on me and on my brother in spite of all our grief. Then, at -the moment of our loss, these thoughts could not occur to me; I should -then have dismissed them with horror, but now they are very clear and -certain. I write all this to you, dear friend, only to convince you -of the Gospel truth which has become for me a principle of life: not -a single hair of our heads will fall without His will. And His will is -governed only by infinite love for us, and so whatever befalls us is for -our good. - -You ask whether we shall spend next winter in Moscow. In spite of my -wish to see you, I do not think so and do not want to do so. You will -be surprised to hear that the reason for this is Buonaparte! The case is -this: my father’s health is growing noticeably worse, he cannot stand -any contradiction and is becoming irritable. This irritability is, as -you know, chiefly directed to political questions. He cannot endure -the notion that Buonaparte is negotiating on equal terms with all the -sovereigns of Europe and particularly with our own, the grandson of the -Great Catherine! As you know, I am quite indifferent to politics, but -from my father’s remarks and his talks with Michael Ivánovich I know -all that goes on in the world and especially about the honors conferred -on Buonaparte, who only at Bald Hills in the whole world, it seems, is -not accepted as a great man, still less as Emperor of France. And my -father cannot stand this. It seems to me that it is chiefly because of -his political views that my father is reluctant to speak of going to -Moscow; for he foresees the encounters that would result from his way -of expressing his views regardless of anybody. All the benefit he might -derive from a course of treatment he would lose as a result of the -disputes about Buonaparte which would be inevitable. In any case it will -be decided very shortly. - -Our family life goes on in the old way except for my brother Andrew’s -absence. He, as I wrote you before, has changed very much of late. After -his sorrow he only this year quite recovered his spirits. He has again -become as I used to know him when a child: kind, affectionate, with that -heart of gold to which I know no equal. He has realized, it seems to me, -that life is not over for him. But together with this mental change -he has grown physically much weaker. He has become thinner and more -nervous. I am anxious about him and glad he is taking this trip abroad -which the doctors recommended long ago. I hope it will cure him. You -write that in Petersburg he is spoken of as one of the most active, -cultivated, and capable of the young men. Forgive my vanity as a -relation, but I never doubted it. The good he has done to everybody -here, from his peasants up to the gentry, is incalculable. On his -arrival in Petersburg he received only his due. I always wonder at the -way rumors fly from Petersburg to Moscow, especially such false ones as -that you write about—I mean the report of my brother’s betrothal to -the little Rostóva. I do not think my brother will ever marry again, -and certainly not her; and this is why: first, I know that though he -rarely speaks about the wife he has lost, the grief of that loss -has gone too deep in his heart for him ever to decide to give her a -successor and our little angel a stepmother. Secondly because, as far -as I know, that girl is not the kind of girl who could please Prince -Andrew. I do not think he would choose her for a wife, and frankly I do -not wish it. But I am running on too long and am at the end of my second -sheet. Good-by, my dear friend. May God keep you in His holy and mighty -care. My dear friend, Mademoiselle Bourienne, sends you kisses. - -MARY - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -In the middle of the summer Princess Mary received an unexpected letter -from Prince Andrew in Switzerland in which he gave her strange and -surprising news. He informed her of his engagement to Natásha Rostóva. -The whole letter breathed loving rapture for his betrothed and tender -and confiding affection for his sister. He wrote that he had never loved -as he did now and that only now did he understand and know what life -was. He asked his sister to forgive him for not having told her of his -resolve when he had last visited Bald Hills, though he had spoken of it -to his father. He had not done so for fear Princess Mary should ask her -father to give his consent, irritating him and having to bear the brunt -of his displeasure without attaining her object. “Besides,” he -wrote, “the matter was not then so definitely settled as it is now. -My father then insisted on a delay of a year and now already six months, -half of that period, have passed, and my resolution is firmer than ever. -If the doctors did not keep me here at the spas I should be back in -Russia, but as it is I have to postpone my return for three months. You -know me and my relations with Father. I want nothing from him. I have -been and always shall be independent; but to go against his will and -arouse his anger, now that he may perhaps remain with us such a short -time, would destroy half my happiness. I am now writing to him about -the same question, and beg you to choose a good moment to hand him the -letter and to let me know how he looks at the whole matter and whether -there is hope that he may consent to reduce the term by four months.” - -After long hesitations, doubts, and prayers, Princess Mary gave the -letter to her father. The next day the old prince said to her quietly: - -“Write and tell your brother to wait till I am dead.... It won’t be -long—I shall soon set him free.” - -The princess was about to reply, but her father would not let her speak -and, raising his voice more and more, cried: - -“Marry, marry, my boy!... A good family!... Clever people, eh? Rich, -eh? Yes, a nice stepmother little Nicholas will have! Write and tell him -that he may marry tomorrow if he likes. She will be little Nicholas’ -stepmother and I’ll marry Bourienne!... Ha, ha, ha! He mustn’t be -without a stepmother either! Only one thing, no more women are wanted -in my house—let him marry and live by himself. Perhaps you will go -and live with him too?” he added, turning to Princess Mary. “Go in -heaven’s name! Go out into the frost... the frost... the frost!” - -After this outburst the prince did not speak any more about the matter. -But repressed vexation at his son’s poor-spirited behavior found -expression in his treatment of his daughter. To his former pretexts -for irony a fresh one was now added—allusions to stepmothers and -amiabilities to Mademoiselle Bourienne. - -“Why shouldn’t I marry her?” he asked his daughter. “She’ll -make a splendid princess!” - -And latterly, to her surprise and bewilderment, Princess Mary -noticed that her father was really associating more and more with the -Frenchwoman. She wrote to Prince Andrew about the reception of his -letter, but comforted him with hopes of reconciling their father to the -idea. - -Little Nicholas and his education, her brother Andrew, and religion -were Princess Mary’s joys and consolations; but besides that, since -everyone must have personal hopes, Princess Mary in the profoundest -depths of her heart had a hidden dream and hope that supplied the chief -consolation of her life. This comforting dream and hope were given her -by God’s folk—the half-witted and other pilgrims who visited -her without the prince’s knowledge. The longer she lived, the more -experience and observation she had of life, the greater was her wonder -at the short-sightedness of men who seek enjoyment and happiness here -on earth: toiling, suffering, struggling, and harming one another, to -obtain that impossible, visionary, sinful happiness. Prince Andrew had -loved his wife, she died, but that was not enough: he wanted to bind -his happiness to another woman. Her father objected to this because he -wanted a more distinguished and wealthier match for Andrew. And they -all struggled and suffered and tormented one another and injured their -souls, their eternal souls, for the attainment of benefits which endure -but for an instant. Not only do we know this ourselves, but Christ, the -Son of God, came down to earth and told us that this life is but for -a moment and is a probation; yet we cling to it and think to find -happiness in it. “How is it that no one realizes this?” thought -Princess Mary. “No one except these despised God’s folk who, wallet -on back, come to me by the back door, afraid of being seen by the -prince, not for fear of ill-usage by him but for fear of causing him -to sin. To leave family, home, and all the cares of worldly welfare, in -order without clinging to anything to wander in hempen rags from place -to place under an assumed name, doing no one any harm but praying for -all—for those who drive one away as well as for those who protect one: -higher than that life and truth there is no life or truth!” - -There was one pilgrim, a quiet pockmarked little woman of fifty called -Theodosia, who for over thirty years had gone about barefoot and worn -heavy chains. Princess Mary was particularly fond of her. Once, when in -a room with a lamp dimly lit before the icon Theodosia was talking of -her life, the thought that Theodosia alone had found the true path of -life suddenly came to Princess Mary with such force that she resolved to -become a pilgrim herself. When Theodosia had gone to sleep Princess Mary -thought about this for a long time, and at last made up her mind that, -strange as it might seem, she must go on a pilgrimage. She disclosed -this thought to no one but to her confessor, Father Akínfi, the monk, -and he approved of her intention. Under guise of a present for the -pilgrims, Princess Mary prepared a pilgrim’s complete costume for -herself: a coarse smock, bast shoes, a rough coat, and a black kerchief. -Often, approaching the chest of drawers containing this secret treasure, -Princess Mary paused, uncertain whether the time had not already come to -put her project into execution. - -Often, listening to the pilgrims’ tales, she was so stimulated by -their simple speech, mechanical to them but to her so full of deep -meaning, that several times she was on the point of abandoning -everything and running away from home. In imagination she already -pictured herself by Theodosia’s side, dressed in coarse rags, walking -with a staff, a wallet on her back, along the dusty road, directing her -wanderings from one saint’s shrine to another, free from envy, earthly -love, or desire, and reaching at last the place where there is no more -sorrow or sighing, but eternal joy and bliss. - -“I shall come to a place and pray there, and before having time to get -used to it or getting to love it, I shall go farther. I will go on till -my legs fail, and I’ll lie down and die somewhere, and shall at last -reach that eternal, quiet haven, where there is neither sorrow nor -sighing...” thought Princess Mary. - -But afterwards, when she saw her father and especially little Koko -(Nicholas), her resolve weakened. She wept quietly, and felt that she -was a sinner who loved her father and little nephew more than God. - - - - - -BOOK SEVEN: 1810 - 11 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -The Bible legend tells us that the absence of labor—idleness—was a -condition of the first man’s blessedness before the Fall. Fallen man -has retained a love of idleness, but the curse weighs on the race not -only because we have to seek our bread in the sweat of our brows, but -because our moral nature is such that we cannot be both idle and at -ease. An inner voice tells us we are in the wrong if we are idle. If man -could find a state in which he felt that though idle he was fulfilling -his duty, he would have found one of the conditions of man’s primitive -blessedness. And such a state of obligatory and irreproachable idleness -is the lot of a whole class—the military. The chief attraction of -military service has consisted and will consist in this compulsory and -irreproachable idleness. - -Nicholas Rostóv experienced this blissful condition to the full when, -after 1807, he continued to serve in the Pávlograd regiment, in which -he already commanded the squadron he had taken over from Denísov. - -Rostóv had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, whom his Moscow -acquaintances would have considered rather bad form, but who was liked -and respected by his comrades, subordinates, and superiors, and was well -contented with his life. Of late, in 1809, he found in letters from home -more frequent complaints from his mother that their affairs were falling -into greater and greater disorder, and that it was time for him to come -back to gladden and comfort his old parents. - -Reading these letters, Nicholas felt a dread of their wanting to -take him away from surroundings in which, protected from all the -entanglements of life, he was living so calmly and quietly. He felt that -sooner or later he would have to re-enter that whirlpool of life, with -its embarrassments and affairs to be straightened out, its accounts -with stewards, quarrels, and intrigues, its ties, society, and with -Sónya’s love and his promise to her. It was all dreadfully difficult -and complicated; and he replied to his mother in cold, formal letters -in French, beginning: “My dear Mamma,” and ending: “Your obedient -son,” which said nothing of when he would return. In 1810 he received -letters from his parents, in which they told him of Natásha’s -engagement to Bolkónski, and that the wedding would be in a year’s -time because the old prince made difficulties. This letter grieved and -mortified Nicholas. In the first place he was sorry that Natásha, for -whom he cared more than for anyone else in the family, should be lost to -the home; and secondly, from his hussar point of view, he regretted not -to have been there to show that fellow Bolkónski that connection with -him was no such great honor after all, and that if he loved Natásha he -might dispense with permission from his dotard father. For a moment he -hesitated whether he should not apply for leave in order to see Natásha -before she was married, but then came the maneuvers, and considerations -about Sónya and about the confusion of their affairs, and Nicholas -again put it off. But in the spring of that year, he received a letter -from his mother, written without his father’s knowledge, and that -letter persuaded him to return. She wrote that if he did not come and -take matters in hand, their whole property would be sold by auction and -they would all have to go begging. The count was so weak, and trusted -Mítenka so much, and was so good-natured, that everybody took advantage -of him and things were going from bad to worse. “For God’s sake, I -implore you, come at once if you do not wish to make me and the whole -family wretched,” wrote the countess. - -This letter touched Nicholas. He had that common sense of a -matter-of-fact man which showed him what he ought to do. - -The right thing now was, if not to retire from the service, at any rate -to go home on leave. Why he had to go he did not know; but after his -after-dinner nap he gave orders to saddle Mars, an extremely vicious -gray stallion that had not been ridden for a long time, and when -he returned with the horse all in a lather, he informed Lavrúshka -(Denísov’s servant who had remained with him) and his comrades who -turned up in the evening that he was applying for leave and was going -home. Difficult and strange as it was for him to reflect that he would -go away without having heard from the staff—and this interested him -extremely—whether he was promoted to a captaincy or would receive the -Order of St. Anne for the last maneuvers; strange as it was to think -that he would go away without having sold his three roans to the Polish -Count Golukhovski, who was bargaining for the horses Rostóv had betted -he would sell for two thousand rubles; incomprehensible as it -seemed that the ball the hussars were giving in honor of the Polish -Mademoiselle Przazdziecka (out of rivalry to the Uhlans who had given -one in honor of their Polish Mademoiselle Borzozowska) would take place -without him—he knew he must go away from this good, bright world to -somewhere where everything was stupid and confused. A week later he -obtained his leave. His hussar comrades—not only those of his own -regiment, but the whole brigade—gave Rostóv a dinner to which the -subscription was fifteen rubles a head, and at which there were two -bands and two choirs of singers. Rostóv danced the Trepák with Major -Básov; the tipsy officers tossed, embraced, and dropped Rostóv; the -soldiers of the third squadron tossed him too, and shouted “hurrah!” -and then they put him in his sleigh and escorted him as far as the first -post station. - -During the first half of the journey—from Kremenchúg to Kiev—all -Rostóv’s thoughts, as is usual in such cases, were behind him, with -the squadron; but when he had gone more than halfway he began to forget -his three roans and Dozhoyvéyko, his quartermaster, and to wonder -anxiously how things would be at Otrádnoe and what he would find -there. Thoughts of home grew stronger the nearer he approached it—far -stronger, as though this feeling of his was subject to the law by which -the force of attraction is in inverse proportion to the square of the -distance. At the last post station before Otrádnoe he gave the driver a -three-ruble tip, and on arriving he ran breathlessly, like a boy, up the -steps of his home. - -After the rapture of meeting, and after that odd feeling of unsatisfied -expectation—the feeling that “everything is just the same, so why -did I hurry?”—Nicholas began to settle down in his old home world. -His father and mother were much the same, only a little older. What was -new in them was a certain uneasiness and occasional discord, which there -used not to be, and which, as Nicholas soon found out, was due to the -bad state of their affairs. Sónya was nearly twenty; she had stopped -growing prettier and promised nothing more than she was already, but -that was enough. She exhaled happiness and love from the time Nicholas -returned, and the faithful, unalterable love of this girl had a -gladdening effect on him. Pétya and Natásha surprised Nicholas -most. Pétya was a big handsome boy of thirteen, merry, witty, and -mischievous, with a voice that was already breaking. As for Natásha, -for a long while Nicholas wondered and laughed whenever he looked at -her. - -“You’re not the same at all,” he said. - -“How? Am I uglier?” - -“On the contrary, but what dignity? A princess!” he whispered to -her. - -“Yes, yes, yes!” cried Natásha, joyfully. - -She told him about her romance with Prince Andrew and of his visit to -Otrádnoe and showed him his last letter. - -“Well, are you glad?” Natásha asked. “I am so tranquil and happy -now.” - -“Very glad,” answered Nicholas. “He is an excellent fellow.... And -are you very much in love?” - -“How shall I put it?” replied Natásha. “I was in love with -Borís, with my teacher, and with Denísov, but this is quite different. -I feel at peace and settled. I know that no better man than he exists, -and I am calm and contented now. Not at all as before.” - -Nicholas expressed his disapproval of the postponement of the marriage -for a year; but Natásha attacked her brother with exasperation, proving -to him that it could not be otherwise, and that it would be a bad thing -to enter a family against the father’s will, and that she herself -wished it so. - -“You don’t at all understand,” she said. - -Nicholas was silent and agreed with her. - -Her brother often wondered as he looked at her. She did not seem at -all like a girl in love and parted from her affianced husband. She was -even-tempered and calm and quite as cheerful as of old. This amazed -Nicholas and even made him regard Bolkónski’s courtship skeptically. -He could not believe that her fate was sealed, especially as he had -not seen her with Prince Andrew. It always seemed to him that there was -something not quite right about this intended marriage. - -“Why this delay? Why no betrothal?” he thought. Once, when he had -touched on this topic with his mother, he discovered, to his surprise -and somewhat to his satisfaction, that in the depth of her soul she too -had doubts about this marriage. - -“You see he writes,” said she, showing her son a letter of Prince -Andrew’s, with that latent grudge a mother always has in regard to a -daughter’s future married happiness, “he writes that he won’t come -before December. What can be keeping him? Illness, probably! His health -is very delicate. Don’t tell Natásha. And don’t attach importance -to her being so bright: that’s because she’s living through the last -days of her girlhood, but I know what she is like every time we receive -a letter from him! However, God grant that everything turns out well!” -(She always ended with these words.) “He is an excellent man!” - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -After reaching home Nicholas was at first serious and even dull. He was -worried by the impending necessity of interfering in the stupid business -matters for which his mother had called him home. To throw off this -burden as quickly as possible, on the third day after his arrival he -went, angry and scowling and without answering questions as to where he -was going, to Mítenka’s lodge and demanded an account of everything. -But what an account of everything might be Nicholas knew even less -than the frightened and bewildered Mítenka. The conversation and the -examination of the accounts with Mítenka did not last long. The village -elder, a peasant delegate, and the village clerk, who were waiting in -the passage, heard with fear and delight first the young count’s voice -roaring and snapping and rising louder and louder, and then words of -abuse, dreadful words, ejaculated one after the other. - -“Robber!... Ungrateful wretch!... I’ll hack the dog to pieces! I’m -not my father!... Robbing us!...” and so on. - -Then with no less fear and delight they saw how the young count, red in -the face and with bloodshot eyes, dragged Mítenka out by the scruff of -the neck and applied his foot and knee to his behind with great agility -at convenient moments between the words, shouting, “Be off! Never let -me see your face here again, you villain!” - -Mítenka flew headlong down the six steps and ran away into the -shrubbery. (This shrubbery was a well-known haven of refuge for culprits -at Otrádnoe. Mítenka himself, returning tipsy from the town, used -to hide there, and many of the residents at Otrádnoe, hiding from -Mítenka, knew of its protective qualities.) - -Mítenka’s wife and sisters-in-law thrust their heads and frightened -faces out of the door of a room where a bright samovar was boiling and -where the steward’s high bedstead stood with its patchwork quilt. - -The young count paid no heed to them, but, breathing hard, passed by -with resolute strides and went into the house. - -The countess, who heard at once from the maids what had happened at the -lodge, was calmed by the thought that now their affairs would certainly -improve, but on the other hand felt anxious as to the effect this -excitement might have on her son. She went several times to his door on -tiptoe and listened, as he lighted one pipe after another. - -Next day the old count called his son aside and, with an embarrassed -smile, said to him: - -“But you know, my dear boy, it’s a pity you got excited! Mítenka -has told me all about it.” - -“I knew,” thought Nicholas, “that I should never understand -anything in this crazy world.” - -“You were angry that he had not entered those 700 rubles. But they -were carried forward—and you did not look at the other page.” - -“Papa, he is a blackguard and a thief! I know he is! And what I have -done, I have done; but, if you like, I won’t speak to him again.” - -“No, my dear boy” (the count, too, felt embarrassed. He knew he had -mismanaged his wife’s property and was to blame toward his children, -but he did not know how to remedy it). “No, I beg you to attend to the -business. I am old. I...” - -“No, Papa. Forgive me if I have caused you unpleasantness. I -understand it all less than you do.” - -“Devil take all these peasants, and money matters, and carryings -forward from page to page,” he thought. “I used to understand what -a ‘corner’ and the stakes at cards meant, but carrying forward to -another page I don’t understand at all,” said he to himself, and -after that he did not meddle in business affairs. But once the countess -called her son and informed him that she had a promissory note from Anna -Mikháylovna for two thousand rubles, and asked him what he thought of -doing with it. - -“This,” answered Nicholas. “You say it rests with me. Well, I -don’t like Anna Mikháylovna and I don’t like Borís, but they were -our friends and poor. Well then, this!” and he tore up the note, and -by so doing caused the old countess to weep tears of joy. After that, -young Rostóv took no further part in any business affairs, but -devoted himself with passionate enthusiasm to what was to him a new -pursuit—the chase—for which his father kept a large establishment. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The weather was already growing wintry and morning frosts congealed -an earth saturated by autumn rains. The verdure had thickened and its -bright green stood out sharply against the brownish strips of winter rye -trodden down by the cattle, and against the pale-yellow stubble of the -spring buckwheat. The wooded ravines and the copses, which at the end of -August had still been green islands amid black fields and stubble, had -become golden and bright-red islands amid the green winter rye. The -hares had already half changed their summer coats, the fox cubs were -beginning to scatter, and the young wolves were bigger than dogs. It was -the best time of the year for the chase. The hounds of that ardent young -sportsman Rostóv had not merely reached hard winter condition, but were -so jaded that at a meeting of the huntsmen it was decided to give them -a three days’ rest and then, on the sixteenth of September, to go on -a distant expedition, starting from the oak grove where there was an -undisturbed litter of wolf cubs. - -All that day the hounds remained at home. It was frosty and the air was -sharp, but toward evening the sky became overcast and it began to thaw. -On the fifteenth, when young Rostóv, in his dressing gown, looked out -of the window, he saw it was an unsurpassable morning for hunting: it -was as if the sky were melting and sinking to the earth without any -wind. The only motion in the air was that of the dripping, microscopic -particles of drizzling mist. The bare twigs in the garden were hung with -transparent drops which fell on the freshly fallen leaves. The earth in -the kitchen garden looked wet and black and glistened like poppy seed -and at a short distance merged into the dull, moist veil of mist. -Nicholas went out into the wet and muddy porch. There was a smell of -decaying leaves and of dog. Mílka, a black-spotted, broad-haunched -bitch with prominent black eyes, got up on seeing her master, stretched -her hind legs, lay down like a hare, and then suddenly jumped up and -licked him right on his nose and mustache. Another borzoi, a dog, -catching sight of his master from the garden path, arched his back -and, rushing headlong toward the porch with lifted tail, began rubbing -himself against his legs. - -“O-hoy!” came at that moment, that inimitable huntsman’s call -which unites the deepest bass with the shrillest tenor, and round -the corner came Daniel the head huntsman and head kennelman, a gray, -wrinkled old man with hair cut straight over his forehead, Ukrainian -fashion, a long bent whip in his hand, and that look of independence -and scorn of everything that is only seen in huntsmen. He doffed his -Circassian cap to his master and looked at him scornfully. This scorn -was not offensive to his master. Nicholas knew that this Daniel, -disdainful of everybody and who considered himself above them, was all -the same his serf and huntsman. - -“Daniel!” Nicholas said timidly, conscious at the sight of the -weather, the hounds, and the huntsman that he was being carried away -by that irresistible passion for sport which makes a man forget all -his previous resolutions, as a lover forgets in the presence of his -mistress. - -“What orders, your excellency?” said the huntsman in his deep bass, -deep as a proto-deacon’s and hoarse with hallooing—and two flashing -black eyes gazed from under his brows at his master, who was silent. -“Can you resist it?” those eyes seemed to be asking. - -“It’s a good day, eh? For a hunt and a gallop, eh?” asked -Nicholas, scratching Mílka behind the ears. - -Daniel did not answer, but winked instead. - -“I sent Uvárka at dawn to listen,” his bass boomed out after a -minute’s pause. “He says she’s moved them into the Otrádnoe -enclosure. They were howling there.” (This meant that the she-wolf, -about whom they both knew, had moved with her cubs to the Otrádnoe -copse, a small place a mile and a half from the house.) - -“We ought to go, don’t you think so?” said Nicholas. “Come to me -with Uvárka.” - -“As you please.” - -“Then put off feeding them.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -Five minutes later Daniel and Uvárka were standing in Nicholas’ big -study. Though Daniel was not a big man, to see him in a room was -like seeing a horse or a bear on the floor among the furniture and -surroundings of human life. Daniel himself felt this, and as usual stood -just inside the door, trying to speak softly and not move, for fear of -breaking something in the master’s apartment, and he hastened to say -all that was necessary so as to get from under that ceiling, out into -the open under the sky once more. - -Having finished his inquiries and extorted from Daniel an opinion that -the hounds were fit (Daniel himself wished to go hunting), Nicholas -ordered the horses to be saddled. But just as Daniel was about to -go Natásha came in with rapid steps, not having done up her hair or -finished dressing and with her old nurse’s big shawl wrapped round -her. Pétya ran in at the same time. - -“You are going?” asked Natásha. “I knew you would! Sónya said -you wouldn’t go, but I knew that today is the sort of day when you -couldn’t help going.” - -“Yes, we are going,” replied Nicholas reluctantly, for today, as he -intended to hunt seriously, he did not want to take Natásha and Pétya. -“We are going, but only wolf hunting: it would be dull for you.” - -“You know it is my greatest pleasure,” said Natásha. “It’s not -fair; you are going by yourself, are having the horses saddled and said -nothing to us about it.” - -“‘No barrier bars a Russian’s path’—we’ll go!” shouted -Pétya. - -“But you can’t. Mamma said you mustn’t,” said Nicholas to -Natásha. - -“Yes, I’ll go. I shall certainly go,” said Natásha decisively. -“Daniel, tell them to saddle for us, and Michael must come with my -dogs,” she added to the huntsman. - -It seemed to Daniel irksome and improper to be in a room at all, but to -have anything to do with a young lady seemed to him impossible. He -cast down his eyes and hurried out as if it were none of his business, -careful as he went not to inflict any accidental injury on the young -lady. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -The old count, who had always kept up an enormous hunting establishment -but had now handed it all completely over to his son’s care, being -in very good spirits on this fifteenth of September, prepared to go out -with the others. - -In an hour’s time the whole hunting party was at the porch. Nicholas, -with a stern and serious air which showed that now was no time for -attending to trifles, went past Natásha and Pétya who were trying to -tell him something. He had a look at all the details of the hunt, sent -a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to find the quarry, mounted his -chestnut Donéts, and whistling to his own leash of borzois, set off -across the threshing ground to a field leading to the Otrádnoe wood. -The old count’s horse, a sorrel gelding called Viflyánka, was led by -the groom in attendance on him, while the count himself was to drive in -a small trap straight to a spot reserved for him. - -They were taking fifty-four hounds, with six hunt attendants and -whippers-in. Besides the family, there were eight borzoi kennelmen -and more than forty borzois, so that, with the borzois on the leash -belonging to members of the family, there were about a hundred and -thirty dogs and twenty horsemen. - -Each dog knew its master and its call. Each man in the hunt knew his -business, his place, what he had to do. As soon as they had passed the -fence they all spread out evenly and quietly, without noise or talk, -along the road and field leading to the Otrádnoe covert. - -The horses stepped over the field as over a thick carpet, now and then -splashing into puddles as they crossed a road. The misty sky still -seemed to descend evenly and imperceptibly toward the earth, the air -was still, warm, and silent. Occasionally the whistle of a huntsman, -the snort of a horse, the crack of a whip, or the whine of a straggling -hound could be heard. - -When they had gone a little less than a mile, five more riders with -dogs appeared out of the mist, approaching the Rostóvs. In front rode a -fresh-looking, handsome old man with a large gray mustache. - -“Good morning, Uncle!” said Nicholas, when the old man drew near. - -“That’s it. Come on!... I was sure of it,” began “Uncle.” (He -was a distant relative of the Rostóvs’, a man of small means, and -their neighbor.) “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it and -it’s a good thing you’re going. That’s it! Come on!” (This was -“Uncle’s” favorite expression.) “Take the covert at once, for my -Gírchik says the Ilágins are at Kornikí with their hounds. That’s -it. Come on!... They’ll take the cubs from under your very nose.” - -“That’s where I’m going. Shall we join up our packs?” asked -Nicholas. - -The hounds were joined into one pack, and “Uncle” and Nicholas rode -on side by side. Natásha, muffled up in shawls which did not hide her -eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them. She was followed by -Pétya who always kept close to her, by Michael, a huntsman, and by a -groom appointed to look after her. Pétya, who was laughing, whipped and -pulled at his horse. Natásha sat easily and confidently on her black -Arábchik and reined him in without effort with a firm hand. - -“Uncle” looked round disapprovingly at Pétya and Natásha. He did -not like to combine frivolity with the serious business of hunting. - -“Good morning, Uncle! We are going too!” shouted Pétya. - -“Good morning, good morning! But don’t go overriding the hounds,” -said “Uncle” sternly. - -“Nicholas, what a fine dog Truníla is! He knew me,” said Natásha, -referring to her favorite hound. - -“In the first place, Truníla is not a ‘dog,’ but a harrier,” -thought Nicholas, and looked sternly at his sister, trying to make her -feel the distance that ought to separate them at that moment. Natásha -understood it. - -“You mustn’t think we’ll be in anyone’s way, Uncle,” she said. -“We’ll go to our places and won’t budge.” - -“A good thing too, little countess,” said “Uncle,” “only mind -you don’t fall off your horse,” he added, “because—that’s it, -come on!—you’ve nothing to hold on to.” - -The oasis of the Otrádnoe covert came in sight a few hundred yards off, -the huntsmen were already nearing it. Rostóv, having finally settled -with “Uncle” where they should set on the hounds, and having shown -Natásha where she was to stand—a spot where nothing could possibly -run out—went round above the ravine. - -“Well, nephew, you’re going for a big wolf,” said “Uncle.” -“Mind and don’t let her slip!” - -“That’s as may happen,” answered Rostóv. “Karáy, here!” he -shouted, answering “Uncle’s” remark by this call to his borzoi. -Karáy was a shaggy old dog with a hanging jowl, famous for having -tackled a big wolf unaided. They all took up their places. - -The old count, knowing his son’s ardor in the hunt, hurried so as not -to be late, and the huntsmen had not yet reached their places when Count -Ilyá Rostóv, cheerful, flushed, and with quivering cheeks, drove up -with his black horses over the winter rye to the place reserved for him, -where a wolf might come out. Having straightened his coat and fastened -on his hunting knives and horn, he mounted his good, sleek, well-fed, -and comfortable horse, Viflyánka, which was turning gray, like himself. -His horses and trap were sent home. Count Ilyá Rostóv, though not at -heart a keen sportsman, knew the rules of the hunt well, and rode to -the bushy edge of the road where he was to stand, arranged his reins, -settled himself in the saddle, and, feeling that he was ready, looked -about with a smile. - -Beside him was Simon Chekmár, his personal attendant, an old horseman -now somewhat stiff in the saddle. Chekmár held in leash three -formidable wolfhounds, who had, however, grown fat like their master -and his horse. Two wise old dogs lay down unleashed. Some hundred paces -farther along the edge of the wood stood Mítka, the count’s other -groom, a daring horseman and keen rider to hounds. Before the hunt, by -old custom, the count had drunk a silver cupful of mulled brandy, taken -a snack, and washed it down with half a bottle of his favorite Bordeaux. - -He was somewhat flushed with the wine and the drive. His eyes were -rather moist and glittered more than usual, and as he sat in his saddle, -wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like a child taken out for an -outing. - -The thin, hollow-cheeked Chekmár, having got everything ready, kept -glancing at his master with whom he had lived on the best of terms for -thirty years, and understanding the mood he was in expected a pleasant -chat. A third person rode up circumspectly through the wood (it was -plain that he had had a lesson) and stopped behind the count. This -person was a gray-bearded old man in a woman’s cloak, with a tall -peaked cap on his head. He was the buffoon, who went by a woman’s -name, Nastásya Ivánovna. - -“Well, Nastásya Ivánovna!” whispered the count, winking at him. -“If you scare away the beast, Daniel’ll give it you!” - -“I know a thing or two myself!” said Nastásya Ivánovna. - -“Hush!” whispered the count and turned to Simon. “Have you seen -the young countess?” he asked. “Where is she?” - -“With young Count Peter, by the Zhárov rank grass,” answered Simon, -smiling. “Though she’s a lady, she’s very fond of hunting.” - -“And you’re surprised at the way she rides, Simon, eh?” said the -count. “She’s as good as many a man!” - -“Of course! It’s marvelous. So bold, so easy!” - -“And Nicholas? Where is he? By the Lyádov upland, isn’t he?” - -“Yes, sir. He knows where to stand. He understands the matter so well -that Daniel and I are often quite astounded,” said Simon, well knowing -what would please his master. - -“Rides well, eh? And how well he looks on his horse, eh?” - -“A perfect picture! How he chased a fox out of the rank grass by the -Zavárzinsk thicket the other day! Leaped a fearful place; what a sight -when they rushed from the covert... the horse worth a thousand rubles -and the rider beyond all price! Yes, one would have to search far to -find another as smart.” - -“To search far...” repeated the count, evidently sorry Simon had not -said more. “To search far,” he said, turning back the skirt of his -coat to get at his snuffbox. - -“The other day when he came out from Mass in full uniform, Michael -Sidórych...” Simon did not finish, for on the still air he had -distinctly caught the music of the hunt with only two or three hounds -giving tongue. He bent down his head and listened, shaking a warning -finger at his master. “They are on the scent of the cubs...” he -whispered, “straight to the Lyádov uplands.” - -The count, forgetting to smooth out the smile on his face, looked into -the distance straight before him, down the narrow open space, holding -the snuffbox in his hand but not taking any. After the cry of the hounds -came the deep tones of the wolf call from Daniel’s hunting horn; the -pack joined the first three hounds and they could be heard in full cry, -with that peculiar lift in the note that indicates that they are after -a wolf. The whippers-in no longer set on the hounds, but changed to the -cry of ulyulyu, and above the others rose Daniel’s voice, now a deep -bass, now piercingly shrill. His voice seemed to fill the whole wood and -carried far beyond out into the open field. - -After listening a few moments in silence, the count and his attendant -convinced themselves that the hounds had separated into two packs: the -sound of the larger pack, eagerly giving tongue, began to die away in -the distance, the other pack rushed by the wood past the count, and -it was with this that Daniel’s voice was heard calling ulyulyu. -The sounds of both packs mingled and broke apart again, but both were -becoming more distant. - -Simon sighed and stooped to straighten the leash a young borzoi had -entangled; the count too sighed and, noticing the snuffbox in his hand, -opened it and took a pinch. “Back!” cried Simon to a borzoi that -was pushing forward out of the wood. The count started and dropped the -snuffbox. Nastásya Ivánovna dismounted to pick it up. The count and -Simon were looking at him. - -Then, unexpectedly, as often happens, the sound of the hunt suddenly -approached, as if the hounds in full cry and Daniel ulyulyuing were just -in front of them. - -The count turned and saw on his right Mítka staring at him with eyes -starting out of his head, raising his cap and pointing before him to the -other side. - -“Look out!” he shouted, in a voice plainly showing that he had long -fretted to utter that word, and letting the borzois slip he galloped -toward the count. - -The count and Simon galloped out of the wood and saw on their left a -wolf which, softly swaying from side to side, was coming at a quiet -lope farther to the left to the very place where they were standing. -The angry borzois whined and getting free of the leash rushed past the -horses’ feet at the wolf. - -The wolf paused, turned its heavy forehead toward the dogs awkwardly, -like a man suffering from the quinsy, and, still slightly swaying -from side to side, gave a couple of leaps and with a swish of its tail -disappeared into the skirt of the wood. At the same instant, with a cry -like a wail, first one hound, then another, and then another, sprang -helter-skelter from the wood opposite and the whole pack rushed across -the field toward the very spot where the wolf had disappeared. The hazel -bushes parted behind the hounds and Daniel’s chestnut horse appeared, -dark with sweat. On its long back sat Daniel, hunched forward, capless, -his disheveled gray hair hanging over his flushed, perspiring face. - -“Ulyulyulyu! ulyulyu!...” he cried. When he caught sight of the -count his eyes flashed lightning. - -“Blast you!” he shouted, holding up his whip threateningly at the -count. - -“You’ve let the wolf go!... What sportsmen!” and as if scorning to -say more to the frightened and shamefaced count, he lashed the heaving -flanks of his sweating chestnut gelding with all the anger the count -had aroused and flew off after the hounds. The count, like a punished -schoolboy, looked round, trying by a smile to win Simon’s sympathy for -his plight. But Simon was no longer there. He was galloping round by the -bushes while the field was coming up on both sides, all trying to head -the wolf, but it vanished into the wood before they could do so. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -Nicholas Rostóv meanwhile remained at his post, waiting for the wolf. -By the way the hunt approached and receded, by the cries of the dogs -whose notes were familiar to him, by the way the voices of the huntsmen -approached, receded, and rose, he realized what was happening at the -copse. He knew that young and old wolves were there, that the hounds had -separated into two packs, that somewhere a wolf was being chased, and -that something had gone wrong. He expected the wolf to come his way any -moment. He made thousands of different conjectures as to where and -from what side the beast would come and how he would set upon it. Hope -alternated with despair. Several times he addressed a prayer to God -that the wolf should come his way. He prayed with that passionate and -shamefaced feeling with which men pray at moments of great excitement -arising from trivial causes. “What would it be to Thee to do this for -me?” he said to God. “I know Thou art great, and that it is a sin to -ask this of Thee, but for God’s sake do let the old wolf come my way -and let Karáy spring at it—in sight of ‘Uncle’ who is watching -from over there—and seize it by the throat in a death grip!” A -thousand times during that half-hour Rostóv cast eager and restless -glances over the edge of the wood, with the two scraggy oaks rising -above the aspen undergrowth and the gully with its water-worn side and -“Uncle’s” cap just visible above the bush on his right. - -“No, I shan’t have such luck,” thought Rostóv, “yet what -wouldn’t it be worth! It is not to be! Everywhere, at cards and in -war, I am always unlucky.” Memories of Austerlitz and of Dólokhov -flashed rapidly and clearly through his mind. “Only once in my life -to get an old wolf, I want only that!” thought he, straining eyes and -ears and looking to the left and then to the right and listening to the -slightest variation of note in the cries of the dogs. - -Again he looked to the right and saw something running toward him across -the deserted field. “No, it can’t be!” thought Rostóv, taking a -deep breath, as a man does at the coming of something long hoped for. -The height of happiness was reached—and so simply, without warning, or -noise, or display, that Rostóv could not believe his eyes and remained -in doubt for over a second. The wolf ran forward and jumped heavily over -a gully that lay in her path. She was an old animal with a gray back and -big reddish belly. She ran without hurry, evidently feeling sure that no -one saw her. Rostóv, holding his breath, looked round at the borzois. -They stood or lay not seeing the wolf or understanding the situation. -Old Karáy had turned his head and was angrily searching for fleas, -baring his yellow teeth and snapping at his hind legs. - -“Ulyulyulyu!” whispered Rostóv, pouting his lips. The borzois -jumped up, jerking the rings of the leashes and pricking their ears. -Karáy finished scratching his hindquarters and, cocking his ears, got -up with quivering tail from which tufts of matted hair hung down. - -“Shall I loose them or not?” Nicholas asked himself as the wolf -approached him coming from the copse. Suddenly the wolf’s whole -physiognomy changed: she shuddered, seeing what she had probably never -seen before—human eyes fixed upon her—and turning her head a little -toward Rostóv, she paused. - -“Back or forward? Eh, no matter, forward...” the wolf seemed to say -to herself, and she moved forward without again looking round and with a -quiet, long, easy yet resolute lope. - -“Ulyulyu!” cried Nicholas, in a voice not his own, and of its own -accord his good horse darted headlong downhill, leaping over gullies -to head off the wolf, and the borzois passed it, running faster still. -Nicholas did not hear his own cry nor feel that he was galloping, nor -see the borzois, nor the ground over which he went: he saw only the -wolf, who, increasing her speed, bounded on in the same direction along -the hollow. The first to come into view was Mílka, with her black -markings and powerful quarters, gaining upon the wolf. Nearer and -nearer... now she was ahead of it; but the wolf turned its head to face -her, and instead of putting on speed as she usually did Mílka suddenly -raised her tail and stiffened her forelegs. - -“Ulyulyulyulyu!” shouted Nicholas. - -The reddish Lyubím rushed forward from behind Mílka, sprang -impetuously at the wolf, and seized it by its hindquarters, but -immediately jumped aside in terror. The wolf crouched, gnashed her -teeth, and again rose and bounded forward, followed at the distance of a -couple of feet by all the borzois, who did not get any closer to her. - -“She’ll get away! No, it’s impossible!” thought Nicholas, still -shouting with a hoarse voice. - -“Karáy, ulyulyu!...” he shouted, looking round for the old borzoi -who was now his only hope. Karáy, with all the strength age had left -him, stretched himself to the utmost and, watching the wolf, galloped -heavily aside to intercept it. But the quickness of the wolf’s -lope and the borzoi’s slower pace made it plain that Karáy had -miscalculated. Nicholas could already see not far in front of him the -wood where the wolf would certainly escape should she reach it. But, -coming toward him, he saw hounds and a huntsman galloping almost -straight at the wolf. There was still hope. A long, yellowish -young borzoi, one Nicholas did not know, from another leash, rushed -impetuously at the wolf from in front and almost knocked her over. But -the wolf jumped up more quickly than anyone could have expected and, -gnashing her teeth, flew at the yellowish borzoi, which, with a piercing -yelp, fell with its head on the ground, bleeding from a gash in its -side. - -“Karáy? Old fellow!...” wailed Nicholas. - -Thanks to the delay caused by this crossing of the wolf’s path, the -old dog with its felted hair hanging from its thigh was within five -paces of it. As if aware of her danger, the wolf turned her eyes on -Karáy, tucked her tail yet further between her legs, and increased -her speed. But here Nicholas only saw that something happened to -Karáy—the borzoi was suddenly on the wolf, and they rolled together -down into a gully just in front of them. - -That instant, when Nicholas saw the wolf struggling in the gully -with the dogs, while from under them could be seen her gray hair and -outstretched hind leg and her frightened choking head, with her ears -laid back (Karáy was pinning her by the throat), was the happiest -moment of his life. With his hand on his saddlebow, he was ready to -dismount and stab the wolf, when she suddenly thrust her head up from -among that mass of dogs, and then her forepaws were on the edge of the -gully. She clicked her teeth (Karáy no longer had her by the throat), -leaped with a movement of her hind legs out of the gully, and having -disengaged herself from the dogs, with tail tucked in again, went -forward. Karáy, his hair bristling, and probably bruised or wounded, -climbed with difficulty out of the gully. - -“Oh my God! Why?” Nicholas cried in despair. - -“Uncle’s” huntsman was galloping from the other side across the -wolf’s path and his borzois once more stopped the animal’s advance. -She was again hemmed in. - -Nicholas and his attendant, with “Uncle” and his huntsman, were all -riding round the wolf, crying “ulyulyu!” shouting and preparing to -dismount each moment that the wolf crouched back, and starting forward -again every time she shook herself and moved toward the wood where she -would be safe. - -Already, at the beginning of this chase, Daniel, hearing the ulyulyuing, -had rushed out from the wood. He saw Karáy seize the wolf, and checked -his horse, supposing the affair to be over. But when he saw that the -horsemen did not dismount and that the wolf shook herself and ran for -safety, Daniel set his chestnut galloping, not at the wolf but straight -toward the wood, just as Karáy had run to cut the animal off. As -a result of this, he galloped up to the wolf just when she had been -stopped a second time by “Uncle’s” borzois. - -Daniel galloped up silently, holding a naked dagger in his left hand and -thrashing the laboring sides of his chestnut horse with his whip as if -it were a flail. - -Nicholas neither saw nor heard Daniel until the chestnut, breathing -heavily, panted past him, and he heard the fall of a body and saw Daniel -lying on the wolf’s back among the dogs, trying to seize her by the -ears. It was evident to the dogs, the hunters, and to the wolf herself -that all was now over. The terrified wolf pressed back her ears and -tried to rise, but the borzois stuck to her. Daniel rose a little, took -a step, and with his whole weight, as if lying down to rest, fell on -the wolf, seizing her by the ears. Nicholas was about to stab her, but -Daniel whispered, “Don’t! We’ll gag her!” and, changing his -position, set his foot on the wolf’s neck. A stick was thrust between -her jaws and she was fastened with a leash, as if bridled, her legs were -bound together, and Daniel rolled her over once or twice from side to -side. - -With happy, exhausted faces, they laid the old wolf, alive, on a shying -and snorting horse and, accompanied by the dogs yelping at her, took her -to the place where they were all to meet. The hounds had killed two of -the cubs and the borzois three. The huntsmen assembled with their booty -and their stories, and all came to look at the wolf, which, with her -broad-browed head hanging down and the bitten stick between her jaws, -gazed with great glassy eyes at this crowd of dogs and men surrounding -her. When she was touched, she jerked her bound legs and looked wildly -yet simply at everybody. Old Count Rostóv also rode up and touched the -wolf. - -“Oh, what a formidable one!” said he. “A formidable one, eh?” he -asked Daniel, who was standing near. - -“Yes, your excellency,” answered Daniel, quickly doffing his cap. - -The count remembered the wolf he had let slip and his encounter with -Daniel. - -“Ah, but you are a crusty fellow, friend!” said the count. - -For sole reply Daniel gave him a shy, childlike, meek, and amiable -smile. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -The old count went home, and Natásha and Pétya promised to return very -soon, but as it was still early the hunt went farther. At midday -they put the hounds into a ravine thickly overgrown with young trees. -Nicholas standing in a fallow field could see all his whips. - -Facing him lay a field of winter rye, there his own huntsman stood alone -in a hollow behind a hazel bush. The hounds had scarcely been loosed -before Nicholas heard one he knew, Voltórn, giving tongue at intervals; -other hounds joined in, now pausing and now again giving tongue. A -moment later he heard a cry from the wooded ravine that a fox had been -found, and the whole pack, joining together, rushed along the ravine -toward the ryefield and away from Nicholas. - -He saw the whips in their red caps galloping along the edge of the -ravine, he even saw the hounds, and was expecting a fox to show itself -at any moment on the ryefield opposite. - -The huntsman standing in the hollow moved and loosed his borzois, and -Nicholas saw a queer, short-legged red fox with a fine brush going hard -across the field. The borzois bore down on it.... Now they drew close -to the fox which began to dodge between the field in sharper and sharper -curves, trailing its brush, when suddenly a strange white borzoi dashed -in followed by a black one, and everything was in confusion; the borzois -formed a star-shaped figure, scarcely swaying their bodies and with -tails turned away from the center of the group. Two huntsmen galloped up -to the dogs; one in a red cap, the other, a stranger, in a green coat. - -“What’s this?” thought Nicholas. “Where’s that huntsman from? -He is not ‘Uncle’s’ man.” - -The huntsmen got the fox, but stayed there a long time without strapping -it to the saddle. Their horses, bridled and with high saddles, stood -near them and there too the dogs were lying. The huntsmen waved their -arms and did something to the fox. Then from that spot came the sound of -a horn, with the signal agreed on in case of a fight. - -“That’s Ilágin’s huntsman having a row with our Iván,” said -Nicholas’ groom. - -Nicholas sent the man to call Natásha and Pétya to him, and rode at a -footpace to the place where the whips were getting the hounds together. -Several of the field galloped to the spot where the fight was going on. - -Nicholas dismounted, and with Natásha and Pétya, who had ridden up, -stopped near the hounds, waiting to see how the matter would end. Out of -the bushes came the huntsman who had been fighting and rode toward -his young master, with the fox tied to his crupper. While still at a -distance he took off his cap and tried to speak respectfully, but he was -pale and breathless and his face was angry. One of his eyes was black, -but he probably was not even aware of it. - -“What has happened?” asked Nicholas. - -“A likely thing, killing a fox our dogs had hunted! And it was my gray -bitch that caught it! Go to law, indeed!... He snatches at the fox! I -gave him one with the fox. Here it is on my saddle! Do you want a taste -of this?...” said the huntsman, pointing to his dagger and probably -imagining himself still speaking to his foe. - -Nicholas, not stopping to talk to the man, asked his sister and Pétya -to wait for him and rode to the spot where the enemy’s, Ilágin’s, -hunting party was. - -The victorious huntsman rode off to join the field, and there, -surrounded by inquiring sympathizers, recounted his exploits. - -The facts were that Ilágin, with whom the Rostóvs had a quarrel and -were at law, hunted over places that belonged by custom to the Rostóvs, -and had now, as if purposely, sent his men to the very woods the -Rostóvs were hunting and let his man snatch a fox their dogs had -chased. - -Nicholas, though he had never seen Ilágin, with his usual absence -of moderation in judgment, hated him cordially from reports of his -arbitrariness and violence, and regarded him as his bitterest foe. He -rode in angry agitation toward him, firmly grasping his whip and fully -prepared to take the most resolute and desperate steps to punish his -enemy. - -Hardly had he passed an angle of the wood before a stout gentleman in -a beaver cap came riding toward him on a handsome raven-black horse, -accompanied by two hunt servants. - -Instead of an enemy, Nicholas found in Ilágin a stately and courteous -gentleman who was particularly anxious to make the young count’s -acquaintance. Having ridden up to Nicholas, Ilágin raised his beaver -cap and said he much regretted what had occurred and would have the -man punished who had allowed himself to seize a fox hunted by someone -else’s borzois. He hoped to become better acquainted with the count -and invited him to draw his covert. - -Natásha, afraid that her brother would do something dreadful, had -followed him in some excitement. Seeing the enemies exchanging friendly -greetings, she rode up to them. Ilágin lifted his beaver cap still -higher to Natásha and said, with a pleasant smile, that the young -countess resembled Diana in her passion for the chase as well as in her -beauty, of which he had heard much. - -To expiate his huntsman’s offense, Ilágin pressed the Rostóvs to -come to an upland of his about a mile away which he usually kept for -himself and which, he said, swarmed with hares. Nicholas agreed, and the -hunt, now doubled, moved on. - -The way to Iligin’s upland was across the fields. The hunt servants -fell into line. The masters rode together. “Uncle,” Rostóv, and -Ilágin kept stealthily glancing at one another’s dogs, trying not -to be observed by their companions and searching uneasily for rivals to -their own borzois. - -Rostóv was particularly struck by the beauty of a small, pure-bred, -red-spotted bitch on Ilágin’s leash, slender but with muscles like -steel, a delicate muzzle, and prominent black eyes. He had heard of -the swiftness of Ilágin’s borzois, and in that beautiful bitch saw a -rival to his own Mílka. - -In the middle of a sober conversation begun by Ilágin about the -year’s harvest, Nicholas pointed to the red-spotted bitch. - -“A fine little bitch, that!” said he in a careless tone. “Is she -swift?” - -“That one? Yes, she’s a good dog, gets what she’s after,” -answered Ilágin indifferently, of the red-spotted bitch Erzá, for -which, a year before, he had given a neighbor three families of house -serfs. “So in your parts, too, the harvest is nothing to boast of, -Count?” he went on, continuing the conversation they had begun. And -considering it polite to return the young count’s compliment, Ilágin -looked at his borzois and picked out Mílka who attracted his attention -by her breadth. “That black-spotted one of yours is fine—well -shaped!” said he. - -“Yes, she’s fast enough,” replied Nicholas, and thought: “If -only a full-grown hare would cross the field now I’d show you what -sort of borzoi she is,” and turning to his groom, he said he would -give a ruble to anyone who found a hare. - -“I don’t understand,” continued Ilágin, “how some sportsmen can -be so jealous about game and dogs. For myself, I can tell you, Count, -I enjoy riding in company such as this... what could be better?” (he -again raised his cap to Natásha) “but as for counting skins and what -one takes, I don’t care about that.” - -“Of course not!” - -“Or being upset because someone else’s borzoi and not mine catches -something. All I care about is to enjoy seeing the chase, is it not so, -Count? For I consider that...” - -“A-tu!” came the long-drawn cry of one of the borzoi whippers-in, -who had halted. He stood on a knoll in the stubble, holding his whip -aloft, and again repeated his long-drawn cry, “A-tu!” (This call and -the uplifted whip meant that he saw a sitting hare.) - -“Ah, he has found one, I think,” said Ilágin carelessly. “Yes, we -must ride up.... Shall we both course it?” answered Nicholas, seeing -in Erzá and “Uncle’s” red Rugáy two rivals he had never yet had -a chance of pitting against his own borzois. “And suppose they outdo -my Mílka at once!” he thought as he rode with “Uncle” and Ilágin -toward the hare. - -“A full-grown one?” asked Ilágin as he approached the whip who -had sighted the hare—and not without agitation he looked round and -whistled to Erzá. - -“And you, Michael Nikanórovich?” he said, addressing “Uncle.” - -The latter was riding with a sullen expression on his face. - -“How can I join in? Why, you’ve given a village for each of your -borzois! That’s it, come on! Yours are worth thousands. Try yours -against one another, you two, and I’ll look on!” - -“Rugáy, hey, hey!” he shouted. “Rugáyushka!” he added, -involuntarily by this diminutive expressing his affection and the hopes -he placed on this red borzoi. Natásha saw and felt the agitation the -two elderly men and her brother were trying to conceal, and was herself -excited by it. - -The huntsman stood halfway up the knoll holding up his whip and the -gentlefolk rode up to him at a footpace; the hounds that were far off -on the horizon turned away from the hare, and the whips, but not the -gentlefolk, also moved away. All were moving slowly and sedately. - -“How is it pointing?” asked Nicholas, riding a hundred paces toward -the whip who had sighted the hare. - -But before the whip could reply, the hare, scenting the frost coming -next morning, was unable to rest and leaped up. The pack on leash rushed -downhill in full cry after the hare, and from all sides the borzois that -were not on leash darted after the hounds and the hare. All the hunt, -who had been moving slowly, shouted, “Stop!” calling in the hounds, -while the borzoi whips, with a cry of “A-tu!” galloped across the -field setting the borzois on the hare. The tranquil Ilágin, Nicholas, -Natásha, and “Uncle” flew, reckless of where and how they went, -seeing only the borzois and the hare and fearing only to lose sight even -for an instant of the chase. The hare they had started was a strong and -swift one. When he jumped up he did not run at once, but pricked his -ears listening to the shouting and trampling that resounded from all -sides at once. He took a dozen bounds, not very quickly, letting the -borzois gain on him, and, finally having chosen his direction and -realized his danger, laid back his ears and rushed off headlong. He had -been lying in the stubble, but in front of him was the autumn sowing -where the ground was soft. The two borzois of the huntsman who had -sighted him, having been the nearest, were the first to see and pursue -him, but they had not gone far before Ilágin’s red-spotted Erzá -passed them, got within a length, flew at the hare with terrible -swiftness aiming at his scut, and, thinking she had seized him, rolled -over like a ball. The hare arched his back and bounded off yet more -swiftly. From behind Erzá rushed the broad-haunched, black-spotted -Mílka and began rapidly gaining on the hare. - -“Miláshka, dear!” rose Nicholas’ triumphant cry. It looked as if -Mílka would immediately pounce on the hare, but she overtook him and -flew past. The hare had squatted. Again the beautiful Erzá reached him, -but when close to the hare’s scut paused as if measuring the distance, -so as not to make a mistake this time but seize his hind leg. - -“Erzá, darling!” Ilágin wailed in a voice unlike his own. Erzá -did not hearken to his appeal. At the very moment when she would have -seized her prey, the hare moved and darted along the balk between the -winter rye and the stubble. Again Erzá and Mílka were abreast, running -like a pair of carriage horses, and began to overtake the hare, but -it was easier for the hare to run on the balk and the borzois did not -overtake him so quickly. - -“Rugáy, Rugáyushka! That’s it, come on!” came a third voice just -then, and “Uncle’s” red borzoi, straining and curving its back, -caught up with the two foremost borzois, pushed ahead of them regardless -of the terrible strain, put on speed close to the hare, knocked it off -the balk onto the ryefield, again put on speed still more viciously, -sinking to his knees in the muddy field, and all one could see was -how, muddying his back, he rolled over with the hare. A ring of borzois -surrounded him. A moment later everyone had drawn up round the crowd -of dogs. Only the delighted “Uncle” dismounted, and cut off a pad, -shaking the hare for the blood to drip off, and anxiously glancing round -with restless eyes while his arms and legs twitched. He spoke without -himself knowing whom to or what about. “That’s it, come on! That’s -a dog!... There, it has beaten them all, the thousand-ruble as well as -the one-ruble borzois. That’s it, come on!” said he, panting and -looking wrathfully around as if he were abusing someone, as if they -were all his enemies and had insulted him, and only now had he at -last succeeded in justifying himself. “There are your thousand-ruble -ones.... That’s it, come on!...” - -“Rugáy, here’s a pad for you!” he said, throwing down the -hare’s muddy pad. “You’ve deserved it, that’s it, come on!” - -“She’d tired herself out, she’d run it down three times by -herself,” said Nicholas, also not listening to anyone and regardless -of whether he were heard or not. - -“But what is there in running across it like that?” said Ilágin’s -groom. - -“Once she had missed it and turned it away, any mongrel could take -it,” Ilágin was saying at the same time, breathless from his gallop -and his excitement. At the same moment Natásha, without drawing -breath, screamed joyously, ecstatically, and so piercingly that it set -everyone’s ear tingling. By that shriek she expressed what the others -expressed by all talking at once, and it was so strange that she must -herself have been ashamed of so wild a cry and everyone else would have -been amazed at it at any other time. “Uncle” himself twisted up the -hare, threw it neatly and smartly across his horse’s back as if by -that gesture he meant to rebuke everybody, and, with an air of not -wishing to speak to anyone, mounted his bay and rode off. The others all -followed, dispirited and shamefaced, and only much later were they able -to regain their former affectation of indifference. For a long time they -continued to look at red Rugáy who, his arched back spattered with -mud and clanking the ring of his leash, walked along just behind -“Uncle’s” horse with the serene air of a conqueror. - -“Well, I am like any other dog as long as it’s not a question of -coursing. But when it is, then look out!” his appearance seemed to -Nicholas to be saying. - -When, much later, “Uncle” rode up to Nicholas and began talking -to him, he felt flattered that, after what had happened, “Uncle” -deigned to speak to him. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Toward evening Ilágin took leave of Nicholas, who found that they were -so far from home that he accepted “Uncle’s” offer that the hunting -party should spend the night in his little village of Mikháylovna. - -“And if you put up at my house that will be better still. That’s it, -come on!” said “Uncle.” “You see it’s damp weather, and you -could rest, and the little countess could be driven home in a trap.” - -“Uncle’s” offer was accepted. A huntsman was sent to Otrádnoe for -a trap, while Nicholas rode with Natásha and Pétya to “Uncle’s” -house. - -Some five male domestic serfs, big and little, rushed out to the front -porch to meet their master. A score of women serfs, old and young, as -well as children, popped out from the back entrance to have a look at -the hunters who were arriving. The presence of Natásha—a woman, a -lady, and on horseback—raised the curiosity of the serfs to such a -degree that many of them came up to her, stared her in the face, and -unabashed by her presence made remarks about her as though she were some -prodigy on show and not a human being able to hear or understand what -was said about her. - -“Arínka! Look, she sits sideways! There she sits and her skirt -dangles.... See, she’s got a little hunting horn!” - -“Goodness gracious! See her knife?...” - -“Isn’t she a Tartar!” - -“How is it you didn’t go head over heels?” asked the boldest of -all, addressing Natásha directly. - -“Uncle” dismounted at the porch of his little wooden house which -stood in the midst of an overgrown garden and, after a glance at his -retainers, shouted authoritatively that the superfluous ones should take -themselves off and that all necessary preparations should be made to -receive the guests and the visitors. - -The serfs all dispersed. “Uncle” lifted Natásha off her horse and -taking her hand led her up the rickety wooden steps of the porch. The -house, with its bare, unplastered log walls, was not overclean—it -did not seem that those living in it aimed at keeping it spotless—but -neither was it noticeably neglected. In the entry there was a smell of -fresh apples, and wolf and fox skins hung about. - -“Uncle” led the visitors through the anteroom into a small hall with -a folding table and red chairs, then into the drawing room with a round -birchwood table and a sofa, and finally into his private room where -there was a tattered sofa, a worn carpet, and portraits of Suvórov, of -the host’s father and mother, and of himself in military uniform. The -study smelt strongly of tobacco and dogs. “Uncle” asked his visitors -to sit down and make themselves at home, and then went out of the room. -Rugáy, his back still muddy, came into the room and lay down on the -sofa, cleaning himself with his tongue and teeth. Leading from the study -was a passage in which a partition with ragged curtains could be -seen. From behind this came women’s laughter and whispers. Natásha, -Nicholas, and Pétya took off their wraps and sat down on the sofa. -Pétya, leaning on his elbow, fell asleep at once. Natásha and Nicholas -were silent. Their faces glowed, they were hungry and very cheerful. -They looked at one another (now that the hunt was over and they were in -the house, Nicholas no longer considered it necessary to show his manly -superiority over his sister), Natásha gave him a wink, and neither -refrained long from bursting into a peal of ringing laughter even before -they had a pretext ready to account for it. - -After a while “Uncle” came in, in a Cossack coat, blue trousers, and -small top boots. And Natásha felt that this costume, the very one she -had regarded with surprise and amusement at Otrádnoe, was just the -right thing and not at all worse than a swallow-tail or frock coat. -“Uncle” too was in high spirits and far from being offended by the -brother’s and sister’s laughter (it could never enter his head that -they might be laughing at his way of life) he himself joined in the -merriment. - -“That’s right, young countess, that’s it, come on! I never saw -anyone like her!” said he, offering Nicholas a pipe with a long stem -and, with a practiced motion of three fingers, taking down another that -had been cut short. “She’s ridden all day like a man, and is as -fresh as ever!” - -Soon after “Uncle’s” reappearance the door was opened, evidently -from the sound by a barefooted girl, and a stout, rosy, good-looking -woman of about forty, with a double chin and full red lips, entered -carrying a large loaded tray. With hospitable dignity and cordiality in -her glance and in every motion, she looked at the visitors and, with -a pleasant smile, bowed respectfully. In spite of her exceptional -stoutness, which caused her to protrude her chest and stomach and throw -back her head, this woman (who was “Uncle’s” housekeeper) trod -very lightly. She went to the table, set down the tray, and with her -plump white hands deftly took from it the bottles and various hors -d’oeuvres and dishes and arranged them on the table. When she had -finished, she stepped aside and stopped at the door with a smile on her -face. “Here I am. I am she! Now do you understand ‘Uncle’?” her -expression said to Rostóv. How could one help understanding? Not only -Nicholas, but even Natásha understood the meaning of his puckered brow -and the happy complacent smile that slightly puckered his lips when -Anísya Fëdorovna entered. On the tray was a bottle of herb wine, -different kinds of vodka, pickled mushrooms, rye cakes made with -buttermilk, honey in the comb, still mead and sparkling mead, apples, -nuts (raw and roasted), and nut-and-honey sweets. Afterwards she brought -a freshly roasted chicken, ham, preserves made with honey, and preserves -made with sugar. - -All this was the fruit of Anísya Fëdorovna’s housekeeping, gathered -and prepared by her. The smell and taste of it all had a smack -of Anísya Fëdorovna herself: a savor of juiciness, cleanliness, -whiteness, and pleasant smiles. - -“Take this, little Lady-Countess!” she kept saying, as she offered -Natásha first one thing and then another. - -Natásha ate of everything and thought she had never seen or eaten such -buttermilk cakes, such aromatic jam, such honey-and-nut sweets, or such -a chicken anywhere. Anísya Fëdorovna left the room. - -After supper, over their cherry brandy, Rostóv and “Uncle” talked -of past and future hunts, of Rugáy and Ilágin’s dogs, while Natásha -sat upright on the sofa and listened with sparkling eyes. She tried -several times to wake Pétya that he might eat something, but he -only muttered incoherent words without waking up. Natásha felt so -lighthearted and happy in these novel surroundings that she only feared -the trap would come for her too soon. After a casual pause, such as -often occurs when receiving friends for the first time in one’s own -house, “Uncle,” answering a thought that was in his visitors’ -minds, said: - -“This, you see, is how I am finishing my days... Death will come. -That’s it, come on! Nothing will remain. Then why harm anyone?” - -“Uncle’s” face was very significant and even handsome as he said -this. Involuntarily Rostóv recalled all the good he had heard about -him from his father and the neighbors. Throughout the whole province -“Uncle” had the reputation of being the most honorable and -disinterested of cranks. They called him in to decide family disputes, -chose him as executor, confided secrets to him, elected him to be a -justice and to other posts; but he always persistently refused public -appointments, passing the autumn and spring in the fields on his bay -gelding, sitting at home in winter, and lying in his overgrown garden in -summer. - -“Why don’t you enter the service, Uncle?” - -“I did once, but gave it up. I am not fit for it. That’s it, come -on! I can’t make head or tail of it. That’s for you—I haven’t -brains enough. Now, hunting is another matter—that’s it, come on! -Open the door, there!” he shouted. “Why have you shut it?” - -The door at the end of the passage led to the huntsmen’s room, as they -called the room for the hunt servants. - -There was a rapid patter of bare feet, and an unseen hand opened the -door into the huntsmen’s room, from which came the clear sounds of a -balaláyka on which someone, who was evidently a master of the art, was -playing. Natásha had been listening to those strains for some time and -now went out into the passage to hear better. - -“That’s Mítka, my coachman.... I have got him a good balaláyka. -I’m fond of it,” said “Uncle.” - -It was the custom for Mítka to play the balaláyka in the huntsmen’s -room when “Uncle” returned from the chase. “Uncle” was fond of -such music. - -“How good! Really very good!” said Nicholas with some unintentional -superciliousness, as if ashamed to confess that the sounds pleased him -very much. - -“Very good?” said Natásha reproachfully, noticing her brother’s -tone. “Not ‘very good’ it’s simply delicious!” - -Just as “Uncle’s” pickled mushrooms, honey, and cherry brandy had -seemed to her the best in the world, so also that song, at that moment, -seemed to her the acme of musical delight. - -“More, please, more!” cried Natásha at the door as soon as the -balaláyka ceased. Mítka tuned up afresh, and recommenced thrumming -the balaláyka to the air of My Lady, with trills and variations. -“Uncle” sat listening, slightly smiling, with his head on one side. -The air was repeated a hundred times. The balaláyka was retuned several -times and the same notes were thrummed again, but the listeners did -not grow weary of it and wished to hear it again and again. Anísya -Fëdorovna came in and leaned her portly person against the doorpost. - -“You like listening?” she said to Natásha, with a smile extremely -like “Uncle’s.” “That’s a good player of ours,” she added. - -“He doesn’t play that part right!” said “Uncle” suddenly, with -an energetic gesture. “Here he ought to burst out—that’s it, come -on!—ought to burst out.” - -“Do you play then?” asked Natásha. - -“Uncle” did not answer, but smiled. - -“Anísya, go and see if the strings of my guitar are all right. I -haven’t touched it for a long time. That’s it—come on! I’ve -given it up.” - -Anísya Fëdorovna, with her light step, willingly went to fulfill her -errand and brought back the guitar. - -Without looking at anyone, “Uncle” blew the dust off it and, tapping -the case with his bony fingers, tuned the guitar and settled himself in -his armchair. He took the guitar a little above the fingerboard, arching -his left elbow with a somewhat theatrical gesture, and, with a wink at -Anísya Fëdorovna, struck a single chord, pure and sonorous, and then -quietly, smoothly, and confidently began playing in very slow time, not -My Lady, but the well-known song: Came a maiden down the street. The -tune, played with precision and in exact time, began to thrill in the -hearts of Nicholas and Natásha, arousing in them the same kind of -sober mirth as radiated from Anísya Fëdorovna’s whole being. Anísya -Fëdorovna flushed, and drawing her kerchief over her face went laughing -out of the room. “Uncle” continued to play correctly, carefully, -with energetic firmness, looking with a changed and inspired expression -at the spot where Anísya Fëdorovna had just stood. Something seemed to -be laughing a little on one side of his face under his gray mustaches, -especially as the song grew brisker and the time quicker and when, here -and there, as he ran his fingers over the strings, something seemed to -snap. - -“Lovely, lovely! Go on, Uncle, go on!” shouted Natásha as soon as -he had finished. She jumped up and hugged and kissed him. “Nicholas, -Nicholas!” she said, turning to her brother, as if asking him: “What -is it moves me so?” - -Nicholas too was greatly pleased by “Uncle’s” playing, and -“Uncle” played the piece over again. Anísya Fëdorovna’s smiling -face reappeared in the doorway and behind hers other faces... - - Fetching water clear and sweet, - Stop, dear maiden, I entreat— - -played “Uncle” once more, running his fingers skillfully over the -strings, and then he stopped short and jerked his shoulders. - -“Go on, Uncle dear,” Natásha wailed in an imploring tone as if her -life depended on it. - -“Uncle” rose, and it was as if there were two men in him: one of -them smiled seriously at the merry fellow, while the merry fellow struck -a naïve and precise attitude preparatory to a folk dance. - -“Now then, niece!” he exclaimed, waving to Natásha the hand that -had just struck a chord. - -Natásha threw off the shawl from her shoulders, ran forward to face -“Uncle,” and setting her arms akimbo also made a motion with her -shoulders and struck an attitude. - -Where, how, and when had this young countess, educated by an émigrée -French governess, imbibed from the Russian air she breathed that spirit -and obtained that manner which the pas de châle * would, one would have -supposed, long ago have effaced? But the spirit and the movements were -those inimitable and unteachable Russian ones that “Uncle” had -expected of her. As soon as she had struck her pose, and smiled -triumphantly, proudly, and with sly merriment, the fear that had at -first seized Nicholas and the others that she might not do the right -thing was at an end, and they were already admiring her. - - * The French shawl dance. - -She did the right thing with such precision, such complete precision, -that Anísya Fëdorovna, who had at once handed her the handkerchief she -needed for the dance, had tears in her eyes, though she laughed as she -watched this slim, graceful countess, reared in silks and velvets and so -different from herself, who yet was able to understand all that was -in Anísya and in Anísya’s father and mother and aunt, and in every -Russian man and woman. - -“Well, little countess; that’s it—come on!” cried “Uncle,” -with a joyous laugh, having finished the dance. “Well done, niece! Now -a fine young fellow must be found as husband for you. That’s it—come -on!” - -“He’s chosen already,” said Nicholas smiling. - -“Oh?” said “Uncle” in surprise, looking inquiringly at Natásha, -who nodded her head with a happy smile. - -“And such a one!” she said. But as soon as she had said it a new -train of thoughts and feelings arose in her. “What did Nicholas’ -smile mean when he said ‘chosen already’? Is he glad of it or not? -It is as if he thought my Bolkónski would not approve of or understand -our gaiety. But he would understand it all. Where is he now?” she -thought, and her face suddenly became serious. But this lasted only a -second. “Don’t dare to think about it,” she said to herself, -and sat down again smilingly beside “Uncle,” begging him to play -something more. - -“Uncle” played another song and a valse; then after a pause he -cleared his throat and sang his favorite hunting song: - - As ‘twas growing dark last night - Fell the snow so soft and light... - -“Uncle” sang as peasants sing, with full and naïve conviction that -the whole meaning of a song lies in the words and that the tune comes -of itself, and that apart from the words there is no tune, which exists -only to give measure to the words. As a result of this the unconsidered -tune, like the song of a bird, was extraordinarily good. Natásha was in -ecstasies over “Uncle’s” singing. She resolved to give up learning -the harp and to play only the guitar. She asked “Uncle” for his -guitar and at once found the chords of the song. - -After nine o’clock two traps and three mounted men, who had been sent -to look for them, arrived to fetch Natásha and Pétya. The count and -countess did not know where they were and were very anxious, said one of -the men. - -Pétya was carried out like a log and laid in the larger of the two -traps. Natásha and Nicholas got into the other. “Uncle” wrapped -Natásha up warmly and took leave of her with quite a new tenderness. He -accompanied them on foot as far as the bridge that could not be crossed, -so that they had to go round by the ford, and he sent huntsmen to ride -in front with lanterns. - -“Good-by, dear niece,” his voice called out of the darkness—not -the voice Natásha had known previously, but the one that had sung As -‘twas growing dark last night. - -In the village through which they passed there were red lights and a -cheerful smell of smoke. - -“What a darling Uncle is!” said Natásha, when they had come out -onto the highroad. - -“Yes,” returned Nicholas. “You’re not cold?” - -“No. I’m quite, quite all right. I feel so comfortable!” answered -Natásha, almost perplexed by her feelings. They remained silent a long -while. The night was dark and damp. They could not see the horses, but -only heard them splashing through the unseen mud. - -What was passing in that receptive childlike soul that so eagerly caught -and assimilated all the diverse impressions of life? How did they all -find place in her? But she was very happy. As they were nearing home she -suddenly struck up the air of As ‘twas growing dark last night—the -tune of which she had all the way been trying to get and had at last -caught. - -“Got it?” said Nicholas. - -“What were you thinking about just now, Nicholas?” inquired -Natásha. - -They were fond of asking one another that question. - -“I?” said Nicholas, trying to remember. “Well, you see, first I -thought that Rugáy, the red hound, was like Uncle, and that if he were -a man he would always keep Uncle near him, if not for his riding, then -for his manner. What a good fellow Uncle is! Don’t you think so?... -Well, and you?” - -“I? Wait a bit, wait.... Yes, first I thought that we are driving -along and imagining that we are going home, but that heaven knows -where we are really going in the darkness, and that we shall arrive and -suddenly find that we are not in Otrádnoe, but in Fairyland. And then I -thought... No, nothing else.” - -“I know, I expect you thought of him,” said Nicholas, smiling as -Natásha knew by the sound of his voice. - -“No,” said Natásha, though she had in reality been thinking about -Prince Andrew at the same time as of the rest, and of how he would -have liked “Uncle.” “And then I was saying to myself all the way, -‘How well Anísya carried herself, how well!’” And Nicholas heard -her spontaneous, happy, ringing laughter. “And do you know,” she -suddenly said, “I know that I shall never again be as happy and -tranquil as I am now.” - -“Rubbish, nonsense, humbug!” exclaimed Nicholas, and he thought: -“How charming this Natásha of mine is! I have no other friend like -her and never shall have. Why should she marry? We might always drive -about together!” - -“What a darling this Nicholas of mine is!” thought Natásha. - -“Ah, there are still lights in the drawing room!” she said, pointing -to the windows of the house that gleamed invitingly in the moist velvety -darkness of the night. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Count Ilyá Rostóv had resigned the position of Marshal of the Nobility -because it involved him in too much expense, but still his affairs -did not improve. Natásha and Nicholas often noticed their parents -conferring together anxiously and privately and heard suggestions of -selling the fine ancestral Rostóv house and estate near Moscow. It was -not necessary to entertain so freely as when the count had been Marshal, -and life at Otrádnoe was quieter than in former years, but still the -enormous house and its lodges were full of people and more than twenty -sat down to table every day. These were all their own people who had -settled down in the house almost as members of the family, or persons -who were, it seemed, obliged to live in the count’s house. Such were -Dimmler the musician and his wife, Vogel the dancing master and his -family, Belóva, an old maiden lady, an inmate of the house, and many -others such as Pétya’s tutors, the girls’ former governess, and -other people who simply found it preferable and more advantageous to -live in the count’s house than at home. They had not as many visitors -as before, but the old habits of life without which the count and -countess could not conceive of existence remained unchanged. There was -still the hunting establishment which Nicholas had even enlarged, the -same fifty horses and fifteen grooms in the stables, the same expensive -presents and dinner parties to the whole district on name days; there -were still the count’s games of whist and boston, at which—spreading -out his cards so that everybody could see them—he let himself be -plundered of hundreds of rubles every day by his neighbors, who looked -upon an opportunity to play a rubber with Count Rostóv as a most -profitable source of income. - -The count moved in his affairs as in a huge net, trying not to believe -that he was entangled but becoming more and more so at every step, and -feeling too feeble to break the meshes or to set to work carefully and -patiently to disentangle them. The countess, with her loving heart, felt -that her children were being ruined, that it was not the count’s fault -for he could not help being what he was—that (though he tried to -hide it) he himself suffered from the consciousness of his own and -his children’s ruin, and she tried to find means of remedying the -position. From her feminine point of view she could see only one -solution, namely, for Nicholas to marry a rich heiress. She felt this to -be their last hope and that if Nicholas refused the match she had found -for him, she would have to abandon the hope of ever getting matters -right. This match was with Julie Karágina, the daughter of excellent -and virtuous parents, a girl the Rostóvs had known from childhood, and -who had now become a wealthy heiress through the death of the last of -her brothers. - -The countess had written direct to Julie’s mother in Moscow suggesting -a marriage between their children and had received a favorable answer -from her. Karágina had replied that for her part she was agreeable, and -everything depend on her daughter’s inclination. She invited Nicholas -to come to Moscow. - -Several times the countess, with tears in her eyes, told her son that -now both her daughters were settled, her only wish was to see him -married. She said she could lie down in her grave peacefully if that -were accomplished. Then she told him that she knew of a splendid girl -and tried to discover what he thought about marriage. - -At other times she praised Julie to him and advised him to go to -Moscow during the holidays to amuse himself. Nicholas guessed what his -mother’s remarks were leading to and during one of these conversations -induced her to speak quite frankly. She told him that her only hope -of getting their affairs disentangled now lay in his marrying Julie -Karágina. - -“But, Mamma, suppose I loved a girl who has no fortune, would -you expect me to sacrifice my feelings and my honor for the sake of -money?” he asked his mother, not realizing the cruelty of his question -and only wishing to show his noble-mindedness. - -“No, you have not understood me,” said his mother, not knowing how -to justify herself. “You have not understood me, Nikólenka. It is -your happiness I wish for,” she added, feeling that she was telling an -untruth and was becoming entangled. She began to cry. - -“Mamma, don’t cry! Only tell me that you wish it, and you know I -will give my life, anything, to put you at ease,” said Nicholas. “I -would sacrifice anything for you—even my feelings.” - -But the countess did not want the question put like that: she did not -want a sacrifice from her son, she herself wished to make a sacrifice -for him. - -“No, you have not understood me, don’t let us talk about it,” she -replied, wiping away her tears. - -“Maybe I do love a poor girl,” said Nicholas to himself. “Am I to -sacrifice my feelings and my honor for money? I wonder how Mamma could -speak so to me. Because Sónya is poor I must not love her,” he -thought, “must not respond to her faithful, devoted love? Yet I should -certainly be happier with her than with some doll-like Julie. I can -always sacrifice my feelings for my family’s welfare,” he said to -himself, “but I can’t coerce my feelings. If I love Sónya, that -feeling is for me stronger and higher than all else.” - -Nicholas did not go to Moscow, and the countess did not renew the -conversation with him about marriage. She saw with sorrow, and sometimes -with exasperation, symptoms of a growing attachment between her son and -the portionless Sónya. Though she blamed herself for it, she could -not refrain from grumbling at and worrying Sónya, often pulling her up -without reason, addressing her stiffly as “my dear,” and using the -formal “you” instead of the intimate “thou” in speaking to her. -The kindhearted countess was the more vexed with Sónya because that -poor, dark-eyed niece of hers was so meek, so kind, so devotedly -grateful to her benefactors, and so faithfully, unchangingly, and -unselfishly in love with Nicholas, that there were no grounds for -finding fault with her. - -Nicholas was spending the last of his leave at home. A fourth letter had -come from Prince Andrew, from Rome, in which he wrote that he would have -been on his way back to Russia long ago had not his wound unexpectedly -reopened in the warm climate, which obliged him to defer his return till -the beginning of the new year. Natásha was still as much in love with -her betrothed, found the same comfort in that love, and was still as -ready to throw herself into all the pleasures of life as before; but at -the end of the fourth month of their separation she began to have fits -of depression which she could not master. She felt sorry for herself: -sorry that she was being wasted all this time and of no use to -anyone—while she felt herself so capable of loving and being loved. - -Things were not cheerful in the Rostóvs’ home. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Christmas came and except for the ceremonial Mass, the solemn and -wearisome Christmas congratulations from neighbors and servants, and the -new dresses everyone put on, there were no special festivities, though -the calm frost of twenty degrees Réaumur, the dazzling sunshine by day, -and the starlight of the winter nights seemed to call for some special -celebration of the season. - -On the third day of Christmas week, after the midday dinner, all the -inmates of the house dispersed to various rooms. It was the dullest time -of the day. Nicholas, who had been visiting some neighbors that morning, -was asleep on the sitting-room sofa. The old count was resting in his -study. Sónya sat in the drawing room at the round table, copying a -design for embroidery. The countess was playing patience. Nastásya -Ivánovna the buffoon sat with a sad face at the window with two old -ladies. Natásha came into the room, went up to Sónya, glanced at -what she was doing, and then went up to her mother and stood without -speaking. - -“Why are you wandering about like an outcast?” asked her mother. -“What do you want?” - -“Him... I want him... now, this minute! I want him!” said Natásha, -with glittering eyes and no sign of a smile. - -The countess lifted her head and looked attentively at her daughter. - -“Don’t look at me, Mamma! Don’t look; I shall cry directly.” - -“Sit down with me a little,” said the countess. - -“Mamma, I want him. Why should I be wasted like this, Mamma?” - -Her voice broke, tears gushed from her eyes, and she turned quickly to -hide them and left the room. - -She passed into the sitting room, stood there thinking awhile, and then -went into the maids’ room. There an old maidservant was grumbling at -a young girl who stood panting, having just run in through the cold from -the serfs’ quarters. - -“Stop playing—there’s a time for everything,” said the old -woman. - -“Let her alone, Kondrátevna,” said Natásha. “Go, Mavrúshka, -go.” - -Having released Mavrúshka, Natásha crossed the dancing hall and went -to the vestibule. There an old footman and two young ones were playing -cards. They broke off and rose as she entered. - -“What can I do with them?” thought Natásha. - -“Oh, Nikíta, please go... where can I send him?... Yes, go to the -yard and fetch a fowl, please, a cock, and you, Misha, bring me some -oats.” - -“Just a few oats?” said Misha, cheerfully and readily. - -“Go, go quickly,” the old man urged him. - -“And you, Theodore, get me a piece of chalk.” - -On her way past the butler’s pantry she told them to set a samovar, -though it was not at all the time for tea. - -Fóka, the butler, was the most ill-tempered person in the house. -Natásha liked to test her power over him. He distrusted the order and -asked whether the samovar was really wanted. - -“Oh dear, what a young lady!” said Fóka, pretending to frown at -Natásha. - -No one in the house sent people about or gave them as much trouble as -Natásha did. She could not see people unconcernedly, but had to send -them on some errand. She seemed to be trying whether any of them would -get angry or sulky with her; but the serfs fulfilled no one’s orders -so readily as they did hers. “What can I do, where can I go?” -thought she, as she went slowly along the passage. - -“Nastásya Ivánovna, what sort of children shall I have?” she asked -the buffoon, who was coming toward her in a woman’s jacket. - -“Why, fleas, crickets, grasshoppers,” answered the buffoon. - -“O Lord, O Lord, it’s always the same! Oh, where am I to go? What -am I to do with myself?” And tapping with her heels, she ran quickly -upstairs to see Vogel and his wife who lived on the upper story. - -Two governesses were sitting with the Vogels at a table, on which were -plates of raisins, walnuts, and almonds. The governesses were discussing -whether it was cheaper to live in Moscow or Odessa. Natásha sat down, -listened to their talk with a serious and thoughtful air, and then got -up again. - -“The island of Madagascar,” she said, “Ma-da-gas-car,” she -repeated, articulating each syllable distinctly, and, not replying to -Madame Schoss who asked her what she was saying, she went out of the -room. - -Her brother Pétya was upstairs too; with the man in attendance on him -he was preparing fireworks to let off that night. - -“Pétya! Pétya!” she called to him. “Carry me downstairs.” - -Pétya ran up and offered her his back. She jumped on it, putting her -arms round his neck, and he pranced along with her. - -“No, don’t... the island of Madagascar!” she said, and jumping off -his back she went downstairs. - -Having as it were reviewed her kingdom, tested her power, and made -sure that everyone was submissive, but that all the same it was dull, -Natásha betook herself to the ballroom, picked up her guitar, sat down -in a dark corner behind a bookcase, and began to run her fingers over -the strings in the bass, picking out a passage she recalled from an -opera she had heard in Petersburg with Prince Andrew. What she drew from -the guitar would have had no meaning for other listeners, but in her -imagination a whole series of reminiscences arose from those sounds. -She sat behind the bookcase with her eyes fixed on a streak of light -escaping from the pantry door and listened to herself and pondered. She -was in a mood for brooding on the past. - -Sónya passed to the pantry with a glass in her hand. Natásha glanced -at her and at the crack in the pantry door, and it seemed to her that -she remembered the light falling through that crack once before and -Sónya passing with a glass in her hand. “Yes it was exactly the -same,” thought Natásha. - -“Sónya, what is this?” she cried, twanging a thick string. - -“Oh, you are there!” said Sónya with a start, and came near and -listened. “I don’t know. A storm?” she ventured timidly, afraid of -being wrong. - -“There! That’s just how she started and just how she came up smiling -timidly when all this happened before,” thought Natásha, “and in -just the same way I thought there was something lacking in her.” - -“No, it’s the chorus from The Water-Carrier, listen!” and Natásha -sang the air of the chorus so that Sónya should catch it. “Where were -you going?” she asked. - -“To change the water in this glass. I am just finishing the design.” - -“You always find something to do, but I can’t,” said Natásha. -“And where’s Nicholas?” - -“Asleep, I think.” - -“Sónya, go and wake him,” said Natásha. “Tell him I want him to -come and sing.” - -She sat awhile, wondering what the meaning of it all having happened -before could be, and without solving this problem, or at all regretting -not having done so, she again passed in fancy to the time when she was -with him and he was looking at her with a lover’s eyes. - -“Oh, if only he would come quicker! I am so afraid it will never be! -And, worst of all, I am growing old—that’s the thing! There won’t -then be in me what there is now. But perhaps he’ll come today, will -come immediately. Perhaps he has come and is sitting in the drawing -room. Perhaps he came yesterday and I have forgotten it.” She rose, -put down the guitar, and went to the drawing room. - -All the domestic circle, tutors, governesses, and guests, were already -at the tea table. The servants stood round the table—but Prince Andrew -was not there and life was going on as before. - -“Ah, here she is!” said the old count, when he saw Natásha enter. -“Well, sit down by me.” But Natásha stayed by her mother and -glanced round as if looking for something. - -“Mamma!” she muttered, “give him to me, give him, Mamma, quickly, -quickly!” and she again had difficulty in repressing her sobs. - -She sat down at the table and listened to the conversation between the -elders and Nicholas, who had also come to the table. “My God, my God! -The same faces, the same talk, Papa holding his cup and blowing in the -same way!” thought Natásha, feeling with horror a sense of repulsion -rising up in her for the whole household, because they were always the -same. - -After tea, Nicholas, Sónya, and Natásha went to the sitting room, to -their favorite corner where their most intimate talks always began. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -“Does it ever happen to you,” said Natásha to her brother, when -they settled down in the sitting room, “does it ever happen to you to -feel as if there were nothing more to come—nothing; that everything -good is past? And to feel not exactly dull, but sad?” - -“I should think so!” he replied. “I have felt like that when -everything was all right and everyone was cheerful. The thought has come -into my mind that I was already tired of it all, and that we must all -die. Once in the regiment I had not gone to some merrymaking where there -was music... and suddenly I felt so depressed...” - -“Oh yes, I know, I know, I know!” Natásha interrupted him. “When -I was quite little that used to be so with me. Do you remember when -I was punished once about some plums? You were all dancing, and I sat -sobbing in the schoolroom? I shall never forget it: I felt sad and sorry -for everyone, for myself, and for everyone. And I was innocent—that -was the chief thing,” said Natásha. “Do you remember?” - -“I remember,” answered Nicholas. “I remember that I came to you -afterwards and wanted to comfort you, but do you know, I felt ashamed -to. We were terribly absurd. I had a funny doll then and wanted to give -it to you. Do you remember?” - -“And do you remember,” Natásha asked with a pensive smile, “how -once, long, long ago, when we were quite little, Uncle called us into -the study—that was in the old house—and it was dark—we went in and -suddenly there stood...” - -“A Negro,” chimed in Nicholas with a smile of delight. “Of course -I remember. Even now I don’t know whether there really was a Negro, or -if we only dreamed it or were told about him.” - -“He was gray, you remember, and had white teeth, and stood and looked -at us....” - -“Sónya, do you remember?” asked Nicholas. - -“Yes, yes, I do remember something too,” Sónya answered timidly. - -“You know I have asked Papa and Mamma about that Negro,” said -Natásha, “and they say there was no Negro at all. But you see, you -remember!” - -“Of course I do, I remember his teeth as if I had just seen them.” - -“How strange it is! It’s as if it were a dream! I like that.” - -“And do you remember how we rolled hard-boiled eggs in the ballroom, -and suddenly two old women began spinning round on the carpet? Was that -real or not? Do you remember what fun it was?” - -“Yes, and you remember how Papa in his blue overcoat fired a gun in -the porch?” - -So they went through their memories, smiling with pleasure: not the sad -memories of old age, but poetic, youthful ones—those impressions of -one’s most distant past in which dreams and realities blend—and they -laughed with quiet enjoyment. - -Sónya, as always, did not quite keep pace with them, though they shared -the same reminiscences. - -Much that they remembered had slipped from her mind, and what she -recalled did not arouse the same poetic feeling as they experienced. She -simply enjoyed their pleasure and tried to fit in with it. - -She only really took part when they recalled Sónya’s first arrival. -She told them how afraid she had been of Nicholas because he had on a -corded jacket and her nurse had told her that she, too, would be sewn up -with cords. - -“And I remember their telling me that you had been born under a -cabbage,” said Natásha, “and I remember that I dared not disbelieve -it then, but knew that it was not true, and I felt so uncomfortable.” - -While they were talking a maid thrust her head in at the other door of -the sitting room. - -“They have brought the cock, Miss,” she said in a whisper. - -“It isn’t wanted, Pólya. Tell them to take it away,” replied -Natásha. - -In the middle of their talk in the sitting room, Dimmler came in and -went up to the harp that stood there in a corner. He took off its cloth -covering, and the harp gave out a jarring sound. - -“Mr. Dimmler, please play my favorite nocturne by Field,” came the -old countess’ voice from the drawing room. - -Dimmler struck a chord and, turning to Natásha, Nicholas, and Sónya, -remarked: “How quiet you young people are!” - -“Yes, we’re philosophizing,” said Natásha, glancing round for a -moment and then continuing the conversation. They were now discussing -dreams. - -Dimmler began to play; Natásha went on tiptoe noiselessly to the table, -took up a candle, carried it out, and returned, seating herself quietly -in her former place. It was dark in the room especially where they were -sitting on the sofa, but through the big windows the silvery light of -the full moon fell on the floor. Dimmler had finished the piece but -still sat softly running his fingers over the strings, evidently -uncertain whether to stop or to play something else. - -“Do you know,” said Natásha in a whisper, moving closer to Nicholas -and Sónya, “that when one goes on and on recalling memories, one at -last begins to remember what happened before one was in the world....” - -“That is metempsychosis,” said Sónya, who had always learned well, -and remembered everything. “The Egyptians believed that our souls have -lived in animals, and will go back into animals again.” - -“No, I don’t believe we ever were in animals,” said Natásha, -still in a whisper though the music had ceased. “But I am certain that -we were angels somewhere there, and have been here, and that is why we -remember....” - -“May I join you?” said Dimmler who had come up quietly, and he sat -down by them. - -“If we have been angels, why have we fallen lower?” said Nicholas. -“No, that can’t be!” - -“Not lower, who said we were lower?... How do I know what I -was before?” Natásha rejoined with conviction. “The soul is -immortal—well then, if I shall always live I must have lived before, -lived for a whole eternity.” - -“Yes, but it is hard for us to imagine eternity,” remarked Dimmler, -who had joined the young folk with a mildly condescending smile but now -spoke as quietly and seriously as they. - -“Why is it hard to imagine eternity?” said Natásha. “It is now -today, and it will be tomorrow, and always; and there was yesterday, and -the day before....” - -“Natásha! Now it’s your turn. Sing me something,” they heard the -countess say. “Why are you sitting there like conspirators?” - -“Mamma, I don’t at all want to,” replied Natásha, but all the -same she rose. - -None of them, not even the middle-aged Dimmler, wanted to break off -their conversation and quit that corner in the sitting room, but -Natásha got up and Nicholas sat down at the clavichord. Standing -as usual in the middle of the hall and choosing the place where the -resonance was best, Natásha began to sing her mother’s favorite song. - -She had said she did not want to sing, but it was long since she had -sung, and long before she again sang, as she did that evening. The -count, from his study where he was talking to Mítenka, heard her and, -like a schoolboy in a hurry to run out to play, blundered in his talk -while giving orders to the steward, and at last stopped, while Mítenka -stood in front of him also listening and smiling. Nicholas did not take -his eyes off his sister and drew breath in time with her. Sónya, as she -listened, thought of the immense difference there was between herself -and her friend, and how impossible it was for her to be anything like as -bewitching as her cousin. The old countess sat with a blissful yet sad -smile and with tears in her eyes, occasionally shaking her head. She -thought of Natásha and of her own youth, and of how there was something -unnatural and dreadful in this impending marriage of Natásha and Prince -Andrew. - -Dimmler, who had seated himself beside the countess, listened with -closed eyes. - -“Ah, Countess,” he said at last, “that’s a European talent, she -has nothing to learn—what softness, tenderness, and strength....” - -“Ah, how afraid I am for her, how afraid I am!” said the countess, -not realizing to whom she was speaking. Her maternal instinct told her -that Natásha had too much of something, and that because of this -she would not be happy. Before Natásha had finished singing, -fourteen-year-old Pétya rushed in delightedly, to say that some mummers -had arrived. - -Natásha stopped abruptly. - -“Idiot!” she screamed at her brother and, running to a chair, threw -herself on it, sobbing so violently that she could not stop for a long -time. - -“It’s nothing, Mamma, really it’s nothing; only Pétya startled -me,” she said, trying to smile, but her tears still flowed and sobs -still choked her. - -The mummers (some of the house serfs) dressed up as bears, Turks, -innkeepers, and ladies—frightening and funny—bringing in with -them the cold from outside and a feeling of gaiety, crowded, at first -timidly, into the anteroom, then hiding behind one another they pushed -into the ballroom where, shyly at first and then more and more merrily -and heartily, they started singing, dancing, and playing Christmas -games. The countess, when she had identified them and laughed at their -costumes, went into the drawing room. The count sat in the ballroom, -smiling radiantly and applauding the players. The young people had -disappeared. - -Half an hour later there appeared among the other mummers in the -ballroom an old lady in a hooped skirt—this was Nicholas. A Turkish -girl was Pétya. A clown was Dimmler. An hussar was Natásha, and a -Circassian was Sónya with burnt-cork mustache and eyebrows. - -After the condescending surprise, nonrecognition, and praise, from those -who were not themselves dressed up, the young people decided that their -costumes were so good that they ought to be shown elsewhere. - -Nicholas, who, as the roads were in splendid condition, wanted to take -them all for a drive in his troyka, proposed to take with them about a -dozen of the serf mummers and drive to “Uncle’s.” - -“No, why disturb the old fellow?” said the countess. “Besides, -you wouldn’t have room to turn round there. If you must go, go to the -Melyukóvs’.” - -Melyukóva was a widow, who, with her family and their tutors and -governesses, lived three miles from the Rostóvs. - -“That’s right, my dear,” chimed in the old count, thoroughly -aroused. “I’ll dress up at once and go with them. I’ll make -Pashette open her eyes.” - -But the countess would not agree to his going; he had had a bad leg all -these last days. It was decided that the count must not go, but that if -Louisa Ivánovna (Madame Schoss) would go with them, the young ladies -might go to the Melyukóvs’, Sónya, generally so timid and shy, more -urgently than anyone begging Louisa Ivánovna not to refuse. - -Sónya’s costume was the best of all. Her mustache and eyebrows were -extraordinarily becoming. Everyone told her she looked very handsome, -and she was in a spirited and energetic mood unusual with her. Some -inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided, and -in her male attire she seemed quite a different person. Louisa Ivánovna -consented to go, and in half an hour four troyka sleighs with large and -small bells, their runners squeaking and whistling over the frozen snow, -drove up to the porch. - -Natásha was foremost in setting a merry holiday tone, which, passing -from one to another, grew stronger and reached its climax when they all -came out into the frost and got into the sleighs, talking, calling to -one another, laughing, and shouting. - -Two of the troykas were the usual household sleighs, the third was the -old count’s with a trotter from the Orlóv stud as shaft horse, -the fourth was Nicholas’ own with a short shaggy black shaft horse. -Nicholas, in his old lady’s dress over which he had belted his hussar -overcoat, stood in the middle of the sleigh, reins in hand. - -It was so light that he could see the moonlight reflected from the metal -harness disks and from the eyes of the horses, who looked round in alarm -at the noisy party under the shadow of the porch roof. - -Natásha, Sónya, Madame Schoss, and two maids got into Nicholas’ -sleigh; Dimmler, his wife, and Pétya, into the old count’s, and the -rest of the mummers seated themselves in the other two sleighs. - -“You go ahead, Zakhár!” shouted Nicholas to his father’s -coachman, wishing for a chance to race past him. - -The old count’s troyka, with Dimmler and his party, started forward, -squeaking on its runners as though freezing to the snow, its deep-toned -bell clanging. The side horses, pressing against the shafts of the -middle horse, sank in the snow, which was dry and glittered like sugar, -and threw it up. - -Nicholas set off, following the first sleigh; behind him the others -moved noisily, their runners squeaking. At first they drove at a steady -trot along the narrow road. While they drove past the garden the shadows -of the bare trees often fell across the road and hid the brilliant -moonlight, but as soon as they were past the fence, the snowy plain -bathed in moonlight and motionless spread out before them glittering -like diamonds and dappled with bluish shadows. Bang, bang! went the -first sleigh over a cradle hole in the snow of the road, and each of -the other sleighs jolted in the same way, and rudely breaking the -frost-bound stillness, the troykas began to speed along the road, one -after the other. - -“A hare’s track, a lot of tracks!” rang out Natásha’s voice -through the frost-bound air. - -“How light it is, Nicholas!” came Sónya’s voice. - -Nicholas glanced round at Sónya, and bent down to see her face closer. -Quite a new, sweet face with black eyebrows and mustaches peeped up -at him from her sable furs—so close and yet so distant—in the -moonlight. - -“That used to be Sónya,” thought he, and looked at her closer and -smiled. - -“What is it, Nicholas?” - -“Nothing,” said he and turned again to the horses. - -When they came out onto the beaten highroad—polished by sleigh runners -and cut up by rough-shod hoofs, the marks of which were visible in the -moonlight—the horses began to tug at the reins of their own accord and -increased their pace. The near side horse, arching his head and breaking -into a short canter, tugged at his traces. The shaft horse swayed from -side to side, moving his ears as if asking: “Isn’t it time to begin -now?” In front, already far ahead the deep bell of the sleigh ringing -farther and farther off, the black horses driven by Zakhár could be -clearly seen against the white snow. From that sleigh one could hear the -shouts, laughter, and voices of the mummers. - -“Gee up, my darlings!” shouted Nicholas, pulling the reins to one -side and flourishing the whip. - -It was only by the keener wind that met them and the jerks given by the -side horses who pulled harder—ever increasing their gallop—that -one noticed how fast the troyka was flying. Nicholas looked back. With -screams squeals, and waving of whips that caused even the shaft horses -to gallop—the other sleighs followed. The shaft horse swung steadily -beneath the bow over its head, with no thought of slackening pace and -ready to put on speed when required. - -Nicholas overtook the first sleigh. They were driving downhill and -coming out upon a broad trodden track across a meadow, near a river. - -“Where are we?” thought he. “It’s the Kosóy meadow, I suppose. -But no—this is something new I’ve never seen before. This isn’t -the Kosóy meadow nor the Dëmkin hill, and heaven only knows what it -is! It is something new and enchanted. Well, whatever it may be...” -And shouting to his horses, he began to pass the first sleigh. - -Zakhár held back his horses and turned his face, which was already -covered with hoarfrost to his eyebrows. - -Nicholas gave the horses the rein, and Zakhár, stretching out his arms, -clucked his tongue and let his horses go. - -“Now, look out, master!” he cried. - -Faster still the two troykas flew side by side, and faster moved -the feet of the galloping side horses. Nicholas began to draw ahead. -Zakhár, while still keeping his arms extended, raised one hand with the -reins. - -“No you won’t, master!” he shouted. - -Nicholas put all his horses to a gallop and passed Zakhár. The horses -showered the fine dry snow on the faces of those in the sleigh—beside -them sounded quick ringing bells and they caught confused glimpses of -swiftly moving legs and the shadows of the troyka they were passing. -The whistling sound of the runners on the snow and the voices of girls -shrieking were heard from different sides. - -Again checking his horses, Nicholas looked around him. They were still -surrounded by the magic plain bathed in moonlight and spangled with -stars. - -“Zakhár is shouting that I should turn to the left, but why to the -left?” thought Nicholas. “Are we getting to the Melyukóvs’? Is -this Melyukóvka? Heaven only knows where we are going, and heaven knows -what is happening to us—but it is very strange and pleasant whatever -it is.” And he looked round in the sleigh. - -“Look, his mustache and eyelashes are all white!” said one of the -strange, pretty, unfamiliar people—the one with fine eyebrows and -mustache. - -“I think this used to be Natásha,” thought Nicholas, “and that -was Madame Schoss, but perhaps it’s not, and this Circassian with the -mustache I don’t know, but I love her.” - -“Aren’t you cold?” he asked. - -They did not answer but began to laugh. Dimmler from the sleigh behind -shouted something—probably something funny—but they could not make -out what he said. - -“Yes, yes!” some voices answered, laughing. - -“But here was a fairy forest with black moving shadows, and a glitter -of diamonds and a flight of marble steps and the silver roofs of fairy -buildings and the shrill yells of some animals. And if this is really -Melyukóvka, it is still stranger that we drove heaven knows where and -have come to Melyukóvka,” thought Nicholas. - -It really was Melyukóvka, and maids and footmen with merry faces came -running, out to the porch carrying candles. - -“Who is it?” asked someone in the porch. - -“The mummers from the count’s. I know by the horses,” replied some -voices. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Pelagéya Danílovna Melyukóva, a broadly built, energetic woman -wearing spectacles, sat in the drawing room in a loose dress, surrounded -by her daughters whom she was trying to keep from feeling dull. They -were quietly dropping melted wax into snow and looking at the shadows -the wax figures would throw on the wall, when they heard the steps and -voices of new arrivals in the vestibule. - -Hussars, ladies, witches, clowns, and bears, after clearing their -throats and wiping the hoarfrost from their faces in the vestibule, -came into the ballroom where candles were hurriedly lighted. The -clown—Dimmler—and the lady—Nicholas—started a dance. Surrounded -by the screaming children the mummers, covering their faces and -disguising their voices, bowed to their hostess and arranged themselves -about the room. - -“Dear me! there’s no recognizing them! And Natásha! See whom -she looks like! She really reminds me of somebody. But Herr -Dimmler—isn’t he good! I didn’t know him! And how he dances. Dear -me, there’s a Circassian. Really, how becoming it is to dear Sónya. -And who is that? Well, you have cheered us up! Nikíta and Vanya—clear -away the tables! And we were sitting so quietly. Ha, ha, ha!... The -hussar, the hussar! Just like a boy! And the legs!... I can’t look at -him...” different voices were saying. - -Natásha, the young Melyukóvs’ favorite, disappeared with them into -the back rooms where a cork and various dressing gowns and male garments -were called for and received from the footman by bare girlish arms from -behind the door. Ten minutes later, all the young Melyukóvs joined the -mummers. - -Pelagéya Danílovna, having given orders to clear the rooms for the -visitors and arranged about refreshments for the gentry and the serfs, -went about among the mummers without removing her spectacles, peering -into their faces with a suppressed smile and failing to recognize any -of them. It was not merely Dimmler and the Rostóvs she failed to -recognize, she did not even recognize her own daughters, or her late -husband’s, dressing gowns and uniforms, which they had put on. - -“And who is this?” she asked her governess, peering into the face of -her own daughter dressed up as a Kazán-Tartar. “I suppose it is one -of the Rostóvs! Well, Mr. Hussar, and what regiment do you serve in?” -she asked Natásha. “Here, hand some fruit jelly to the Turk!” -she ordered the butler who was handing things round. “That’s not -forbidden by his law.” - -Sometimes, as she looked at the strange but amusing capers cut by the -dancers, who—having decided once for all that being disguised, no one -would recognize them—were not at all shy, Pelagéya Danílovna hid -her face in her handkerchief, and her whole stout body shook with -irrepressible, kindly, elderly laughter. - -“My little Sásha! Look at Sásha!” she said. - -After Russian country dances and chorus dances, Pelagéya Danílovna -made the serfs and gentry join in one large circle: a ring, a string, -and a silver ruble were fetched and they all played games together. - -In an hour, all the costumes were crumpled and disordered. The corked -eyebrows and mustaches were smeared over the perspiring, flushed, -and merry faces. Pelagéya Danílovna began to recognize the mummers, -admired their cleverly contrived costumes, and particularly how they -suited the young ladies, and she thanked them all for having entertained -her so well. The visitors were invited to supper in the drawing room, -and the serfs had something served to them in the ballroom. - -“Now to tell one’s fortune in the empty bathhouse is frightening!” -said an old maid who lived with the Melyukóvs, during supper. - -“Why?” said the eldest Melyukóv girl. - -“You wouldn’t go, it takes courage....” - -“I’ll go,” said Sónya. - -“Tell what happened to the young lady!” said the second Melyukóv -girl. - -“Well,” began the old maid, “a young lady once went out, took a -cock, laid the table for two, all properly, and sat down. After sitting -a while, she suddenly hears someone coming... a sleigh drives up with -harness bells; she hears him coming! He comes in, just in the shape of a -man, like an officer—comes in and sits down to table with her.” - -“Ah! ah!” screamed Natásha, rolling her eyes with horror. - -“Yes? And how... did he speak?” - -“Yes, like a man. Everything quite all right, and he began persuading -her; and she should have kept him talking till cockcrow, but she got -frightened, just got frightened and hid her face in her hands. Then he -caught her up. It was lucky the maids ran in just then....” - -“Now, why frighten them?” said Pelagéya Danílovna. - -“Mamma, you used to try your fate yourself...” said her daughter. - -“And how does one do it in a barn?” inquired Sónya. - -“Well, say you went to the barn now, and listened. It depends on what -you hear; hammering and knocking—that’s bad; but a sound of shifting -grain is good and one sometimes hears that, too.” - -“Mamma, tell us what happened to you in the barn.” - -Pelagéya Danílovna smiled. - -“Oh, I’ve forgotten...” she replied. “But none of you would -go?” - -“Yes, I will; Pelagéya Danílovna, let me! I’ll go,” said Sónya. - -“Well, why not, if you’re not afraid?” - -“Louisa Ivánovna, may I?” asked Sónya. - -Whether they were playing the ring and string game or the ruble game or -talking as now, Nicholas did not leave Sónya’s side, and gazed at her -with quite new eyes. It seemed to him that it was only today, thanks -to that burnt-cork mustache, that he had fully learned to know her. And -really, that evening, Sónya was brighter, more animated, and prettier -than Nicholas had ever seen her before. - -“So that’s what she is like; what a fool I have been!” he thought -gazing at her sparkling eyes, and under the mustache a happy rapturous -smile dimpled her cheeks, a smile he had never seen before. - -“I’m not afraid of anything,” said Sónya. “May I go at once?” -She got up. - -They told her where the barn was and how she should stand and listen, -and they handed her a fur cloak. She threw this over her head and -shoulders and glanced at Nicholas. - -“What a darling that girl is!” thought he. “And what have I been -thinking of till now?” - -Sónya went out into the passage to go to the barn. Nicholas went -hastily to the front porch, saying he felt too hot. The crowd of people -really had made the house stuffy. - -Outside, there was the same cold stillness and the same moon, but even -brighter than before. The light was so strong and the snow sparkled with -so many stars that one did not wish to look up at the sky and the real -stars were unnoticed. The sky was black and dreary, while the earth was -gay. - -“I am a fool, a fool! what have I been waiting for?” thought -Nicholas, and running out from the porch he went round the corner of -the house and along the path that led to the back porch. He knew Sónya -would pass that way. Halfway lay some snow-covered piles of firewood and -across and along them a network of shadows from the bare old lime trees -fell on the snow and on the path. This path led to the barn. The log -walls of the barn and its snow-covered roof, that looked as if hewn out -of some precious stone, sparkled in the moonlight. A tree in the garden -snapped with the frost, and then all was again perfectly silent. His -bosom seemed to inhale not air but the strength of eternal youth and -gladness. - -From the back porch came the sound of feet descending the steps, the -bottom step upon which snow had fallen gave a ringing creak and he heard -the voice of an old maidservant saying, “Straight, straight, along the -path, Miss. Only, don’t look back.” - -“I am not afraid,” answered Sónya’s voice, and along the path -toward Nicholas came the crunching, whistling sound of Sónya’s feet -in her thin shoes. - -Sónya came along, wrapped in her cloak. She was only a couple of paces -away when she saw him, and to her too he was not the Nicholas she had -known and always slightly feared. He was in a woman’s dress, with -tousled hair and a happy smile new to Sónya. She ran rapidly toward -him. - -“Quite different and yet the same,” thought Nicholas, looking at her -face all lit up by the moonlight. He slipped his arms under the cloak -that covered her head, embraced her, pressed her to him, and kissed her -on the lips that wore a mustache and had a smell of burnt cork. Sónya -kissed him full on the lips, and disengaging her little hands pressed -them to his cheeks. - -“Sónya!... Nicholas!”... was all they said. They ran to the barn -and then back again, re-entering, he by the front and she by the back -porch. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -When they all drove back from Pelagéya Danílovna’s, Natásha, who -always saw and noticed everything, arranged that she and Madame Schoss -should go back in the sleigh with Dimmler, and Sónya with Nicholas and -the maids. - -On the way back Nicholas drove at a steady pace instead of racing and -kept peering by that fantastic all-transforming light into Sónya’s -face and searching beneath the eyebrows and mustache for his former and -his present Sónya from whom he had resolved never to be parted again. -He looked and recognizing in her both the old and the new Sónya, and -being reminded by the smell of burnt cork of the sensation of her kiss, -inhaled the frosty air with a full breast and, looking at the ground -flying beneath him and at the sparkling sky, felt himself again in -fairyland. - -“Sónya, is it well with thee?” he asked from time to time. - -“Yes!” she replied. “And with thee?” - -When halfway home Nicholas handed the reins to the coachman and ran for -a moment to Natásha’s sleigh and stood on its wing. - -“Natásha!” he whispered in French, “do you know I have made up my -mind about Sónya?” - -“Have you told her?” asked Natásha, suddenly beaming all over with -joy. - -“Oh, how strange you are with that mustache and those eyebrows!... -Natásha—are you glad?” - -“I am so glad, so glad! I was beginning to be vexed with you. I did -not tell you, but you have been treating her badly. What a heart she -has, Nicholas! I am horrid sometimes, but I was ashamed to be happy -while Sónya was not,” continued Natásha. “Now I am so glad! Well, -run back to her.” - -“No, wait a bit.... Oh, how funny you look!” cried Nicholas, peering -into her face and finding in his sister too something new, unusual, and -bewitchingly tender that he had not seen in her before. “Natásha, -it’s magical, isn’t it?” - -“Yes,” she replied. “You have done splendidly.” - -“Had I seen her before as she is now,” thought Nicholas, “I should -long ago have asked her what to do and have done whatever she told me, -and all would have been well.” - -“So you are glad and I have done right?” - -“Oh, quite right! I had a quarrel with Mamma some time ago about it. -Mamma said she was angling for you. How could she say such a thing! I -nearly stormed at Mamma. I will never let anyone say anything bad of -Sónya, for there is nothing but good in her.” - -“Then it’s all right?” said Nicholas, again scrutinizing the -expression of his sister’s face to see if she was in earnest. Then he -jumped down and, his boots scrunching the snow, ran back to his sleigh. -The same happy, smiling Circassian, with mustache and beaming eyes -looking up from under a sable hood, was still sitting there, and that -Circassian was Sónya, and that Sónya was certainly his future happy -and loving wife. - -When they reached home and had told their mother how they had spent the -evening at the Melyukóvs’, the girls went to their bedroom. When they -had undressed, but without washing off the cork mustaches, they sat a -long time talking of their happiness. They talked of how they would live -when they were married, how their husbands would be friends, and how -happy they would be. On Natásha’s table stood two looking glasses -which Dunyásha had prepared beforehand. - -“Only when will all that be? I am afraid never.... It would be too -good!” said Natásha, rising and going to the looking glasses. - -“Sit down, Natásha; perhaps you’ll see him,” said Sónya. - -Natásha lit the candles, one on each side of one of the looking -glasses, and sat down. - -“I see someone with a mustache,” said Natásha, seeing her own face. - -“You mustn’t laugh, Miss,” said Dunyásha. - -With Sónya’s help and the maid’s, Natásha got the glass she held -into the right position opposite the other; her face assumed a serious -expression and she sat silent. She sat a long time looking at the -receding line of candles reflected in the glasses and expecting (from -tales she had heard) to see a coffin, or him, Prince Andrew, in that -last dim, indistinctly outlined square. But ready as she was to take the -smallest speck for the image of a man or of a coffin, she saw nothing. -She began blinking rapidly and moved away from the looking glasses. - -“Why is it others see things and I don’t?” she said. “You sit -down now, Sónya. You absolutely must, tonight! Do it for me.... Today I -feel so frightened!” - -Sónya sat down before the glasses, got the right position, and began -looking. - -“Now, Miss Sónya is sure to see something,” whispered Dunyásha; -“while you do nothing but laugh.” - -Sónya heard this and Natásha’s whisper: - -“I know she will. She saw something last year.” - -For about three minutes all were silent. - -“Of course she will!” whispered Natásha, but did not finish... -suddenly Sónya pushed away the glass she was holding and covered her -eyes with her hand. - -“Oh, Natásha!” she cried. - -“Did you see? Did you? What was it?” exclaimed Natásha, holding up -the looking glass. - -Sónya had not seen anything, she was just wanting to blink and to get -up when she heard Natásha say, “Of course she will!” She did not -wish to disappoint either Dunyásha or Natásha, but it was hard to sit -still. She did not herself know how or why the exclamation escaped her -when she covered her eyes. - -“You saw him?” urged Natásha, seizing her hand. - -“Yes. Wait a bit... I... saw him,” Sónya could not help saying, not -yet knowing whom Natásha meant by him, Nicholas or Prince Andrew. - -“But why shouldn’t I say I saw something? Others do see! Besides who -can tell whether I saw anything or not?” flashed through Sónya’s -mind. - -“Yes, I saw him,” she said. - -“How? Standing or lying?” - -“No, I saw... At first there was nothing, then I saw him lying -down.” - -“Andrew lying? Is he ill?” asked Natásha, her frightened eyes fixed -on her friend. - -“No, on the contrary, on the contrary! His face was cheerful, and he -turned to me.” And when saying this she herself fancied she had really -seen what she described. - -“Well, and then, Sónya?...” - -“After that, I could not make out what there was; something blue and -red....” - -“Sónya! When will he come back? When shall I see him! O, God, how -afraid I am for him and for myself and about everything!...” Natásha -began, and without replying to Sónya’s words of comfort she got into -bed, and long after her candle was out lay open-eyed and motionless, -gazing at the moonlight through the frosty windowpanes. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -Soon after the Christmas holidays Nicholas told his mother of his love -for Sónya and of his firm resolve to marry her. The countess, who -had long noticed what was going on between them and was expecting this -declaration, listened to him in silence and then told her son that he -might marry whom he pleased, but that neither she nor his father would -give their blessing to such a marriage. Nicholas, for the first time, -felt that his mother was displeased with him and that, despite her love -for him, she would not give way. Coldly, without looking at her son, -she sent for her husband and, when he came, tried briefly and coldly to -inform him of the facts, in her son’s presence, but unable to restrain -herself she burst into tears of vexation and left the room. The old -count began irresolutely to admonish Nicholas and beg him to abandon his -purpose. Nicholas replied that he could not go back on his word, and his -father, sighing and evidently disconcerted, very soon became silent and -went in to the countess. In all his encounters with his son, the count -was always conscious of his own guilt toward him for having wasted the -family fortune, and so he could not be angry with him for refusing to -marry an heiress and choosing the dowerless Sónya. On this occasion, he -was only more vividly conscious of the fact that if his affairs had not -been in disorder, no better wife for Nicholas than Sónya could have -been wished for, and that no one but himself with his Mítenka and -his uncomfortable habits was to blame for the condition of the family -finances. - -The father and mother did not speak of the matter to their son again, -but a few days later the countess sent for Sónya and, with a cruelty -neither of them expected, reproached her niece for trying to catch -Nicholas and for ingratitude. Sónya listened silently with downcast -eyes to the countess’ cruel words, without understanding what -was required of her. She was ready to sacrifice everything for her -benefactors. Self-sacrifice was her most cherished idea but in this case -she could not see what she ought to sacrifice, or for whom. She could -not help loving the countess and the whole Rostóv family, but neither -could she help loving Nicholas and knowing that his happiness depended -on that love. She was silent and sad and did not reply. Nicholas felt -the situation to be intolerable and went to have an explanation with his -mother. He first implored her to forgive him and Sónya and consent to -their marriage, then he threatened that if she molested Sónya he would -at once marry her secretly. - -The countess, with a coldness her son had never seen in her before, -replied that he was of age, that Prince Andrew was marrying without his -father’s consent, and he could do the same, but that she would never -receive that intriguer as her daughter. - -Exploding at the word intriguer, Nicholas, raising his voice, told -his mother he had never expected her to try to force him to sell his -feelings, but if that were so, he would say for the last time.... But he -had no time to utter the decisive word which the expression of his face -caused his mother to await with terror, and which would perhaps have -forever remained a cruel memory to them both. He had not time to say it, -for Natásha, with a pale and set face, entered the room from the door -at which she had been listening. - -“Nicholas, you are talking nonsense! Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, I -tell you!...” she almost screamed, so as to drown his voice. - -“Mamma darling, it’s not at all so... my poor, sweet darling,” she -said to her mother, who conscious that they had been on the brink of -a rupture gazed at her son with terror, but in the obstinacy and -excitement of the conflict could not and would not give way. - -“Nicholas, I’ll explain to you. Go away! Listen, Mamma darling,” -said Natásha. - -Her words were incoherent, but they attained the purpose at which she -was aiming. - -The countess, sobbing heavily, hid her face on her daughter’s breast, -while Nicholas rose, clutching his head, and left the room. - -Natásha set to work to effect a reconciliation, and so far succeeded -that Nicholas received a promise from his mother that Sónya should not -be troubled, while he on his side promised not to undertake anything -without his parents’ knowledge. - -Firmly resolved, after putting his affairs in order in the regiment, -to retire from the army and return and marry Sónya, Nicholas, serious, -sorrowful, and at variance with his parents, but, as it seemed to him, -passionately in love, left at the beginning of January to rejoin his -regiment. - -After Nicholas had gone things in the Rostóv household were more -depressing than ever, and the countess fell ill from mental agitation. - -Sónya was unhappy at the separation from Nicholas and still more so on -account of the hostile tone the countess could not help adopting toward -her. The count was more perturbed than ever by the condition of his -affairs, which called for some decisive action. Their town house and -estate near Moscow had inevitably to be sold, and for this they had to -go to Moscow. But the countess’ health obliged them to delay their -departure from day to day. - -Natásha, who had borne the first period of separation from her -betrothed lightly and even cheerfully, now grew more agitated and -impatient every day. The thought that her best days, which she would -have employed in loving him, were being vainly wasted, with no advantage -to anyone, tormented her incessantly. His letters for the most part -irritated her. It hurt her to think that while she lived only in the -thought of him, he was living a real life, seeing new places and new -people that interested him. The more interesting his letters were -the more vexed she felt. Her letters to him, far from giving her any -comfort, seemed to her a wearisome and artificial obligation. She could -not write, because she could not conceive the possibility of expressing -sincerely in a letter even a thousandth part of what she expressed by -voice, smile, and glance. She wrote to him formal, monotonous, and dry -letters, to which she attached no importance herself, and in the rough -copies of which the countess corrected her mistakes in spelling. - -There was still no improvement in the countess’ health, but it was -impossible to defer the journey to Moscow any longer. Natásha’s -trousseau had to be ordered and the house sold. Moreover, Prince Andrew -was expected in Moscow, where old Prince Bolkónski was spending the -winter, and Natásha felt sure he had already arrived. - -So the countess remained in the country, and the count, taking Sónya -and Natásha with him, went to Moscow at the end of January. - - - - - -BOOK EIGHT: 1811 - 12 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -After Prince Andrew’s engagement to Natásha, Pierre without any -apparent cause suddenly felt it impossible to go on living as before. -Firmly convinced as he was of the truths revealed to him by his -benefactor, and happy as he had been in perfecting his inner man, to -which he had devoted himself with such ardor—all the zest of such a -life vanished after the engagement of Andrew and Natásha and the death -of Joseph Alexéevich, the news of which reached him almost at the same -time. Only the skeleton of life remained: his house, a brilliant wife -who now enjoyed the favors of a very important personage, acquaintance -with all Petersburg, and his court service with its dull formalities. -And this life suddenly seemed to Pierre unexpectedly loathsome. He -ceased keeping a diary, avoided the company of the Brothers, began going -to the club again, drank a great deal, and came once more in touch -with the bachelor sets, leading such a life that the Countess Hélène -thought it necessary to speak severely to him about it. Pierre felt that -she was right, and to avoid compromising her went away to Moscow. - -In Moscow as soon as he entered his huge house in which the faded and -fading princesses still lived, with its enormous retinue; as soon as, -driving through the town, he saw the Iberian shrine with innumerable -tapers burning before the golden covers of the icons, the Krémlin -Square with its snow undisturbed by vehicles, the sleigh drivers and -hovels of the Sívtsev Vrazhók, those old Moscovites who desired -nothing, hurried nowhere, and were ending their days leisurely; when he -saw those old Moscow ladies, the Moscow balls, and the English Club, he -felt himself at home in a quiet haven. In Moscow he felt at peace, at -home, warm and dirty as in an old dressing gown. - -Moscow society, from the old women down to the children, received Pierre -like a long-expected guest whose place was always ready awaiting him. -For Moscow society Pierre was the nicest, kindest, most intellectual, -merriest, and most magnanimous of cranks, a heedless, genial nobleman of -the old Russian type. His purse was always empty because it was open to -everyone. - -Benefit performances, poor pictures, statues, benevolent societies, -gypsy choirs, schools, subscription dinners, sprees, Freemasons, -churches, and books—no one and nothing met with a refusal from him, -and had it not been for two friends who had borrowed large sums from -him and taken him under their protection, he would have given everything -away. There was never a dinner or soiree at the club without him. As -soon as he sank into his place on the sofa after two bottles of Margaux -he was surrounded, and talking, disputing, and joking began. When there -were quarrels, his kindly smile and well-timed jests reconciled the -antagonists. The Masonic dinners were dull and dreary when he was not -there. - -When after a bachelor supper he rose with his amiable and kindly smile, -yielding to the entreaties of the festive company to drive off somewhere -with them, shouts of delight and triumph arose among the young men. -At balls he danced if a partner was needed. Young ladies, married and -unmarried, liked him because without making love to any of them, he was -equally amiable to all, especially after supper. “Il est charmant; il -n’a pas de sexe,” * they said of him. - - * “He is charming; he has no sex.” - - -Pierre was one of those retired gentlemen-in-waiting of whom there were -hundreds good-humoredly ending their days in Moscow. - -How horrified he would have been seven years before, when he first -arrived from abroad, had he been told that there was no need for him -to seek or plan anything, that his rut had long been shaped, eternally -predetermined, and that wriggle as he might, he would be what all in -his position were. He could not have believed it! Had he not at one -time longed with all his heart to establish a republic in Russia; -then himself to be a Napoleon; then to be a philosopher; and then -a strategist and the conqueror of Napoleon? Had he not seen the -possibility of, and passionately desired, the regeneration of the sinful -human race, and his own progress to the highest degree of perfection? -Had he not established schools and hospitals and liberated his serfs? - -But instead of all that—here he was, the wealthy husband of an -unfaithful wife, a retired gentleman-in-waiting, fond of eating and -drinking and, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, of abusing the government -a bit, a member of the Moscow English Club, and a universal favorite in -Moscow society. For a long time he could not reconcile himself to the -idea that he was one of those same retired Moscow gentlemen-in-waiting -he had so despised seven years before. - -Sometimes he consoled himself with the thought that he was only living -this life temporarily; but then he was shocked by the thought of how -many, like himself, had entered that life and that club temporarily, -with all their teeth and hair, and had only left it when not a single -tooth or hair remained. - -In moments of pride, when he thought of his position it seemed to -him that he was quite different and distinct from those other retired -gentlemen-in-waiting he had formerly despised: they were empty, stupid, -contented fellows, satisfied with their position, “while I am still -discontented and want to do something for mankind. But perhaps all these -comrades of mine struggled just like me and sought something new, a -path in life of their own, and like me were brought by force of -circumstances, society, and race—by that elemental force against which -man is powerless—to the condition I am in,” said he to himself in -moments of humility; and after living some time in Moscow he no longer -despised, but began to grow fond of, to respect, and to pity his -comrades in destiny, as he pitied himself. - -Pierre no longer suffered moments of despair, hypochondria, and disgust -with life, but the malady that had formerly found expression in such -acute attacks was driven inwards and never left him for a moment. -“What for? Why? What is going on in the world?” he would ask himself -in perplexity several times a day, involuntarily beginning to reflect -anew on the meaning of the phenomena of life; but knowing by experience -that there were no answers to these questions he made haste to turn away -from them, and took up a book, or hurried off to the club or to Apollón -Nikoláevich’s, to exchange the gossip of the town. - -“Hélène, who has never cared for anything but her own body and -is one of the stupidest women in the world,” thought Pierre, “is -regarded by people as the acme of intelligence and refinement, and they -pay homage to her. Napoleon Bonaparte was despised by all as long as he -was great, but now that he has become a wretched comedian the Emperor -Francis wants to offer him his daughter in an illegal marriage. The -Spaniards, through the Catholic clergy, offer praise to God for their -victory over the French on the fourteenth of June, and the French, -also through the Catholic clergy, offer praise because on that same -fourteenth of June they defeated the Spaniards. My brother Masons swear -by the blood that they are ready to sacrifice everything for their -neighbor, but they do not give a ruble each to the collections for the -poor, and they intrigue, the Astraea Lodge against the Manna Seekers, -and fuss about an authentic Scotch carpet and a charter that nobody -needs, and the meaning of which the very man who wrote it does not -understand. We all profess the Christian law of forgiveness of injuries -and love of our neighbors, the law in honor of which we have built in -Moscow forty times forty churches—but yesterday a deserter was knouted -to death and a minister of that same law of love and forgiveness, a -priest, gave the soldier a cross to kiss before his execution.” So -thought Pierre, and the whole of this general deception which everyone -accepts, accustomed as he was to it, astonished him each time as if it -were something new. “I understand the deception and confusion,” he -thought, “but how am I to tell them all that I see? I have tried, and -have always found that they too in the depths of their souls understand -it as I do, and only try not to see it. So it appears that it must -be so! But I—what is to become of me?” thought he. He had the -unfortunate capacity many men, especially Russians, have of seeing and -believing in the possibility of goodness and truth, but of seeing the -evil and falsehood of life too clearly to be able to take a serious part -in it. Every sphere of work was connected, in his eyes, with evil and -deception. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he engaged in, the evil and -falsehood of it repulsed him and blocked every path of activity. Yet he -had to live and to find occupation. It was too dreadful to be under -the burden of these insoluble problems, so he abandoned himself to -any distraction in order to forget them. He frequented every kind of -society, drank much, bought pictures, engaged in building, and above -all—read. - -He read, and read everything that came to hand. On coming home, while -his valets were still taking off his things, he picked up a book and -began to read. From reading he passed to sleeping, from sleeping to -gossip in drawing rooms of the club, from gossip to carousals and women; -from carousals back to gossip, reading, and wine. Drinking became more -and more a physical and also a moral necessity. Though the doctors -warned him that with his corpulence wine was dangerous for him, he -drank a great deal. He was only quite at ease when having poured several -glasses of wine mechanically into his large mouth he felt a pleasant -warmth in his body, an amiability toward all his fellows, and a -readiness to respond superficially to every idea without probing it -deeply. Only after emptying a bottle or two did he feel dimly that the -terribly tangled skein of life which previously had terrified him was -not as dreadful as he had thought. He was always conscious of some -aspect of that skein, as with a buzzing in his head after dinner or -supper he chatted or listened to conversation or read. But under the -influence of wine he said to himself: “It doesn’t matter. I’ll -get it unraveled. I have a solution ready, but have no time now—I’ll -think it all out later on!” But the later on never came. - -In the morning, on an empty stomach, all the old questions appeared as -insoluble and terrible as ever, and Pierre hastily picked up a book, and -if anyone came to see him he was glad. - -Sometimes he remembered how he had heard that soldiers in war when -entrenched under the enemy’s fire, if they have nothing to do, try -hard to find some occupation the more easily to bear the danger. To -Pierre all men seemed like those soldiers, seeking refuge from life: -some in ambition, some in cards, some in framing laws, some in women, -some in toys, some in horses, some in politics, some in sport, some -in wine, and some in governmental affairs. “Nothing is trivial, and -nothing is important, it’s all the same—only to save oneself from it -as best one can,” thought Pierre. “Only not to see it, that dreadful -it!” - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -At the beginning of winter Prince Nicholas Bolkónski and his daughter -moved to Moscow. At that time enthusiasm for the Emperor Alexander’s -regime had weakened and a patriotic and anti-French tendency prevailed -there, and this, together with his past and his intellect and his -originality, at once made Prince Nicholas Bolkónski an object of -particular respect to the Moscovites and the center of the Moscow -opposition to the government. - -The prince had aged very much that year. He showed marked signs of -senility by a tendency to fall asleep, forgetfulness of quite recent -events, remembrance of remote ones, and the childish vanity with which -he accepted the role of head of the Moscow opposition. In spite of this -the old man inspired in all his visitors alike a feeling of respectful -veneration—especially of an evening when he came in to tea in his -old-fashioned coat and powdered wig and, aroused by anyone, told his -abrupt stories of the past, or uttered yet more abrupt and scathing -criticisms of the present. For them all, that old-fashioned house with -its gigantic mirrors, pre-Revolution furniture, powdered footmen, and -the stern shrewd old man (himself a relic of the past century) with his -gentle daughter and the pretty Frenchwoman who were reverently devoted -to him presented a majestic and agreeable spectacle. But the visitors -did not reflect that besides the couple of hours during which they saw -their host, there were also twenty-two hours in the day during which the -private and intimate life of the house continued. - -Latterly that private life had become very trying for Princess Mary. -There in Moscow she was deprived of her greatest pleasures—talks with -the pilgrims and the solitude which refreshed her at Bald Hills—and -she had none of the advantages and pleasures of city life. She did not -go out into society; everyone knew that her father would not let her -go anywhere without him, and his failing health prevented his going out -himself, so that she was not invited to dinners and evening parties. She -had quite abandoned the hope of getting married. She saw the coldness -and malevolence with which the old prince received and dismissed the -young men, possible suitors, who sometimes appeared at their house. She -had no friends: during this visit to Moscow she had been disappointed in -the two who had been nearest to her. Mademoiselle Bourienne, with whom -she had never been able to be quite frank, had now become unpleasant to -her, and for various reasons Princess Mary avoided her. Julie, with whom -she had corresponded for the last five years, was in Moscow, but proved -to be quite alien to her when they met. Just then Julie, who by the -death of her brothers had become one of the richest heiresses in Moscow, -was in the full whirl of society pleasures. She was surrounded by young -men who, she fancied, had suddenly learned to appreciate her worth. -Julie was at that stage in the life of a society woman when she feels -that her last chance of marrying has come and that her fate must be -decided now or never. On Thursdays Princess Mary remembered with a -mournful smile that she now had no one to write to, since Julie—whose -presence gave her no pleasure was here and they met every week. Like the -old émigré who declined to marry the lady with whom he had spent his -evenings for years, she regretted Julie’s presence and having no one -to write to. In Moscow Princess Mary had no one to talk to, no one to -whom to confide her sorrow, and much sorrow fell to her lot just then. -The time for Prince Andrew’s return and marriage was approaching, but -his request to her to prepare his father for it had not been carried -out; in fact, it seemed as if matters were quite hopeless, for at every -mention of the young Countess Rostóva the old prince (who apart from -that was usually in a bad temper) lost control of himself. Another -lately added sorrow arose from the lessons she gave her six year-old -nephew. To her consternation she detected in herself in relation to -little Nicholas some symptoms of her father’s irritability. However -often she told herself that she must not get irritable when teaching her -nephew, almost every time that, pointer in hand, she sat down to show -him the French alphabet, she so longed to pour her own knowledge quickly -and easily into the child—who was already afraid that Auntie might at -any moment get angry—that at his slightest inattention she trembled, -became flustered and heated, raised her voice, and sometimes pulled him -by the arm and put him in the corner. Having put him in the corner -she would herself begin to cry over her cruel, evil nature, and little -Nicholas, following her example, would sob, and without permission would -leave his corner, come to her, pull her wet hands from her face, and -comfort her. But what distressed the princess most of all was her -father’s irritability, which was always directed against her and had -of late amounted to cruelty. Had he forced her to prostrate herself to -the ground all night, had he beaten her or made her fetch wood or water, -it would never have entered her mind to think her position hard; but -this loving despot—the more cruel because he loved her and for that -reason tormented himself and her—knew how not merely to hurt and -humiliate her deliberately, but to show her that she was always to blame -for everything. Of late he had exhibited a new trait that tormented -Princess Mary more than anything else; this was his ever-increasing -intimacy with Mademoiselle Bourienne. The idea that at the first moment -of receiving the news of his son’s intentions had occurred to him in -jest—that if Andrew got married he himself would marry Bourienne—had -evidently pleased him, and latterly he had persistently, and as it -seemed to Princess Mary merely to offend her, shown special endearments -to the companion and expressed his dissatisfaction with his daughter by -demonstrations of love of Bourienne. - -One day in Moscow in Princess Mary’s presence (she thought her father -did it purposely when she was there) the old prince kissed Mademoiselle -Bourienne’s hand and, drawing her to him, embraced her affectionately. -Princess Mary flushed and ran out of the room. A few minutes later -Mademoiselle Bourienne came into Princess Mary’s room smiling and -making cheerful remarks in her agreeable voice. Princess Mary hastily -wiped away her tears, went resolutely up to Mademoiselle Bourienne, -and evidently unconscious of what she was doing began shouting in angry -haste at the Frenchwoman, her voice breaking: “It’s horrible, vile, -inhuman, to take advantage of the weakness...” She did not finish. -“Leave my room,” she exclaimed, and burst into sobs. - -Next day the prince did not say a word to his daughter, but she noticed -that at dinner he gave orders that Mademoiselle Bourienne should be -served first. After dinner, when the footman handed coffee and from -habit began with the princess, the prince suddenly grew furious, -threw his stick at Philip, and instantly gave instructions to have him -conscripted for the army. - -“He doesn’t obey... I said it twice... and he doesn’t obey! She -is the first person in this house; she’s my best friend,” cried -the prince. “And if you allow yourself,” he screamed in a fury, -addressing Princess Mary for the first time, “to forget yourself again -before her as you dared to do yesterday, I will show you who is master -in this house. Go! Don’t let me set eyes on you; beg her pardon!” - -Princess Mary asked Mademoiselle Bourienne’s pardon, and also her -father’s pardon for herself and for Philip the footman, who had begged -for her intervention. - -At such moments something like a pride of sacrifice gathered in her -soul. And suddenly that father whom she had judged would look for his -spectacles in her presence, fumbling near them and not seeing them, or -would forget something that had just occurred, or take a false step with -his failing legs and turn to see if anyone had noticed his feebleness, -or, worst of all, at dinner when there were no visitors to excite him -would suddenly fall asleep, letting his napkin drop and his shaking -head sink over his plate. “He is old and feeble, and I dare to condemn -him!” she thought at such moments, with a feeling of revulsion against -herself. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -In 1811 there was living in Moscow a French doctor—Métivier—who had -rapidly become the fashion. He was enormously tall, handsome, amiable -as Frenchmen are, and was, as all Moscow said, an extraordinarily clever -doctor. He was received in the best houses not merely as a doctor, but -as an equal. - -Prince Nicholas had always ridiculed medicine, but latterly on -Mademoiselle Bourienne’s advice had allowed this doctor to visit him -and had grown accustomed to him. Métivier came to see the prince about -twice a week. - -On December 6—St. Nicholas’ Day and the prince’s name day—all -Moscow came to the prince’s front door but he gave orders to admit no -one and to invite to dinner only a small number, a list of whom he gave -to Princess Mary. - -Métivier, who came in the morning with his felicitations, considered -it proper in his quality of doctor de forcer la consigne, * as he told -Princess Mary, and went in to see the prince. It happened that on that -morning of his name day the prince was in one of his worst moods. He had -been going about the house all the morning finding fault with everyone -and pretending not to understand what was said to him and not to be -understood himself. Princess Mary well knew this mood of quiet absorbed -querulousness, which generally culminated in a burst of rage, and she -went about all that morning as though facing a cocked and loaded gun -and awaited the inevitable explosion. Until the doctor’s arrival the -morning had passed off safely. After admitting the doctor, Princess Mary -sat down with a book in the drawing room near the door through which she -could hear all that passed in the study. - - * To force the guard. - -At first she heard only Métivier’s voice, then her father’s, then -both voices began speaking at the same time, the door was flung open, -and on the threshold appeared the handsome figure of the terrified -Métivier with his shock of black hair, and the prince in his dressing -gown and fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupils of his eyes -rolled downwards. - -“You don’t understand?” shouted the prince, “but I do! French -spy, slave of Buonaparte, spy, get out of my house! Be off, I tell -you...” and he slammed the door. - -Métivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne -who at the sound of shouting had run in from an adjoining room. - -“The prince is not very well: bile and rush of blood to the head. Keep -calm, I will call again tomorrow,” said Métivier; and putting his -fingers to his lips he hastened away. - -Through the study door came the sound of slippered feet and the cry: -“Spies, traitors, traitors everywhere! Not a moment’s peace in my -own house!” - -After Métivier’s departure the old prince called his daughter in, and -the whole weight of his wrath fell on her. She was to blame that a spy -had been admitted. Had he not told her, yes, told her to make a list, -and not to admit anyone who was not on that list? Then why was that -scoundrel admitted? She was the cause of it all. With her, he said, he -could not have a moment’s peace and could not die quietly. - -“No, ma’am! We must part, we must part! Understand that, understand -it! I cannot endure any more,” he said, and left the room. Then, as if -afraid she might find some means of consolation, he returned and trying -to appear calm added: “And don’t imagine I have said this in a -moment of anger. I am calm. I have thought it over, and it will be -carried out—we must part; so find some place for yourself....” But -he could not restrain himself and with the virulence of which only one -who loves is capable, evidently suffering himself, he shook his fists at -her and screamed: - -“If only some fool would marry her!” Then he slammed the door, sent -for Mademoiselle Bourienne, and subsided into his study. - -At two o’clock the six chosen guests assembled for dinner. - -These guests—the famous Count Rostopchín, Prince Lopukhín with his -nephew, General Chatróv an old war comrade of the prince’s, and -of the younger generation Pierre and Borís Drubetskóy—awaited the -prince in the drawing room. - -Borís, who had come to Moscow on leave a few days before, had been -anxious to be presented to Prince Nicholas Bolkónski, and had contrived -to ingratiate himself so well that the old prince in his case made an -exception to the rule of not receiving bachelors in his house. - -The prince’s house did not belong to what is known as fashionable -society, but his little circle—though not much talked about in -town—was one it was more flattering to be received in than any other. -Borís had realized this the week before when the commander in chief in -his presence invited Rostopchín to dinner on St. Nicholas’ Day, and -Rostopchín had replied that he could not come: - -“On that day I always go to pay my devotions to the relics of Prince -Nicholas Bolkónski.” - -“Oh, yes, yes!” replied the commander in chief. “How is he?...” - -The small group that assembled before dinner in the lofty old-fashioned -drawing room with its old furniture resembled the solemn gathering of -a court of justice. All were silent or talked in low tones. Prince -Nicholas came in serious and taciturn. Princess Mary seemed even quieter -and more diffident than usual. The guests were reluctant to address -her, feeling that she was in no mood for their conversation. Count -Rostopchín alone kept the conversation going, now relating the latest -town news, and now the latest political gossip. - -Lopukhín and the old general occasionally took part in the -conversation. Prince Bolkónski listened as a presiding judge receives a -report, only now and then, silently or by a brief word, showing that -he took heed of what was being reported to him. The tone of the -conversation was such as indicated that no one approved of what was -being done in the political world. Incidents were related evidently -confirming the opinion that everything was going from bad to worse, but -whether telling a story or giving an opinion the speaker always stopped, -or was stopped, at the point beyond which his criticism might touch the -sovereign himself. - -At dinner the talk turned on the latest political news: Napoleon’s -seizure of the Duke of Oldenburg’s territory, and the Russian Note, -hostile to Napoleon, which had been sent to all the European courts. - -“Bonaparte treats Europe as a pirate does a captured vessel,” said -Count Rostopchín, repeating a phrase he had uttered several times -before. “One only wonders at the long-suffering or blindness of the -crowned heads. Now the Pope’s turn has come and Bonaparte doesn’t -scruple to depose the head of the Catholic Church—yet all keep silent! -Our sovereign alone has protested against the seizure of the Duke -of Oldenburg’s territory, and even...” Count Rostopchín paused, -feeling that he had reached the limit beyond which censure was -impossible. - -“Other territories have been offered in exchange for the Duchy of -Oldenburg,” said Prince Bolkónski. “He shifts the Dukes about as -I might move my serfs from Bald Hills to Boguchárovo or my Ryazán -estates.” - -“The Duke of Oldenburg bears his misfortunes with admirable -strength of character and resignation,” remarked Borís, joining in -respectfully. - -He said this because on his journey from Petersburg he had had the honor -of being presented to the Duke. Prince Bolkónski glanced at the -young man as if about to say something in reply, but changed his mind, -evidently considering him too young. - -“I have read our protests about the Oldenburg affair and was surprised -how badly the Note was worded,” remarked Count Rostopchín in the -casual tone of a man dealing with a subject quite familiar to him. - -Pierre looked at Rostopchín with naïve astonishment, not understanding -why he should be disturbed by the bad composition of the Note. - -“Does it matter, Count, how the Note is worded,” he asked, “so -long as its substance is forcible?” - -“My dear fellow, with our five hundred thousand troops it should be -easy to have a good style,” returned Count Rostopchín. - -Pierre now understood the count’s dissatisfaction with the wording of -the Note. - -“One would have thought quill drivers enough had sprung up,” -remarked the old prince. “There in Petersburg they are always -writing—not notes only but even new laws. My Andrew there has written -a whole volume of laws for Russia. Nowadays they are always writing!” -and he laughed unnaturally. - -There was a momentary pause in the conversation; the old general cleared -his throat to draw attention. - -“Did you hear of the last event at the review in Petersburg? The -figure cut by the new French ambassador.” - -“Eh? Yes, I heard something: he said something awkward in His -Majesty’s presence.” - -“His Majesty drew attention to the Grenadier division and to the march -past,” continued the general, “and it seems the ambassador took -no notice and allowed himself to reply that: ‘We in France pay no -attention to such trifles!’ The Emperor did not condescend to reply. -At the next review, they say, the Emperor did not once deign to address -him.” - -All were silent. On this fact relating to the Emperor personally, it was -impossible to pass any judgment. - -“Impudent fellows!” said the prince. “You know Métivier? I turned -him out of my house this morning. He was here; they admitted him in -spite of my request that they should let no one in,” he went on, -glancing angrily at his daughter. - -And he narrated his whole conversation with the French doctor and -the reasons that convinced him that Métivier was a spy. Though these -reasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one made any rejoinder. - -After the roast, champagne was served. The guests rose to congratulate -the old prince. Princess Mary, too, went round to him. - -He gave her a cold, angry look and offered her his wrinkled, -clean-shaven cheek to kiss. The whole expression of his face told -her that he had not forgotten the morning’s talk, that his decision -remained in force, and only the presence of visitors hindered his -speaking of it to her now. - -When they went into the drawing room where coffee was served, the old -men sat together. - -Prince Nicholas grew more animated and expressed his views on the -impending war. - -He said that our wars with Bonaparte would be disastrous so long as we -sought alliances with the Germans and thrust ourselves into European -affairs, into which we had been drawn by the Peace of Tilsit. “We -ought not to fight either for or against Austria. Our political -interests are all in the East, and in regard to Bonaparte the only thing -is to have an armed frontier and a firm policy, and he will never dare -to cross the Russian frontier, as was the case in 1807!” - -“How can we fight the French, Prince?” said Count Rostopchín. -“Can we arm ourselves against our teachers and divinities? Look at -our youths, look at our ladies! The French are our Gods: Paris is our -Kingdom of Heaven.” - -He began speaking louder, evidently to be heard by everyone. - -“French dresses, French ideas, French feelings! There now, you turned -Métivier out by the scruff of his neck because he is a Frenchman and -a scoundrel, but our ladies crawl after him on their knees. I went to -a party last night, and there out of five ladies three were Roman -Catholics and had the Pope’s indulgence for doing woolwork on Sundays. -And they themselves sit there nearly naked, like the signboards at our -Public Baths if I may say so. Ah, when one looks at our young people, -Prince, one would like to take Peter the Great’s old cudgel out of the -museum and belabor them in the Russian way till all the nonsense jumps -out of them.” - -All were silent. The old prince looked at Rostopchín with a smile and -wagged his head approvingly. - -“Well, good-by, your excellency, keep well!” said Rostopchín, -getting up with characteristic briskness and holding out his hand to the -prince. - -“Good-by, my dear fellow.... His words are music, I never tire of -hearing him!” said the old prince, keeping hold of the hand and -offering his cheek to be kissed. - -Following Rostopchín’s example the others also rose. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Princess Mary as she sat listening to the old men’s talk and -faultfinding, understood nothing of what she heard; she only wondered -whether the guests had all observed her father’s hostile attitude -toward her. She did not even notice the special attentions and -amiabilities shown her during dinner by Borís Drubetskóy, who was -visiting them for the third time already. - -Princess Mary turned with absent-minded questioning look to Pierre, who -hat in hand and with a smile on his face was the last of the guests to -approach her after the old prince had gone out and they were left alone -in the drawing room. - -“May I stay a little longer?” he said, letting his stout body sink -into an armchair beside her. - -“Oh yes,” she answered. “You noticed nothing?” her look asked. - -Pierre was in an agreeable after-dinner mood. He looked straight before -him and smiled quietly. - -“Have you known that young man long, Princess?” he asked. - -“Who?” - -“Drubetskóy.” - -“No, not long....” - -“Do you like him?” - -“Yes, he is an agreeable young man.... Why do you ask me that?” said -Princess Mary, still thinking of that morning’s conversation with her -father. - -“Because I have noticed that when a young man comes on leave from -Petersburg to Moscow it is usually with the object of marrying an -heiress.” - -“You have observed that?” said Princess Mary. - -“Yes,” returned Pierre with a smile, “and this young man now -manages matters so that where there is a wealthy heiress there he is -too. I can read him like a book. At present he is hesitating whom to lay -siege to—you or Mademoiselle Julie Karágina. He is very attentive to -her.” - -“He visits them?” - -“Yes, very often. And do you know the new way of courting?” said -Pierre with an amused smile, evidently in that cheerful mood of good -humored raillery for which he so often reproached himself in his diary. - -“No,” replied Princess Mary. - -“To please Moscow girls nowadays one has to be melancholy. He is very -melancholy with Mademoiselle Karágina,” said Pierre. - -“Really?” asked Princess Mary, looking into Pierre’s kindly -face and still thinking of her own sorrow. “It would be a relief,” -thought she, “if I ventured to confide what I am feeling to someone. -I should like to tell everything to Pierre. He is kind and generous. It -would be a relief. He would give me advice.” - -“Would you marry him?” - -“Oh, my God, Count, there are moments when I would marry anybody!” -she cried suddenly to her own surprise and with tears in her voice. -“Ah, how bitter it is to love someone near to you and to feel -that...” she went on in a trembling voice, “that you can do nothing -for him but grieve him, and to know that you cannot alter this. Then -there is only one thing left—to go away, but where could I go?” - -“What is wrong? What is it, Princess?” - -But without finishing what she was saying, Princess Mary burst into -tears. - -“I don’t know what is the matter with me today. Don’t take any -notice—forget what I have said!” - -Pierre’s gaiety vanished completely. He anxiously questioned the -princess, asked her to speak out fully and confide her grief to him; but -she only repeated that she begged him to forget what she had said, that -she did not remember what she had said, and that she had no trouble -except the one he knew of—that Prince Andrew’s marriage threatened -to cause a rupture between father and son. - -“Have you any news of the Rostóvs?” she asked, to change the -subject. “I was told they are coming soon. I am also expecting Andrew -any day. I should like them to meet here.” - -“And how does he now regard the matter?” asked Pierre, referring to -the old prince. - -Princess Mary shook her head. - -“What is to be done? In a few months the year will be up. The thing -is impossible. I only wish I could spare my brother the first moments. -I wish they would come sooner. I hope to be friends with her. You have -known them a long time,” said Princess Mary. “Tell me honestly -the whole truth: what sort of girl is she, and what do you think of -her?—The real truth, because you know Andrew is risking so much doing -this against his father’s will that I should like to know....” - -An undefined instinct told Pierre that these explanations, and -repeated requests to be told the whole truth, expressed ill-will on -the princess’ part toward her future sister-in-law and a wish that -he should disapprove of Andrew’s choice; but in reply he said what he -felt rather than what he thought. - -“I don’t know how to answer your question,” he said, blushing -without knowing why. “I really don’t know what sort of girl she is; -I can’t analyze her at all. She is enchanting, but what makes her so I -don’t know. That is all one can say about her.” - -Princess Mary sighed, and the expression on her face said: “Yes, -that’s what I expected and feared.” - -“Is she clever?” she asked. - -Pierre considered. - -“I think not,” he said, “and yet—yes. She does not deign to be -clever.... Oh no, she is simply enchanting, and that is all.” - -Princess Mary again shook her head disapprovingly. - -“Ah, I so long to like her! Tell her so if you see her before I do.” - -“I hear they are expected very soon,” said Pierre. - -Princess Mary told Pierre of her plan to become intimate with her future -sister-in-law as soon as the Rostóvs arrived and to try to accustom the -old prince to her. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -Borís had not succeeded in making a wealthy match in Petersburg, so -with the same object in view he came to Moscow. There he wavered between -the two richest heiresses, Julie and Princess Mary. Though Princess -Mary despite her plainness seemed to him more attractive than Julie, he, -without knowing why, felt awkward about paying court to her. When they -had last met on the old prince’s name day, she had answered at random -all his attempts to talk sentimentally, evidently not listening to what -he was saying. - -Julie on the contrary accepted his attentions readily, though in a -manner peculiar to herself. - -She was twenty-seven. After the death of her brothers she had become -very wealthy. She was by now decidedly plain, but thought herself not -merely as good-looking as before but even far more attractive. She -was confirmed in this delusion by the fact that she had become a very -wealthy heiress and also by the fact that the older she grew the less -dangerous she became to men, and the more freely they could associate -with her and avail themselves of her suppers, soirees, and the animated -company that assembled at her house, without incurring any obligation. -A man who would have been afraid ten years before of going every day -to the house when there was a girl of seventeen there, for fear of -compromising her and committing himself, would now go boldly every day -and treat her not as a marriageable girl but as a sexless acquaintance. - -That winter the Karágins’ house was the most agreeable and hospitable -in Moscow. In addition to the formal evening and dinner parties, a large -company, chiefly of men, gathered there every day, supping at midnight -and staying till three in the morning. Julie never missed a ball, a -promenade, or a play. Her dresses were always of the latest fashion. -But in spite of that she seemed to be disillusioned about everything and -told everyone that she did not believe either in friendship or in love, -or any of the joys of life, and expected peace only “yonder.” She -adopted the tone of one who has suffered a great disappointment, like a -girl who has either lost the man she loved or been cruelly deceived by -him. Though nothing of the kind had happened to her she was regarded in -that light, and had even herself come to believe that she had suffered -much in life. This melancholy, which did not prevent her amusing -herself, did not hinder the young people who came to her house from -passing the time pleasantly. Every visitor who came to the house paid -his tribute to the melancholy mood of the hostess, and then amused -himself with society gossip, dancing, intellectual games, and bouts -rimés, which were in vogue at the Karágins’. Only a few of these -young men, among them Borís, entered more deeply into Julie’s -melancholy, and with these she had prolonged conversations in private -on the vanity of all worldly things, and to them she showed her albums -filled with mournful sketches, maxims, and verses. - -To Borís, Julie was particularly gracious: she regretted his early -disillusionment with life, offered him such consolation of friendship -as she who had herself suffered so much could render, and showed him -her album. Borís sketched two trees in the album and wrote: “Rustic -trees, your dark branches shed gloom and melancholy upon me.” - -On another page he drew a tomb, and wrote: - - La mort est secourable et la mort est tranquille. - Ah! contre les douleurs il n’y a pas d’autre asile. * - - * Death gives relief and death is peaceful. - -Ah! from suffering there is no other refuge. - -Julie said this was charming - -“There is something so enchanting in the smile of melancholy,” she -said to Borís, repeating word for word a passage she had copied from a -book. “It is a ray of light in the darkness, a shade between sadness -and despair, showing the possibility of consolation.” - -In reply Borís wrote these lines: - - Aliment de poison d’une âme trop sensible, - Toi, sans qui le bonheur me serait impossible, - Tendre mélancholie, ah, viens me consoler, - Viens calmer les tourments de ma sombre retraite, - Et mêle une douceur secrète - A ces pleurs que je sens couler. * - - *Poisonous nourishment of a too sensitive soul, - Thou, without whom happiness would for me be impossible, - Tender melancholy, ah, come to console me, - Come to calm the torments of my gloomy retreat, - And mingle a secret sweetness - With these tears that I feel to be flowing. - -For Borís, Julie played most doleful nocturnes on her harp. Borís -read Poor Liza aloud to her, and more than once interrupted the reading -because of the emotions that choked him. Meeting at large gatherings -Julie and Borís looked on one another as the only souls who understood -one another in a world of indifferent people. - -Anna Mikháylovna, who often visited the Karágins, while playing cards -with the mother made careful inquiries as to Julie’s dowry (she was -to have two estates in Pénza and the Nizhegórod forests). Anna -Mikháylovna regarded the refined sadness that united her son to the -wealthy Julie with emotion, and resignation to the Divine will. - -“You are always charming and melancholy, my dear Julie,” she said to -the daughter. “Borís says his soul finds repose at your house. He has -suffered so many disappointments and is so sensitive,” said she to -the mother. “Ah, my dear, I can’t tell you how fond I have grown -of Julie latterly,” she said to her son. “But who could help loving -her? She is an angelic being! Ah, Borís, Borís!”—she paused. -“And how I pity her mother,” she went on; “today she showed me her -accounts and letters from Pénza (they have enormous estates there), and -she, poor thing, has no one to help her, and they do cheat her so!” - -Borís smiled almost imperceptibly while listening to his mother. He -laughed blandly at her naïve diplomacy but listened to what she had -to say, and sometimes questioned her carefully about the Pénza and -Nizhegórod estates. - -Julie had long been expecting a proposal from her melancholy adorer and -was ready to accept it; but some secret feeling of repulsion for her, -for her passionate desire to get married, for her artificiality, and -a feeling of horror at renouncing the possibility of real love still -restrained Borís. His leave was expiring. He spent every day and whole -days at the Karágins’, and every day on thinking the matter over -told himself that he would propose tomorrow. But in Julie’s presence, -looking at her red face and chin (nearly always powdered), her moist -eyes, and her expression of continual readiness to pass at once from -melancholy to an unnatural rapture of married bliss, Borís could not -utter the decisive words, though in imagination he had long regarded -himself as the possessor of those Pénza and Nizhegórod estates and -had apportioned the use of the income from them. Julie saw Borís’ -indecision, and sometimes the thought occurred to her that she was -repulsive to him, but her feminine self-deception immediately supplied -her with consolation, and she told herself that he was only shy from -love. Her melancholy, however, began to turn to irritability, and not -long before Borís’ departure she formed a definite plan of action. -Just as Borís’ leave of absence was expiring, Anatole Kurágin made -his appearance in Moscow, and of course in the Karágins’ drawing -room, and Julie, suddenly abandoning her melancholy, became cheerful and -very attentive to Kurágin. - -“My dear,” said Anna Mikháylovna to her son, “I know from a -reliable source that Prince Vasíli has sent his son to Moscow to get -him married to Julie. I am so fond of Julie that I should be sorry for -her. What do you think of it, my dear?” - -The idea of being made a fool of and of having thrown away that whole -month of arduous melancholy service to Julie, and of seeing all -the revenue from the Pénza estates which he had already mentally -apportioned and put to proper use fall into the hands of another, and -especially into the hands of that idiot Anatole, pained Borís. He drove -to the Karágins’ with the firm intention of proposing. Julie met -him in a gay, careless manner, spoke casually of how she had enjoyed -yesterday’s ball, and asked when he was leaving. Though Borís had -come intentionally to speak of his love and therefore meant to be -tender, he began speaking irritably of feminine inconstancy, of how -easily women can turn from sadness to joy, and how their moods depend -solely on who happens to be paying court to them. Julie was offended and -replied that it was true that a woman needs variety, and the same thing -over and over again would weary anyone. - -“Then I should advise you...” Borís began, wishing to sting her; -but at that instant the galling thought occurred to him that he might -have to leave Moscow without having accomplished his aim, and have -vainly wasted his efforts—which was a thing he never allowed to -happen. - -He checked himself in the middle of the sentence, lowered his eyes to -avoid seeing her unpleasantly irritated and irresolute face, and said: - -“I did not come here at all to quarrel with you. On the contrary...” - -He glanced at her to make sure that he might go on. Her irritability had -suddenly quite vanished, and her anxious, imploring eyes were fixed on -him with greedy expectation. “I can always arrange so as not to see -her often,” thought Borís. “The affair has been begun and must be -finished!” He blushed hotly, raised his eyes to hers, and said: - -“You know my feelings for you!” - -There was no need to say more: Julie’s face shone with triumph and -self-satisfaction; but she forced Borís to say all that is said on such -occasions—that he loved her and had never loved any other woman more -than her. She knew that for the Pénza estates and Nizhegórod forests -she could demand this, and she received what she demanded. - -The affianced couple, no longer alluding to trees that shed gloom and -melancholy upon them, planned the arrangements of a splendid house in -Petersburg, paid calls, and prepared everything for a brilliant wedding. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -At the end of January old Count Rostóv went to Moscow with Natásha and -Sónya. The countess was still unwell and unable to travel but it was -impossible to wait for her recovery. Prince Andrew was expected in -Moscow any day, the trousseau had to be ordered and the estate near -Moscow had to be sold, besides which the opportunity of presenting his -future daughter-in-law to old Prince Bolkónski while he was in Moscow -could not be missed. The Rostóvs’ Moscow house had not been heated -that winter and, as they had come only for a short time and the countess -was not with them, the count decided to stay with Márya Dmítrievna -Akhrosímova, who had long been pressing her hospitality on them. - -Late one evening the Rostóvs’ four sleighs drove into Márya -Dmítrievna’s courtyard in the old Konyúsheny street. Márya -Dmítrievna lived alone. She had already married off her daughter, and -her sons were all in the service. - -She held herself as erect, told everyone her opinion as candidly, -loudly, and bluntly as ever, and her whole bearing seemed a reproach -to others for any weakness, passion, or temptation—the possibility of -which she did not admit. From early in the morning, wearing a dressing -jacket, she attended to her household affairs, and then she drove out: -on holy days to church and after the service to jails and prisons on -affairs of which she never spoke to anyone. On ordinary days, after -dressing, she received petitioners of various classes, of whom there -were always some. Then she had dinner, a substantial and appetizing meal -at which there were always three or four guests; after dinner she played -a game of boston, and at night she had the newspapers or a new book read -to her while she knitted. She rarely made an exception and went out to -pay visits, and then only to the most important persons in the town. - -She had not yet gone to bed when the Rostóvs arrived and the pulley of -the hall door squeaked from the cold as it let in the Rostóvs and their -servants. Márya Dmítrievna, with her spectacles hanging down on her -nose and her head flung back, stood in the hall doorway looking with -a stern, grim face at the new arrivals. One might have thought she was -angry with the travelers and would immediately turn them out, had she -not at the same time been giving careful instructions to the servants -for the accommodation of the visitors and their belongings. - -“The count’s things? Bring them here,” she said, pointing to the -portmanteaus and not greeting anyone. “The young ladies’? There -to the left. Now what are you dawdling for?” she cried to the maids. -“Get the samovar ready!... You’ve grown plumper and prettier,” she -remarked, drawing Natásha (whose cheeks were glowing from the cold) -to her by the hood. “Foo! You are cold! Now take off your things, -quick!” she shouted to the count who was going to kiss her hand. -“You’re half frozen, I’m sure! Bring some rum for tea!... Bonjour, -Sónya dear!” she added, turning to Sónya and indicating by this -French greeting her slightly contemptuous though affectionate attitude -toward her. - -When they came in to tea, having taken off their outdoor things and -tidied themselves up after their journey, Márya Dmítrievna kissed them -all in due order. - -“I’m heartily glad you have come and are staying with me. It was -high time,” she said, giving Natásha a significant look. “The old -man is here and his son’s expected any day. You’ll have to make his -acquaintance. But we’ll speak of that later on,” she added, glancing -at Sónya with a look that showed she did not want to speak of it in her -presence. “Now listen,” she said to the count. “What do you want -tomorrow? Whom will you send for? Shinshín?” she crooked one of her -fingers. “The sniveling Anna Mikháylovna? That’s two. She’s here -with her son. The son is getting married! Then Bezúkhov, eh? He is here -too, with his wife. He ran away from her and she came galloping after -him. He dined with me on Wednesday. As for them”—and she pointed to -the girls—“tomorrow I’ll take them first to the Iberian shrine -of the Mother of God, and then we’ll drive to the Super-Rogue’s. -I suppose you’ll have everything new. Don’t judge by me: sleeves -nowadays are this size! The other day young Princess Irína Vasílevna -came to see me; she was an awful sight—looked as if she had put two -barrels on her arms. You know not a day passes now without some new -fashion.... And what have you to do yourself?” she asked the count -sternly. - -“One thing has come on top of another: her rags to buy, and now a -purchaser has turned up for the Moscow estate and for the house. If you -will be so kind, I’ll fix a time and go down to the estate just for a -day, and leave my lassies with you.” - -“All right. All right. They’ll be safe with me, as safe as in -Chancery! I’ll take them where they must go, scold them a bit, and -pet them a bit,” said Márya Dmítrievna, touching her goddaughter and -favorite, Natásha, on the cheek with her large hand. - -Next morning Márya Dmítrievna took the young ladies to the Iberian -shrine of the Mother of God and to Madame Suppert-Roguet, who was so -afraid of Márya Dmítrievna that she always let her have costumes at -a loss merely to get rid of her. Márya Dmítrievna ordered almost the -whole trousseau. When they got home she turned everybody out of the room -except Natásha, and then called her pet to her armchair. - -“Well, now we’ll talk. I congratulate you on your betrothed. -You’ve hooked a fine fellow! I am glad for your sake and I’ve known -him since he was so high.” She held her hand a couple of feet from the -ground. Natásha blushed happily. “I like him and all his family. -Now listen! You know that old Prince Nicholas much dislikes his son’s -marrying. The old fellow’s crotchety! Of course Prince Andrew is not -a child and can shift without him, but it’s not nice to enter a family -against a father’s will. One wants to do it peacefully and lovingly. -You’re a clever girl and you’ll know how to manage. Be kind, and use -your wits. Then all will be well.” - -Natásha remained silent, from shyness Márya Dmítrievna supposed, but -really because she disliked anyone interfering in what touched her love -of Prince Andrew, which seemed to her so apart from all human affairs -that no one could understand it. She loved and knew Prince Andrew, he -loved her only, and was to come one of these days and take her. She -wanted nothing more. - -“You see I have known him a long time and am also fond of Mary, your -future sister-in-law. ‘Husbands’ sisters bring up blisters,’ -but this one wouldn’t hurt a fly. She has asked me to bring you two -together. Tomorrow you’ll go with your father to see her. Be very -nice and affectionate to her: you’re younger than she. When he comes, -he’ll find you already know his sister and father and are liked by -them. Am I right or not? Won’t that be best?” - -“Yes, it will,” Natásha answered reluctantly. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Next day, by Márya Dmítrievna’s advice, Count Rostóv took Natásha -to call on Prince Nicholas Bolkónski. The count did not set out -cheerfully on this visit, at heart he felt afraid. He well remembered -the last interview he had had with the old prince at the time of the -enrollment, when in reply to an invitation to dinner he had had to -listen to an angry reprimand for not having provided his full quota of -men. Natásha, on the other hand, having put on her best gown, was in -the highest spirits. “They can’t help liking me,” she thought. -“Everybody always has liked me, and I am so willing to do anything -they wish, so ready to be fond of him—for being his father—and of -her—for being his sister—that there is no reason for them not to -like me....” - -They drove up to the gloomy old house on the Vozdvízhenka and entered -the vestibule. - -“Well, the Lord have mercy on us!” said the count, half in jest, -half in earnest; but Natásha noticed that her father was flurried on -entering the anteroom and inquired timidly and softly whether the prince -and princess were at home. - -When they had been announced a perturbation was noticeable among the -servants. The footman who had gone to announce them was stopped by -another in the large hall and they whispered to one another. Then a -maidservant ran into the hall and hurriedly said something, mentioning -the princess. At last an old, cross looking footman came and announced -to the Rostóvs that the prince was not receiving, but that the princess -begged them to walk up. The first person who came to meet the visitors -was Mademoiselle Bourienne. She greeted the father and daughter -with special politeness and showed them to the princess’ room. The -princess, looking excited and nervous, her face flushed in patches, ran -in to meet the visitors, treading heavily, and vainly trying to appear -cordial and at ease. From the first glance Princess Mary did not like -Natásha. She thought her too fashionably dressed, frivolously gay and -vain. She did not at all realize that before having seen her future -sister-in-law she was prejudiced against her by involuntary envy of her -beauty, youth, and happiness, as well as by jealousy of her brother’s -love for her. Apart from this insuperable antipathy to her, Princess -Mary was agitated just then because on the Rostóvs’ being announced, -the old prince had shouted that he did not wish to see them, that -Princess Mary might do so if she chose, but they were not to be admitted -to him. She had decided to receive them, but feared lest the prince -might at any moment indulge in some freak, as he seemed much upset by -the Rostóvs’ visit. - -“There, my dear princess, I’ve brought you my songstress,” said -the count, bowing and looking round uneasily as if afraid the old prince -might appear. “I am so glad you should get to know one another... very -sorry the prince is still ailing,” and after a few more commonplace -remarks he rose. “If you’ll allow me to leave my Natásha in your -hands for a quarter of an hour, Princess, I’ll drive round to see Anna -Semënovna, it’s quite near in the Dogs’ Square, and then I’ll -come back for her.” - -The count had devised this diplomatic ruse (as he afterwards told his -daughter) to give the future sisters-in-law an opportunity to talk -to one another freely, but another motive was to avoid the danger of -encountering the old prince, of whom he was afraid. He did not mention -this to his daughter, but Natásha noticed her father’s nervousness -and anxiety and felt mortified by it. She blushed for him, grew still -angrier at having blushed, and looked at the princess with a bold and -defiant expression which said that she was not afraid of anybody. The -princess told the count that she would be delighted, and only begged him -to stay longer at Anna Semënovna’s, and he departed. - -Despite the uneasy glances thrown at her by Princess Mary—who wished -to have a tête-à-tête with Natásha—Mademoiselle Bourienne -remained in the room and persistently talked about Moscow amusements and -theaters. Natásha felt offended by the hesitation she had noticed in -the anteroom, by her father’s nervousness, and by the unnatural manner -of the princess who—she thought—was making a favor of receiving her, -and so everything displeased her. She did not like Princess Mary, whom -she thought very plain, affected, and dry. Natásha suddenly shrank -into herself and involuntarily assumed an offhand air which alienated -Princess Mary still more. After five minutes of irksome, constrained -conversation, they heard the sound of slippered feet rapidly -approaching. Princess Mary looked frightened. - -The door opened and the old prince, in a dressing gown and a white -nightcap, came in. - -“Ah, madam!” he began. “Madam, Countess... Countess Rostóva, if -I am not mistaken... I beg you to excuse me, to excuse me... I did not -know, madam. God is my witness, I did not know you had honored us with -a visit, and I came in such a costume only to see my daughter. I beg you -to excuse me... God is my witness, I didn’t know—” he repeated, -stressing the word “God” so unnaturally and so unpleasantly that -Princess Mary stood with downcast eyes not daring to look either at her -father or at Natásha. - -Nor did the latter, having risen and curtsied, know what to do. -Mademoiselle Bourienne alone smiled agreeably. - -“I beg you to excuse me, excuse me! God is my witness, I did not -know,” muttered the old man, and after looking Natásha over from head -to foot he went out. - -Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to recover herself after this -apparition and began speaking about the prince’s indisposition. -Natásha and Princess Mary looked at one another in silence, and the -longer they did so without saying what they wanted to say, the greater -grew their antipathy to one another. - -When the count returned, Natásha was impolitely pleased and hastened -to get away: at that moment she hated the stiff, elderly princess, who -could place her in such an embarrassing position and had spent half an -hour with her without once mentioning Prince Andrew. “I couldn’t -begin talking about him in the presence of that Frenchwoman,” thought -Natásha. The same thought was meanwhile tormenting Princess Mary. She -knew what she ought to have said to Natásha, but she had been unable -to say it because Mademoiselle Bourienne was in the way, and because, -without knowing why, she felt it very difficult to speak of the -marriage. When the count was already leaving the room, Princess Mary -went up hurriedly to Natásha, took her by the hand, and said with a -deep sigh: - -“Wait, I must...” - -Natásha glanced at her ironically without knowing why. - -“Dear Natalie,” said Princess Mary, “I want you to know that I am -glad my brother has found happiness....” - -She paused, feeling that she was not telling the truth. Natásha noticed -this and guessed its reason. - -“I think, Princess, it is not convenient to speak of that now,” -she said with external dignity and coldness, though she felt the tears -choking her. - -“What have I said and what have I done?” thought she, as soon as she -was out of the room. - -They waited a long time for Natásha to come to dinner that day. She sat -in her room crying like a child, blowing her nose and sobbing. Sónya -stood beside her, kissing her hair. - -“Natásha, what is it about?” she asked. “What do they matter to -you? It will all pass, Natásha.” - -“But if you only knew how offensive it was... as if I...” - -“Don’t talk about it, Natásha. It wasn’t your fault so why should -you mind? Kiss me,” said Sónya. - -Natásha raised her head and, kissing her friend on the lips, pressed -her wet face against her. - -“I can’t tell you, I don’t know. No one’s to blame,” said -Natásha—“It’s my fault. But it all hurts terribly. Oh, why -doesn’t he come?...” - -She came in to dinner with red eyes. Márya Dmítrievna, who knew how -the prince had received the Rostóvs, pretended not to notice how upset -Natásha was and jested resolutely and loudly at table with the count -and the other guests. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -That evening the Rostóvs went to the Opera, for which Márya -Dmítrievna had taken a box. - -Natásha did not want to go, but could not refuse Márya Dmítrievna’s -kind offer which was intended expressly for her. When she came ready -dressed into the ballroom to await her father, and looking in the large -mirror there saw that she was pretty, very pretty, she felt even more -sad, but it was a sweet, tender sadness. - -“O God, if he were here now I would not behave as I did then, but -differently. I would not be silly and afraid of things, I would simply -embrace him, cling to him, and make him look at me with those searching -inquiring eyes with which he has so often looked at me, and then I -would make him laugh as he used to laugh. And his eyes—how I see those -eyes!” thought Natásha. “And what do his father and sister matter -to me? I love him alone, him, him, with that face and those eyes, with -his smile, manly and yet childlike.... No, I had better not think of -him; not think of him but forget him, quite forget him for the present. -I can’t bear this waiting and I shall cry in a minute!” and she -turned away from the glass, making an effort not to cry. “And how -can Sónya love Nicholas so calmly and quietly and wait so long and so -patiently?” thought she, looking at Sónya, who also came in quite -ready, with a fan in her hand. “No, she’s altogether different. I -can’t!” - -Natásha at that moment felt so softened and tender that it was not -enough for her to love and know she was beloved, she wanted now, at -once, to embrace the man she loved, to speak and hear from him words of -love such as filled her heart. While she sat in the carriage beside her -father, pensively watching the lights of the street lamps flickering on -the frozen window, she felt still sadder and more in love, and forgot -where she was going and with whom. Having fallen into the line of -carriages, the Rostóvs’ carriage drove up to the theater, its wheels -squeaking over the snow. Natásha and Sónya, holding up their dresses, -jumped out quickly. The count got out helped by the footmen, and, -passing among men and women who were entering and the program sellers, -they all three went along the corridor to the first row of boxes. -Through the closed doors the music was already audible. - -“Natásha, your hair!...” whispered Sónya. - -An attendant deferentially and quickly slipped before the ladies and -opened the door of their box. The music sounded louder and through the -door rows of brightly lit boxes in which ladies sat with bare arms and -shoulders, and noisy stalls brilliant with uniforms, glittered before -their eyes. A lady entering the next box shot a glance of feminine envy -at Natásha. The curtain had not yet risen and the overture was being -played. Natásha, smoothing her gown, went in with Sónya and sat down, -scanning the brilliant tiers of boxes opposite. A sensation she had not -experienced for a long time—that of hundreds of eyes looking at -her bare arms and neck—suddenly affected her both agreeably and -disagreeably and called up a whole crowd of memories, desires and -emotions associated with that feeling. - -The two remarkably pretty girls, Natásha and Sónya, with Count Rostóv -who had not been seen in Moscow for a long time, attracted general -attention. Moreover, everybody knew vaguely of Natásha’s engagement -to Prince Andrew, and knew that the Rostóvs had lived in the country -ever since, and all looked with curiosity at a fiancée who was making -one of the best matches in Russia. - -Natásha’s looks, as everyone told her, had improved in the country, -and that evening thanks to her agitation she was particularly pretty. -She struck those who saw her by her fullness of life and beauty, -combined with her indifference to everything about her. Her black eyes -looked at the crowd without seeking anyone, and her delicate arm, bare -to above the elbow, lay on the velvet edge of the box, while, evidently -unconsciously, she opened and closed her hand in time to the music, -crumpling her program. “Look, there’s Alénina,” said Sónya, -“with her mother, isn’t it?” - -“Dear me, Michael Kirílovich has grown still stouter!” remarked the -count. - -“Look at our Anna Mikháylovna—what a headdress she has on!” - -“The Karágins, Julie—and Borís with them. One can see at once that -they’re engaged....” - -“Drubetskóy has proposed?” - -“Oh yes, I heard it today,” said Shinshín, coming into the -Rostóvs’ box. - -Natásha looked in the direction in which her father’s eyes were -turned and saw Julie sitting beside her mother with a happy look on her -face and a string of pearls round her thick red neck—which Natásha -knew was covered with powder. Behind them, wearing a smile and leaning -over with an ear to Julie’s mouth, was Borís’ handsome smoothly -brushed head. He looked at the Rostóvs from under his brows and said -something, smiling, to his betrothed. - -“They are talking about us, about me and him!” thought Natásha. -“And he no doubt is calming her jealousy of me. They needn’t trouble -themselves! If only they knew how little I am concerned about any of -them.” - -Behind them sat Anna Mikháylovna wearing a green headdress and with a -happy look of resignation to the will of God on her face. Their box was -pervaded by that atmosphere of an affianced couple which Natásha knew -so well and liked so much. She turned away and suddenly remembered all -that had been so humiliating in her morning’s visit. - -“What right has he not to wish to receive me into his family? Oh, -better not think of it—not till he comes back!” she told herself, -and began looking at the faces, some strange and some familiar, in -the stalls. In the front, in the very center, leaning back against -the orchestra rail, stood Dólokhov in a Persian dress, his curly hair -brushed up into a huge shock. He stood in full view of the audience, -well aware that he was attracting everyone’s attention, yet as much at -ease as though he were in his own room. Around him thronged Moscow’s -most brilliant young men, whom he evidently dominated. - -The count, laughing, nudged the blushing Sónya and pointed to her -former adorer. - -“Do you recognize him?” said he. “And where has he sprung from?” -he asked, turning to Shinshín. “Didn’t he vanish somewhere?” - -“He did,” replied Shinshín. “He was in the Caucasus and ran -away from there. They say he has been acting as minister to some ruling -prince in Persia, where he killed the Shah’s brother. Now all the -Moscow ladies are mad about him! It’s ‘Dólokhov the Persian’ that -does it! We never hear a word but Dólokhov is mentioned. They swear -by him, they offer him to you as they would a dish of choice sterlet. -Dólokhov and Anatole Kurágin have turned all our ladies’ heads.” - -A tall, beautiful woman with a mass of plaited hair and much exposed -plump white shoulders and neck, round which she wore a double string of -large pearls, entered the adjoining box rustling her heavy silk dress -and took a long time settling into her place. - -Natásha involuntarily gazed at that neck, those shoulders, and pearls -and coiffure, and admired the beauty of the shoulders and the pearls. -While Natásha was fixing her gaze on her for the second time the lady -looked round and, meeting the count’s eyes, nodded to him and smiled. -She was the Countess Bezúkhova, Pierre’s wife, and the count, who -knew everyone in society, leaned over and spoke to her. - -“Have you been here long, Countess?” he inquired. “I’ll call, -I’ll call to kiss your hand. I’m here on business and have brought -my girls with me. They say Semënova acts marvelously. Count Pierre -never used to forget us. Is he here?” - -“Yes, he meant to look in,” answered Hélène, and glanced -attentively at Natásha. - -Count Rostóv resumed his seat. - -“Handsome, isn’t she?” he whispered to Natásha. - -“Wonderful!” answered Natásha. “She’s a woman one could easily -fall in love with.” - -Just then the last chords of the overture were heard and the conductor -tapped with his stick. Some latecomers took their seats in the stalls, -and the curtain rose. - -As soon as it rose everyone in the boxes and stalls became silent, and -all the men, old and young, in uniform and evening dress, and all the -women with gems on their bare flesh, turned their whole attention with -eager curiosity to the stage. Natásha too began to look at it. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -The floor of the stage consisted of smooth boards, at the sides was -some painted cardboard representing trees, and at the back was a cloth -stretched over boards. In the center of the stage sat some girls in red -bodices and white skirts. One very fat girl in a white silk dress sat -apart on a low bench, to the back of which a piece of green cardboard -was glued. They all sang something. When they had finished their song -the girl in white went up to the prompter’s box and a man with tight -silk trousers over his stout legs, and holding a plume and a dagger, -went up to her and began singing, waving his arms about. - -First the man in the tight trousers sang alone, then she sang, then they -both paused while the orchestra played and the man fingered the hand -of the girl in white, obviously awaiting the beat to start singing with -her. They sang together and everyone in the theater began clapping -and shouting, while the man and woman on the stage—who represented -lovers—began smiling, spreading out their arms, and bowing. - -After her life in the country, and in her present serious mood, all this -seemed grotesque and amazing to Natásha. She could not follow the opera -nor even listen to the music; she saw only the painted cardboard and the -queerly dressed men and women who moved, spoke, and sang so strangely in -that brilliant light. She knew what it was all meant to represent, but -it was so pretentiously false and unnatural that she first felt ashamed -for the actors and then amused at them. She looked at the faces of the -audience, seeking in them the same sense of ridicule and perplexity she -herself experienced, but they all seemed attentive to what was happening -on the stage, and expressed delight which to Natásha seemed feigned. -“I suppose it has to be like this!” she thought. She kept looking -round in turn at the rows of pomaded heads in the stalls and then at -the seminude women in the boxes, especially at Hélène in the next box, -who—apparently quite unclothed—sat with a quiet tranquil smile, not -taking her eyes off the stage. And feeling the bright light that flooded -the whole place and the warm air heated by the crowd, Natásha little -by little began to pass into a state of intoxication she had not -experienced for a long while. She did not realize who and where she -was, nor what was going on before her. As she looked and thought, the -strangest fancies unexpectedly and disconnectedly passed through her -mind: the idea occurred to her of jumping onto the edge of the box and -singing the air the actress was singing, then she wished to touch with -her fan an old gentleman sitting not far from her, then to lean over to -Hélène and tickle her. - -At a moment when all was quiet before the commencement of a song, a door -leading to the stalls on the side nearest the Rostóvs’ box creaked, -and the steps of a belated arrival were heard. “There’s Kurágin!” -whispered Shinshín. Countess Bezúkhova turned smiling to the newcomer, -and Natásha, following the direction of that look, saw an exceptionally -handsome adjutant approaching their box with a self-assured yet -courteous bearing. This was Anatole Kurágin whom she had seen -and noticed long ago at the ball in Petersburg. He was now in an -adjutant’s uniform with one epaulet and a shoulder knot. He moved with -a restrained swagger which would have been ridiculous had he not been -so good-looking and had his handsome face not worn such an expression -of good-humored complacency and gaiety. Though the performance was -proceeding, he walked deliberately down the carpeted gangway, his sword -and spurs slightly jingling and his handsome perfumed head held high. -Having looked at Natásha he approached his sister, laid his well gloved -hand on the edge of her box, nodded to her, and leaning forward asked a -question, with a motion toward Natásha. - -“Mais charmante!” said he, evidently referring to Natásha, who did -not exactly hear his words but understood them from the movement of his -lips. Then he took his place in the first row of the stalls and sat down -beside Dólokhov, nudging with his elbow in a friendly and offhand way -that Dólokhov whom others treated so fawningly. He winked at him gaily, -smiled, and rested his foot against the orchestra screen. - -“How like the brother is to the sister,” remarked the count. “And -how handsome they both are!” - -Shinshín, lowering his voice, began to tell the count of some intrigue -of Kurágin’s in Moscow, and Natásha tried to overhear it just -because he had said she was “charmante.” - -The first act was over. In the stalls everyone began moving about, going -out and coming in. - -Borís came to the Rostóvs’ box, received their congratulations very -simply, and raising his eyebrows with an absent-minded smile conveyed to -Natásha and Sónya his fiancée’s invitation to her wedding, and -went away. Natásha with a gay, coquettish smile talked to him, and -congratulated on his approaching wedding that same Borís with whom -she had formerly been in love. In the state of intoxication she was in, -everything seemed simple and natural. - -The scantily clad Hélène smiled at everyone in the same way, and -Natásha gave Borís a similar smile. - -Hélène’s box was filled and surrounded from the stalls by the most -distinguished and intellectual men, who seemed to vie with one another -in their wish to let everyone see that they knew her. - -During the whole of that entr’acte Kurágin stood with Dólokhov -in front of the orchestra partition, looking at the Rostóvs’ box. -Natásha knew he was talking about her and this afforded her pleasure. -She even turned so that he should see her profile in what she thought -was its most becoming aspect. Before the beginning of the second act -Pierre appeared in the stalls. The Rostóvs had not seen him since -their arrival. His face looked sad, and he had grown still stouter since -Natásha last saw him. He passed up to the front rows, not noticing -anyone. Anatole went up to him and began speaking to him, looking at and -indicating the Rostóvs’ box. On seeing Natásha Pierre grew animated -and, hastily passing between the rows, came toward their box. When he -got there he leaned on his elbows and, smiling, talked to her for a long -time. While conversing with Pierre, Natásha heard a man’s voice in -Countess Bezúkhova’s box and something told her it was Kurágin. She -turned and their eyes met. Almost smiling, he gazed straight into her -eyes with such an enraptured caressing look that it seemed strange to be -so near him, to look at him like that, to be so sure he admired her, and -not to be acquainted with him. - -In the second act there was scenery representing tombstones, there was a -round hole in the canvas to represent the moon, shades were raised over -the footlights, and from horns and contrabass came deep notes while many -people appeared from right and left wearing black cloaks and holding -things like daggers in their hands. They began waving their arms. Then -some other people ran in and began dragging away the maiden who had been -in white and was now in light blue. They did not drag her away at once, -but sang with her for a long time and then at last dragged her off, and -behind the scenes something metallic was struck three times and -everyone knelt down and sang a prayer. All these things were repeatedly -interrupted by the enthusiastic shouts of the audience. - -During this act every time Natásha looked toward the stalls she saw -Anatole Kurágin with an arm thrown across the back of his chair, -staring at her. She was pleased to see that he was captivated by her and -it did not occur to her that there was anything wrong in it. - -When the second act was over Countess Bezúkhova rose, turned to the -Rostóvs’ box—her whole bosom completely exposed—beckoned the old -count with a gloved finger, and paying no attention to those who had -entered her box began talking to him with an amiable smile. - -“Do make me acquainted with your charming daughters,” said she. -“The whole town is singing their praises and I don’t even know -them!” - -Natásha rose and curtsied to the splendid countess. She was so pleased -by praise from this brilliant beauty that she blushed with pleasure. - -“I want to become a Moscovite too, now,” said Hélène. “How is it -you’re not ashamed to bury such pearls in the country?” - -Countess Bezúkhova quite deserved her reputation of being a fascinating -woman. She could say what she did not think—especially what was -flattering—quite simply and naturally. - -“Dear count, you must let me look after your daughters! Though I am -not staying here long this time—nor are you—I will try to amuse -them. I have already heard much of you in Petersburg and wanted to get -to know you,” said she to Natásha with her stereotyped and lovely -smile. “I had heard about you from my page, Drubetskóy. Have you -heard he is getting married? And also from my husband’s friend -Bolkónski, Prince Andrew Bolkónski,” she went on with special -emphasis, implying that she knew of his relation to Natásha. To get -better acquainted she asked that one of the young ladies should come -into her box for the rest of the performance, and Natásha moved over to -it. - -The scene of the third act represented a palace in which many candles -were burning and pictures of knights with short beards hung on the -walls. In the middle stood what were probably a king and a queen. The -king waved his right arm and, evidently nervous, sang something badly -and sat down on a crimson throne. The maiden who had been first in white -and then in light blue, now wore only a smock, and stood beside the -throne with her hair down. She sang something mournfully, addressing the -queen, but the king waved his arm severely, and men and women with bare -legs came in from both sides and began dancing all together. Then the -violins played very shrilly and merrily and one of the women with thick -bare legs and thin arms, separating from the others, went behind the -wings, adjusted her bodice, returned to the middle of the stage, and -began jumping and striking one foot rapidly against the other. In the -stalls everyone clapped and shouted “bravo!” Then one of the men -went into a corner of the stage. The cymbals and horns in the orchestra -struck up more loudly, and this man with bare legs jumped very high and -waved his feet about very rapidly. (He was Duport, who received sixty -thousand rubles a year for this art.) Everybody in the stalls, boxes, -and galleries began clapping and shouting with all their might, and the -man stopped and began smiling and bowing to all sides. Then other men -and women danced with bare legs. Then the king again shouted to the -sound of music, and they all began singing. But suddenly a storm -came on, chromatic scales and diminished sevenths were heard in the -orchestra, everyone ran off, again dragging one of their number away, -and the curtain dropped. Once more there was a terrible noise and -clatter among the audience, and with rapturous faces everyone began -shouting: “Duport! Duport! Duport!” Natásha no longer thought this -strange. She looked about with pleasure, smiling joyfully. - -“Isn’t Duport delightful?” Hélène asked her. - -“Oh, yes,” replied Natásha. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -During the entr’acte a whiff of cold air came into Hélène’s box, -the door opened, and Anatole entered, stooping and trying not to brush -against anyone. - -“Let me introduce my brother to you,” said Hélène, her eyes -shifting uneasily from Natásha to Anatole. - -Natásha turned her pretty little head toward the elegant young officer -and smiled at him over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was as handsome -at close quarters as at a distance, sat down beside her and told her he -had long wished to have this happiness—ever since the Narýshkins’ -ball in fact, at which he had had the well-remembered pleasure of seeing -her. Kurágin was much more sensible and simple with women than among -men. He talked boldly and naturally, and Natásha was strangely and -agreeably struck by the fact that there was nothing formidable in this -man about whom there was so much talk, but that on the contrary his -smile was most naïve, cheerful, and good-natured. - -Kurágin asked her opinion of the performance and told her how at a -previous performance Semënova had fallen down on the stage. - -“And do you know, Countess,” he said, suddenly addressing her as an -old, familiar acquaintance, “we are getting up a costume tournament; -you ought to take part in it! It will be great fun. We shall all meet at -the Karágins’! Please come! No! Really, eh?” said he. - -While saying this he never removed his smiling eyes from her face, -her neck, and her bare arms. Natásha knew for certain that he was -enraptured by her. This pleased her, yet his presence made her feel -constrained and oppressed. When she was not looking at him she felt that -he was looking at her shoulders, and she involuntarily caught his eye -so that he should look into hers rather than this. But looking into his -eyes she was frightened, realizing that there was not that barrier of -modesty she had always felt between herself and other men. She did not -know how it was that within five minutes she had come to feel herself -terribly near to this man. When she turned away she feared he might -seize her from behind by her bare arm and kiss her on the neck. They -spoke of most ordinary things, yet she felt that they were closer to -one another than she had ever been to any man. Natásha kept turning to -Hélène and to her father, as if asking what it all meant, but Hélène -was engaged in conversation with a general and did not answer her -look, and her father’s eyes said nothing but what they always said: -“Having a good time? Well, I’m glad of it!” - -During one of these moments of awkward silence when Anatole’s -prominent eyes were gazing calmly and fixedly at her, Natásha, to break -the silence, asked him how he liked Moscow. She asked the question and -blushed. She felt all the time that by talking to him she was doing -something improper. Anatole smiled as though to encourage her. - -“At first I did not like it much, because what makes a town pleasant -ce sont les jolies femmes, * isn’t that so? But now I like it very -much indeed,” he said, looking at her significantly. “You’ll come -to the costume tournament, Countess? Do come!” and putting out his -hand to her bouquet and dropping his voice, he added, “You will be the -prettiest there. Do come, dear countess, and give me this flower as a -pledge!” - - * Are the pretty women. - -Natásha did not understand what he was saying any more than he did -himself, but she felt that his incomprehensible words had an improper -intention. She did not know what to say and turned away as if she had -not heard his remark. But as soon as she had turned away she felt that -he was there, behind, so close behind her. - -“How is he now? Confused? Angry? Ought I to put it right?” she -asked herself, and she could not refrain from turning round. She looked -straight into his eyes, and his nearness, self-assurance, and the -good-natured tenderness of his smile vanquished her. She smiled just -as he was doing, gazing straight into his eyes. And again she felt with -horror that no barrier lay between him and her. - -The curtain rose again. Anatole left the box, serene and gay. Natásha -went back to her father in the other box, now quite submissive to the -world she found herself in. All that was going on before her now seemed -quite natural, but on the other hand all her previous thoughts of her -betrothed, of Princess Mary, or of life in the country did not once -recur to her mind and were as if belonging to a remote past. - -In the fourth act there was some sort of devil who sang waving his arm -about, till the boards were withdrawn from under him and he disappeared -down below. That was the only part of the fourth act that Natásha saw. -She felt agitated and tormented, and the cause of this was Kurágin whom -she could not help watching. As they were leaving the theater Anatole -came up to them, called their carriage, and helped them in. As he was -putting Natásha in he pressed her arm above the elbow. Agitated and -flushed she turned round. He was looking at her with glittering eyes, -smiling tenderly. - - -Only after she had reached home was Natásha able clearly to think over -what had happened to her, and suddenly remembering Prince Andrew she -was horrified, and at tea to which all had sat down after the opera, she -gave a loud exclamation, flushed, and ran out of the room. - -“O God! I am lost!” she said to herself. “How could I let him?” -She sat for a long time hiding her flushed face in her hands trying to -realize what had happened to her, but was unable either to understand -what had happened or what she felt. Everything seemed dark, obscure, -and terrible. There in that enormous, illuminated theater where the -bare-legged Duport, in a tinsel-decorated jacket, jumped about to the -music on wet boards, and young girls and old men, and the nearly -naked Hélène with her proud, calm smile, rapturously cried -“bravo!”—there in the presence of that Hélène it had all seemed -clear and simple; but now, alone by herself, it was incomprehensible. -“What is it? What was that terror I felt of him? What is this gnawing -of conscience I am feeling now?” she thought. - -Only to the old countess at night in bed could Natásha have told all -she was feeling. She knew that Sónya with her severe and simple views -would either not understand it at all or would be horrified at such -a confession. So Natásha tried to solve what was torturing her by -herself. - -“Am I spoiled for Andrew’s love or not?” she asked herself, and -with soothing irony replied: “What a fool I am to ask that! What did -happen to me? Nothing! I have done nothing, I didn’t lead him on -at all. Nobody will know and I shall never see him again,” she told -herself. “So it is plain that nothing has happened and there is -nothing to repent of, and Andrew can love me still. But why ‘still?’ -O God, why isn’t he here?” Natásha quieted herself for a moment, -but again some instinct told her that though all this was true, and -though nothing had happened, yet the former purity of her love for -Prince Andrew had perished. And again in imagination she went over her -whole conversation with Kurágin, and again saw the face, gestures, and -tender smile of that bold handsome man when he pressed her arm. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Anatole Kurágin was staying in Moscow because his father had sent him -away from Petersburg, where he had been spending twenty thousand rubles -a year in cash, besides running up debts for as much more, which his -creditors demanded from his father. - -His father announced to him that he would now pay half his debts for the -last time, but only on condition that he went to Moscow as adjutant to -the commander in chief—a post his father had procured for him—and -would at last try to make a good match there. He indicated to him -Princess Mary and Julie Karágina. - -Anatole consented and went to Moscow, where he put up at Pierre’s -house. Pierre received him unwillingly at first, but got used to him -after a while, sometimes even accompanied him on his carousals, and gave -him money under the guise of loans. - -As Shinshín had remarked, from the time of his arrival Anatole had -turned the heads of the Moscow ladies, especially by the fact that -he slighted them and plainly preferred the gypsy girls and French -actresses—with the chief of whom, Mademoiselle George, he was said to -be on intimate relations. He had never missed a carousal at Danílov’s -or other Moscow revelers’, drank whole nights through, outvying -everyone else, and was at all the balls and parties of the best society. -There was talk of his intrigues with some of the ladies, and he flirted -with a few of them at the balls. But he did not run after the unmarried -girls, especially the rich heiresses who were most of them plain. -There was a special reason for this, as he had got married two years -before—a fact known only to his most intimate friends. At that time -while with his regiment in Poland, a Polish landowner of small means had -forced him to marry his daughter. Anatole had very soon abandoned his -wife and, for a payment which he agreed to send to his father-in-law, -had arranged to be free to pass himself off as a bachelor. - -Anatole was always content with his position, with himself, and with -others. He was instinctively and thoroughly convinced that it was -impossible for him to live otherwise than as he did and that he had -never in his life done anything base. He was incapable of considering -how his actions might affect others or what the consequences of this or -that action of his might be. He was convinced that, as a duck is so made -that it must live in water, so God had made him such that he must spend -thirty thousand rubles a year and always occupy a prominent position in -society. He believed this so firmly that others, looking at him, were -persuaded of it too and did not refuse him either a leading place -in society or money, which he borrowed from anyone and everyone and -evidently would not repay. - -He was not a gambler, at any rate he did not care about winning. He was -not vain. He did not mind what people thought of him. Still less could -he be accused of ambition. More than once he had vexed his father by -spoiling his own career, and he laughed at distinctions of all kinds. He -was not mean, and did not refuse anyone who asked of him. All he cared -about was gaiety and women, and as according to his ideas there -was nothing dishonorable in these tastes, and he was incapable of -considering what the gratification of his tastes entailed for others, -he honestly considered himself irreproachable, sincerely despised rogues -and bad people, and with a tranquil conscience carried his head high. - -Rakes, those male Magdalenes, have a secret feeling of innocence -similar to that which female Magdalenes have, based on the same hope of -forgiveness. “All will be forgiven her, for she loved much; and all -will be forgiven him, for he enjoyed much.” - -Dólokhov, who had reappeared that year in Moscow after his exile and -his Persian adventures, and was leading a life of luxury, gambling, and -dissipation, associated with his old Petersburg comrade Kurágin and -made use of him for his own ends. - -Anatole was sincerely fond of Dólokhov for his cleverness and -audacity. Dólokhov, who needed Anatole Kurágin’s name, position, and -connections as a bait to draw rich young men into his gambling set, made -use of him and amused himself at his expense without letting the other -feel it. Apart from the advantage he derived from Anatole, the very -process of dominating another’s will was in itself a pleasure, a -habit, and a necessity to Dólokhov. - -Natásha had made a strong impression on Kurágin. At supper after -the opera he described to Dólokhov with the air of a connoisseur the -attractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and hair and expressed his -intention of making love to her. Anatole had no notion and was incapable -of considering what might come of such love-making, as he never had any -notion of the outcome of any of his actions. - -“She’s first-rate, my dear fellow, but not for us,” replied -Dólokhov. - -“I will tell my sister to ask her to dinner,” said Anatole. -“Eh?” - -“You’d better wait till she’s married....” - -“You know, I adore little girls, they lose their heads at once,” -pursued Anatole. - -“You have been caught once already by a ‘little girl,’” said -Dólokhov who knew of Kurágin’s marriage. “Take care!” - -“Well, that can’t happen twice! Eh?” said Anatole, with a -good-humored laugh. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -The day after the opera the Rostóvs went nowhere and nobody came to see -them. Márya Dmítrievna talked to the count about something which they -concealed from Natásha. Natásha guessed they were talking about the -old prince and planning something, and this disquieted and offended her. -She was expecting Prince Andrew any moment and twice that day sent a -manservant to the Vozdvízhenka to ascertain whether he had come. He had -not arrived. She suffered more now than during her first days in Moscow. -To her impatience and pining for him were now added the unpleasant -recollection of her interview with Princess Mary and the old prince, -and a fear and anxiety of which she did not understand the cause. She -continually fancied that either he would never come or that something -would happen to her before he came. She could no longer think of him by -herself calmly and continuously as she had done before. As soon as she -began to think of him, the recollection of the old prince, of Princess -Mary, of the theater, and of Kurágin mingled with her thoughts. The -question again presented itself whether she was not guilty, whether she -had not already broken faith with Prince Andrew, and again she found -herself recalling to the minutest detail every word, every gesture, and -every shade in the play of expression on the face of the man who had -been able to arouse in her such an incomprehensible and terrifying -feeling. To the family Natásha seemed livelier than usual, but she was -far less tranquil and happy than before. - -On Sunday morning Márya Dmítrievna invited her visitors to Mass at her -parish church—the Church of the Assumption built over the graves of -victims of the plague. - -“I don’t like those fashionable churches,” she said, evidently -priding herself on her independence of thought. “God is the same -everywhere. We have an excellent priest, he conducts the service -decently and with dignity, and the deacon is the same. What holiness is -there in giving concerts in the choir? I don’t like it, it’s just -self-indulgence!” - -Márya Dmítrievna liked Sundays and knew how to keep them. Her whole -house was scrubbed and cleaned on Saturdays; neither she nor the -servants worked, and they all wore holiday dress and went to church. At -her table there were extra dishes at dinner, and the servants had vodka -and roast goose or suckling pig. But in nothing in the house was the -holiday so noticeable as in Márya Dmítrievna’s broad, stern face, -which on that day wore an invariable look of solemn festivity. - -After Mass, when they had finished their coffee in the dining room -where the loose covers had been removed from the furniture, a servant -announced that the carriage was ready, and Márya Dmítrievna rose with -a stern air. She wore her holiday shawl, in which she paid calls, and -announced that she was going to see Prince Nicholas Bolkónski to have -an explanation with him about Natásha. - -After she had gone, a dressmaker from Madame Suppert-Roguet waited on -the Rostóvs, and Natásha, very glad of this diversion, having shut -herself into a room adjoining the drawing room, occupied herself trying -on the new dresses. Just as she had put on a bodice without sleeves and -only tacked together, and was turning her head to see in the glass how -the back fitted, she heard in the drawing room the animated sounds -of her father’s voice and another’s—a woman’s—that made her -flush. It was Hélène. Natásha had not time to take off the bodice -before the door opened and Countess Bezúkhova, dressed in a purple -velvet gown with a high collar, came into the room beaming with -good-humored amiable smiles. - -“Oh, my enchantress!” she cried to the blushing Natásha. -“Charming! No, this is really beyond anything, my dear count,” said -she to Count Rostóv who had followed her in. “How can you live in -Moscow and go nowhere? No, I won’t let you off! Mademoiselle George -will recite at my house tonight and there’ll be some people, and if -you don’t bring your lovely girls—who are prettier than Mademoiselle -George—I won’t know you! My husband is away in Tver or I would send -him to fetch you. You must come. You positively must! Between eight and -nine.” - -She nodded to the dressmaker, whom she knew and who had curtsied -respectfully to her, and seated herself in an armchair beside the -looking glass, draping the folds of her velvet dress picturesquely. She -did not cease chattering good-naturedly and gaily, continually praising -Natásha’s beauty. She looked at Natásha’s dresses and praised -them, as well as a new dress of her own made of “metallic gauze,” -which she had received from Paris, and advised Natásha to have one like -it. - -“But anything suits you, my charmer!” she remarked. - -A smile of pleasure never left Natásha’s face. She felt happy and as -if she were blossoming under the praise of this dear Countess Bezúkhova -who had formerly seemed to her so unapproachable and important and was -now so kind to her. Natásha brightened up and felt almost in love with -this woman, who was so beautiful and so kind. Hélène for her part was -sincerely delighted with Natásha and wished to give her a good time. -Anatole had asked her to bring him and Natásha together, and she was -calling on the Rostóvs for that purpose. The idea of throwing her -brother and Natásha together amused her. - -Though at one time, in Petersburg, she had been annoyed with Natásha -for drawing Borís away, she did not think of that now, and in her own -way heartily wished Natásha well. As she was leaving the Rostóvs she -called her protégée aside. - -“My brother dined with me yesterday—we nearly died of laughter—he -ate nothing and kept sighing for you, my charmer! He is madly, quite -madly, in love with you, my dear.” - -Natásha blushed scarlet when she heard this. - -“How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty!” said Hélène. “You -must certainly come. If you love somebody, my charmer, that is not a -reason to shut yourself up. Even if you are engaged, I am sure your -fiancé would wish you to go into society rather than be bored to -death.” - -“So she knows I am engaged, and she and her husband Pierre—that good -Pierre—have talked and laughed about this. So it’s all right.” And -again, under Hélène’s influence, what had seemed terrible now seemed -simple and natural. “And she is such a grande dame, so kind, and -evidently likes me so much. And why not enjoy myself?” thought -Natásha, gazing at Hélène with wide-open, wondering eyes. - -Márya Dmítrievna came back to dinner taciturn and serious, having -evidently suffered a defeat at the old prince’s. She was still too -agitated by the encounter to be able to talk of the affair calmly. In -answer to the count’s inquiries she replied that things were all -right and that she would tell about it next day. On hearing of Countess -Bezúkhova’s visit and the invitation for that evening, Márya -Dmítrievna remarked: - -“I don’t care to have anything to do with Bezúkhova and don’t -advise you to; however, if you’ve promised—go. It will divert your -thoughts,” she added, addressing Natásha. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -Count Rostóv took the girls to Countess Bezúkhova’s. There were -a good many people there, but nearly all strangers to Natásha. Count -Rostóv was displeased to see that the company consisted almost entirely -of men and women known for the freedom of their conduct. Mademoiselle -George was standing in a corner of the drawing room surrounded by young -men. There were several Frenchmen present, among them Métivier who from -the time Hélène reached Moscow had been an intimate in her house. The -count decided not to sit down to cards or let his girls out of his sight -and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle George’s performance was over. - -Anatole was at the door, evidently on the lookout for the Rostóvs. -Immediately after greeting the count he went up to Natásha and followed -her. As soon as she saw him she was seized by the same feeling she had -had at the opera—gratified vanity at his admiration of her and fear at -the absence of a moral barrier between them. - -Hélène welcomed Natásha delightedly and was loud in admiration of her -beauty and her dress. Soon after their arrival Mademoiselle George went -out of the room to change her costume. In the drawing room people began -arranging the chairs and taking their seats. Anatole moved a chair for -Natásha and was about to sit down beside her, but the count, who never -lost sight of her, took the seat himself. Anatole sat down behind her. - -Mademoiselle George, with her bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a red shawl -draped over one shoulder, came into the space left vacant for her, and -assumed an unnatural pose. Enthusiastic whispering was audible. - -Mademoiselle George looked sternly and gloomily at the audience and -began reciting some French verses describing her guilty love for her -son. In some places she raised her voice, in others she whispered, -lifting her head triumphantly; sometimes she paused and uttered hoarse -sounds, rolling her eyes. - -“Adorable! divine! delicious!” was heard from every side. - -Natásha looked at the fat actress, but neither saw nor heard nor -understood anything of what went on before her. She only felt herself -again completely borne away into this strange senseless world—so -remote from her old world—a world in which it was impossible to know -what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless. Behind her sat Anatole, -and conscious of his proximity she experienced a frightened sense of -expectancy. - -After the first monologue the whole company rose and surrounded -Mademoiselle George, expressing their enthusiasm. - -“How beautiful she is!” Natásha remarked to her father who had also -risen and was moving through the crowd toward the actress. - -“I don’t think so when I look at you!” said Anatole, following -Natásha. He said this at a moment when she alone could hear him. “You -are enchanting... from the moment I saw you I have never ceased...” - -“Come, come, Natásha!” said the count, as he turned back for his -daughter. “How beautiful she is!” Natásha without saying anything -stepped up to her father and looked at him with surprised inquiring -eyes. - -After giving several recitations, Mademoiselle George left, and Countess -Bezúkhova asked her visitors into the ballroom. - -The count wished to go home, but Hélène entreated him not to spoil her -improvised ball, and the Rostóvs stayed on. Anatole asked Natásha for -a valse and as they danced he pressed her waist and hand and told her -she was bewitching and that he loved her. During the écossaise, which -she also danced with him, Anatole said nothing when they happened to be -by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Natásha lifted her frightened -eyes to him, but there was such confident tenderness in his affectionate -look and smile that she could not, whilst looking at him, say what she -had to say. She lowered her eyes. - -“Don’t say such things to me. I am betrothed and love another,” -she said rapidly.... She glanced at him. - -Anatole was not upset or pained by what she had said. - -“Don’t speak to me of that! What can I do?” said he. “I tell -you I am madly, madly, in love with you! Is it my fault that you are -enchanting?... It’s our turn to begin.” - -Natásha, animated and excited, looked about her with wide-open -frightened eyes and seemed merrier than usual. She understood hardly -anything that went on that evening. They danced the écossaise and the -Grossvater. Her father asked her to come home, but she begged to remain. -Wherever she went and whomever she was speaking to, she felt his eyes -upon her. Later on she recalled how she had asked her father to let -her go to the dressing room to rearrange her dress, that Hélène had -followed her and spoken laughingly of her brother’s love, and that she -again met Anatole in the little sitting room. Hélène had disappeared -leaving them alone, and Anatole had taken her hand and said in a tender -voice: - -“I cannot come to visit you but is it possible that I shall never see -you? I love you madly. Can I never...?” and, blocking her path, he -brought his face close to hers. - -His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so close to hers that she saw -nothing but them. - -“Natalie?” he whispered inquiringly while she felt her hands being -painfully pressed. “Natalie?” - -“I don’t understand. I have nothing to say,” her eyes replied. - -Burning lips were pressed to hers, and at the same instant she felt -herself released, and Hélène’s footsteps and the rustle of her dress -were heard in the room. Natásha looked round at her, and then, red -and trembling, threw a frightened look of inquiry at Anatole and moved -toward the door. - -“One word, just one, for God’s sake!” cried Anatole. - -She paused. She so wanted a word from him that would explain to her what -had happened and to which she could find no answer. - -“Natalie, just a word, only one!” he kept repeating, evidently not -knowing what to say and he repeated it till Hélène came up to them. - -Hélène returned with Natásha to the drawing room. The Rostóvs went -away without staying for supper. - -After reaching home Natásha did not sleep all night. She was tormented -by the insoluble question whether she loved Anatole or Prince Andrew. -She loved Prince Andrew—she remembered distinctly how deeply she loved -him. But she also loved Anatole, of that there was no doubt. “Else how -could all this have happened?” thought she. “If, after that, I could -return his smile when saying good-by, if I was able to let it come to -that, it means that I loved him from the first. It means that he is -kind, noble, and splendid, and I could not help loving him. What am I to -do if I love him and the other one too?” she asked herself, unable to -find an answer to these terrible questions. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -Morning came with its cares and bustle. Everyone got up and began -to move about and talk, dressmakers came again. Márya Dmítrievna -appeared, and they were called to breakfast. Natásha kept looking -uneasily at everybody with wide-open eyes, as if wishing to intercept -every glance directed toward her, and tried to appear the same as usual. - -After breakfast, which was her best time, Márya Dmítrievna sat down in -her armchair and called Natásha and the count to her. - -“Well, friends, I have now thought the whole matter over and this is -my advice,” she began. “Yesterday, as you know, I went to see Prince -Bolkónski. Well, I had a talk with him.... He took it into his head to -begin shouting, but I am not one to be shouted down. I said what I had -to say!” - -“Well, and he?” asked the count. - -“He? He’s crazy... he did not want to listen. But what’s the use -of talking? As it is we have worn the poor girl out,” said Márya -Dmítrievna. “My advice to you is finish your business and go back -home to Otrádnoe... and wait there.” - -“Oh, no!” exclaimed Natásha. - -“Yes, go back,” said Márya Dmítrievna, “and wait there. If your -betrothed comes here now—there will be no avoiding a quarrel; but -alone with the old man he will talk things over and then come on to -you.” - -Count Rostóv approved of this suggestion, appreciating its -reasonableness. If the old man came round it would be all the better to -visit him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on; and if not, the wedding, -against his wishes, could only be arranged at Otrádnoe. - -“That is perfectly true. And I am sorry I went to see him and took -her,” said the old count. - -“No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to pay your respects. But if he -won’t—that’s his affair,” said Márya Dmítrievna, looking for -something in her reticule. “Besides, the trousseau is ready, so there -is nothing to wait for; and what is not ready I’ll send after you. -Though I don’t like letting you go, it is the best way. So go, with -God’s blessing!” - -Having found what she was looking for in the reticule she handed it to -Natásha. It was a letter from Princess Mary. - -“She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing! She’s -afraid you might think that she does not like you.” - -“But she doesn’t like me,” said Natásha. - -“Don’t talk nonsense!” cried Márya Dmítrievna. - -“I shan’t believe anyone, I know she doesn’t like me,” replied -Natásha boldly as she took the letter, and her face expressed a cold -and angry resolution that caused Márya Dmítrievna to look at her more -intently and to frown. - -“Don’t answer like that, my good girl!” she said. “What I say is -true! Write an answer!” - -Natásha did not reply and went to her own room to read Princess -Mary’s letter. - -Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that -had occurred between them. Whatever her father’s feelings might be, -she begged Natásha to believe that she could not help loving her as -the one chosen by her brother, for whose happiness she was ready to -sacrifice everything. - -“Do not think, however,” she wrote, “that my father is -ill-disposed toward you. He is an invalid and an old man who must be -forgiven; but he is good and magnanimous and will love her who makes his -son happy.” Princess Mary went on to ask Natásha to fix a time when -she could see her again. - -After reading the letter Natásha sat down at the writing table -to answer it. “Dear Princess,” she wrote in French quickly and -mechanically, and then paused. What more could she write after all that -had happened the evening before? “Yes, yes! All that has happened, and -now all is changed,” she thought as she sat with the letter she had -begun before her. “Must I break off with him? Must I really? That’s -awful...” and to escape from these dreadful thoughts she went to -Sónya and began sorting patterns with her. - -After dinner Natásha went to her room and again took up Princess -Mary’s letter. “Can it be that it is all over?” she thought. -“Can it be that all this has happened so quickly and has destroyed all -that went before?” She recalled her love for Prince Andrew in all its -former strength, and at the same time felt that she loved Kurágin. She -vividly pictured herself as Prince Andrew’s wife, and the scenes of -happiness with him she had so often repeated in her imagination, and -at the same time, aglow with excitement, recalled every detail of -yesterday’s interview with Anatole. - -“Why could that not be as well?” she sometimes asked herself in -complete bewilderment. “Only so could I be completely happy; but now I -have to choose, and I can’t be happy without either of them. Only,” -she thought, “to tell Prince Andrew what has happened or to hide -it from him are both equally impossible. But with that one nothing is -spoiled. But am I really to abandon forever the joy of Prince Andrew’s -love, in which I have lived so long?” - -“Please, Miss!” whispered a maid entering the room with a mysterious -air. “A man told me to give you this—” and she handed Natásha a -letter. - -“Only, for Christ’s sake...” the girl went on, as Natásha, -without thinking, mechanically broke the seal and read a love letter -from Anatole, of which, without taking in a word, she understood only -that it was a letter from him—from the man she loved. Yes, she loved -him, or else how could that have happened which had happened? And how -could she have a love letter from him in her hand? - -With trembling hands Natásha held that passionate love letter which -Dólokhov had composed for Anatole, and as she read it she found in it -an echo of all that she herself imagined she was feeling. - -“Since yesterday evening my fate has been sealed; to be loved by you -or to die. There is no other way for me,” the letter began. Then he -went on to say that he knew her parents would not give her to him—for -this there were secret reasons he could reveal only to her—but that if -she loved him she need only say the word yes, and no human power could -hinder their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would steal her away and -carry her off to the ends of the earth. - -“Yes, yes! I love him!” thought Natásha, reading the letter for the -twentieth time and finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each word of -it. - -That evening Márya Dmítrievna was going to the Akhárovs’ and -proposed to take the girls with her. Natásha, pleading a headache, -remained at home. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -On returning late in the evening Sónya went to Natásha’s room, and -to her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open on -the table, beside her lay Anatole’s letter. Sónya picked it up and -read it. - -As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natásha, trying to find in her -face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it. Her -face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutching her breast to keep herself -from choking, Sónya, pale and trembling with fear and agitation, sat -down in an armchair and burst into tears. - -“How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far? Can she have -left off loving Prince Andrew? And how could she let Kurágin go to -such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain, that’s plain! What will -Nicholas, dear noble Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this is -the meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural look the day before -yesterday, yesterday, and today,” thought Sónya. “But it can’t be -that she loves him! She probably opened the letter without knowing who -it was from. Probably she is offended by it. She could not do such a -thing!” - -Sónya wiped away her tears and went up to Natásha, again scanning her -face. - -“Natásha!” she said, just audibly. - -Natásha awoke and saw Sónya. - -“Ah, you’re back?” - -And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the moment of -awakening, she embraced her friend, but noticing Sónya’s look of -embarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion. - -“Sónya, you’ve read that letter?” she demanded. - -“Yes,” answered Sónya softly. - -Natásha smiled rapturously. - -“No, Sónya, I can’t any longer!” she said. “I can’t hide it -from you any longer. You know, we love one another! Sónya, darling, he -writes... Sónya...” - -Sónya stared open-eyed at Natásha, unable to believe her ears. - -“And Bolkónski?” she asked. - -“Ah, Sónya, if you only knew how happy I am!” cried Natásha. -“You don’t know what love is....” - -“But, Natásha, can that be all over?” - -Natásha looked at Sónya with wide-open eyes as if she could not grasp -the question. - -“Well, then, are you refusing Prince Andrew?” said Sónya. - -“Oh, you don’t understand anything! Don’t talk nonsense, just -listen!” said Natásha, with momentary vexation. - -“But I can’t believe it,” insisted Sónya. “I don’t -understand. How is it you have loved a man for a whole year and -suddenly... Why, you have only seen him three times! Natásha, I don’t -believe you, you’re joking! In three days to forget everything and -so...” - -“Three days?” said Natásha. “It seems to me I’ve loved him a -hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before. You -can’t understand it.... Sónya, wait a bit, sit here,” and Natásha -embraced and kissed her. - -“I had heard that it happens like this, and you must have heard it -too, but it’s only now that I feel such love. It’s not the same as -before. As soon as I saw him I felt he was my master and I his slave, -and that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he orders -I shall do. You don’t understand that. What can I do? What can I do, -Sónya?” cried Natásha with a happy yet frightened expression. - -“But think what you are doing,” cried Sónya. “I can’t leave -it like this. This secret correspondence... How could you let him go so -far?” she went on, with a horror and disgust she could hardly conceal. - -“I told you that I have no will,” Natásha replied. “Why can’t -you understand? I love him!” - -“Then I won’t let it come to that... I shall tell!” cried Sónya, -bursting into tears. - -“What do you mean? For God’s sake... If you tell, you are my -enemy!” declared Natásha. “You want me to be miserable, you want us -to be separated....” - -When she saw Natásha’s fright, Sónya shed tears of shame and pity -for her friend. - -“But what has happened between you?” she asked. “What has he said -to you? Why doesn’t he come to the house?” - -Natásha did not answer her questions. - -“For God’s sake, Sónya, don’t tell anyone, don’t torture -me,” Natásha entreated. “Remember no one ought to interfere in such -matters! I have confided in you....” - -“But why this secrecy? Why doesn’t he come to the house?” asked -Sónya. “Why doesn’t he openly ask for your hand? You know Prince -Andrew gave you complete freedom—if it is really so; but I don’t -believe it! Natásha, have you considered what these secret reasons can -be?” - -Natásha looked at Sónya with astonishment. Evidently this question -presented itself to her mind for the first time and she did not know how -to answer it. - -“I don’t know what the reasons are. But there must be reasons!” - -Sónya sighed and shook her head incredulously. - -“If there were reasons...” she began. - -But Natásha, guessing her doubts, interrupted her in alarm. - -“Sónya, one can’t doubt him! One can’t, one can’t! Don’t you -understand?” she cried. - -“Does he love you?” - -“Does he love me?” Natásha repeated with a smile of pity at her -friend’s lack of comprehension. “Why, you have read his letter and -you have seen him.” - -“But if he is dishonorable?” - -“He! dishonorable? If you only knew!” exclaimed Natásha. - -“If he is an honorable man he should either declare his intentions or -cease seeing you; and if you won’t do this, I will. I will write to -him, and I will tell Papa!” said Sónya resolutely. - -“But I can’t live without him!” cried Natásha. - -“Natásha, I don’t understand you. And what are you saying! Think of -your father and of Nicholas.” - -“I don’t want anyone, I don’t love anyone but him. How dare you -say he is dishonorable? Don’t you know that I love him?” screamed -Natásha. “Go away, Sónya! I don’t want to quarrel with you, but -go, for God’s sake go! You see how I am suffering!” Natásha cried -angrily, in a voice of despair and repressed irritation. Sónya burst -into sobs and ran from the room. - -Natásha went to the table and without a moment’s reflection wrote -that answer to Princess Mary which she had been unable to write all -the morning. In this letter she said briefly that all their -misunderstandings were at an end; that availing herself of the -magnanimity of Prince Andrew who when he went abroad had given her her -freedom, she begged Princess Mary to forget everything and forgive her -if she had been to blame toward her, but that she could not be his -wife. At that moment this all seemed quite easy, simple, and clear to -Natásha. - - -On Friday the Rostóvs were to return to the country, but on Wednesday -the count went with the prospective purchaser to his estate near Moscow. - -On the day the count left, Sónya and Natásha were invited to a big -dinner party at the Karágins’, and Márya Dmítrievna took them -there. At that party Natásha again met Anatole, and Sónya noticed -that she spoke to him, trying not to be overheard, and that all through -dinner she was more agitated than ever. When they got home Natásha was -the first to begin the explanation Sónya expected. - -“There, Sónya, you were talking all sorts of nonsense about him,” -Natásha began in a mild voice such as children use when they wish to be -praised. “We have had an explanation today.” - -“Well, what happened? What did he say? Natásha, how glad I am -you’re not angry with me! Tell me everything—the whole truth. What -did he say?” - -Natásha became thoughtful. - -“Oh, Sónya, if you knew him as I do! He said... He asked me what I -had promised Bolkónski. He was glad I was free to refuse him.” - -Sónya sighed sorrowfully. - -“But you haven’t refused Bolkónski?” said she. - -“Perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between me and Bolkónski. Why do -you think so badly of me?” - -“I don’t think anything, only I don’t understand this...” - -“Wait a bit, Sónya, you’ll understand everything. You’ll see what -a man he is! Now don’t think badly of me or of him. I don’t think -badly of anyone: I love and pity everybody. But what am I to do?” - -Sónya did not succumb to the tender tone Natásha used toward her. -The more emotional and ingratiating the expression of Natásha’s face -became, the more serious and stern grew Sónya’s. - -“Natásha,” said she, “you asked me not to speak to you, and I -haven’t spoken, but now you yourself have begun. I don’t trust him, -Natásha. Why this secrecy?” - -“Again, again!” interrupted Natásha. - -“Natásha, I am afraid for you!” - -“Afraid of what?” - -“I am afraid you’re going to your ruin,” said Sónya resolutely, -and was herself horrified at what she had said. - -Anger again showed in Natásha’s face. - -“And I’ll go to my ruin, I will, as soon as possible! It’s not -your business! It won’t be you, but I, who’ll suffer. Leave me -alone, leave me alone! I hate you!” - -“Natásha!” moaned Sónya, aghast. - -“I hate you, I hate you! You’re my enemy forever!” And Natásha -ran out of the room. - -Natásha did not speak to Sónya again and avoided her. With the same -expression of agitated surprise and guilt she went about the house, -taking up now one occupation, now another, and at once abandoning them. - -Hard as it was for Sónya, she watched her friend and did not let her -out of her sight. - -The day before the count was to return, Sónya noticed that Natásha sat -by the drawing room window all the morning as if expecting something and -that she made a sign to an officer who drove past, whom Sónya took to -be Anatole. - -Sónya began watching her friend still more attentively and noticed that -at dinner and all that evening Natásha was in a strange and unnatural -state. She answered questions at random, began sentences she did not -finish, and laughed at everything. - -After tea Sónya noticed a housemaid at Natásha’s door timidly -waiting to let her pass. She let the girl go in, and then listening at -the door learned that another letter had been delivered. - -Then suddenly it became clear to Sónya that Natásha had some dreadful -plan for that evening. Sónya knocked at her door. Natásha did not let -her in. - -“She will run away with him!” thought Sónya. “She is capable of -anything. There was something particularly pathetic and resolute in -her face today. She cried as she said good-by to Uncle,” Sónya -remembered. “Yes, that’s it, she means to elope with him, but -what am I to do?” thought she, recalling all the signs that clearly -indicated that Natásha had some terrible intention. “The count is -away. What am I to do? Write to Kurágin demanding an explanation? But -what is there to oblige him to reply? Write to Pierre, as Prince Andrew -asked me to in case of some misfortune?... But perhaps she really -has already refused Bolkónski—she sent a letter to Princess Mary -yesterday. And Uncle is away....” To tell Márya Dmítrievna who had -such faith in Natásha seemed to Sónya terrible. “Well, anyway,” -thought Sónya as she stood in the dark passage, “now or never I must -prove that I remember the family’s goodness to me and that I love -Nicholas. Yes! If I don’t sleep for three nights I’ll not leave this -passage and will hold her back by force and will and not let the family -be disgraced,” thought she. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Anatole had lately moved to Dólokhov’s. The plan for Natalie -Rostóva’s abduction had been arranged and the preparations made by -Dólokhov a few days before, and on the day that Sónya, after listening -at Natásha’s door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have been -put into execution. Natásha had promised to come out to Kurágin at the -back porch at ten that evening. Kurágin was to put her into a troyka -he would have ready and to drive her forty miles to the village of -Kámenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform a -marriage ceremony over them. At Kámenka a relay of horses was to wait -which would take them to the Warsaw highroad, and from there they would -hasten abroad with post horses. - -Anatole had a passport, an order for post horses, ten thousand rubles -he had taken from his sister and another ten thousand borrowed with -Dólokhov’s help. - -Two witnesses for the mock marriage—Khvóstikov, a retired petty -official whom Dólokhov made use of in his gambling transactions, and -Makárin, a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fellow who had an unbounded -affection for Kurágin—were sitting at tea in Dólokhov’s front -room. - -In his large study, the walls of which were hung to the ceiling with -Persian rugs, bearskins, and weapons, sat Dólokhov in a traveling cloak -and high boots, at an open desk on which lay an abacus and some bundles -of paper money. Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, walked to and fro from -the room where the witnesses were sitting, through the study to the room -behind, where his French valet and others were packing the last of his -things. Dólokhov was counting the money and noting something down. - -“Well,” he said, “Khvóstikov must have two thousand.” - -“Give it to him, then,” said Anatole. - -“Makárka” (their name for Makárin) “will go through fire and -water for you for nothing. So here are our accounts all settled,” said -Dólokhov, showing him the memorandum. “Is that right?” - -“Yes, of course,” returned Anatole, evidently not listening to -Dólokhov and looking straight before him with a smile that did not -leave his face. - -Dólokhov banged down the lid of his desk and turned to Anatole with an -ironic smile: - -“Do you know? You’d really better drop it all. There’s still -time!” - -“Fool,” retorted Anatole. “Don’t talk nonsense! If you only -knew... it’s the devil knows what!” - -“No, really, give it up!” said Dólokhov. “I am speaking -seriously. It’s no joke, this plot you’ve hatched.” - -“What, teasing again? Go to the devil! Eh?” said Anatole, making a -grimace. “Really it’s no time for your stupid jokes,” and he left -the room. - -Dólokhov smiled contemptuously and condescendingly when Anatole had -gone out. - -“You wait a bit,” he called after him. “I’m not joking, I’m -talking sense. Come here, come here!” - -Anatole returned and looked at Dólokhov, trying to give him his -attention and evidently submitting to him involuntarily. - -“Now listen to me. I’m telling you this for the last time. Why -should I joke about it? Did I hinder you? Who arranged everything for -you? Who found the priest and got the passport? Who raised the money? I -did it all.” - -“Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am not grateful?” And -Anatole sighed and embraced Dólokhov. - -“I helped you, but all the same I must tell you the truth; it is a -dangerous business, and if you think about it—a stupid business. Well, -you’ll carry her off—all right! Will they let it stop at that? It -will come out that you’re already married. Why, they’ll have you in -the criminal court....” - -“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” Anatole ejaculated and again made a -grimace. “Didn’t I explain to you? What?” And Anatole, with the -partiality dull-witted people have for any conclusion they have reached -by their own reasoning, repeated the argument he had already put to -Dólokhov a hundred times. “Didn’t I explain to you that I have come -to this conclusion: if this marriage is invalid,” he went on, crooking -one finger, “then I have nothing to answer for; but if it is valid, no -matter! Abroad no one will know anything about it. Isn’t that so? And -don’t talk to me, don’t, don’t.” - -“Seriously, you’d better drop it! You’ll only get yourself into a -mess!” - -“Go to the devil!” cried Anatole and, clutching his hair, left the -room, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front of -Dólokhov with his feet turned under him. “It’s the very devil! -What? Feel how it beats!” He took Dólokhov’s hand and put it on his -heart. “What a foot, my dear fellow! What a glance! A goddess!” he -added in French. “What?” - -Dólokhov with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome insolent eyes -looked at him—evidently wishing to get some more amusement out of him. - -“Well and when the money’s gone, what then?” - -“What then? Eh?” repeated Anatole, sincerely perplexed by a thought -of the future. “What then?... Then, I don’t know.... But why talk -nonsense!” He glanced at his watch. “It’s time!” - -Anatole went into the back room. - -“Now then! Nearly ready? You’re dawdling!” he shouted to the -servants. - -Dólokhov put away the money, called a footman whom he ordered to bring -something for them to eat and drink before the journey, and went into -the room where Khvóstikov and Makárin were sitting. - -Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning on his elbow and smiling -pensively, while his handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself. - -“Come and eat something. Have a drink!” Dólokhov shouted to him -from the other room. - -“I don’t want to,” answered Anatole continuing to smile. - -“Come! Balagá is here.” - -Anatole rose and went into the dining room. Balagá was a famous troyka -driver who had known Dólokhov and Anatole some six years and had given -them good service with his troykas. More than once when Anatole’s -regiment was stationed at Tver he had taken him from Tver in the -evening, brought him to Moscow by daybreak, and driven him back again -the next night. More than once he had enabled Dólokhov to escape when -pursued. More than once he had driven them through the town with gypsies -and “ladykins” as he called the cocottes. More than once in their -service he had run over pedestrians and upset vehicles in the streets -of Moscow and had always been protected from the consequences by “my -gentlemen” as he called them. He had ruined more than one horse in -their service. More than once they had beaten him, and more than once -they had made him drunk on champagne and Madeira, which he loved; and -he knew more than one thing about each of them which would long ago have -sent an ordinary man to Siberia. They often called Balagá into their -orgies and made him drink and dance at the gypsies’, and more than one -thousand rubles of their money had passed through his hands. In their -service he risked his skin and his life twenty times a year, and in -their service had lost more horses than the money he had from them would -buy. But he liked them; liked that mad driving at twelve miles an hour, -liked upsetting a driver or running down a pedestrian, and flying at -full gallop through the Moscow streets. He liked to hear those wild, -tipsy shouts behind him: “Get on! Get on!” when it was impossible -to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash on the neck to some -peasant who, more dead than alive, was already hurrying out of his way. -“Real gentlemen!” he considered them. - -Anatole and Dólokhov liked Balagá too for his masterly driving and -because he liked the things they liked. With others Balagá bargained, -charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours’ drive, and rarely -drove himself, generally letting his young men do so. But with “his -gentlemen” he always drove himself and never demanded anything for -his work. Only a couple of times a year—when he knew from their valets -that they had money in hand—he would turn up of a morning quite sober -and with a deep bow would ask them to help him. The gentlemen always -made him sit down. - -“Do help me out, Theodore Iványch, sir,” or “your excellency,” -he would say. “I am quite out of horses. Let me have what you can to -go to the fair.” - -And Anatole and Dólokhov, when they had money, would give him a -thousand or a couple of thousand rubles. - -Balagá was a fair-haired, short, and snub-nosed peasant of about -twenty-seven; red-faced, with a particularly red thick neck, glittering -little eyes, and a small beard. He wore a fine, dark-blue, silk-lined -cloth coat over a sheepskin. - -On entering the room now he crossed himself, turning toward the front -corner of the room, and went up to Dólokhov, holding out a small, black -hand. - -“Theodore Iványch!” he said, bowing. - -“How d’you do, friend? Well, here he is!” - -“Good day, your excellency!” he said, again holding out his hand to -Anatole who had just come in. - -“I say, Balagá,” said Anatole, putting his hands on the man’s -shoulders, “do you care for me or not? Eh? Now, do me a service.... -What horses have you come with? Eh?” - -“As your messenger ordered, your special beasts,” replied Balagá. - -“Well, listen, Balagá! Drive all three to death but get me there in -three hours. Eh?” - -“When they are dead, what shall I drive?” said Balagá with a wink. - -“Mind, I’ll smash your face in! Don’t make jokes!” cried -Anatole, suddenly rolling his eyes. - -“Why joke?” said the driver, laughing. “As if I’d grudge my -gentlemen anything! As fast as ever the horses can gallop, so fast -we’ll go!” - -“Ah!” said Anatole. “Well, sit down.” - -“Yes, sit down!” said Dólokhov. - -“I’ll stand, Theodore Iványch.” - -“Sit down; nonsense! Have a drink!” said Anatole, and filled a large -glass of Madeira for him. - -The driver’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine. After refusing -it for manners’ sake, he drank it and wiped his mouth with a red silk -handkerchief he took out of his cap. - -“And when are we to start, your excellency?” - -“Well...” Anatole looked at his watch. “We’ll start at once. -Mind, Balagá! You’ll get there in time? Eh?” - -“That depends on our luck in starting, else why shouldn’t we be -there in time?” replied Balagá. “Didn’t we get you to Tver in -seven hours? I think you remember that, your excellency?” - -“Do you know, one Christmas I drove from Tver,” said Anatole, -smilingly at the recollection and turning to Makárin who gazed -rapturously at him with wide-open eyes. “Will you believe it, -Makárka, it took one’s breath away, the rate we flew. We came across -a train of loaded sleighs and drove right over two of them. Eh?” - -“Those were horses!” Balagá continued the tale. “That time I’d -harnessed two young side horses with the bay in the shafts,” he went -on, turning to Dólokhov. “Will you believe it, Theodore Iványch, -those animals flew forty miles? I couldn’t hold them in, my hands grew -numb in the sharp frost so that I threw down the reins—‘Catch hold -yourself, your excellency!’ says I, and I just tumbled on the bottom -of the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasn’t a case of urging them on, -there was no holding them in till we reached the place. The devils took -us there in three hours! Only the near one died of it.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -Anatole went out of the room and returned a few minutes later wearing -a fur coat girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntily set on one -side and very becoming to his handsome face. Having looked in a mirror, -and standing before Dólokhov in the same pose he had assumed before it, -he lifted a glass of wine. - -“Well, good-by, Theodore. Thank you for everything and farewell!” said -Anatole. “Well, comrades and friends...” he considered for a moment “... -of my youth, farewell!” he said, turning to Makárin and the others. - -Though they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wished to make -something touching and solemn out of this address to his comrades. He -spoke slowly in a loud voice and throwing out his chest slightly swayed -one leg. - -“All take glasses; you too, Balagá. Well, comrades and friends of my -youth, we’ve had our fling and lived and reveled. Eh? And now, when -shall we meet again? I am going abroad. We have had a good time—now -farewell, lads! To our health! Hurrah!...” he cried, and emptying his -glass flung it on the floor. - -“To your health!” said Balagá who also emptied his glass, and wiped his -mouth with his handkerchief. - -Makárin embraced Anatole with tears in his eyes. - -“Ah, Prince, how sorry I am to part from you! - -“Let’s go. Let’s go!” cried Anatole. - -Balagá was about to leave the room. - -“No, stop!” said Anatole. “Shut the door; we have first to sit down. -That’s the way.” - -They shut the door and all sat down. - -“Now, quick march, lads!” said Anatole, rising. - -Joseph, his valet, handed him his sabretache and saber, and they all -went out into the vestibule. - -“And where’s the fur cloak?” asked Dólokhov. “Hey, Ignátka! Go to -Matrëna Matrévna and ask her for the sable cloak. I have heard what -elopements are like,” continued Dólokhov with a wink. “Why, she’ll rush -out more dead than alive just in the things she is wearing; if you delay -at all there’ll be tears and ‘Papa’ and ‘Mamma,’ and she’s frozen in a -minute and must go back—but you wrap the fur cloak round her first thing -and carry her to the sleigh.” - -The valet brought a woman’s fox-lined cloak. - -“Fool, I told you the sable one! Hey, Matrëna, the sable!” he shouted so -that his voice rang far through the rooms. - -A handsome, slim, and pale-faced gypsy girl with glittering black eyes -and curly blue-black hair, wearing a red shawl, ran out with a sable -mantle on her arm. - -“Here, I don’t grudge it—take it!” she said, evidently afraid of her -master and yet regretful of her cloak. - -Dólokhov, without answering, took the cloak, threw it over Matrëna, and -wrapped her up in it. - -“That’s the way,” said Dólokhov, “and then so!” and he turned the collar -up round her head, leaving only a little of the face uncovered. “And -then so, do you see?” and he pushed Anatole’s head forward to meet the -gap left by the collar, through which Matrëna’s brilliant smile was -seen. - -“Well, good-by, Matrëna,” said Anatole, kissing her. “Ah, my revels here -are over. Remember me to Stëshka. There, good-by! Good-by, Matrëna, wish -me luck!” - -“Well, Prince, may God give you great luck!” said Matrëna in her gypsy -accent. - -Two troykas were standing before the porch and two young drivers were -holding the horses. Balagá took his seat in the front one and holding -his elbows high arranged the reins deliberately. Anatole and Dólokhov -got in with him. Makárin, Khvóstikov, and a valet seated themselves in -the other sleigh. - -“Well, are you ready?” asked Balagá. - -“Go!” he cried, twisting the reins round his hands, and the troyka tore -down the Nikítski Boulevard. - -“Tproo! Get out of the way! Hi!... Tproo!...” The shouting of Balagá -and of the sturdy young fellow seated on the box was all that could -be heard. On the Arbát Square the troyka caught against a carriage; -something cracked, shouts were heard, and the troyka flew along the -Arbát Street. - -After taking a turn along the Podnovínski Boulevard, Balagá began to -rein in, and turning back drew up at the crossing of the old Konyúsheny -Street. - -The young fellow on the box jumped down to hold the horses and Anatole -and Dólokhov went along the pavement. When they reached the gate -Dólokhov whistled. The whistle was answered, and a maidservant ran out. - -“Come into the courtyard or you’ll be seen; she’ll come out directly,” -said she. - -Dólokhov stayed by the gate. Anatole followed the maid into the -courtyard, turned the corner, and ran up into the porch. - -He was met by Gabriel, Márya Dmítrievna’s gigantic footman. - -“Come to the mistress, please,” said the footman in his deep bass, -intercepting any retreat. - -“To what Mistress? Who are you?” asked Anatole in a breathless whisper. - -“Kindly step in, my orders are to bring you in.” - -“Kurágin! Come back!” shouted Dólokhov. “Betrayed! Back!” - -Dólokhov, after Anatole entered, had remained at the wicket gate and was -struggling with the yard porter who was trying to lock it. With a last -desperate effort Dólokhov pushed the porter aside, and when Anatole ran -back seized him by the arm, pulled him through the wicket, and ran back -with him to the troyka. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -Márya Dmítrievna, having found Sónya weeping in the corridor, made her -confess everything, and intercepting the note to Natásha she read it and -went into Natásha’s room with it in her hand. - -“You shameless good-for-nothing!” said she. “I won’t hear a word.” - -Pushing back Natásha who looked at her with astonished but tearless -eyes, she locked her in; and having given orders to the yard porter to -admit the persons who would be coming that evening, but not to let them -out again, and having told the footman to bring them up to her, she -seated herself in the drawing room to await the abductors. - -When Gabriel came to inform her that the men who had come had run -away again, she rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind her paced -through the rooms a long time considering what she should do. Toward -midnight she went to Natásha’s room fingering the key in her pocket. -Sónya was sitting sobbing in the corridor. “Márya Dmítrievna, for God’s -sake let me in to her!” she pleaded, but Márya Dmítrievna unlocked -the door and went in without giving her an answer.... “Disgusting, -abominable... In my house... horrid girl, hussy! I’m only sorry for her -father!” thought she, trying to restrain her wrath. “Hard as it may -be, I’ll tell them all to hold their tongues and will hide it from the -count.” She entered the room with resolute steps. Natásha lying on the -sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and she did not stir. She was in -just the same position in which Márya Dmítrievna had left her. - -“A nice girl! Very nice!” said Márya Dmítrievna. “Arranging meetings -with lovers in my house! It’s no use pretending: you listen when I speak -to you!” And Márya Dmítrievna touched her arm. “Listen when I speak! -You’ve disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies. I’d treat you -differently, but I’m sorry for your father, so I will conceal it.” - -Natásha did not change her position, but her whole body heaved with -noiseless, convulsive sobs which choked her. Márya Dmítrievna glanced -round at Sónya and seated herself on the sofa beside Natásha. - -“It’s lucky for him that he escaped me; but I’ll find him!” she said in -her rough voice. “Do you hear what I am saying or not?” she added. - -She put her large hand under Natásha’s face and turned it toward her. -Both Márya Dmítrievna and Sónya were amazed when they saw how Natásha -looked. Her eyes were dry and glistening, her lips compressed, her -cheeks sunken. - -“Let me be!... What is it to me?... I shall die!” she muttered, -wrenching herself from Márya Dmítrievna’s hands with a vicious effort -and sinking down again into her former position. - -“Natalie!” said Márya Dmítrievna. “I wish for your good. Lie still, -stay like that then, I won’t touch you. But listen. I won’t tell you how -guilty you are. You know that yourself. But when your father comes back -tomorrow what am I to tell him? Eh?” - -Again Natásha’s body shook with sobs. - -“Suppose he finds out, and your brother, and your betrothed?” - -“I have no betrothed: I have refused him!” cried Natásha. - -“That’s all the same,” continued Márya Dmítrievna. “If they hear of -this, will they let it pass? He, your father, I know him... if he -challenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?” - -“Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at all? Why? Why? Who asked -you to?” shouted Natásha, raising herself on the sofa and looking -malignantly at Márya Dmítrievna. - -“But what did you want?” cried Márya Dmítrievna, growing angry again. -“Were you kept under lock and key? Who hindered his coming to the house? -Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singing girl?... Well, if he -had carried you off... do you think they wouldn’t have found him? -Your father, or brother, or your betrothed? And he’s a scoundrel, a -wretch—that’s a fact!” - -“He is better than any of you!” exclaimed Natásha getting up. “If you -hadn’t interfered... Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it? Sónya, -why?... Go away!” - -And she burst into sobs with the despairing vehemence with which people -bewail disasters they feel they have themselves occasioned. Márya -Dmítrievna was to speak again but Natásha cried out: - -“Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!” and she threw herself -back on the sofa. - -Márya Dmítrievna went on admonishing her for some time, enjoining on her -that it must all be kept from her father and assuring her that nobody -would know anything about it if only Natásha herself would undertake -to forget it all and not let anyone see that something had happened. -Natásha did not reply, nor did she sob any longer, but she grew cold -and had a shivering fit. Márya Dmítrievna put a pillow under her head, -covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her some lime-flower -water, but Natásha did not respond to her. - -“Well, let her sleep,” said Márya Dmítrievna as she went out of the room -supposing Natásha to be asleep. - -But Natásha was not asleep; with pale face and fixed wide-open eyes she -looked straight before her. All that night she did not sleep or weep and -did not speak to Sónya who got up and went to her several times. - -Next day Count Rostóv returned from his estate near Moscow in time for -lunch as he had promised. He was in very good spirits; the affair with -the purchaser was going on satisfactorily, and there was nothing to keep -him any longer in Moscow, away from the countess whom he missed. Márya -Dmítrievna met him and told him that Natásha had been very unwell the -day before and that they had sent for the doctor, but that she was -better now. Natásha had not left her room that morning. With compressed -and parched lips and dry fixed eyes, she sat at the window, uneasily -watching the people who drove past and hurriedly glancing round at -anyone who entered the room. She was evidently expecting news of him and -that he would come or would write to her. - -When the count came to see her she turned anxiously round at the sound -of a man’s footstep, and then her face resumed its cold and malevolent -expression. She did not even get up to greet him. “What is the matter -with you, my angel? Are you ill?” asked the count. - -After a moment’s silence Natásha answered: “Yes, ill.” - -In reply to the count’s anxious inquiries as to why she was so dejected -and whether anything had happened to her betrothed, she assured him -that nothing had happened and asked him not to worry. Márya Dmítrievna -confirmed Natásha’s assurances that nothing had happened. From -the pretense of illness, from his daughter’s distress, and by the -embarrassed faces of Sónya and Márya Dmítrievna, the count saw clearly -that something had gone wrong during his absence, but it was so terrible -for him to think that anything disgraceful had happened to his beloved -daughter, and he so prized his own cheerful tranquillity, that he -avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself that nothing particularly -had happened; and he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition -delayed their return to the country. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -From the day his wife arrived in Moscow Pierre had been intending to go -away somewhere, so as not to be near her. Soon after the Rostóvs came -to Moscow the effect Natásha had on him made him hasten to carry out -his intention. He went to Tver to see Joseph Alexéevich’s widow, who -had long since promised to hand over to him some papers of her deceased -husband’s. - -When he returned to Moscow Pierre was handed a letter from Márya -Dmítrievna asking him to come and see her on a matter of great -importance relating to Andrew Bolkónski and his betrothed. Pierre had -been avoiding Natásha because it seemed to him that his feeling for her -was stronger than a married man’s should be for his friend’s fiancée. -Yet some fate constantly threw them together. - -“What can have happened? And what can they want with me?” thought he -as he dressed to go to Márya Dmítrievna’s. “If only Prince Andrew would -hurry up and come and marry her!” thought he on his way to the house. - -On the Tverskóy Boulevard a familiar voice called to him. - -“Pierre! Been back long?” someone shouted. Pierre raised his head. In -a sleigh drawn by two gray trotting-horses that were bespattering the -dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant companion Makárin dashed -past. Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose of military -dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by his beaver collar and his -head slightly bent. His face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat, -tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomaded hair besprinkled -with powdery snow. - -“Yes, indeed, that’s a true sage,” thought Pierre. “He sees nothing -beyond the pleasure of the moment, nothing troubles him and so he is -always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. What wouldn’t I give to be like -him!” he thought enviously. - -In Márya Dmítrievna’s anteroom the footman who helped him off with his -fur coat said that the mistress asked him to come to her bedroom. - -When he opened the ballroom door Pierre saw Natásha sitting at the -window, with a thin, pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round at him, -frowned, and left the room with an expression of cold dignity. - -“What has happened?” asked Pierre, entering Márya Dmítrievna’s room. - -“Fine doings!” answered Dmítrievna. “For fifty-eight years have I lived -in this world and never known anything so disgraceful!” - -And having put him on his honor not to repeat anything she told him, -Márya Dmítrievna informed him that Natásha had refused Prince Andrew -without her parents’ knowledge and that the cause of this was Anatole -Kurágin into whose society Pierre’s wife had thrown her and with whom -Natásha had tried to elope during her father’s absence, in order to be -married secretly. - -Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open-mouthed to what was told -him, scarcely able to believe his own ears. That Prince Andrew’s -deeply loved affianced wife—the same Natásha Rostóva who used to be so -charming—should give up Bolkónski for that fool Anatole who was already -secretly married (as Pierre knew), and should be so in love with him as -to agree to run away with him, was something Pierre could not conceive -and could not imagine. - -He could not reconcile the charming impression he had of Natásha, whom -he had known from a child, with this new conception of her baseness, -folly, and cruelty. He thought of his wife. “They are all alike!” he -said to himself, reflecting that he was not the only man unfortunate -enough to be tied to a bad woman. But still he pitied Prince Andrew to -the point of tears and sympathized with his wounded pride, and the more -he pitied his friend the more did he think with contempt and even with -disgust of that Natásha who had just passed him in the ballroom with -such a look of cold dignity. He did not know that Natásha’s soul was -overflowing with despair, shame, and humiliation, and that it was not -her fault that her face happened to assume an expression of calm dignity -and severity. - -“But how get married?” said Pierre, in answer to Márya Dmítrievna. “He -could not marry—he is married!” - -“Things get worse from hour to hour!” ejaculated Márya Dmítrievna. “A -nice youth! What a scoundrel! And she’s expecting him—expecting him -since yesterday. She must be told! Then at least she won’t go on -expecting him.” - -After hearing the details of Anatole’s marriage from Pierre, and giving -vent to her anger against Anatole in words of abuse, Márya Dmítrievna -told Pierre why she had sent for him. She was afraid that the count or -Bolkónski, who might arrive at any moment, if they knew of this affair -(which she hoped to hide from them) might challenge Anatole to a duel, -and she therefore asked Pierre to tell his brother-in-law in her name to -leave Moscow and not dare to let her set eyes on him again. Pierre—only -now realizing the danger to the old count, Nicholas, and Prince -Andrew—promised to do as she wished. Having briefly and exactly -explained her wishes to him, she let him go to the drawing room. - -“Mind, the count knows nothing. Behave as if you know nothing either,” -she said. “And I will go and tell her it is no use expecting him! And -stay to dinner if you care to!” she called after Pierre. - -Pierre met the old count, who seemed nervous and upset. That morning -Natásha had told him that she had rejected Bolkónski. - -“Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow!” he said to Pierre. “What troubles -one has with these girls without their mother! I do so regret having -come here.... I will be frank with you. Have you heard she has broken -off her engagement without consulting anybody? It’s true this engagement -never was much to my liking. Of course he is an excellent man, but -still, with his father’s disapproval they wouldn’t have been happy, and -Natásha won’t lack suitors. Still, it has been going on so long, and -to take such a step without father’s or mother’s consent! And now she’s -ill, and God knows what! It’s hard, Count, hard to manage daughters in -their mother’s absence....” - -Pierre saw that the count was much upset and tried to change the -subject, but the count returned to his troubles. - -Sónya entered the room with an agitated face. - -“Natásha is not quite well; she’s in her room and would like to see you. -Márya Dmítrievna is with her and she too asks you to come.” - -“Yes, you are a great friend of Bolkónski’s, no doubt she wants to send -him a message,” said the count. “Oh dear! Oh dear! How happy it all -was!” - -And clutching the spare gray locks on his temples the count left the -room. - -When Márya Dmítrievna told Natásha that Anatole was married, Natásha -did not wish to believe it and insisted on having it confirmed by Pierre -himself. Sónya told Pierre this as she led him along the corridor to -Natásha’s room. - -Natásha, pale and stern, was sitting beside Márya Dmítrievna, and her -eyes, glittering feverishly, met Pierre with a questioning look the -moment he entered. She did not smile or nod, but only gazed fixedly at -him, and her look asked only one thing: was he a friend, or like the -others an enemy in regard to Anatole? As for Pierre, he evidently did -not exist for her. - -“He knows all about it,” said Márya Dmítrievna pointing to Pierre and -addressing Natásha. “Let him tell you whether I have told the truth.” - -Natásha looked from one to the other as a hunted and wounded animal -looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen. - -“Natálya Ilyníchna,” Pierre began, dropping his eyes with a feeling of -pity for her and loathing for the thing he had to do, “whether it is -true or not should make no difference to you, because...” - -“Then it is not true that he’s married!” - -“Yes, it is true.” - -“Has he been married long?” she asked. “On your honor?...” - -Pierre gave his word of honor. - -“Is he still here?” she asked, quickly. - -“Yes, I have just seen him.” - -She was evidently unable to speak and made a sign with her hands that -they should leave her alone. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -Pierre did not stay for dinner, but left the room and went away at once. -He drove through the town seeking Anatole Kurágin, at the thought of -whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt a difficulty in -breathing. He was not at the ice hills, nor at the gypsies’, nor at -Komoneno’s. Pierre drove to the Club. In the Club all was going on as -usual. The members who were assembling for dinner were sitting about -in groups; they greeted Pierre and spoke of the town news. The footman -having greeted him, knowing his habits and his acquaintances, told him -there was a place left for him in the small dining room and that Prince -Michael Zakhárych was in the library, but Paul Timoféevich had not yet -arrived. One of Pierre’s acquaintances, while they were talking about -the weather, asked if he had heard of Kurágin’s abduction of Rostóva -which was talked of in the town, and was it true? Pierre laughed and -said it was nonsense for he had just come from the Rostóvs’. He asked -everyone about Anatole. One man told him he had not come yet, and -another that he was coming to dinner. Pierre felt it strange to see this -calm, indifferent crowd of people unaware of what was going on in his -soul. He paced through the ballroom, waited till everyone had come, and -as Anatole had not turned up did not stay for dinner but drove home. - -Anatole, for whom Pierre was looking, dined that day with Dólokhov, -consulting him as to how to remedy this unfortunate affair. It seemed to -him essential to see Natásha. In the evening he drove to his sister’s -to discuss with her how to arrange a meeting. When Pierre returned home -after vainly hunting all over Moscow, his valet informed him that Prince -Anatole was with the countess. The countess’ drawing room was full of -guests. - -Pierre without greeting his wife whom he had not seen since his -return—at that moment she was more repulsive to him than ever—entered -the drawing room and seeing Anatole went up to him. - -“Ah, Pierre,” said the countess going up to her husband. “You don’t know -what a plight our Anatole...” - -She stopped, seeing in the forward thrust of her husband’s head, in his -glowing eyes and his resolute gait, the terrible indications of that -rage and strength which she knew and had herself experienced after his -duel with Dólokhov. - -“Where you are, there is vice and evil!” said Pierre to his wife. -“Anatole, come with me! I must speak to you,” he added in French. - -Anatole glanced round at his sister and rose submissively, ready to -follow Pierre. Pierre, taking him by the arm, pulled him toward himself -and was leading him from the room. - -“If you allow yourself in my drawing room...” whispered Hélène, but -Pierre did not reply and went out of the room. - -Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty step but his face betrayed -anxiety. - -Having entered his study Pierre closed the door and addressed Anatole -without looking at him. - -“You promised Countess Rostóva to marry her and were about to elope with -her, is that so?” - -“Mon cher,” answered Anatole (their whole conversation was in French), -“I don’t consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that -tone.” - -Pierre’s face, already pale, became distorted by fury. He seized Anatole -by the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook him from side -to side till Anatole’s face showed a sufficient degree of terror. - -“When I tell you that I must talk to you!...” repeated Pierre. - -“Come now, this is stupid. What?” said Anatole, fingering a button of -his collar that had been wrenched loose with a bit of the cloth. - -“You’re a scoundrel and a blackguard, and I don’t know what deprives -me from the pleasure of smashing your head with this!” said Pierre, -expressing himself so artificially because he was talking French. - -He took a heavy paperweight and lifted it threateningly, but at once put -it back in its place. - -“Did you promise to marry her?” - -“I... I didn’t think of it. I never promised, because...” - -Pierre interrupted him. - -“Have you any letters of hers? Any letters?” he said, moving toward -Anatole. - -Anatole glanced at him and immediately thrust his hand into his pocket -and drew out his pocketbook. - -Pierre took the letter Anatole handed him and, pushing aside a table -that stood in his way, threw himself on the sofa. - -“I shan’t be violent, don’t be afraid!” said Pierre in answer to a -frightened gesture of Anatole’s. “First, the letters,” said he, as if -repeating a lesson to himself. “Secondly,” he continued after a short -pause, again rising and again pacing the room, “tomorrow you must get -out of Moscow.” - -“But how can I?...” - -“Thirdly,” Pierre continued without listening to him, “you must never -breathe a word of what has passed between you and Countess Rostóva. -I know I can’t prevent your doing so, but if you have a spark of -conscience...” Pierre paced the room several times in silence. - -Anatole sat at a table frowning and biting his lips. - -“After all, you must understand that besides your pleasure there is such -a thing as other people’s happiness and peace, and that you are ruining -a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself! Amuse yourself with women -like my wife—with them you are within your rights, for they know what -you want of them. They are armed against you by the same experience -of debauchery; but to promise a maid to marry her... to deceive, to -kidnap.... Don’t you understand that it is as mean as beating an old man -or a child?...” - -Pierre paused and looked at Anatole no longer with an angry but with a -questioning look. - -“I don’t know about that, eh?” said Anatole, growing more confident as -Pierre mastered his wrath. “I don’t know that and don’t want to,” he -said, not looking at Pierre and with a slight tremor of his lower jaw, -“but you have used such words to me—‘mean’ and so on—which as a man of -honor I can’t allow anyone to use.” - -Pierre glanced at him with amazement, unable to understand what he -wanted. - -“Though it was tête-à-tête,” Anatole continued, “still I can’t...” - -“Is it satisfaction you want?” said Pierre ironically. - -“You could at least take back your words. What? If you want me to do as -you wish, eh?” - -“I take them back, I take them back!” said Pierre, “and I ask you to -forgive me.” Pierre involuntarily glanced at the loose button. “And if -you require money for your journey...” - -Anatole smiled. The expression of that base and cringing smile, which -Pierre knew so well in his wife, revolted him. - -“Oh, vile and heartless brood!” he exclaimed, and left the room. - -Next day Anatole left for Petersburg. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -Pierre drove to Márya Dmítrievna’s to tell her of the fulfillment of her -wish that Kurágin should be banished from Moscow. The whole house was in -a state of alarm and commotion. Natásha was very ill, having, as Márya -Dmítrievna told him in secret, poisoned herself the night after she had -been told that Anatole was married, with some arsenic she had stealthily -procured. After swallowing a little she had been so frightened that she -woke Sónya and told her what she had done. The necessary antidotes had -been administered in time and she was now out of danger, though still so -weak that it was out of the question to move her to the country, and -so the countess had been sent for. Pierre saw the distracted count, and -Sónya, who had a tear-stained face, but he could not see Natásha. - -Pierre dined at the club that day and heard on all sides gossip about -the attempted abduction of Rostóva. He resolutely denied these -rumors, assuring everyone that nothing had happened except that his -brother-in-law had proposed to her and been refused. It seemed to -Pierre that it was his duty to conceal the whole affair and re-establish -Natásha’s reputation. - -He was awaiting Prince Andrew’s return with dread and went every day to -the old prince’s for news of him. - -Old Prince Bolkónski heard all the rumors current in the town from -Mademoiselle Bourienne and had read the note to Princess Mary in which -Natásha had broken off her engagement. He seemed in better spirits than -usual and awaited his son with great impatience. - -Some days after Anatole’s departure Pierre received a note from Prince -Andrew, informing him of his arrival and asking him to come to see him. - -As soon as he reached Moscow, Prince Andrew had received from his -father Natásha’s note to Princess Mary breaking off her engagement -(Mademoiselle Bourienne had purloined it from Princess Mary and given -it to the old prince), and he heard from him the story of Natásha’s -elopement, with additions. - -Prince Andrew had arrived in the evening and Pierre came to see him next -morning. Pierre expected to find Prince Andrew in almost the same state -as Natásha and was therefore surprised on entering the drawing room -to hear him in the study talking in a loud animated voice about some -intrigue going on in Petersburg. The old prince’s voice and another now -and then interrupted him. Princess Mary came out to meet Pierre. She -sighed, looking toward the door of the room where Prince Andrew was, -evidently intending to express her sympathy with his sorrow, but Pierre -saw by her face that she was glad both at what had happened and at the -way her brother had taken the news of Natásha’s faithlessness. - -“He says he expected it,” she remarked. “I know his pride will not let -him express his feelings, but still he has taken it better, far better, -than I expected. Evidently it had to be....” - -“But is it possible that all is really ended?” asked Pierre. - -Princess Mary looked at him with astonishment. She did not understand -how he could ask such a question. Pierre went into the study. Prince -Andrew, greatly changed and plainly in better health, but with a fresh -horizontal wrinkle between his brows, stood in civilian dress facing -his father and Prince Meshchérski, warmly disputing and vigorously -gesticulating. The conversation was about Speránski—the news of whose -sudden exile and alleged treachery had just reached Moscow. - -“Now he is censured and accused by all who were enthusiastic about him -a month ago,” Prince Andrew was saying, “and by those who were unable to -understand his aims. To judge a man who is in disfavor and to throw on -him all the blame of other men’s mistakes is very easy, but I maintain -that if anything good has been accomplished in this reign it was done by -him, by him alone.” - -He paused at the sight of Pierre. His face quivered and immediately -assumed a vindictive expression. - -“Posterity will do him justice,” he concluded, and at once turned to -Pierre. - -“Well, how are you? Still getting stouter?” he said with animation, but -the new wrinkle on his forehead deepened. “Yes, I am well,” he said in -answer to Pierre’s question, and smiled. - -To Pierre that smile said plainly: “I am well, but my health is now of -no use to anyone.” - -After a few words to Pierre about the awful roads from the Polish -frontier, about people he had met in Switzerland who knew Pierre, and -about M. Dessalles, whom he had brought from abroad to be his son’s -tutor, Prince Andrew again joined warmly in the conversation about -Speránski which was still going on between the two old men. - -“If there were treason, or proofs of secret relations with Napoleon, -they would have been made public,” he said with warmth and haste. “I do -not, and never did, like Speránski personally, but I like justice!” - -Pierre now recognized in his friend a need with which he was only too -familiar, to get excited and to have arguments about extraneous matters -in order to stifle thoughts that were too oppressive and too intimate. -When Prince Meshchérski had left, Prince Andrew took Pierre’s arm and -asked him into the room that had been assigned him. A bed had been made -up there, and some open portmanteaus and trunks stood about. Prince -Andrew went to one and took out a small casket, from which he drew a -packet wrapped in paper. He did it all silently and very quickly. He -stood up and coughed. His face was gloomy and his lips compressed. - -“Forgive me for troubling you....” - -Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to speak of Natásha, and his -broad face expressed pity and sympathy. This expression irritated Prince -Andrew, and in a determined, ringing, and unpleasant tone he continued: - -“I have received a refusal from Countess Rostóva and have heard reports -of your brother-in-law having sought her hand, or something of that -kind. Is that true?” - -“Both true and untrue,” Pierre began; but Prince Andrew interrupted him. - -“Here are her letters and her portrait,” said he. - -He took the packet from the table and handed it to Pierre. - -“Give this to the countess... if you see her.” - -“She is very ill,” said Pierre. - -“Then she is here still?” said Prince Andrew. “And Prince Kurágin?” he -added quickly. - -“He left long ago. She has been at death’s door.” - -“I much regret her illness,” said Prince Andrew; and he smiled like his -father, coldly, maliciously, and unpleasantly. - -“So Monsieur Kurágin has not honored Countess Rostóva with his hand?” -said Prince Andrew, and he snorted several times. - -“He could not marry, for he was married already,” said Pierre. - -Prince Andrew laughed disagreeably, again reminding one of his father. - -“And where is your brother-in-law now, if I may ask?” he said. - -“He has gone to Peters... But I don’t know,” said Pierre. - -“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Prince Andrew. “Tell Countess Rostóva -that she was and is perfectly free and that I wish her all that is -good.” - -Pierre took the packet. Prince Andrew, as if trying to remember whether -he had something more to say, or waiting to see if Pierre would say -anything, looked fixedly at him. - -“I say, do you remember our discussion in Petersburg?” asked Pierre, -“about...” - -“Yes,” returned Prince Andrew hastily. “I said that a fallen woman -should be forgiven, but I didn’t say I could forgive her. I can’t.” - -“But can this be compared...?” said Pierre. - -Prince Andrew interrupted him and cried sharply: “Yes, ask her hand -again, be magnanimous, and so on?... Yes, that would be very noble, but -I am unable to follow in that gentleman’s footsteps. If you wish to be -my friend never speak to me of that... of all that! Well, good-by. So -you’ll give her the packet?” - -Pierre left the room and went to the old prince and Princess Mary. - -The old man seemed livelier than usual. Princess Mary was the same as -always, but beneath her sympathy for her brother, Pierre noticed her -satisfaction that the engagement had been broken off. Looking at them -Pierre realized what contempt and animosity they all felt for the -Rostóvs, and that it was impossible in their presence even to mention -the name of her who could give up Prince Andrew for anyone else. - -At dinner the talk turned on the war, the approach of which was becoming -evident. Prince Andrew talked incessantly, arguing now with his father, -now with the Swiss tutor Dessalles, and showing an unnatural animation, -the cause of which Pierre so well understood. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -That same evening Pierre went to the Rostóvs’ to fulfill the commission -entrusted to him. Natásha was in bed, the count at the club, and Pierre, -after giving the letters to Sónya, went to Márya Dmítrievna who was -interested to know how Prince Andrew had taken the news. Ten minutes -later Sónya came to Márya Dmítrievna. - -“Natásha insists on seeing Count Peter Kirílovich,” said she. - -“But how? Are we to take him up to her? The room there has not been -tidied up.” - -“No, she has dressed and gone into the drawing room,” said Sónya. - -Márya Dmítrievna only shrugged her shoulders. - -“When will her mother come? She has worried me to death! Now mind, don’t -tell her everything!” said she to Pierre. “One hasn’t the heart to scold -her, she is so much to be pitied, so much to be pitied.” - -Natásha was standing in the middle of the drawing room, emaciated, with -a pale set face, but not at all shamefaced as Pierre expected to find -her. When he appeared at the door she grew flurried, evidently undecided -whether to go to meet him or to wait till he came up. - -Pierre hastened to her. He thought she would give him her hand as -usual; but she, stepping up to him, stopped, breathing heavily, her arms -hanging lifelessly just in the pose she used to stand in when she -went to the middle of the ballroom to sing, but with quite a different -expression of face. - -“Peter Kirílovich,” she began rapidly, “Prince Bolkónski was your -friend—is your friend,” she corrected herself. (It seemed to her that -everything that had once been must now be different.) “He told me once -to apply to you...” - -Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but did not speak. Till then he had -reproached her in his heart and tried to despise her, but he now felt so -sorry for her that there was no room in his soul for reproach. - -“He is here now: tell him... to for... forgive me!” She stopped and -breathed still more quickly, but did not shed tears. - -“Yes... I will tell him,” answered Pierre; “but...” - -He did not know what to say. - -Natásha was evidently dismayed at the thought of what he might think she -had meant. - -“No, I know all is over,” she said hurriedly. “No, that can never be. -I’m only tormented by the wrong I have done him. Tell him only that I -beg him to forgive, forgive, forgive me for everything....” - -She trembled all over and sat down on a chair. - -A sense of pity he had never before known overflowed Pierre’s heart. - -“I will tell him, I will tell him everything once more,” said Pierre. -“But... I should like to know one thing....” - -“Know what?” Natásha’s eyes asked. - -“I should like to know, did you love...” Pierre did not know how to -refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of him—“did you love that -bad man?” - -“Don’t call him bad!” said Natásha. “But I don’t know, don’t know at -all....” - -She began to cry and a still greater sense of pity, tenderness, and love -welled up in Pierre. He felt the tears trickle under his spectacles and -hoped they would not be noticed. - -“We won’t speak of it any more, my dear,” said Pierre, and his gentle, -cordial tone suddenly seemed very strange to Natásha. - -“We won’t speak of it, my dear—I’ll tell him everything; but one thing -I beg of you, consider me your friend and if you want help, advice, -or simply to open your heart to someone—not now, but when your mind is -clearer think of me!” He took her hand and kissed it. “I shall be happy -if it’s in my power...” - -Pierre grew confused. - -“Don’t speak to me like that. I am not worth it!” exclaimed Natásha and -turned to leave the room, but Pierre held her hand. - -He knew he had something more to say to her. But when he said it he was -amazed at his own words. - -“Stop, stop! You have your whole life before you,” said he to her. - -“Before me? No! All is over for me,” she replied with shame and -self-abasement. - -“All over?” he repeated. “If I were not myself, but the handsomest, -cleverest, and best man in the world, and were free, I would this moment -ask on my knees for your hand and your love!” - -For the first time for many days Natásha wept tears of gratitude and -tenderness, and glancing at Pierre she went out of the room. - -Pierre too when she had gone almost ran into the anteroom, restraining -tears of tenderness and joy that choked him, and without finding the -sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on and got into his sleigh. - -“Where to now, your excellency?” asked the coachman. - -“Where to?” Pierre asked himself. “Where can I go now? Surely not to the -Club or to pay calls?” All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, in comparison -with this feeling of tenderness and love he experienced: in comparison -with that softened, grateful, last look she had given him through her -tears. - -“Home!” said Pierre, and despite twenty-two degrees of frost Fahrenheit -he threw open the bearskin cloak from his broad chest and inhaled the -air with joy. - -It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill-lit streets, above the -black roofs, stretched the dark starry sky. Only looking up at the sky -did Pierre cease to feel how sordid and humiliating were all mundane -things compared with the heights to which his soul had just been raised. -At the entrance to the Arbát Square an immense expanse of dark starry -sky presented itself to his eyes. Almost in the center of it, above the -Prechístenka Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars -but distinguished from them all by its nearness to the earth, its white -light, and its long uplifted tail, shone the enormous and brilliant -comet of 1812—the comet which was said to portend all kinds of woes -and the end of the world. In Pierre, however, that comet with its long -luminous tail aroused no feeling of fear. On the contrary he gazed -joyfully, his eyes moist with tears, at this bright comet which, having -traveled in its orbit with inconceivable velocity through immeasurable -space, seemed suddenly—like an arrow piercing the earth—to remain -fixed in a chosen spot, vigorously holding its tail erect, shining and -displaying its white light amid countless other scintillating stars. It -seemed to Pierre that this comet fully responded to what was passing in -his own softened and uplifted soul, now blossoming into a new life. - - - - - -BOOK NINE: 1812 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -From the close of the year 1811 intensified arming and concentrating of -the forces of Western Europe began, and in 1812 these forces—millions -of men, reckoning those transporting and feeding the army—moved from the -west eastwards to the Russian frontier, toward which since 1811 Russian -forces had been similarly drawn. On the twelfth of June, 1812, the -forces of Western Europe crossed the Russian frontier and war began, -that is, an event took place opposed to human reason and to human -nature. Millions of men perpetrated against one another such innumerable -crimes, frauds, treacheries, thefts, forgeries, issues of false money, -burglaries, incendiarisms, and murders as in whole centuries are not -recorded in the annals of all the law courts of the world, but which -those who committed them did not at the time regard as being crimes. - -What produced this extraordinary occurrence? What were its causes? The -historians tell us with naïve assurance that its causes were the wrongs -inflicted on the Duke of Oldenburg, the nonobservance of the Continental -System, the ambition of Napoleon, the firmness of Alexander, the -mistakes of the diplomatists, and so on. - -Consequently, it would only have been necessary for Metternich, -Rumyántsev, or Talleyrand, between a levee and an evening party, to have -taken proper pains and written a more adroit note, or for Napoleon to -have written to Alexander: “My respected Brother, I consent to restore -the duchy to the Duke of Oldenburg”—and there would have been no war. - -We can understand that the matter seemed like that to contemporaries. -It naturally seemed to Napoleon that the war was caused by England’s -intrigues (as in fact he said on the island of St. Helena). It naturally -seemed to members of the English Parliament that the cause of the war -was Napoleon’s ambition; to the Duke of Oldenburg, that the cause of the -war was the violence done to him; to businessmen that the cause of the -war was the Continental System which was ruining Europe; to the generals -and old soldiers that the chief reason for the war was the necessity of -giving them employment; to the legitimists of that day that it was the -need of re-establishing les bons principes, and to the diplomatists of -that time that it all resulted from the fact that the alliance between -Russia and Austria in 1809 had not been sufficiently well concealed -from Napoleon, and from the awkward wording of Memorandum No. 178. It -is natural that these and a countless and infinite quantity of other -reasons, the number depending on the endless diversity of points -of view, presented themselves to the men of that day; but to us, to -posterity who view the thing that happened in all its magnitude and -perceive its plain and terrible meaning, these causes seem insufficient. -To us it is incomprehensible that millions of Christian men killed and -tortured each other either because Napoleon was ambitious or Alexander -was firm, or because England’s policy was astute or the Duke of -Oldenburg wronged. We cannot grasp what connection such circumstances -have with the actual fact of slaughter and violence: why because the -Duke was wronged, thousands of men from the other side of Europe killed -and ruined the people of Smolénsk and Moscow and were killed by them. - -To us, their descendants, who are not historians and are not carried -away by the process of research and can therefore regard the event -with unclouded common sense, an incalculable number of causes present -themselves. The deeper we delve in search of these causes the more of -them we find; and each separate cause or whole series of causes appears -to us equally valid in itself and equally false by its insignificance -compared to the magnitude of the events, and by its impotence—apart -from the cooperation of all the other coincident causes—to occasion the -event. To us, the wish or objection of this or that French corporal to -serve a second term appears as much a cause as Napoleon’s refusal to -withdraw his troops beyond the Vistula and to restore the duchy of -Oldenburg; for had he not wished to serve, and had a second, a third, -and a thousandth corporal and private also refused, there would have -been so many less men in Napoleon’s army and the war could not have -occurred. - -Had Napoleon not taken offense at the demand that he should withdraw -beyond the Vistula, and not ordered his troops to advance, there would -have been no war; but had all his sergeants objected to serving a second -term then also there could have been no war. Nor could there have been -a war had there been no English intrigues and no Duke of Oldenburg, and -had Alexander not felt insulted, and had there not been an autocratic -government in Russia, or a Revolution in France and a subsequent -dictatorship and Empire, or all the things that produced the French -Revolution, and so on. Without each of these causes nothing could have -happened. So all these causes—myriads of causes—coincided to bring it -about. And so there was no one cause for that occurrence, but it had -to occur because it had to. Millions of men, renouncing their human -feelings and reason, had to go from west to east to slay their fellows, -just as some centuries previously hordes of men had come from the east -to the west, slaying their fellows. - -The actions of Napoleon and Alexander, on whose words the event seemed -to hang, were as little voluntary as the actions of any soldier who was -drawn into the campaign by lot or by conscription. This could not be -otherwise, for in order that the will of Napoleon and Alexander (on whom -the event seemed to depend) should be carried out, the concurrence of -innumerable circumstances was needed without anyone of which the event -could not have taken place. It was necessary that millions of men in -whose hands lay the real power—the soldiers who fired, or transported -provisions and guns—should consent to carry out the will of these weak -individuals, and should have been induced to do so by an infinite number -of diverse and complex causes. - -We are forced to fall back on fatalism as an explanation of irrational -events (that is to say, events the reasonableness of which we do -not understand). The more we try to explain such events in history -reasonably, the more unreasonable and incomprehensible do they become to -us. - -Each man lives for himself, using his freedom to attain his personal -aims, and feels with his whole being that he can now do or abstain from -doing this or that action; but as soon as he has done it, that action -performed at a certain moment in time becomes irrevocable and belongs to -history, in which it has not a free but a predestined significance. - -There are two sides to the life of every man, his individual life, which -is the more free the more abstract its interests, and his elemental hive -life in which he inevitably obeys laws laid down for him. - -Man lives consciously for himself, but is an unconscious instrument in -the attainment of the historic, universal, aims of humanity. A deed done -is irrevocable, and its result coinciding in time with the actions of -millions of other men assumes an historic significance. The higher a man -stands on the social ladder, the more people he is connected with -and the more power he has over others, the more evident is the -predestination and inevitability of his every action. - -“The king’s heart is in the hands of the Lord.” - -A king is history’s slave. - -History, that is, the unconscious, general, hive life of mankind, uses -every moment of the life of kings as a tool for its own purposes. - -Though Napoleon at that time, in 1812, was more convinced than ever that -it depended on him, verser (ou ne pas verser) le sang de ses peuples -*—as Alexander expressed it in the last letter he wrote him—he had never -been so much in the grip of inevitable laws, which compelled him, while -thinking that he was acting on his own volition, to perform for the hive -life—that is to say, for history—whatever had to be performed. - - * “To shed (or not to shed) the blood of his peoples.” - - -The people of the west moved eastwards to slay their fellow men, and -by the law of coincidence thousands of minute causes fitted in and -co-ordinated to produce that movement and war: reproaches for the -nonobservance of the Continental System, the Duke of Oldenburg’s -wrongs, the movement of troops into Prussia—undertaken (as it seemed to -Napoleon) only for the purpose of securing an armed peace, the -French Emperor’s love and habit of war coinciding with his people’s -inclinations, allurement by the grandeur of the preparations, and the -expenditure on those preparations and the need of obtaining advantages -to compensate for that expenditure, the intoxicating honors he received -in Dresden, the diplomatic negotiations which, in the opinion of -contemporaries, were carried on with a sincere desire to attain peace, -but which only wounded the self-love of both sides, and millions of -other causes that adapted themselves to the event that was happening or -coincided with it. - -When an apple has ripened and falls, why does it fall? Because of its -attraction to the earth, because its stalk withers, because it is dried -by the sun, because it grows heavier, because the wind shakes it, or -because the boy standing below wants to eat it? - -Nothing is the cause. All this is only the coincidence of conditions in -which all vital organic and elemental events occur. And the botanist -who finds that the apple falls because the cellular tissue decays and so -forth is equally right with the child who stands under the tree and says -the apple fell because he wanted to eat it and prayed for it. Equally -right or wrong is he who says that Napoleon went to Moscow because he -wanted to, and perished because Alexander desired his destruction, and -he who says that an undermined hill weighing a million tons fell because -the last navvy struck it for the last time with his mattock. In historic -events the so-called great men are labels giving names to events, and -like labels they have but the smallest connection with the event itself. - -Every act of theirs, which appears to them an act of their own will, is -in an historical sense involuntary and is related to the whole course of -history and predestined from eternity. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -On the twenty-ninth of May Napoleon left Dresden, where he had spent -three weeks surrounded by a court that included princes, dukes, kings, -and even an emperor. Before leaving, Napoleon showed favor to the -emperor, kings, and princes who had deserved it, reprimanded the kings -and princes with whom he was dissatisfied, presented pearls and diamonds -of his own—that is, which he had taken from other kings—to the Empress -of Austria, and having, as his historian tells us, tenderly embraced the -Empress Marie Louise—who regarded him as her husband, though he had left -another wife in Paris—left her grieved by the parting which she seemed -hardly able to bear. Though the diplomatists still firmly believed in -the possibility of peace and worked zealously to that end, and though -the Emperor Napoleon himself wrote a letter to Alexander, calling him -Monsieur mon frère, and sincerely assured him that he did not want war -and would always love and honor him—yet he set off to join his army, -and at every station gave fresh orders to accelerate the movement of his -troops from west to east. He went in a traveling coach with six horses, -surrounded by pages, aides-de-camp, and an escort, along the road to -Posen, Thorn, Danzig, and Königsberg. At each of these towns thousands -of people met him with excitement and enthusiasm. - -The army was moving from west to east, and relays of six horses carried -him in the same direction. On the tenth of June, * coming up with the -army, he spent the night in apartments prepared for him on the estate of -a Polish count in the Vilkavisski forest. - - * Old style. - -Next day, overtaking the army, he went in a carriage to the Niemen, and, -changing into a Polish uniform, he drove to the riverbank in order to -select a place for the crossing. - -Seeing, on the other side, some Cossacks (les Cosaques) and the -wide-spreading steppes in the midst of which lay the holy city of Moscow -(Moscou, la ville sainte), the capital of a realm such as the Scythia -into which Alexander the Great had marched—Napoleon unexpectedly, and -contrary alike to strategic and diplomatic considerations, ordered an -advance, and the next day his army began to cross the Niemen. - -Early in the morning of the twelfth of June he came out of his tent, -which was pitched that day on the steep left bank of the Niemen, and -looked through a spyglass at the streams of his troops pouring out of -the Vilkavisski forest and flowing over the three bridges thrown across -the river. The troops, knowing of the Emperor’s presence, were on the -lookout for him, and when they caught sight of a figure in an overcoat -and a cocked hat standing apart from his suite in front of his tent on -the hill, they threw up their caps and shouted: “Vive l’Empereur!” and -one after another poured in a ceaseless stream out of the vast forest -that had concealed them and, separating, flowed on and on by the three -bridges to the other side. - -“Now we’ll go into action. Oh, when he takes it in hand himself, things -get hot... by heaven!... There he is!... Vive l’Empereur! So these -are the steppes of Asia! It’s a nasty country all the same. Au revoir, -Beauché; I’ll keep the best palace in Moscow for you! Au revoir. Good -luck!... Did you see the Emperor? Vive l’Empereur!... preur!—If -they make me Governor of India, Gérard, I’ll make you Minister of -Kashmir—that’s settled. Vive l’Empereur! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! The -Cossacks—those rascals—see how they run! Vive l’Empereur! There he -is, do you see him? I’ve seen him twice, as I see you now. The little -corporal... I saw him give the cross to one of the veterans.... Vive -l’Empereur!” came the voices of men, old and young, of most diverse -characters and social positions. On the faces of all was one common -expression of joy at the commencement of the long-expected campaign and -of rapture and devotion to the man in the gray coat who was standing on -the hill. - -On the thirteenth of June a rather small, thoroughbred Arab horse was -brought to Napoleon. He mounted it and rode at a gallop to one of the -bridges over the Niemen, deafened continually by incessant and rapturous -acclamations which he evidently endured only because it was impossible -to forbid the soldiers to express their love of him by such shouting, -but the shouting which accompanied him everywhere disturbed him and -distracted him from the military cares that had occupied him from the -time he joined the army. He rode across one of the swaying pontoon -bridges to the farther side, turned sharply to the left, and galloped in -the direction of Kóvno, preceded by enraptured, mounted chasseurs of the -Guard who, breathless with delight, galloped ahead to clear a path for -him through the troops. On reaching the broad river Víliya, he stopped -near a regiment of Polish Uhlans stationed by the river. - -“Vivat!” shouted the Poles, ecstatically, breaking their ranks and -pressing against one another to see him. - -Napoleon looked up and down the river, dismounted, and sat down on a log -that lay on the bank. At a mute sign from him, a telescope was handed -him which he rested on the back of a happy page who had run up to him, -and he gazed at the opposite bank. Then he became absorbed in a map laid -out on the logs. Without lifting his head he said something, and two of -his aides-de-camp galloped off to the Polish Uhlans. - -“What? What did he say?” was heard in the ranks of the Polish Uhlans -when one of the aides-de-camp rode up to them. - -The order was to find a ford and to cross the river. The colonel of the -Polish Uhlans, a handsome old man, flushed and, fumbling in his speech -from excitement, asked the aide-de-camp whether he would be permitted -to swim the river with his Uhlans instead of seeking a ford. In evident -fear of refusal, like a boy asking for permission to get on a horse, he -begged to be allowed to swim across the river before the Emperor’s -eyes. The aide-de-camp replied that probably the Emperor would not be -displeased at this excess of zeal. - -As soon as the aide-de-camp had said this, the old mustached officer, -with happy face and sparkling eyes, raised his saber, shouted “Vivat!” -and, commanding the Uhlans to follow him, spurred his horse and galloped -into the river. He gave an angry thrust to his horse, which had grown -restive under him, and plunged into the water, heading for the deepest -part where the current was swift. Hundreds of Uhlans galloped in after -him. It was cold and uncanny in the rapid current in the middle of the -stream, and the Uhlans caught hold of one another as they fell off their -horses. Some of the horses were drowned and some of the men; the others -tried to swim on, some in the saddle and some clinging to their horses’ -manes. They tried to make their way forward to the opposite bank and, -though there was a ford one third of a mile away, were proud that they -were swimming and drowning in this river under the eyes of the man who -sat on the log and was not even looking at what they were doing. When -the aide-de-camp, having returned and choosing an opportune moment, -ventured to draw the Emperor’s attention to the devotion of the Poles -to his person, the little man in the gray overcoat got up and, having -summoned Berthier, began pacing up and down the bank with him, giving -him instructions and occasionally glancing disapprovingly at the -drowning Uhlans who distracted his attention. - -For him it was no new conviction that his presence in any part of -the world, from Africa to the steppes of Muscovy alike, was enough to -dumfound people and impel them to insane self-oblivion. He called for -his horse and rode to his quarters. - -Some forty Uhlans were drowned in the river, though boats were sent to -their assistance. The majority struggled back to the bank from which -they had started. The colonel and some of his men got across and with -difficulty clambered out on the further bank. And as soon as they had -got out, in their soaked and streaming clothes, they shouted “Vivat!” -and looked ecstatically at the spot where Napoleon had been but where he -no longer was and at that moment considered themselves happy. - -That evening, between issuing one order that the forged Russian paper -money prepared for use in Russia should be delivered as quickly as -possible and another that a Saxon should be shot, on whom a letter -containing information about the orders to the French army had been -found, Napoleon also gave instructions that the Polish colonel who -had needlessly plunged into the river should be enrolled in the Légion -d’honneur of which Napoleon was himself the head. - -Quos vult perdere dementat. * - - * Those whom (God) wishes to destroy he drives mad. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The Emperor of Russia had, meanwhile, been in Vílna for more than a -month, reviewing troops and holding maneuvers. Nothing was ready for the -war that everyone expected and to prepare for which the Emperor had come -from Petersburg. There was no general plan of action. The vacillation -between the various plans that were proposed had even increased after -the Emperor had been at headquarters for a month. Each of the three -armies had its own commander in chief, but there was no supreme -commander of all the forces, and the Emperor did not assume that -responsibility himself. - -The longer the Emperor remained in Vílna the less did everybody—tired of -waiting—prepare for the war. All the efforts of those who surrounded the -sovereign seemed directed merely to making him spend his time pleasantly -and forget that war was impending. - -In June, after many balls and fetes given by the Polish magnates, by the -courtiers, and by the Emperor himself, it occurred to one of the Polish -aides-de-camp in attendance that a dinner and ball should be given for -the Emperor by his aides-de-camp. This idea was eagerly received. -The Emperor gave his consent. The aides-de-camp collected money by -subscription. The lady who was thought to be most pleasing to the -Emperor was invited to act as hostess. Count Bennigsen, being a -landowner in the Vílna province, offered his country house for the fete, -and the thirteenth of June was fixed for a ball, dinner, regatta, and -fireworks at Zakret, Count Bennigsen’s country seat. - -The very day that Napoleon issued the order to cross the Niemen, and -his vanguard, driving off the Cossacks, crossed the Russian frontier, -Alexander spent the evening at the entertainment given by his -aides-de-camp at Bennigsen’s country house. - -It was a gay and brilliant fete. Connoisseurs of such matters declared -that rarely had so many beautiful women been assembled in one place. -Countess Bezúkhova was present among other Russian ladies who had -followed the sovereign from Petersburg to Vílna and eclipsed the refined -Polish ladies by her massive, so-called Russian type of beauty. The -Emperor noticed her and honored her with a dance. - -Borís Drubetskóy, having left his wife in Moscow and being for the -present en garçon (as he phrased it), was also there and, though not an -aide-de-camp, had subscribed a large sum toward the expenses. Borís -was now a rich man who had risen to high honors and no longer sought -patronage but stood on an equal footing with the highest of those of his -own age. He was meeting Hélène in Vílna after not having seen her for -a long time and did not recall the past, but as Hélène was enjoying -the favors of a very important personage and Borís had only recently -married, they met as good friends of long standing. - -At midnight dancing was still going on. Hélène, not having a suitable -partner, herself offered to dance the mazurka with Borís. They were the -third couple. Borís, coolly looking at Hélène’s dazzling bare shoulders -which emerged from a dark, gold-embroidered, gauze gown, talked to her -of old acquaintances and at the same time, unaware of it himself and -unnoticed by others, never for an instant ceased to observe the Emperor -who was in the same room. The Emperor was not dancing, he stood in the -doorway, stopping now one pair and now another with gracious words which -he alone knew how to utter. - -As the mazurka began, Borís saw that Adjutant General Balashëv, one of -those in closest attendance on the Emperor, went up to him and contrary -to court etiquette stood near him while he was talking to a Polish -lady. Having finished speaking to her, the Emperor looked inquiringly -at Balashëv and, evidently understanding that he only acted thus because -there were important reasons for so doing, nodded slightly to the lady -and turned to him. Hardly had Balashëv begun to speak before a look of -amazement appeared on the Emperor’s face. He took Balashëv by the arm -and crossed the room with him, unconsciously clearing a path seven -yards wide as the people on both sides made way for him. Borís noticed -Arakchéev’s excited face when the sovereign went out with Balashëv. -Arakchéev looked at the Emperor from under his brow and, sniffing with -his red nose, stepped forward from the crowd as if expecting the Emperor -to address him. (Borís understood that Arakchéev envied Balashëv and -was displeased that evidently important news had reached the Emperor -otherwise than through himself.) - -But the Emperor and Balashëv passed out into the illuminated garden -without noticing Arakchéev who, holding his sword and glancing -wrathfully around, followed some twenty paces behind them. - -All the time Borís was going through the figures of the mazurka, he was -worried by the question of what news Balashëv had brought and how he -could find it out before others. In the figure in which he had to choose -two ladies, he whispered to Hélène that he meant to choose Countess -Potocka who, he thought, had gone out onto the veranda, and glided over -the parquet to the door opening into the garden, where, seeing Balashëv -and the Emperor returning to the veranda, he stood still. They were -moving toward the door. Borís, fluttering as if he had not had time to -withdraw, respectfully pressed close to the doorpost with bowed head. - -The Emperor, with the agitation of one who has been personally -affronted, was finishing with these words: - -“To enter Russia without declaring war! I will not make peace as long as -a single armed enemy remains in my country!” It seemed to Borís that it -gave the Emperor pleasure to utter these words. He was satisfied with -the form in which he had expressed his thoughts, but displeased that -Borís had overheard it. - -“Let no one know of it!” the Emperor added with a frown. - -Borís understood that this was meant for him and, closing his eyes, -slightly bowed his head. The Emperor re-entered the ballroom and -remained there about another half-hour. - -Borís was thus the first to learn the news that the French army had -crossed the Niemen and, thanks to this, was able to show certain -important personages that much that was concealed from others was -usually known to him, and by this means he rose higher in their -estimation. - - -The unexpected news of the French having crossed the Niemen was -particularly startling after a month of unfulfilled expectations, and at -a ball. On first receiving the news, under the influence of indignation -and resentment the Emperor had found a phrase that pleased him, fully -expressed his feelings, and has since become famous. On returning home -at two o’clock that night he sent for his secretary, Shishkóv, and told -him to write an order to the troops and a rescript to Field Marshal -Prince Saltykóv, in which he insisted on the words being inserted that -he would not make peace so long as a single armed Frenchman remained on -Russian soil. - -Next day the following letter was sent to Napoleon: - -Monsieur mon frère, - -Yesterday I learned that, despite the loyalty with which I have kept -my engagements with Your Majesty, your troops have crossed the Russian -frontier, and I have this moment received from Petersburg a note, in -which Count Lauriston informs me, as a reason for this aggression, that -Your Majesty has considered yourself to be in a state of war with me -from the time Prince Kurákin asked for his passports. The reasons on -which the Duc de Bassano based his refusal to deliver them to him would -never have led me to suppose that that could serve as a pretext for -aggression. In fact, the ambassador, as he himself has declared, was -never authorized to make that demand, and as soon as I was informed of -it I let him know how much I disapproved of it and ordered him to remain -at his post. If Your Majesty does not intend to shed the blood of our -peoples for such a misunderstanding, and consents to withdraw your -troops from Russian territory, I will regard what has passed as not -having occurred and an understanding between us will be possible. In -the contrary case, Your Majesty, I shall see myself forced to repel an -attack that nothing on my part has provoked. It still depends on Your -Majesty to preserve humanity from the calamity of another war. - -I am, etc., - -(signed) Alexander - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -At two in the morning of the fourteenth of June, the Emperor, having -sent for Balashëv and read him his letter to Napoleon, ordered him to -take it and hand it personally to the French Emperor. When dispatching -Balashëv, the Emperor repeated to him the words that he would not make -peace so long as a single armed enemy remained on Russian soil and told -him to transmit those words to Napoleon. Alexander did not insert them -in his letter to Napoleon, because with his characteristic tact he felt -it would be injudicious to use them at a moment when a last attempt at -reconciliation was being made, but he definitely instructed Balashëv to -repeat them personally to Napoleon. - -Having set off in the small hours of the fourteenth, accompanied by a -bugler and two Cossacks, Balashëv reached the French outposts at the -village of Rykónty, on the Russian side of the Niemen, by dawn. There he -was stopped by French cavalry sentinels. - -A French noncommissioned officer of hussars, in crimson uniform and a -shaggy cap, shouted to the approaching Balashëv to halt. Balashëv did -not do so at once, but continued to advance along the road at a walking -pace. - -The noncommissioned officer frowned and, muttering words of abuse, -advanced his horse’s chest against Balashëv, put his hand to his saber, -and shouted rudely at the Russian general, asking: was he deaf that -he did not do as he was told? Balashëv mentioned who he was. The -noncommissioned officer began talking with his comrades about regimental -matters without looking at the Russian general. - -After living at the seat of the highest authority and power, after -conversing with the Emperor less than three hours before, and in general -being accustomed to the respect due to his rank in the service, Balashëv -found it very strange here on Russian soil to encounter this hostile, -and still more this disrespectful, application of brute force to -himself. - -The sun was only just appearing from behind the clouds, the air was -fresh and dewy. A herd of cattle was being driven along the road from -the village, and over the fields the larks rose trilling, one after -another, like bubbles rising in water. - -Balashëv looked around him, awaiting the arrival of an officer from the -village. The Russian Cossacks and bugler and the French hussars looked -silently at one another from time to time. - -A French colonel of hussars, who had evidently just left his bed, came -riding from the village on a handsome sleek gray horse, accompanied -by two hussars. The officer, the soldiers, and their horses all looked -smart and well kept. - -It was that first period of a campaign when troops are still in full -trim, almost like that of peacetime maneuvers, but with a shade of -martial swagger in their clothes, and a touch of the gaiety and spirit -of enterprise which always accompany the opening of a campaign. - -The French colonel with difficulty repressed a yawn, but was polite and -evidently understood Balashëv’s importance. He led him past his soldiers -and behind the outposts and told him that his wish to be presented to -the Emperor would most likely be satisfied immediately, as the Emperor’s -quarters were, he believed, not far off. - -They rode through the village of Rykónty, past tethered French hussar -horses, past sentinels and men who saluted their colonel and stared with -curiosity at a Russian uniform, and came out at the other end of the -village. The colonel said that the commander of the division was a mile -and a quarter away and would receive Balashëv and conduct him to his -destination. - -The sun had by now risen and shone gaily on the bright verdure. - -They had hardly ridden up a hill, past a tavern, before they saw a group -of horsemen coming toward them. In front of the group, on a black horse -with trappings that glittered in the sun, rode a tall man with plumes -in his hat and black hair curling down to his shoulders. He wore a red -mantle, and stretched his long legs forward in French fashion. This man -rode toward Balashëv at a gallop, his plumes flowing and his gems and -gold lace glittering in the bright June sunshine. - -Balashëv was only two horses’ length from the equestrian with the -bracelets, plumes, necklaces, and gold embroidery, who was galloping -toward him with a theatrically solemn countenance, when Julner, the -French colonel, whispered respectfully: “The King of Naples!” It was, -in fact, Murat, now called “King of Naples.” Though it was quite -incomprehensible why he should be King of Naples, he was called so, -and was himself convinced that he was so, and therefore assumed a more -solemn and important air than formerly. He was so sure that he really -was the King of Naples that when, on the eve of his departure from that -city, while walking through the streets with his wife, some Italians -called out to him: “Viva il re!” * he turned to his wife with a pensive -smile and said: “Poor fellows, they don’t know that I am leaving them -tomorrow!” - - * “Long live the king.” - - -But though he firmly believed himself to be King of Naples and pitied -the grief felt by the subjects he was abandoning, latterly, after he had -been ordered to return to military service—and especially since his last -interview with Napoleon in Danzig, when his august brother-in-law had -told him: “I made you King that you should reign in my way, but not in -yours!”—he had cheerfully taken up his familiar business, and—like a -well-fed but not overfat horse that feels himself in harness and grows -skittish between the shafts—he dressed up in clothes as variegated and -expensive as possible, and gaily and contentedly galloped along the -roads of Poland, without himself knowing why or whither. - -On seeing the Russian general he threw back his head, with its long hair -curling to his shoulders, in a majestically royal manner, and looked -inquiringly at the French colonel. The colonel respectfully informed His -Majesty of Balashëv’s mission, whose name he could not pronounce. - -“De Bal-machève!” said the King (overcoming by his assurance the -difficulty that had presented itself to the colonel). “Charmed to -make your acquaintance, General!” he added, with a gesture of kingly -condescension. - -As soon as the King began to speak loud and fast his royal dignity -instantly forsook him, and without noticing it he passed into his -natural tone of good-natured familiarity. He laid his hand on the -withers of Balashëv’s horse and said: - -“Well, General, it all looks like war,” as if regretting a circumstance -of which he was unable to judge. - -“Your Majesty,” replied Balashëv, “my master, the Emperor, does not -desire war and as Your Majesty sees...” said Balashëv, using the words -Your Majesty at every opportunity, with the affectation unavoidable in -frequently addressing one to whom the title was still a novelty. - -Murat’s face beamed with stupid satisfaction as he listened to “Monsieur -de Bal-machève.” But royauté oblige! * and he felt it incumbent on -him, as a king and an ally, to confer on state affairs with Alexander’s -envoy. He dismounted, took Balashëv’s arm, and moving a few steps away -from his suite, which waited respectfully, began to pace up and down -with him, trying to speak significantly. He referred to the fact that -the Emperor Napoleon had resented the demand that he should withdraw his -troops from Prussia, especially when that demand became generally known -and the dignity of France was thereby offended. - - * “Royalty has its obligations.” - - -Balashëv replied that there was “nothing offensive in the demand, -because...” but Murat interrupted him. - -“Then you don’t consider the Emperor Alexander the aggressor?” he asked -unexpectedly, with a kindly and foolish smile. - -Balashëv told him why he considered Napoleon to be the originator of the -war. - -“Oh, my dear general!” Murat again interrupted him, “with all my heart I -wish the Emperors may arrange the affair between them, and that the war -begun by no wish of mine may finish as quickly as possible!” said he, -in the tone of a servant who wants to remain good friends with another -despite a quarrel between their masters. - -And he went on to inquiries about the Grand Duke and the state of his -health, and to reminiscences of the gay and amusing times he had spent -with him in Naples. Then suddenly, as if remembering his royal dignity, -Murat solemnly drew himself up, assumed the pose in which he had stood -at his coronation, and, waving his right arm, said: - -“I won’t detain you longer, General. I wish success to your mission,” -and with his embroidered red mantle, his flowing feathers, and his -glittering ornaments, he rejoined his suite who were respectfully -awaiting him. - -Balashëv rode on, supposing from Murat’s words that he would very soon -be brought before Napoleon himself. But instead of that, at the next -village the sentinels of Davout’s infantry corps detained him as -the pickets of the vanguard had done, and an adjutant of the corps -commander, who was fetched, conducted him into the village to Marshal -Davout. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -Davout was to Napoleon what Arakchéev was to Alexander—though not a -coward like Arakchéev, he was as precise, as cruel, and as unable to -express his devotion to his monarch except by cruelty. - -In the organism of states such men are necessary, as wolves are -necessary in the organism of nature, and they always exist, always -appear and hold their own, however incongruous their presence and their -proximity to the head of the government may be. This inevitability alone -can explain how the cruel Arakchéev, who tore out a grenadier’s mustache -with his own hands, whose weak nerves rendered him unable to face -danger, and who was neither an educated man nor a courtier, was able to -maintain his powerful position with Alexander, whose own character was -chivalrous, noble, and gentle. - -Balashëv found Davout seated on a barrel in the shed of a peasant’s hut, -writing—he was auditing accounts. Better quarters could have been -found him, but Marshal Davout was one of those men who purposely put -themselves in most depressing conditions to have a justification for -being gloomy. For the same reason they are always hard at work and in a -hurry. “How can I think of the bright side of life when, as you see, I -am sitting on a barrel and working in a dirty shed?” the expression of -his face seemed to say. The chief pleasure and necessity of such men, -when they encounter anyone who shows animation, is to flaunt their own -dreary, persistent activity. Davout allowed himself that pleasure when -Balashëv was brought in. He became still more absorbed in his task when -the Russian general entered, and after glancing over his spectacles at -Balashëv’s face, which was animated by the beauty of the morning and -by his talk with Murat, he did not rise or even stir, but scowled still -more and sneered malevolently. - -When he noticed in Balashëv’s face the disagreeable impression this -reception produced, Davout raised his head and coldly asked what he -wanted. - -Thinking he could have been received in such a manner only because -Davout did not know that he was adjutant general to the Emperor -Alexander and even his envoy to Napoleon, Balashëv hastened to inform -him of his rank and mission. Contrary to his expectation, Davout, after -hearing him, became still surlier and ruder. - -“Where is your dispatch?” he inquired. “Give it to me. I will send it to -the Emperor.” - -Balashëv replied that he had been ordered to hand it personally to the -Emperor. - -“Your Emperor’s orders are obeyed in your army, but here,” said Davout, -“you must do as you’re told.” - -And, as if to make the Russian general still more conscious of his -dependence on brute force, Davout sent an adjutant to call the officer -on duty. - -Balashëv took out the packet containing the Emperor’s letter and laid it -on the table (made of a door with its hinges still hanging on it, laid -across two barrels). Davout took the packet and read the inscription. - -“You are perfectly at liberty to treat me with respect or not,” -protested Balashëv, “but permit me to observe that I have the honor to -be adjutant general to His Majesty....” - -Davout glanced at him silently and plainly derived pleasure from the -signs of agitation and confusion which appeared on Balashëv’s face. - -“You will be treated as is fitting,” said he and, putting the packet in -his pocket, left the shed. - -A minute later the marshal’s adjutant, de Castrès, came in and conducted -Balashëv to the quarters assigned him. - -That day he dined with the marshal, at the same board on the barrels. - -Next day Davout rode out early and, after asking Balashëv to come to -him, peremptorily requested him to remain there, to move on with the -baggage train should orders come for it to move, and to talk to no one -except Monsieur de Castrès. - -After four days of solitude, ennui, and consciousness of his impotence -and insignificance—particularly acute by contrast with the sphere of -power in which he had so lately moved—and after several marches with -the marshal’s baggage and the French army, which occupied the -whole district, Balashëv was brought to Vílna—now occupied by the -French—through the very gate by which he had left it four days -previously. - -Next day the imperial gentleman-in-waiting, the Comte de Turenne, came -to Balashëv and informed him of the Emperor Napoleon’s wish to honor him -with an audience. - -Four days before, sentinels of the Preobrazhénsk regiment had stood in -front of the house to which Balashëv was conducted, and now two French -grenadiers stood there in blue uniforms unfastened in front and with -shaggy caps on their heads, and an escort of hussars and Uhlans and a -brilliant suite of aides-de-camp, pages, and generals, who were waiting -for Napoleon to come out, were standing at the porch, round his saddle -horse and his Mameluke, Rustan. Napoleon received Balashëv in the very -house in Vílna from which Alexander had dispatched him on his mission. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Though Balashëv was used to imperial pomp, he was amazed at the luxury -and magnificence of Napoleon’s court. - -The Comte de Turenne showed him into a big reception room where many -generals, gentlemen-in-waiting, and Polish magnates—several of whom -Balashëv had seen at the court of the Emperor of Russia—were waiting. -Duroc said that Napoleon would receive the Russian general before going -for his ride. - -After some minutes, the gentleman-in-waiting who was on duty came into -the great reception room and, bowing politely, asked Balashëv to follow -him. - -Balashëv went into a small reception room, one door of which led into a -study, the very one from which the Russian Emperor had dispatched him -on his mission. He stood a minute or two, waiting. He heard hurried -footsteps beyond the door, both halves of it were opened rapidly; all -was silent and then from the study the sound was heard of other steps, -firm and resolute—they were those of Napoleon. He had just finished -dressing for his ride, and wore a blue uniform, opening in front over -a white waistcoat so long that it covered his rotund stomach, white -leather breeches tightly fitting the fat thighs of his short legs, and -Hessian boots. His short hair had evidently just been brushed, but one -lock hung down in the middle of his broad forehead. His plump white neck -stood out sharply above the black collar of his uniform, and he smelled -of Eau de Cologne. His full face, rather young-looking, with its -prominent chin, wore a gracious and majestic expression of imperial -welcome. - -He entered briskly, with a jerk at every step and his head slightly -thrown back. His whole short corpulent figure with broad thick -shoulders, and chest and stomach involuntarily protruding, had that -imposing and stately appearance one sees in men of forty who live in -comfort. It was evident, too, that he was in the best of spirits that -day. - -He nodded in answer to Balashëv’s low and respectful bow, and coming up -to him at once began speaking like a man who values every moment of his -time and does not condescend to prepare what he has to say but is sure -he will always say the right thing and say it well. - -“Good day, General!” said he. “I have received the letter you brought -from the Emperor Alexander and am very glad to see you.” He glanced with -his large eyes into Balashëv’s face and immediately looked past him. - -It was plain that Balashëv’s personality did not interest him at all. -Evidently only what took place within his own mind interested him. -Nothing outside himself had any significance for him, because everything -in the world, it seemed to him, depended entirely on his will. - -“I do not, and did not, desire war,” he continued, “but it has been -forced on me. Even now” (he emphasized the word) “I am ready to receive -any explanations you can give me.” - -And he began clearly and concisely to explain his reasons for -dissatisfaction with the Russian government. Judging by the calmly -moderate and amicable tone in which the French Emperor spoke, Balashëv -was firmly persuaded that he wished for peace and intended to enter into -negotiations. - -When Napoleon, having finished speaking, looked inquiringly at the -Russian envoy, Balashëv began a speech he had prepared long before: -“Sire! The Emperor, my master...” but the sight of the Emperor’s eyes -bent on him confused him. “You are flurried—compose yourself!” Napoleon -seemed to say, as with a scarcely perceptible smile he looked at -Balashëv’s uniform and sword. - -Balashëv recovered himself and began to speak. He said that the -Emperor Alexander did not consider Kurákin’s demand for his passports a -sufficient cause for war; that Kurákin had acted on his own initiative -and without his sovereign’s assent, that the Emperor Alexander did not -desire war, and had no relations with England. - -“Not yet!” interposed Napoleon, and, as if fearing to give vent to his -feelings, he frowned and nodded slightly as a sign that Balashëv might -proceed. - -After saying all he had been instructed to say, Balashëv added that -the Emperor Alexander wished for peace, but would not enter into -negotiations except on condition that... Here Balashëv hesitated: -he remembered the words the Emperor Alexander had not written in his -letter, but had specially inserted in the rescript to Saltykóv and had -told Balashëv to repeat to Napoleon. Balashëv remembered these words, -“So long as a single armed foe remains on Russian soil,” but some -complex feeling restrained him. He could not utter them, though he -wished to do so. He grew confused and said: “On condition that the -French army retires beyond the Niemen.” - -Napoleon noticed Balashëv’s embarrassment when uttering these last -words; his face twitched and the calf of his left leg began to quiver -rhythmically. Without moving from where he stood he began speaking in -a louder tone and more hurriedly than before. During the speech that -followed, Balashëv, who more than once lowered his eyes, involuntarily -noticed the quivering of Napoleon’s left leg which increased the more -Napoleon raised his voice. - -“I desire peace, no less than the Emperor Alexander,” he began. “Have -I not for eighteen months been doing everything to obtain it? I -have waited eighteen months for explanations. But in order to begin -negotiations, what is demanded of me?” he said, frowning and making an -energetic gesture of inquiry with his small white plump hand. - -“The withdrawal of your army beyond the Niemen, sire,” replied Balashëv. - -“The Niemen?” repeated Napoleon. “So now you want me to retire beyond -the Niemen—only the Niemen?” repeated Napoleon, looking straight at -Balashëv. - -The latter bowed his head respectfully. - -Instead of the demand of four months earlier to withdraw from Pomerania, -only a withdrawal beyond the Niemen was now demanded. Napoleon turned -quickly and began to pace the room. - -“You say the demand now is that I am to withdraw beyond the Niemen -before commencing negotiations, but in just the same way two months ago -the demand was that I should withdraw beyond the Vistula and the Oder, -and yet you are willing to negotiate.” - -He went in silence from one corner of the room to the other and again -stopped in front of Balashëv. Balashëv noticed that his left leg was -quivering faster than before and his face seemed petrified in its stern -expression. This quivering of his left leg was a thing Napoleon was -conscious of. “The vibration of my left calf is a great sign with me,” -he remarked at a later date. - -“Such demands as to retreat beyond the Vistula and Oder may be made to a -Prince of Baden, but not to me!” Napoleon almost screamed, quite to his -own surprise. “If you gave me Petersburg and Moscow I could not accept -such conditions. You say I have begun this war! But who first joined his -army? The Emperor Alexander, not I! And you offer me negotiations when I -have expended millions, when you are in alliance with England, and when -your position is a bad one. You offer me negotiations! But what is the -aim of your alliance with England? What has she given you?” he continued -hurriedly, evidently no longer trying to show the advantages of peace -and discuss its possibility, but only to prove his own rectitude and -power and Alexander’s errors and duplicity. - -The commencement of his speech had obviously been made with the -intention of demonstrating the advantages of his position and showing -that he was nevertheless willing to negotiate. But he had begun talking, -and the more he talked the less could he control his words. - -The whole purport of his remarks now was evidently to exalt himself and -insult Alexander—just what he had least desired at the commencement of -the interview. - -“I hear you have made peace with Turkey?” - -Balashëv bowed his head affirmatively. - -“Peace has been concluded...” he began. - -But Napoleon did not let him speak. He evidently wanted to do all the -talking himself, and continued to talk with the sort of eloquence and -unrestrained irritability to which spoiled people are so prone. - -“Yes, I know you have made peace with the Turks without obtaining -Moldavia and Wallachia; I would have given your sovereign those -provinces as I gave him Finland. Yes,” he went on, “I promised and would -have given the Emperor Alexander Moldavia and Wallachia, and now he -won’t have those splendid provinces. Yet he might have united them to -his empire and in a single reign would have extended Russia from the -Gulf of Bothnia to the mouths of the Danube. Catherine the Great could -not have done more,” said Napoleon, growing more and more excited as he -paced up and down the room, repeating to Balashëv almost the very words -he had used to Alexander himself at Tilsit. “All that, he would have -owed to my friendship. Oh, what a splendid reign!” he repeated several -times, then paused, drew from his pocket a gold snuffbox, lifted it to -his nose, and greedily sniffed at it. - -“What a splendid reign the Emperor Alexander’s might have been!” - -He looked compassionately at Balashëv, and as soon as the latter tried -to make some rejoinder hastily interrupted him. - -“What could he wish or look for that he would not have obtained -through my friendship?” demanded Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders -in perplexity. “But no, he has preferred to surround himself with -my enemies, and with whom? With Steins, Armfeldts, Bennigsens, and -Wintzingerodes! Stein, a traitor expelled from his own country; -Armfeldt, a rake and an intriguer; Wintzingerode, a fugitive French -subject; Bennigsen, rather more of a soldier than the others, but all -the same an incompetent who was unable to do anything in 1807 and who -should awaken terrible memories in the Emperor Alexander’s mind.... -Granted that were they competent they might be made use of,” continued -Napoleon—hardly able to keep pace in words with the rush of thoughts -that incessantly sprang up, proving how right and strong he was (in his -perception the two were one and the same)—“but they are not even that! -They are neither fit for war nor peace! Barclay is said to be the -most capable of them all, but I cannot say so, judging by his first -movements. And what are they doing, all these courtiers? Pfuel proposes, -Armfeldt disputes, Bennigsen considers, and Barclay, called on to act, -does not know what to decide on, and time passes bringing no result. -Bagratión alone is a military man. He’s stupid, but he has experience, -a quick eye, and resolution.... And what role is your young monarch -playing in that monstrous crowd? They compromise him and throw on him -the responsibility for all that happens. A sovereign should not be with -the army unless he is a general!” said Napoleon, evidently uttering -these words as a direct challenge to the Emperor. He knew how Alexander -desired to be a military commander. - -“The campaign began only a week ago, and you haven’t even been able to -defend Vílna. You are cut in two and have been driven out of the Polish -provinces. Your army is grumbling.” - -“On the contrary, Your Majesty,” said Balashëv, hardly able to remember -what had been said to him and following these verbal fireworks with -difficulty, “the troops are burning with eagerness...” - -“I know everything!” Napoleon interrupted him. “I know everything. I -know the number of your battalions as exactly as I know my own. You have -not two hundred thousand men, and I have three times that number. I give -you my word of honor,” said Napoleon, forgetting that his word of honor -could carry no weight—“I give you my word of honor that I have five -hundred and thirty thousand men this side of the Vistula. The Turks will -be of no use to you; they are worth nothing and have shown it by making -peace with you. As for the Swedes—it is their fate to be governed by -mad kings. Their king was insane and they changed him for -another—Bernadotte, who promptly went mad—for no Swede would ally -himself with Russia unless he were mad.” - -Napoleon grinned maliciously and again raised his snuffbox to his nose. - -Balashëv knew how to reply to each of Napoleon’s remarks, and would -have done so; he continually made the gesture of a man wishing to say -something, but Napoleon always interrupted him. To the alleged insanity -of the Swedes, Balashëv wished to reply that when Russia is on her side -Sweden is practically an island: but Napoleon gave an angry exclamation -to drown his voice. Napoleon was in that state of irritability in which -a man has to talk, talk, and talk, merely to convince himself that he is -in the right. Balashëv began to feel uncomfortable: as envoy he feared -to demean his dignity and felt the necessity of replying; but, as a man, -he shrank before the transport of groundless wrath that had evidently -seized Napoleon. He knew that none of the words now uttered by Napoleon -had any significance, and that Napoleon himself would be ashamed of them -when he came to his senses. Balashëv stood with downcast eyes, looking -at the movements of Napoleon’s stout legs and trying to avoid meeting -his eyes. - -“But what do I care about your allies?” said Napoleon. “I have -allies—the Poles. There are eighty thousand of them and they fight like -lions. And there will be two hundred thousand of them.” - -And probably still more perturbed by the fact that he had uttered this -obvious falsehood, and that Balashëv still stood silently before him in -the same attitude of submission to fate, Napoleon abruptly turned -round, drew close to Balashëv’s face, and, gesticulating rapidly and -energetically with his white hands, almost shouted: - -“Know that if you stir up Prussia against me, I’ll wipe it off the map -of Europe!” he declared, his face pale and distorted by anger, and he -struck one of his small hands energetically with the other. “Yes, I -will throw you back beyond the Dvína and beyond the Dnieper, and will -re-erect against you that barrier which it was criminal and blind of -Europe to allow to be destroyed. Yes, that is what will happen to you. -That is what you have gained by alienating me!” And he walked silently -several times up and down the room, his fat shoulders twitching. - -He put his snuffbox into his waistcoat pocket, took it out again, lifted -it several times to his nose, and stopped in front of Balashëv. He -paused, looked ironically straight into Balashëv’s eyes, and said in a -quiet voice: - -“And yet what a splendid reign your master might have had!” - -Balashëv, feeling it incumbent on him to reply, said that from the -Russian side things did not appear in so gloomy a light. Napoleon was -silent, still looking derisively at him and evidently not listening to -him. Balashëv said that in Russia the best results were expected from -the war. Napoleon nodded condescendingly, as if to say, “I know it’s -your duty to say that, but you don’t believe it yourself. I have -convinced you.” - -When Balashëv had ended, Napoleon again took out his snuffbox, sniffed -at it, and stamped his foot twice on the floor as a signal. The door -opened, a gentleman-in-waiting, bending respectfully, handed the Emperor -his hat and gloves; another brought him a pocket handkerchief. Napoleon, -without giving them a glance, turned to Balashëv: - -“Assure the Emperor Alexander from me,” said he, taking his hat, “that -I am as devoted to him as before: I know him thoroughly and very highly -esteem his lofty qualities. I will detain you no longer, General; you -shall receive my letter to the Emperor.” - -And Napoleon went quickly to the door. Everyone in the reception room -rushed forward and descended the staircase. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -After all that Napoleon had said to him—those bursts of anger and the -last dryly spoken words: “I will detain you no longer, General; you -shall receive my letter,” Balashëv felt convinced that Napoleon would -not wish to see him, and would even avoid another meeting with him—an -insulted envoy—especially as he had witnessed his unseemly anger. But, -to his surprise, Balashëv received, through Duroc, an invitation to dine -with the Emperor that day. - -Bessières, Caulaincourt, and Berthier were present at that dinner. - -Napoleon met Balashëv cheerfully and amiably. He not only showed no sign -of constraint or self-reproach on account of his outburst that morning, -but, on the contrary, tried to reassure Balashëv. It was evident that -he had long been convinced that it was impossible for him to make a -mistake, and that in his perception whatever he did was right, not -because it harmonized with any idea of right and wrong, but because he -did it. - -The Emperor was in very good spirits after his ride through Vílna, where -crowds of people had rapturously greeted and followed him. From all -the windows of the streets through which he rode, rugs, flags, and his -monogram were displayed, and the Polish ladies, welcoming him, waved -their handkerchiefs to him. - -At dinner, having placed Balashëv beside him, Napoleon not only treated -him amiably but behaved as if Balashëv were one of his own courtiers, -one of those who sympathized with his plans and ought to rejoice at -his success. In the course of conversation he mentioned Moscow and -questioned Balashëv about the Russian capital, not merely as an -interested traveler asks about a new city he intends to visit, but as -if convinced that Balashëv, as a Russian, must be flattered by his -curiosity. - -“How many inhabitants are there in Moscow? How many houses? Is it true -that Moscow is called ‘Holy Moscow’? How many churches are there in -Moscow?” he asked. - -And receiving the reply that there were more than two hundred churches, -he remarked: - -“Why such a quantity of churches?” - -“The Russians are very devout,” replied Balashëv. - -“But a large number of monasteries and churches is always a sign of the -backwardness of a people,” said Napoleon, turning to Caulaincourt for -appreciation of this remark. - -Balashëv respectfully ventured to disagree with the French Emperor. - -“Every country has its own character,” said he. - -“But nowhere in Europe is there anything like that,” said Napoleon. - -“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” returned Balashëv, “besides Russia there -is Spain, where there are also many churches and monasteries.” - -This reply of Balashëv’s, which hinted at the recent defeats of the -French in Spain, was much appreciated when he related it at Alexander’s -court, but it was not much appreciated at Napoleon’s dinner, where it -passed unnoticed. - -The uninterested and perplexed faces of the marshals showed that they -were puzzled as to what Balashëv’s tone suggested. “If there is a point -we don’t see it, or it is not at all witty,” their expressions seemed -to say. So little was his rejoinder appreciated that Napoleon did not -notice it at all and naïvely asked Balashëv through what towns the -direct road from there to Moscow passed. Balashëv, who was on the alert -all through the dinner, replied that just as “all roads lead to Rome,” -so all roads lead to Moscow: there were many roads, and “among them the -road through Poltáva, which Charles XII chose.” Balashëv involuntarily -flushed with pleasure at the aptitude of this reply, but hardly had -he uttered the word Poltáva before Caulaincourt began speaking of the -badness of the road from Petersburg to Moscow and of his Petersburg -reminiscences. - -After dinner they went to drink coffee in Napoleon’s study, which four -days previously had been that of the Emperor Alexander. Napoleon sat -down, toying with his Sèvres coffee cup, and motioned Balashëv to a -chair beside him. - -Napoleon was in that well-known after-dinner mood which, more than -any reasoned cause, makes a man contented with himself and disposed to -consider everyone his friend. It seemed to him that he was surrounded -by men who adored him: and he felt convinced that, after his dinner, -Balashëv too was his friend and worshiper. Napoleon turned to him with a -pleasant, though slightly ironic, smile. - -“They tell me this is the room the Emperor Alexander occupied? Strange, -isn’t it, General?” he said, evidently not doubting that this remark -would be agreeable to his hearer since it went to prove his, Napoleon’s, -superiority to Alexander. - -Balashëv made no reply and bowed his head in silence. - -“Yes. Four days ago in this room, Wintzingerode and Stein were -deliberating,” continued Napoleon with the same derisive and -self-confident smile. “What I can’t understand,” he went on, “is that -the Emperor Alexander has surrounded himself with my personal enemies. -That I do not... understand. Has he not thought that I may do the same?” -and he turned inquiringly to Balashëv, and evidently this thought turned -him back on to the track of his morning’s anger, which was still fresh -in him. - -“And let him know that I will do so!” said Napoleon, rising and pushing -his cup away with his hand. “I’ll drive all his Württemberg, Baden, and -Weimar relations out of Germany.... Yes. I’ll drive them out. Let him -prepare an asylum for them in Russia!” - -Balashëv bowed his head with an air indicating that he would like to -make his bow and leave, and only listened because he could not help -hearing what was said to him. Napoleon did not notice this expression; -he treated Balashëv not as an envoy from his enemy, but as a man -now fully devoted to him and who must rejoice at his former master’s -humiliation. - -“And why has the Emperor Alexander taken command of the armies? What is -the good of that? War is my profession, but his business is to reign -and not to command armies! Why has he taken on himself such a -responsibility?” - -Again Napoleon brought out his snuffbox, paced several times up and down -the room in silence, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, went up to -Balashëv and with a slight smile, as confidently, quickly, and simply -as if he were doing something not merely important but pleasing to -Balashëv, he raised his hand to the forty-year-old Russian general’s -face and, taking him by the ear, pulled it gently, smiling with his lips -only. - -To have one’s ear pulled by the Emperor was considered the greatest -honor and mark of favor at the French court. - -“Well, adorer and courtier of the Emperor Alexander, why don’t you say -anything?” said he, as if it was ridiculous, in his presence, to be the -adorer and courtier of anyone but himself, Napoleon. “Are the horses -ready for the general?” he added, with a slight inclination of his head -in reply to Balashëv’s bow. “Let him have mine, he has a long way to -go!” - -The letter taken by Balashëv was the last Napoleon sent to Alexander. -Every detail of the interview was communicated to the Russian monarch, -and the war began.... - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -After his interview with Pierre in Moscow, Prince Andrew went to -Petersburg, on business as he told his family, but really to meet -Anatole Kurágin whom he felt it necessary to encounter. On reaching -Petersburg he inquired for Kurágin but the latter had already left the -city. Pierre had warned his brother-in-law that Prince Andrew was on -his track. Anatole Kurágin promptly obtained an appointment from -the Minister of War and went to join the army in Moldavia. While in -Petersburg Prince Andrew met Kutúzov, his former commander who was -always well disposed toward him, and Kutúzov suggested that he should -accompany him to the army in Moldavia, to which the old general had -been appointed commander in chief. So Prince Andrew, having received an -appointment on the headquarters staff, left for Turkey. - -Prince Andrew did not think it proper to write and challenge Kurágin. -He thought that if he challenged him without some fresh cause it might -compromise the young Countess Rostóva and so he wanted to meet Kurágin -personally in order to find a fresh pretext for a duel. But he again -failed to meet Kurágin in Turkey, for soon after Prince Andrew arrived, -the latter returned to Russia. In a new country, amid new conditions, -Prince Andrew found life easier to bear. After his betrothed had broken -faith with him—which he felt the more acutely the more he tried to -conceal its effects—the surroundings in which he had been happy became -trying to him, and the freedom and independence he had once prized -so highly were still more so. Not only could he no longer think the -thoughts that had first come to him as he lay gazing at the sky on the -field of Austerlitz and had later enlarged upon with Pierre, and which -had filled his solitude at Boguchárovo and then in Switzerland and Rome, -but he even dreaded to recall them and the bright and boundless horizons -they had revealed. He was now concerned only with the nearest practical -matters unrelated to his past interests, and he seized on these the more -eagerly the more those past interests were closed to him. It was as if -that lofty, infinite canopy of heaven that had once towered above him -had suddenly turned into a low, solid vault that weighed him down, in -which all was clear, but nothing eternal or mysterious. - -Of the activities that presented themselves to him, army service was the -simplest and most familiar. As a general on duty on Kutúzov’s staff, -he applied himself to business with zeal and perseverance and surprised -Kutúzov by his willingness and accuracy in work. Not having found -Kurágin in Turkey, Prince Andrew did not think it necessary to rush back -to Russia after him, but all the same he knew that however long it might -be before he met Kurágin, despite his contempt for him and despite all -the proofs he deduced to convince himself that it was not worth stooping -to a conflict with him—he knew that when he did meet him he would not -be able to resist calling him out, any more than a ravenous man can help -snatching at food. And the consciousness that the insult was not yet -avenged, that his rancor was still unspent, weighed on his heart and -poisoned the artificial tranquillity which he managed to obtain in -Turkey by means of restless, plodding, and rather vainglorious and -ambitious activity. - -In the year 1812, when news of the war with Napoleon reached -Bucharest—where Kutúzov had been living for two months, passing his -days and nights with a Wallachian woman—Prince Andrew asked Kutúzov -to transfer him to the Western Army. Kutúzov, who was already weary of -Bolkónski’s activity which seemed to reproach his own idleness, very -readily let him go and gave him a mission to Barclay de Tolly. - -Before joining the Western Army which was then, in May, encamped at -Drissa, Prince Andrew visited Bald Hills which was directly on his way, -being only two miles off the Smolénsk highroad. During the last three -years there had been so many changes in his life, he had thought, felt, -and seen so much (having traveled both in the east and the west), that -on reaching Bald Hills it struck him as strange and unexpected to find -the way of life there unchanged and still the same in every detail. -He entered through the gates with their stone pillars and drove up -the avenue leading to the house as if he were entering an enchanted, -sleeping castle. The same old stateliness, the same cleanliness, the -same stillness reigned there, and inside there was the same furniture, -the same walls, sounds, and smell, and the same timid faces, only -somewhat older. Princess Mary was still the same timid, plain maiden -getting on in years, uselessly and joylessly passing the best years of -her life in fear and constant suffering. Mademoiselle Bourienne was -the same coquettish, self-satisfied girl, enjoying every moment of her -existence and full of joyous hopes for the future. She had merely become -more self-confident, Prince Andrew thought. Dessalles, the tutor he had -brought from Switzerland, was wearing a coat of Russian cut and -talking broken Russian to the servants, but was still the same narrowly -intelligent, conscientious, and pedantic preceptor. The old prince -had changed in appearance only by the loss of a tooth, which left a -noticeable gap on one side of his mouth; in character he was the same as -ever, only showing still more irritability and skepticism as to what was -happening in the world. Little Nicholas alone had changed. He had grown, -become rosier, had curly dark hair, and, when merry and laughing, quite -unconsciously lifted the upper lip of his pretty little mouth just -as the little princess used to do. He alone did not obey the law of -immutability in the enchanted, sleeping castle. But though externally -all remained as of old, the inner relations of all these people had -changed since Prince Andrew had seen them last. The household was -divided into two alien and hostile camps, who changed their habits for -his sake and only met because he was there. To the one camp belonged -the old prince, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the architect; to the other -Princess Mary, Dessalles, little Nicholas, and all the old nurses and -maids. - -During his stay at Bald Hills all the family dined together, but they -were ill at ease and Prince Andrew felt that he was a visitor for whose -sake an exception was being made and that his presence made them all -feel awkward. Involuntarily feeling this at dinner on the first day, he -was taciturn, and the old prince noticing this also became morosely dumb -and retired to his apartments directly after dinner. In the evening, -when Prince Andrew went to him and, trying to rouse him, began to -tell him of the young Count Kámensky’s campaign, the old prince -began unexpectedly to talk about Princess Mary, blaming her for her -superstitions and her dislike of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who, he said, -was the only person really attached to him. - -The old prince said that if he was ill it was only because of Princess -Mary: that she purposely worried and irritated him, and that by -indulgence and silly talk she was spoiling little Prince Nicholas. The -old prince knew very well that he tormented his daughter and that her -life was very hard, but he also knew that he could not help tormenting -her and that she deserved it. “Why does Prince Andrew, who sees this, -say nothing to me about his sister? Does he think me a scoundrel, or an -old fool who, without any reason, keeps his own daughter at a distance -and attaches this Frenchwoman to himself? He doesn’t understand, so I -must explain it, and he must hear me out,” thought the old prince. -And he began explaining why he could not put up with his daughter’s -unreasonable character. - -“If you ask me,” said Prince Andrew, without looking up (he was -censuring his father for the first time in his life), “I did not wish to -speak about it, but as you ask me I will give you my frank opinion. If -there is any misunderstanding and discord between you and Mary, I can’t -blame her for it at all. I know how she loves and respects you. Since -you ask me,” continued Prince Andrew, becoming irritable—as he was -always liable to do of late—“I can only say that if there are any -misunderstandings they are caused by that worthless woman, who is not -fit to be my sister’s companion.” - -The old man at first stared fixedly at his son, and an unnatural smile -disclosed the fresh gap between his teeth to which Prince Andrew could -not get accustomed. - -“What companion, my dear boy? Eh? You’ve already been talking it over! -Eh?” - -“Father, I did not want to judge,” said Prince Andrew, in a hard and -bitter tone, “but you challenged me, and I have said, and always shall -say, that Mary is not to blame, but those to blame—the one to blame—is -that Frenchwoman.” - -“Ah, he has passed judgment... passed judgement!” said the old man in a -low voice and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, with some embarrassment, -but then he suddenly jumped up and cried: “Be off, be off! Let not a -trace of you remain here!...” - - -Prince Andrew wished to leave at once, but Princess Mary persuaded him -to stay another day. That day he did not see his father, who did not -leave his room and admitted no one but Mademoiselle Bourienne and -Tíkhon, but asked several times whether his son had gone. Next day, -before leaving, Prince Andrew went to his son’s rooms. The boy, -curly-headed like his mother and glowing with health, sat on his knee, -and Prince Andrew began telling him the story of Bluebeard, but fell -into a reverie without finishing the story. He thought not of this -pretty child, his son whom he held on his knee, but of himself. He -sought in himself either remorse for having angered his father or regret -at leaving home for the first time in his life on bad terms with him, -and was horrified to find neither. What meant still more to him was that -he sought and did not find in himself the former tenderness for his son -which he had hoped to reawaken by caressing the boy and taking him on -his knee. - -“Well, go on!” said his son. - -Prince Andrew, without replying, put him down from his knee and went out -of the room. - -As soon as Prince Andrew had given up his daily occupations, and -especially on returning to the old conditions of life amid which he had -been happy, weariness of life overcame him with its former intensity, -and he hastened to escape from these memories and to find some work as -soon as possible. - -“So you’ve decided to go, Andrew?” asked his sister. - -“Thank God that I can,” replied Prince Andrew. “I am very sorry you -can’t.” - -“Why do you say that?” replied Princess Mary. “Why do you say that, -when you are going to this terrible war, and he is so old? Mademoiselle -Bourienne says he has been asking about you....” - -As soon as she began to speak of that, her lips trembled and her tears -began to fall. Prince Andrew turned away and began pacing the room. - -“Ah, my God! my God! When one thinks who and what—what trash—can cause -people misery!” he said with a malignity that alarmed Princess Mary. - -She understood that when speaking of “trash” he referred not only to -Mademoiselle Bourienne, the cause of her misery, but also to the man who -had ruined his own happiness. - -“Andrew! One thing I beg, I entreat of you!” she said, touching his -elbow and looking at him with eyes that shone through her tears. “I -understand you” (she looked down). “Don’t imagine that sorrow is the -work of men. Men are His tools.” She looked a little above Prince -Andrew’s head with the confident, accustomed look with which one looks -at the place where a familiar portrait hangs. “Sorrow is sent by Him, -not by men. Men are His instruments, they are not to blame. If you think -someone has wronged you, forget it and forgive! We have no right to -punish. And then you will know the happiness of forgiving.” - -“If I were a woman I would do so, Mary. That is a woman’s virtue. But -a man should not and cannot forgive and forget,” he replied, and though -till that moment he had not been thinking of Kurágin, all his unexpended -anger suddenly swelled up in his heart. - -“If Mary is already persuading me to forgive, it means that I ought long -ago to have punished him,” he thought. And giving her no further reply, -he began thinking of the glad vindictive moment when he would meet -Kurágin who he knew was now in the army. - -Princess Mary begged him to stay one day more, saying that she knew how -unhappy her father would be if Andrew left without being reconciled to -him, but Prince Andrew replied that he would probably soon be back again -from the army and would certainly write to his father, but that the -longer he stayed now the more embittered their differences would become. - -“Good-by, Andrew! Remember that misfortunes come from God, and men are -never to blame,” were the last words he heard from his sister when he -took leave of her. - -“Then it must be so!” thought Prince Andrew as he drove out of the -avenue from the house at Bald Hills. “She, poor innocent creature, is -left to be victimized by an old man who has outlived his wits. The old -man feels he is guilty, but cannot change himself. My boy is growing up -and rejoices in life, in which like everybody else he will deceive or be -deceived. And I am off to the army. Why? I myself don’t know. I want -to meet that man whom I despise, so as to give him a chance to kill and -laugh at me!” - -These conditions of life had been the same before, but then they were -all connected, while now they had all tumbled to pieces. Only senseless -things, lacking coherence, presented themselves one after another to -Prince Andrew’s mind. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Prince Andrew reached the general headquarters of the army at the end of -June. The first army, with which was the Emperor, occupied the fortified -camp at Drissa; the second army was retreating, trying to effect a -junction with the first one from which it was said to be cut off by -large French forces. Everyone was dissatisfied with the general course -of affairs in the Russian army, but no one anticipated any danger of -invasion of the Russian provinces, and no one thought the war would -extend farther than the western, the Polish, provinces. - -Prince Andrew found Barclay de Tolly, to whom he had been assigned, on -the bank of the Drissa. As there was not a single town or large -village in the vicinity of the camp, the immense number of generals and -courtiers accompanying the army were living in the best houses of the -villages on both sides of the river, over a radius of six miles. Barclay -de Tolly was quartered nearly three miles from the Emperor. He received -Bolkónski stiffly and coldly and told him in his foreign accent that he -would mention him to the Emperor for a decision as to his employment, -but asked him meanwhile to remain on his staff. Anatole Kurágin, whom -Prince Andrew had hoped to find with the army, was not there. He had -gone to Petersburg, but Prince Andrew was glad to hear this. His mind -was occupied by the interests of the center that was conducting -a gigantic war, and he was glad to be free for a while from the -distraction caused by the thought of Kurágin. During the first four -days, while no duties were required of him, Prince Andrew rode round the -whole fortified camp and, by the aid of his own knowledge and by -talks with experts, tried to form a definite opinion about it. But the -question whether the camp was advantageous or disadvantageous remained -for him undecided. Already from his military experience and what he had -seen in the Austrian campaign, he had come to the conclusion that in -war the most deeply considered plans have no significance and that all -depends on the way unexpected movements of the enemy—that cannot be -foreseen—are met, and on how and by whom the whole matter is handled. -To clear up this last point for himself, Prince Andrew, utilizing his -position and acquaintances, tried to fathom the character of the control -of the army and of the men and parties engaged in it, and he deduced for -himself the following of the state of affairs. - -While the Emperor had still been at Vílna, the forces had been divided -into three armies. First, the army under Barclay de Tolly, secondly, the -army under Bagratión, and thirdly, the one commanded by Tormásov. The -Emperor was with the first army, but not as commander in chief. In the -orders issued it was stated, not that the Emperor would take command, -but only that he would be with the army. The Emperor, moreover, had -with him not a commander in chief’s staff but the imperial headquarters -staff. In attendance on him was the head of the imperial staff, -Quartermaster General Prince Volkónski, as well as generals, imperial -aides-de-camp, diplomatic officials, and a large number of foreigners, -but not the army staff. Besides these, there were in attendance on the -Emperor without any definite appointments: Arakchéev, the ex-Minister -of War; Count Bennigsen, the senior general in rank; the Grand Duke -Tsarévich Constantine Pávlovich; Count Rumyántsev, the Chancellor; -Stein, a former Prussian minister; Armfeldt, a Swedish general; Pfuel, -the chief author of the plan of campaign; Paulucci, an adjutant general -and Sardinian émigré; Wolzogen—and many others. Though these men had no -military appointment in the army, their position gave them influence, -and often a corps commander, or even the commander in chief, did not -know in what capacity he was questioned by Bennigsen, the Grand Duke, -Arakchéev, or Prince Volkónski, or was given this or that advice and did -not know whether a certain order received in the form of advice emanated -from the man who gave it or from the Emperor and whether it had to be -executed or not. But this was only the external condition; the essential -significance of the presence of the Emperor and of all these people, -from a courtier’s point of view (and in an Emperor’s vicinity all became -courtiers), was clear to everyone. It was this: the Emperor did not -assume the title of commander in chief, but disposed of all the armies; -the men around him were his assistants. Arakchéev was a faithful -custodian to enforce order and acted as the sovereign’s bodyguard. -Bennigsen was a landlord in the Vílna province who appeared to be doing -the honors of the district, but was in reality a good general, useful -as an adviser and ready at hand to replace Barclay. The Grand Duke -was there because it suited him to be. The ex-Minister Stein was there -because his advice was useful and the Emperor Alexander held him in high -esteem personally. Armfeldt virulently hated Napoleon and was a general -full of self-confidence, a quality that always influenced Alexander. -Paulucci was there because he was bold and decided in speech. The -adjutants general were there because they always accompanied the -Emperor, and lastly and chiefly Pfuel was there because he had drawn up -the plan of campaign against Napoleon and, having induced Alexander to -believe in the efficacy of that plan, was directing the whole business -of the war. With Pfuel was Wolzogen, who expressed Pfuel’s thoughts in -a more comprehensible way than Pfuel himself (who was a harsh, bookish -theorist, self-confident to the point of despising everyone else) was -able to do. - -Besides these Russians and foreigners who propounded new and unexpected -ideas every day—especially the foreigners, who did so with a boldness -characteristic of people employed in a country not their own—there were -many secondary personages accompanying the army because their principals -were there. - -Among the opinions and voices in this immense, restless, brilliant, -and proud sphere, Prince Andrew noticed the following sharply defined -subdivisions of tendencies and parties: - -The first party consisted of Pfuel and his adherents—military theorists -who believed in a science of war with immutable laws—laws of oblique -movements, outflankings, and so forth. Pfuel and his adherents demanded -a retirement into the depths of the country in accordance with precise -laws defined by a pseudo-theory of war, and they saw only barbarism, -ignorance, or evil intention in every deviation from that theory. To -this party belonged the foreign nobles, Wolzogen, Wintzingerode, and -others, chiefly Germans. - -The second party was directly opposed to the first; one extreme, as -always happens, was met by representatives of the other. The members of -this party were those who had demanded an advance from Vílna into Poland -and freedom from all prearranged plans. Besides being advocates of bold -action, this section also represented nationalism, which made them still -more one-sided in the dispute. They were Russians: Bagratión, Ermólov -(who was beginning to come to the front), and others. At that time a -famous joke of Ermólov’s was being circulated, that as a great favor he -had petitioned the Emperor to make him a German. The men of that party, -remembering Suvórov, said that what one had to do was not to reason, -or stick pins into maps, but to fight, beat the enemy, keep him out of -Russia, and not let the army get discouraged. - -To the third party—in which the Emperor had most confidence—belonged the -courtiers who tried to arrange compromises between the other two. The -members of this party, chiefly civilians and to whom Arakchéev belonged, -thought and said what men who have no convictions but wish to seem to -have some generally say. They said that undoubtedly war, particularly -against such a genius as Bonaparte (they called him Bonaparte now), -needs most deeply devised plans and profound scientific knowledge and -in that respect Pfuel was a genius, but at the same time it had to be -acknowledged that the theorists are often one-sided, and therefore one -should not trust them absolutely, but should also listen to what Pfuel’s -opponents and practical men of experience in warfare had to say, and -then choose a middle course. They insisted on the retention of the camp -at Drissa, according to Pfuel’s plan, but on changing the movements of -the other armies. Though, by this course, neither one aim nor the other -could be attained, yet it seemed best to the adherents of this third -party. - -Of a fourth opinion the most conspicuous representative was the -Tsarévich, who could not forget his disillusionment at Austerlitz, where -he had ridden out at the head of the Guards, in his casque and cavalry -uniform as to a review, expecting to crush the French gallantly; but -unexpectedly finding himself in the front line had narrowly escaped amid -the general confusion. The men of this party had both the quality -and the defect of frankness in their opinions. They feared Napoleon, -recognized his strength and their own weakness, and frankly said so. -They said: “Nothing but sorrow, shame, and ruin will come of all this! -We have abandoned Vílna and Vítebsk and shall abandon Drissa. The only -reasonable thing left to do is to conclude peace as soon as possible, -before we are turned out of Petersburg.” - -This view was very general in the upper army circles and found support -also in Petersburg and from the chancellor, Rumyántsev, who, for other -reasons of state, was in favor of peace. - -The fifth party consisted of those who were adherents of Barclay de -Tolly, not so much as a man but as minister of war and commander in -chief. “Be he what he may” (they always began like that), “he is an -honest, practical man and we have nobody better. Give him real power, -for war cannot be conducted successfully without unity of command, and -he will show what he can do, as he did in Finland. If our army is well -organized and strong and has withdrawn to Drissa without suffering -any defeats, we owe this entirely to Barclay. If Barclay is now to -be superseded by Bennigsen all will be lost, for Bennigsen showed his -incapacity already in 1807.” - -The sixth party, the Bennigsenites, said, on the contrary, that at any -rate there was no one more active and experienced than Bennigsen: “and -twist about as you may, you will have to come to Bennigsen eventually. -Let the others make mistakes now!” said they, arguing that our -retirement to Drissa was a most shameful reverse and an unbroken series -of blunders. “The more mistakes that are made the better. It will at any -rate be understood all the sooner that things cannot go on like this. -What is wanted is not some Barclay or other, but a man like Bennigsen, -who made his mark in 1807, and to whom Napoleon himself did justice—a -man whose authority would be willingly recognized, and Bennigsen is the -only such man.” - -The seventh party consisted of the sort of people who are always to -be found, especially around young sovereigns, and of whom there were -particularly many round Alexander—generals and imperial aides-de-camp -passionately devoted to the Emperor, not merely as a monarch but as a -man, adoring him sincerely and disinterestedly, as Rostóv had done -in 1805, and who saw in him not only all the virtues but all human -capabilities as well. These men, though enchanted with the sovereign -for refusing the command of the army, yet blamed him for such excessive -modesty, and only desired and insisted that their adored sovereign -should abandon his diffidence and openly announce that he would place -himself at the head of the army, gather round him a commander in chief’s -staff, and, consulting experienced theoreticians and practical men where -necessary, would himself lead the troops, whose spirits would thereby be -raised to the highest pitch. - -The eighth and largest group, which in its enormous numbers was to the -others as ninety-nine to one, consisted of men who desired neither -peace nor war, neither an advance nor a defensive camp at the Drissa -or anywhere else, neither Barclay nor the Emperor, neither Pfuel nor -Bennigsen, but only the one most essential thing—as much advantage -and pleasure for themselves as possible. In the troubled waters of -conflicting and intersecting intrigues that eddied about the Emperor’s -headquarters, it was possible to succeed in many ways unthinkable at -other times. A man who simply wished to retain his lucrative post would -today agree with Pfuel, tomorrow with his opponent, and the day after, -merely to avoid responsibility or to please the Emperor, would declare -that he had no opinion at all on the matter. Another who wished to -gain some advantage would attract the Emperor’s attention by loudly -advocating the very thing the Emperor had hinted at the day before, -and would dispute and shout at the council, beating his breast and -challenging those who did not agree with him to duels, thereby proving -that he was prepared to sacrifice himself for the common good. A third, -in the absence of opponents, between two councils would simply solicit -a special gratuity for his faithful services, well knowing that at that -moment people would be too busy to refuse him. A fourth while seemingly -overwhelmed with work would often come accidentally under the Emperor’s -eye. A fifth, to achieve his long-cherished aim of dining with the -Emperor, would stubbornly insist on the correctness or falsity of some -newly emerging opinion and for this object would produce arguments more -or less forcible and correct. - -All the men of this party were fishing for rubles, decorations, and -promotions, and in this pursuit watched only the weathercock of imperial -favor, and directly they noticed it turning in any direction, this whole -drone population of the army began blowing hard that way, so that it -was all the harder for the Emperor to turn it elsewhere. Amid the -uncertainties of the position, with the menace of serious danger giving -a peculiarly threatening character to everything, amid this vortex of -intrigue, egotism, conflict of views and feelings, and the diversity -of race among these people—this eighth and largest party of those -preoccupied with personal interests imparted great confusion and -obscurity to the common task. Whatever question arose, a swarm of these -drones, without having finished their buzzing on a previous theme, flew -over to the new one and by their hum drowned and obscured the voices of -those who were disputing honestly. - -From among all these parties, just at the time Prince Andrew reached -the army, another, a ninth party, was being formed and was beginning -to raise its voice. This was the party of the elders, reasonable men -experienced and capable in state affairs, who, without sharing any of -those conflicting opinions, were able to take a detached view of what -was going on at the staff at headquarters and to consider means of -escape from this muddle, indecision, intricacy, and weakness. - -The men of this party said and thought that what was wrong resulted -chiefly from the Emperor’s presence in the army with his military court -and from the consequent presence there of an indefinite, conditional, -and unsteady fluctuation of relations, which is in place at court but -harmful in an army; that a sovereign should reign but not command the -army, and that the only way out of the position would be for the Emperor -and his court to leave the army; that the mere presence of the Emperor -paralyzed the action of fifty thousand men required to secure his -personal safety, and that the worst commander in chief, if independent, -would be better than the very best one trammeled by the presence and -authority of the monarch. - -Just at the time Prince Andrew was living unoccupied at Drissa, -Shishkóv, the Secretary of State and one of the chief representatives of -this party, wrote a letter to the Emperor which Arakchéev and Balashëv -agreed to sign. In this letter, availing himself of permission given him -by the Emperor to discuss the general course of affairs, he respectfully -suggested—on the plea that it was necessary for the sovereign to arouse -a warlike spirit in the people of the capital—that the Emperor should -leave the army. - -That arousing of the people by their sovereign and his call to them to -defend their country—the very incitement which was the chief cause of -Russia’s triumph in so far as it was produced by the Tsar’s personal -presence in Moscow—was suggested to the Emperor, and accepted by him, as -a pretext for quitting the army. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -This letter had not yet been presented to the Emperor when Barclay, one -day at dinner, informed Bolkónski that the sovereign wished to see him -personally, to question him about Turkey, and that Prince Andrew was to -present himself at Bennigsen’s quarters at six that evening. - -News was received at the Emperor’s quarters that very day of a fresh -movement by Napoleon which might endanger the army—news subsequently -found to be false. And that morning Colonel Michaud had ridden round the -Drissa fortifications with the Emperor and had pointed out to him that -this fortified camp constructed by Pfuel, and till then considered -a chef-d’oeuvre of tactical science which would ensure Napoleon’s -destruction, was an absurdity, threatening the destruction of the -Russian army. - -Prince Andrew arrived at Bennigsen’s quarters—a country gentleman’s -house of moderate size, situated on the very banks of the river. Neither -Bennigsen nor the Emperor was there, but Chernýshev, the Emperor’s -aide-de-camp, received Bolkónski and informed him that the Emperor, -accompanied by General Bennigsen and Marquis Paulucci, had gone a second -time that day to inspect the fortifications of the Drissa camp, of the -suitability of which serious doubts were beginning to be felt. - -Chernýshev was sitting at a window in the first room with a French novel -in his hand. This room had probably been a music room; there was still -an organ in it on which some rugs were piled, and in one corner stood -the folding bedstead of Bennigsen’s adjutant. This adjutant was also -there and sat dozing on the rolled-up bedding, evidently exhausted by -work or by feasting. Two doors led from the room, one straight on into -what had been the drawing room, and another, on the right, to the study. -Through the first door came the sound of voices conversing in German -and occasionally in French. In that drawing room were gathered, by -the Emperor’s wish, not a military council (the Emperor preferred -indefiniteness), but certain persons whose opinions he wished to know in -view of the impending difficulties. It was not a council of war, but, -as it were, a council to elucidate certain questions for the Emperor -personally. To this semicouncil had been invited the Swedish General -Armfeldt, Adjutant General Wolzogen, Wintzingerode (whom Napoleon had -referred to as a renegade French subject), Michaud, Toll, Count Stein -who was not a military man at all, and Pfuel himself, who, as Prince -Andrew had heard, was the mainspring of the whole affair. Prince Andrew -had an opportunity of getting a good look at him, for Pfuel arrived soon -after himself and, in passing through to the drawing room, stopped a -minute to speak to Chernýshev. - -At first sight, Pfuel, in his ill-made uniform of a Russian general, -which fitted him badly like a fancy costume, seemed familiar to Prince -Andrew, though he saw him now for the first time. There was about -him something of Weyrother, Mack, and Schmidt, and many other German -theorist-generals whom Prince Andrew had seen in 1805, but he was more -typical than any of them. Prince Andrew had never yet seen a German -theorist in whom all the characteristics of those others were united to -such an extent. - -Pfuel was short and very thin but broad-boned, of coarse, robust build, -broad in the hips, and with prominent shoulder blades. His face was -much wrinkled and his eyes deep set. His hair had evidently been hastily -brushed smooth in front of the temples, but stuck up behind in quaint -little tufts. He entered the room, looking restlessly and angrily -around, as if afraid of everything in that large apartment. Awkwardly -holding up his sword, he addressed Chernýshev and asked in German where -the Emperor was. One could see that he wished to pass through the rooms -as quickly as possible, finish with the bows and greetings, and sit down -to business in front of a map, where he would feel at home. He nodded -hurriedly in reply to Chernýshev, and smiled ironically on hearing that -the sovereign was inspecting the fortifications that he, Pfuel, had -planned in accord with his theory. He muttered something to himself -abruptly and in a bass voice, as self-assured Germans do—it might -have been “stupid fellow”... or “the whole affair will be ruined,” or -“something absurd will come of it.”... Prince Andrew did not catch -what he said and would have passed on, but Chernýshev introduced him to -Pfuel, remarking that Prince Andrew was just back from Turkey where the -war had terminated so fortunately. Pfuel barely glanced—not so much at -Prince Andrew as past him—and said, with a laugh: “That must have been a -fine tactical war”; and, laughing contemptuously, went on into the room -from which the sound of voices was heard. - -Pfuel, always inclined to be irritably sarcastic, was particularly -disturbed that day, evidently by the fact that they had dared to inspect -and criticize his camp in his absence. From this short interview with -Pfuel, Prince Andrew, thanks to his Austerlitz experiences, was able to -form a clear conception of the man. Pfuel was one of those hopelessly -and immutably self-confident men, self-confident to the point of -martyrdom as only Germans are, because only Germans are self-confident -on the basis of an abstract notion—science, that is, the supposed -knowledge of absolute truth. A Frenchman is self-assured because he -regards himself personally, both in mind and body, as irresistibly -attractive to men and women. An Englishman is self-assured, as being a -citizen of the best-organized state in the world, and therefore as an -Englishman always knows what he should do and knows that all he does as -an Englishman is undoubtedly correct. An Italian is self-assured because -he is excitable and easily forgets himself and other people. A Russian -is self-assured just because he knows nothing and does not want to know -anything, since he does not believe that anything can be known. The -German’s self-assurance is worst of all, stronger and more -repulsive than any other, because he imagines that he knows the -truth—science—which he himself has invented but which is for him the -absolute truth. - -Pfuel was evidently of that sort. He had a science—the theory of oblique -movements deduced by him from the history of Frederick the Great’s wars, -and all he came across in the history of more recent warfare seemed to -him absurd and barbarous—monstrous collisions in which so many blunders -were committed by both sides that these wars could not be called wars, -they did not accord with the theory, and therefore could not serve as -material for science. - -In 1806 Pfuel had been one of those responsible, for the plan of -campaign that ended in Jena and Auerstädt, but he did not see the least -proof of the fallibility of his theory in the disasters of that war. On -the contrary, the deviations made from his theory were, in his opinion, -the sole cause of the whole disaster, and with characteristically -gleeful sarcasm he would remark, “There, I said the whole affair would -go to the devil!” Pfuel was one of those theoreticians who so love -their theory that they lose sight of the theory’s object—its practical -application. His love of theory made him hate everything practical, and -he would not listen to it. He was even pleased by failures, for failures -resulting from deviations in practice from the theory only proved to him -the accuracy of his theory. - -He said a few words to Prince Andrew and Chernýshev about the present -war, with the air of a man who knows beforehand that all will go wrong, -and who is not displeased that it should be so. The unbrushed tufts -of hair sticking up behind and the hastily brushed hair on his temples -expressed this most eloquently. - -He passed into the next room, and the deep, querulous sounds of his -voice were at once heard from there. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Prince Andrew’s eyes were still following Pfuel out of the room when -Count Bennigsen entered hurriedly, and nodding to Bolkónski, but not -pausing, went into the study, giving instructions to his adjutant as he -went. The Emperor was following him, and Bennigsen had hastened on -to make some preparations and to be ready to receive the sovereign. -Chernýshev and Prince Andrew went out into the porch, where the Emperor, -who looked fatigued, was dismounting. Marquis Paulucci was talking to -him with particular warmth and the Emperor, with his head bent to the -left, was listening with a dissatisfied air. The Emperor moved forward -evidently wishing to end the conversation, but the flushed and excited -Italian, oblivious of decorum, followed him and continued to speak. - -“And as for the man who advised forming this camp—the Drissa camp,” said -Paulucci, as the Emperor mounted the steps and noticing Prince Andrew -scanned his unfamiliar face, “as to that person, sire...” continued -Paulucci, desperately, apparently unable to restrain himself, “the man -who advised the Drissa camp—I see no alternative but the lunatic asylum -or the gallows!” - -Without heeding the end of the Italian’s remarks, and as though -not hearing them, the Emperor, recognizing Bolkónski, addressed him -graciously. - -“I am very glad to see you! Go in there where they are meeting, and wait -for me.” - -The Emperor went into the study. He was followed by Prince Peter -Mikháylovich Volkónski and Baron Stein, and the door closed behind them. -Prince Andrew, taking advantage of the Emperor’s permission, accompanied -Paulucci, whom he had known in Turkey, into the drawing room where the -council was assembled. - -Prince Peter Mikháylovich Volkónski occupied the position, as it were, -of chief of the Emperor’s staff. He came out of the study into the -drawing room with some maps which he spread on a table, and put -questions on which he wished to hear the opinion of the gentlemen -present. What had happened was that news (which afterwards proved to be -false) had been received during the night of a movement by the French to -outflank the Drissa camp. - -The first to speak was General Armfeldt who, to meet the difficulty that -presented itself, unexpectedly proposed a perfectly new position -away from the Petersburg and Moscow roads. The reason for this was -inexplicable (unless he wished to show that he, too, could have an -opinion), but he urged that at this point the army should unite and -there await the enemy. It was plain that Armfeldt had thought out that -plan long ago and now expounded it not so much to answer the questions -put—which, in fact, his plan did not answer—as to avail himself of the -opportunity to air it. It was one of the millions of proposals, one as -good as another, that could be made as long as it was quite unknown -what character the war would take. Some disputed his arguments, others -defended them. Young Count Toll objected to the Swedish general’s views -more warmly than anyone else, and in the course of the dispute drew from -his side pocket a well-filled notebook, which he asked permission to -read to them. In these voluminous notes Toll suggested another scheme, -totally different from Armfeldt’s or Pfuel’s plan of campaign. In answer -to Toll, Paulucci suggested an advance and an attack, which, he urged, -could alone extricate us from the present uncertainty and from the trap -(as he called the Drissa camp) in which we were situated. - -During all these discussions Pfuel and his interpreter, Wolzogen -(his “bridge” in court relations), were silent. Pfuel only snorted -contemptuously and turned away, to show that he would never demean -himself by replying to such nonsense as he was now hearing. So when -Prince Volkónski, who was in the chair, called on him to give his -opinion, he merely said: - -“Why ask me? General Armfeldt has proposed a splendid position with an -exposed rear, or why not this Italian gentleman’s attack—very fine, or -a retreat, also good! Why ask me?” said he. “Why, you yourselves know -everything better than I do.” - -But when Volkónski said, with a frown, that it was in the Emperor’s name -that he asked his opinion, Pfuel rose and, suddenly growing animated, -began to speak: - -“Everything has been spoiled, everything muddled, everybody thought they -knew better than I did, and now you come to me! How mend matters? There -is nothing to mend! The principles laid down by me must be strictly -adhered to,” said he, drumming on the table with his bony fingers. “What -is the difficulty? Nonsense, childishness!” - -He went up to the map and speaking rapidly began proving that no -eventuality could alter the efficiency of the Drissa camp, that -everything had been foreseen, and that if the enemy were really going to -outflank it, the enemy would inevitably be destroyed. - -Paulucci, who did not know German, began questioning him in French. -Wolzogen came to the assistance of his chief, who spoke French badly, -and began translating for him, hardly able to keep pace with Pfuel, who -was rapidly demonstrating that not only all that had happened, but all -that could happen, had been foreseen in his scheme, and that if there -were now any difficulties the whole fault lay in the fact that his plan -had not been precisely executed. He kept laughing sarcastically, he -demonstrated, and at last contemptuously ceased to demonstrate, like -a mathematician who ceases to prove in various ways the accuracy of -a problem that has already been proved. Wolzogen took his place and -continued to explain his views in French, every now and then turning to -Pfuel and saying, “Is it not so, your excellency?” But Pfuel, like a man -heated in a fight who strikes those on his own side, shouted angrily at -his own supporter, Wolzogen: - -“Well, of course, what more is there to explain?” - -Paulucci and Michaud both attacked Wolzogen simultaneously in French. -Armfeldt addressed Pfuel in German. Toll explained to Volkónski in -Russian. Prince Andrew listened and observed in silence. - -Of all these men Prince Andrew sympathized most with Pfuel, angry, -determined, and absurdly self-confident as he was. Of all those present, -evidently he alone was not seeking anything for himself, nursed no -hatred against anyone, and only desired that the plan, formed on a -theory arrived at by years of toil, should be carried out. He was -ridiculous, and unpleasantly sarcastic, but yet he inspired involuntary -respect by his boundless devotion to an idea. Besides this, the remarks -of all except Pfuel had one common trait that had not been noticeable -at the council of war in 1805: there was now a panic fear of Napoleon’s -genius, which, though concealed, was noticeable in every rejoinder. -Everything was assumed to be possible for Napoleon, they expected him -from every side, and invoked his terrible name to shatter each other’s -proposals. Pfuel alone seemed to consider Napoleon a barbarian like -everyone else who opposed his theory. But besides this feeling of -respect, Pfuel evoked pity in Prince Andrew. From the tone in which -the courtiers addressed him and the way Paulucci had allowed himself to -speak of him to the Emperor, but above all from a certain desperation -in Pfuel’s own expressions, it was clear that the others knew, and Pfuel -himself felt, that his fall was at hand. And despite his self-confidence -and grumpy German sarcasm he was pitiable, with his hair smoothly -brushed on the temples and sticking up in tufts behind. Though he -concealed the fact under a show of irritation and contempt, he was -evidently in despair that the sole remaining chance of verifying his -theory by a huge experiment and proving its soundness to the whole world -was slipping away from him. - -The discussions continued a long time, and the longer they lasted -the more heated became the disputes, culminating in shouts and -personalities, and the less was it possible to arrive at any general -conclusion from all that had been said. Prince Andrew, listening to this -polyglot talk and to these surmises, plans, refutations, and shouts, -felt nothing but amazement at what they were saying. A thought that had -long since and often occurred to him during his military activities—the -idea that there is not and cannot be any science of war, and that -therefore there can be no such thing as a military genius—now appeared -to him an obvious truth. “What theory and science is possible about a -matter the conditions and circumstances of which are unknown and cannot -be defined, especially when the strength of the acting forces cannot be -ascertained? No one was or is able to foresee in what condition our or -the enemy’s armies will be in a day’s time, and no one can gauge the -force of this or that detachment. Sometimes—when there is not a coward -at the front to shout, ‘We are cut off!’ and start running, but a brave -and jolly lad who shouts, ‘Hurrah!’—a detachment of five thousand -is worth thirty thousand, as at Schön Grabern, while at times fifty -thousand run from eight thousand, as at Austerlitz. What science can -there be in a matter in which, as in all practical matters, nothing -can be defined and everything depends on innumerable conditions, the -significance of which is determined at a particular moment which arrives -no one knows when? Armfeldt says our army is cut in half, and Paulucci -says we have got the French army between two fires; Michaud says that -the worthlessness of the Drissa camp lies in having the river behind it, -and Pfuel says that is what constitutes its strength; Toll proposes -one plan, Armfeldt another, and they are all good and all bad, and the -advantages of any suggestions can be seen only at the moment of trial. -And why do they all speak of a ‘military genius’? Is a man a genius who -can order bread to be brought up at the right time and say who is to go -to the right and who to the left? It is only because military men are -invested with pomp and power and crowds of sychophants flatter power, -attributing to it qualities of genius it does not possess. The best -generals I have known were, on the contrary, stupid or absent-minded -men. Bagratión was the best, Napoleon himself admitted that. And of -Bonaparte himself! I remember his limited, self-satisfied face on the -field of Austerlitz. Not only does a good army commander not need any -special qualities, on the contrary he needs the absence of the highest -and best human attributes—love, poetry, tenderness, and philosophic -inquiring doubt. He should be limited, firmly convinced that what he -is doing is very important (otherwise he will not have sufficient -patience), and only then will he be a brave leader. God forbid that he -should be humane, should love, or pity, or think of what is just -and unjust. It is understandable that a theory of their ‘genius’ was -invented for them long ago because they have power! The success of a -military action depends not on them, but on the man in the ranks who -shouts, ‘We are lost!’ or who shouts, ‘Hurrah!’ And only in the ranks -can one serve with assurance of being useful.” - -So thought Prince Andrew as he listened to the talking, and he roused -himself only when Paulucci called him and everyone was leaving. - -At the review next day the Emperor asked Prince Andrew where he would -like to serve, and Prince Andrew lost his standing in court circles -forever by not asking to remain attached to the sovereign’s person, but -for permission to serve in the army. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -Before the beginning of the campaign, Rostóv had received a letter from -his parents in which they told him briefly of Natásha’s illness and the -breaking off of her engagement to Prince Andrew (which they explained by -Natásha’s having rejected him) and again asked Nicholas to retire from -the army and return home. On receiving this letter, Nicholas did not -even make any attempt to get leave of absence or to retire from the -army, but wrote to his parents that he was sorry Natásha was ill and her -engagement broken off, and that he would do all he could to meet their -wishes. To Sónya he wrote separately. - -“Adored friend of my soul!” he wrote. “Nothing but honor could keep -me from returning to the country. But now, at the commencement of the -campaign, I should feel dishonored, not only in my comrades’ eyes but -in my own, if I preferred my own happiness to my love and duty to the -Fatherland. But this shall be our last separation. Believe me, directly -the war is over, if I am still alive and still loved by you, I will -throw up everything and fly to you, to press you forever to my ardent -breast.” - -It was, in fact, only the commencement of the campaign that prevented -Rostóv from returning home as he had promised and marrying Sónya. The -autumn in Otrádnoe with the hunting, and the winter with the Christmas -holidays and Sónya’s love, had opened out to him a vista of tranquil -rural joys and peace such as he had never known before, and which now -allured him. “A splendid wife, children, a good pack of hounds, a -dozen leashes of smart borzois, agriculture, neighbors, service by -election...” thought he. But now the campaign was beginning, and he had -to remain with his regiment. And since it had to be so, Nicholas Rostóv, -as was natural to him, felt contented with the life he led in the -regiment and was able to find pleasure in that life. - -On his return from his furlough Nicholas, having been joyfully welcomed -by his comrades, was sent to obtain remounts and brought back from the -Ukraine excellent horses which pleased him and earned him commendation -from his commanders. During his absence he had been promoted captain, -and when the regiment was put on war footing with an increase in -numbers, he was again allotted his old squadron. - -The campaign began, the regiment was moved into Poland on double pay, -new officers arrived, new men and horses, and above all everybody was -infected with the merrily excited mood that goes with the commencement -of a war, and Rostóv, conscious of his advantageous position in the -regiment, devoted himself entirely to the pleasures and interests of -military service, though he knew that sooner or later he would have to -relinquish them. - -The troops retired from Vílna for various complicated reasons of state, -political and strategic. Each step of the retreat was accompanied by -a complicated interplay of interests, arguments, and passions at -headquarters. For the Pávlograd hussars, however, the whole of this -retreat during the finest period of summer and with sufficient supplies -was a very simple and agreeable business. - -It was only at headquarters that there was depression, uneasiness, and -intriguing; in the body of the army they did not ask themselves where -they were going or why. If they regretted having to retreat, it was only -because they had to leave billets they had grown accustomed to, or some -pretty young Polish lady. If the thought that things looked bad chanced -to enter anyone’s head, he tried to be as cheerful as befits a good -soldier and not to think of the general trend of affairs, but only of -the task nearest to hand. First they camped gaily before Vílna, making -acquaintance with the Polish landowners, preparing for reviews and being -reviewed by the Emperor and other high commanders. Then came an order -to retreat to Sventsyáni and destroy any provisions they could not carry -away with them. Sventsyáni was remembered by the hussars only as the -drunken camp, a name the whole army gave to their encampment there, -and because many complaints were made against the troops, who, taking -advantage of the order to collect provisions, took also horses, -carriages, and carpets from the Polish proprietors. Rostóv remembered -Sventsyáni, because on the first day of their arrival at that small town -he changed his sergeant major and was unable to manage all the drunken -men of his squadron who, unknown to him, had appropriated five barrels -of old beer. From Sventsyáni they retired farther and farther to Drissa, -and thence again beyond Drissa, drawing near to the frontier of Russia -proper. - -On the thirteenth of July the Pávlograds took part in a serious action -for the first time. - -On the twelfth of July, on the eve of that action, there was a heavy -storm of rain and hail. In general, the summer of 1812 was remarkable -for its storms. - -The two Pávlograd squadrons were bivouacking on a field of rye, which -was already in ear but had been completely trodden down by cattle and -horses. The rain was descending in torrents, and Rostóv, with a young -officer named Ilyín, his protégé, was sitting in a hastily constructed -shelter. An officer of their regiment, with long mustaches extending -onto his cheeks, who after riding to the staff had been overtaken by the -rain, entered Rostóv’s shelter. - -“I have come from the staff, Count. Have you heard of Raévski’s -exploit?” - -And the officer gave them details of the Saltánov battle, which he had -heard at the staff. - -Rostóv, smoking his pipe and turning his head about as the water -trickled down his neck, listened inattentively, with an occasional -glance at Ilyín, who was pressing close to him. This officer, a lad -of sixteen who had recently joined the regiment, was now in the same -relation to Nicholas that Nicholas had been to Denísov seven years -before. Ilyín tried to imitate Rostóv in everything and adored him as a -girl might have done. - -Zdrzhinski, the officer with the long mustache, spoke grandiloquently of -the Saltánov dam being “a Russian Thermopylae,” and of how a deed worthy -of antiquity had been performed by General Raévski. He recounted how -Raévski had led his two sons onto the dam under terrific fire and had -charged with them beside him. Rostóv heard the story and not only said -nothing to encourage Zdrzhinski’s enthusiasm but, on the contrary, -looked like a man ashamed of what he was hearing, though with no -intention of contradicting it. Since the campaigns of Austerlitz and -of 1807 Rostóv knew by experience that men always lie when describing -military exploits, as he himself had done when recounting them; besides -that, he had experience enough to know that nothing happens in war at -all as we can imagine or relate it. And so he did not like Zdrzhinski’s -tale, nor did he like Zdrzhinski himself who, with his mustaches -extending over his cheeks, bent low over the face of his hearer, as was -his habit, and crowded Rostóv in the narrow shanty. Rostóv looked at him -in silence. “In the first place, there must have been such a confusion -and crowding on the dam that was being attacked that if Raévski did lead -his sons there, it could have had no effect except perhaps on some dozen -men nearest to him,” thought he, “the rest could not have seen how or -with whom Raévski came onto the dam. And even those who did see it -would not have been much stimulated by it, for what had they to do with -Raévski’s tender paternal feelings when their own skins were in danger? -And besides, the fate of the Fatherland did not depend on whether -they took the Saltánov dam or not, as we are told was the case at -Thermopylae. So why should he have made such a sacrifice? And why expose -his own children in the battle? I would not have taken my brother Pétya -there, or even Ilyín, who’s a stranger to me but a nice lad, but would -have tried to put them somewhere under cover,” Nicholas continued -to think, as he listened to Zdrzhinski. But he did not express his -thoughts, for in such matters, too, he had gained experience. He knew -that this tale redounded to the glory of our arms and so one had to -pretend not to doubt it. And he acted accordingly. - -“I can’t stand this any more,” said Ilyín, noticing that Rostóv did not -relish Zdrzhinski’s conversation. “My stockings and shirt... and the -water is running on my seat! I’ll go and look for shelter. The rain -seems less heavy.” - -Ilyín went out and Zdrzhinski rode away. - -Five minutes later Ilyín, splashing through the mud, came running back -to the shanty. - -“Hurrah! Rostóv, come quick! I’ve found it! About two hundred yards away -there’s a tavern where ours have already gathered. We can at least get -dry there, and Mary Hendríkhovna’s there.” - -Mary Hendríkhovna was the wife of the regimental doctor, a pretty young -German woman he had married in Poland. The doctor, whether from lack -of means or because he did not like to part from his young wife in -the early days of their marriage, took her about with him wherever the -hussar regiment went and his jealousy had become a standing joke among -the hussar officers. - -Rostóv threw his cloak over his shoulders, shouted to Lavrúshka to -follow with the things, and—now slipping in the mud, now splashing right -through it—set off with Ilyín in the lessening rain and the darkness -that was occasionally rent by distant lightning. - -“Rostóv, where are you?” - -“Here. What lightning!” they called to one another. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -In the tavern, before which stood the doctor’s covered cart, there were -already some five officers. Mary Hendríkhovna, a plump little blonde -German, in a dressing jacket and nightcap, was sitting on a broad bench -in the front corner. Her husband, the doctor, lay asleep behind her. -Rostóv and Ilyín, on entering the room, were welcomed with merry shouts -and laughter. - -“Dear me, how jolly we are!” said Rostóv laughing. - -“And why do you stand there gaping?” - -“What swells they are! Why, the water streams from them! Don’t make our -drawing room so wet.” - -“Don’t mess Mary Hendríkhovna’s dress!” cried other voices. - -Rostóv and Ilyín hastened to find a corner where they could change into -dry clothes without offending Mary Hendríkhovna’s modesty. They were -going into a tiny recess behind a partition to change, but found it -completely filled by three officers who sat playing cards by the light -of a solitary candle on an empty box, and these officers would on no -account yield their position. Mary Hendríkhovna obliged them with the -loan of a petticoat to be used as a curtain, and behind that screen -Rostóv and Ilyín, helped by Lavrúshka who had brought their kits, -changed their wet things for dry ones. - -A fire was made up in the dilapidated brick stove. A board was found, -fixed on two saddles and covered with a horsecloth, a small samovar was -produced and a cellaret and half a bottle of rum, and having asked Mary -Hendríkhovna to preside, they all crowded round her. One offered her a -clean handkerchief to wipe her charming hands, another spread a jacket -under her little feet to keep them from the damp, another hung his coat -over the window to keep out the draft, and yet another waved the flies -off her husband’s face, lest he should wake up. - -“Leave him alone,” said Mary Hendríkhovna, smiling timidly and happily. -“He is sleeping well as it is, after a sleepless night.” - -“Oh, no, Mary Hendríkhovna,” replied the officer, “one must look after -the doctor. Perhaps he’ll take pity on me someday, when it comes to -cutting off a leg or an arm for me.” - -There were only three tumblers, the water was so muddy that one could -not make out whether the tea was strong or weak, and the samovar held -only six tumblers of water, but this made it all the pleasanter to -take turns in order of seniority to receive one’s tumbler from Mary -Hendríkhovna’s plump little hands with their short and not overclean -nails. All the officers appeared to be, and really were, in love with -her that evening. Even those playing cards behind the partition soon -left their game and came over to the samovar, yielding to the general -mood of courting Mary Hendríkhovna. She, seeing herself surrounded by -such brilliant and polite young men, beamed with satisfaction, try as -she might to hide it, and perturbed as she evidently was each time her -husband moved in his sleep behind her. - -There was only one spoon, sugar was more plentiful than anything -else, but it took too long to dissolve, so it was decided that Mary -Hendríkhovna should stir the sugar for everyone in turn. Rostóv received -his tumbler, and adding some rum to it asked Mary Hendríkhovna to stir -it. - -“But you take it without sugar?” she said, smiling all the time, as if -everything she said and everything the others said was very amusing and -had a double meaning. - -“It is not the sugar I want, but only that your little hand should stir -my tea.” - -Mary Hendríkhovna assented and began looking for the spoon which someone -meanwhile had pounced on. - -“Use your finger, Mary Hendríkhovna, it will be still nicer,” said -Rostóv. - -“Too hot!” she replied, blushing with pleasure. - -Ilyín put a few drops of rum into the bucket of water and brought it to -Mary Hendríkhovna, asking her to stir it with her finger. - -“This is my cup,” said he. “Only dip your finger in it and I’ll drink it -all up.” - -When they had emptied the samovar, Rostóv took a pack of cards and -proposed that they should play “Kings” with Mary Hendríkhovna. They drew -lots to settle who should make up her set. At Rostóv’s suggestion it -was agreed that whoever became “King” should have the right to kiss Mary -Hendríkhovna’s hand, and that the “Booby” should go to refill and reheat -the samovar for the doctor when the latter awoke. - -“Well, but supposing Mary Hendríkhovna is ‘King’?” asked Ilyín. - -“As it is, she is Queen, and her word is law!” - -They had hardly begun to play before the doctor’s disheveled head -suddenly appeared from behind Mary Hendríkhovna. He had been awake for -some time, listening to what was being said, and evidently found nothing -entertaining or amusing in what was going on. His face was sad and -depressed. Without greeting the officers, he scratched himself and asked -to be allowed to pass as they were blocking the way. As soon as he -had left the room all the officers burst into loud laughter and Mary -Hendríkhovna blushed till her eyes filled with tears and thereby became -still more attractive to them. Returning from the yard, the doctor -told his wife (who had ceased to smile so happily, and looked at him in -alarm, awaiting her sentence) that the rain had ceased and they must go -to sleep in their covered cart, or everything in it would be stolen. - -“But I’ll send an orderly.... Two of them!” said Rostóv. “What an idea, -doctor!” - -“I’ll stand guard on it myself!” said Ilyín. - -“No, gentlemen, you have had your sleep, but I have not slept for two -nights,” replied the doctor, and he sat down morosely beside his wife, -waiting for the game to end. - -Seeing his gloomy face as he frowned at his wife, the officers grew -still merrier, and some of them could not refrain from laughter, for -which they hurriedly sought plausible pretexts. When he had gone, taking -his wife with him, and had settled down with her in their covered cart, -the officers lay down in the tavern, covering themselves with their -wet cloaks, but they did not sleep for a long time; now they exchanged -remarks, recalling the doctor’s uneasiness and his wife’s delight, now -they ran out into the porch and reported what was taking place in the -covered trap. Several times Rostóv, covering his head, tried to go -to sleep, but some remark would arouse him and conversation would be -resumed, to the accompaniment of unreasoning, merry, childlike laughter. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -It was nearly three o’clock but no one was yet asleep, when the -quartermaster appeared with an order to move on to the little town -of Ostróvna. Still laughing and talking, the officers began hurriedly -getting ready and again boiled some muddy water in the samovar. But -Rostóv went off to his squadron without waiting for tea. Day was -breaking, the rain had ceased, and the clouds were dispersing. It felt -damp and cold, especially in clothes that were still moist. As they left -the tavern in the twilight of the dawn, Rostóv and Ilyín both glanced -under the wet and glistening leather hood of the doctor’s cart, from -under the apron of which his feet were sticking out, and in the middle -of which his wife’s nightcap was visible and her sleepy breathing -audible. - -“She really is a dear little thing,” said Rostóv to Ilyín, who was -following him. - -“A charming woman!” said Ilyín, with all the gravity of a boy of -sixteen. - -Half an hour later the squadron was lined up on the road. The command -was heard to “mount” and the soldiers crossed themselves and mounted. -Rostóv riding in front gave the order “Forward!” and the hussars, with -clanking sabers and subdued talk, their horses’ hoofs splashing in the -mud, defiled in fours and moved along the broad road planted with birch -trees on each side, following the infantry and a battery that had gone -on in front. - -Tattered, blue-purple clouds, reddening in the east, were scudding -before the wind. It was growing lighter and lighter. That curly grass -which always grows by country roadsides became clearly visible, still -wet with the night’s rain; the drooping branches of the birches, also -wet, swayed in the wind and flung down bright drops of water to one -side. The soldiers’ faces were more and more clearly visible. Rostóv, -always closely followed by Ilyín, rode along the side of the road -between two rows of birch trees. - -When campaigning, Rostóv allowed himself the indulgence of riding not -a regimental but a Cossack horse. A judge of horses and a sportsman, -he had lately procured himself a large, fine, mettlesome, Donéts horse, -dun-colored, with light mane and tail, and when he rode it no one could -outgallop him. To ride this horse was a pleasure to him, and he thought -of the horse, of the morning, of the doctor’s wife, but not once of the -impending danger. - -Formerly, when going into action, Rostóv had felt afraid; now he had -not the least feeling of fear. He was fearless, not because he had grown -used to being under fire (one cannot grow used to danger), but because -he had learned how to manage his thoughts when in danger. He had grown -accustomed when going into action to think about anything but what would -seem most likely to interest him—the impending danger. During the -first period of his service, hard as he tried and much as he reproached -himself with cowardice, he had not been able to do this, but with time -it had come of itself. Now he rode beside Ilyín under the birch trees, -occasionally plucking leaves from a branch that met his hand, sometimes -touching his horse’s side with his foot, or, without turning round, -handing a pipe he had finished to an hussar riding behind him, with as -calm and careless an air as though he were merely out for a ride. He -glanced with pity at the excited face of Ilyín, who talked much and in -great agitation. He knew from experience the tormenting expectation of -terror and death the cornet was suffering and knew that only time could -help him. - -As soon as the sun appeared in a clear strip of sky beneath the clouds, -the wind fell, as if it dared not spoil the beauty of the summer morning -after the storm; drops still continued to fall, but vertically now, and -all was still. The whole sun appeared on the horizon and disappeared -behind a long narrow cloud that hung above it. A few minutes later it -reappeared brighter still from behind the top of the cloud, tearing its -edge. Everything grew bright and glittered. And with that light, and as -if in reply to it, came the sound of guns ahead of them. - -Before Rostóv had had time to consider and determine the distance of -that firing, Count Ostermann-Tolstóy’s adjutant came galloping from -Vítebsk with orders to advance at a trot along the road. - -The squadron overtook and passed the infantry and the battery—which had -also quickened their pace—rode down a hill, and passing through an empty -and deserted village again ascended. The horses began to lather and the -men to flush. - -“Halt! Dress your ranks!” the order of the regimental commander was -heard ahead. “Forward by the left. Walk, march!” came the order from in -front. - -And the hussars, passing along the line of troops on the left flank of -our position, halted behind our Uhlans who were in the front line. To -the right stood our infantry in a dense column: they were the reserve. -Higher up the hill, on the very horizon, our guns were visible through -the wonderfully clear air, brightly illuminated by slanting morning -sunbeams. In front, beyond a hollow dale, could be seen the enemy’s -columns and guns. Our advanced line, already in action, could be heard -briskly exchanging shots with the enemy in the dale. - -At these sounds, long unheard, Rostóv’s spirits rose, as at the strains -of the merriest music. Trap-ta-ta-tap! cracked the shots, now together, -now several quickly one after another. Again all was silent and then -again it sounded as if someone were walking on detonators and exploding -them. - -The hussars remained in the same place for about an hour. A cannonade -began. Count Ostermann with his suite rode up behind the squadron, -halted, spoke to the commander of the regiment, and rode up the hill to -the guns. - -After Ostermann had gone, a command rang out to the Uhlans. - -“Form column! Prepare to charge!” - -The infantry in front of them parted into platoons to allow the cavalry -to pass. The Uhlans started, the streamers on their spears fluttering, -and trotted downhill toward the French cavalry which was seen below to -the left. - -As soon as the Uhlans descended the hill, the hussars were ordered up -the hill to support the battery. As they took the places vacated by the -Uhlans, bullets came from the front, whining and whistling, but fell -spent without taking effect. - -The sounds, which he had not heard for so long, had an even more -pleasurable and exhilarating effect on Rostóv than the previous sounds -of firing. Drawing himself up, he viewed the field of battle opening out -before him from the hill, and with his whole soul followed the movement -of the Uhlans. They swooped down close to the French dragoons, something -confused happened there amid the smoke, and five minutes later our -Uhlans were galloping back, not to the place they had occupied but more -to the left, and among the orange-colored Uhlans on chestnut horses and -behind them, in a large group, blue French dragoons on gray horses could -be seen. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -Rostóv, with his keen sportsman’s eye, was one of the first to catch -sight of these blue French dragoons pursuing our Uhlans. Nearer and -nearer in disorderly crowds came the Uhlans and the French dragoons -pursuing them. He could already see how these men, who looked so small -at the foot of the hill, jostled and overtook one another, waving their -arms and their sabers in the air. - -Rostóv gazed at what was happening before him as at a hunt. He felt -instinctively that if the hussars struck at the French dragoons now, the -latter could not withstand them, but if a charge was to be made it must -be done now, at that very moment, or it would be too late. He looked -around. A captain, standing beside him, was gazing like himself with -eyes fixed on the cavalry below them. - -“Andrew Sevastyánych!” said Rostóv. “You know, we could crush them....” - -“A fine thing too!” replied the captain, “and really...” - -Rostóv, without waiting to hear him out, touched his horse, galloped to -the front of his squadron, and before he had time to finish giving the -word of command, the whole squadron, sharing his feeling, was following -him. Rostóv himself did not know how or why he did it. He acted as he -did when hunting, without reflecting or considering. He saw the dragoons -near and that they were galloping in disorder; he knew they could not -withstand an attack—knew there was only that moment and that if he let -it slip it would not return. The bullets were whining and whistling so -stimulatingly around him and his horse was so eager to go that he could -not restrain himself. He touched his horse, gave the word of command, -and immediately, hearing behind him the tramp of the horses of his -deployed squadron, rode at full trot downhill toward the dragoons. -Hardly had they reached the bottom of the hill before their pace -instinctively changed to a gallop, which grew faster and faster as they -drew nearer to our Uhlans and the French dragoons who galloped after -them. The dragoons were now close at hand. On seeing the hussars, the -foremost began to turn, while those behind began to halt. With the same -feeling with which he had galloped across the path of a wolf, Rostóv -gave rein to his Donéts horse and galloped to intersect the path of the -dragoons’ disordered lines. One Uhlan stopped, another who was on foot -flung himself to the ground to avoid being knocked over, and a riderless -horse fell in among the hussars. Nearly all the French dragoons were -galloping back. Rostóv, picking out one on a gray horse, dashed after -him. On the way he came upon a bush, his gallant horse cleared it, and -almost before he had righted himself in his saddle he saw that he would -immediately overtake the enemy he had selected. That Frenchman, by his -uniform an officer, was going at a gallop, crouching on his gray horse -and urging it on with his saber. In another moment Rostóv’s horse dashed -its breast against the hindquarters of the officer’s horse, almost -knocking it over, and at the same instant Rostóv, without knowing why, -raised his saber and struck the Frenchman with it. - -The instant he had done this, all Rostóv’s animation vanished. The -officer fell, not so much from the blow—which had but slightly cut his -arm above the elbow—as from the shock to his horse and from fright. -Rostóv reined in his horse, and his eyes sought his foe to see whom he -had vanquished. The French dragoon officer was hopping with one foot on -the ground, the other being caught in the stirrup. His eyes, screwed -up with fear as if he every moment expected another blow, gazed up at -Rostóv with shrinking terror. His pale and mud-stained face—fair and -young, with a dimple in the chin and light-blue eyes—was not an enemy’s -face at all suited to a battlefield, but a most ordinary, homelike face. -Before Rostóv had decided what to do with him, the officer cried, “I -surrender!” He hurriedly but vainly tried to get his foot out of the -stirrup and did not remove his frightened blue eyes from Rostóv’s face. -Some hussars who galloped up disengaged his foot and helped him into the -saddle. On all sides, the hussars were busy with the dragoons; one was -wounded, but though his face was bleeding, he would not give up his -horse; another was perched up behind an hussar with his arms round him; -a third was being helped by an hussar to mount his horse. In front, the -French infantry were firing as they ran. The hussars galloped hastily -back with their prisoners. Rostóv galloped back with the rest, aware of -an unpleasant feeling of depression in his heart. Something vague and -confused, which he could not at all account for, had come over him with -the capture of that officer and the blow he had dealt him. - -Count Ostermann-Tolstóy met the returning hussars, sent for Rostóv, -thanked him, and said he would report his gallant deed to the Emperor -and would recommend him for a St. George’s Cross. When sent for by Count -Ostermann, Rostóv, remembering that he had charged without orders, -felt sure his commander was sending for him to punish him for breach of -discipline. Ostermann’s flattering words and promise of a reward should -therefore have struck him all the more pleasantly, but he still felt -that same vaguely disagreeable feeling of moral nausea. “But what -on earth is worrying me?” he asked himself as he rode back from the -general. “Ilyín? No, he’s safe. Have I disgraced myself in any way? No, -that’s not it.” Something else, resembling remorse, tormented him. “Yes, -oh yes, that French officer with the dimple. And I remember how my arm -paused when I raised it.” - -Rostóv saw the prisoners being led away and galloped after them to have -a look at his Frenchman with the dimple on his chin. He was sitting in -his foreign uniform on an hussar packhorse and looked anxiously about -him. The sword cut on his arm could scarcely be called a wound. He -glanced at Rostóv with a feigned smile and waved his hand in greeting. -Rostóv still had the same indefinite feeling, as of shame. - -All that day and the next his friends and comrades noticed that Rostóv, -without being dull or angry, was silent, thoughtful, and preoccupied. -He drank reluctantly, tried to remain alone, and kept turning something -over in his mind. - -Rostóv was always thinking about that brilliant exploit of his, which to -his amazement had gained him the St. George’s Cross and even given him -a reputation for bravery, and there was something he could not at all -understand. “So others are even more afraid than I am!” he thought. “So -that’s all there is in what is called heroism! And did I do it for my -country’s sake? And how was he to blame, with his dimple and blue eyes? -And how frightened he was! He thought that I should kill him. Why should -I kill him? My hand trembled. And they have given me a St. George’s -Cross.... I can’t make it out at all.” - -But while Nicholas was considering these questions and still could reach -no clear solution of what puzzled him so, the wheel of fortune in the -service, as often happens, turned in his favor. After the affair at -Ostróvna he was brought into notice, received command of an hussar -battalion, and when a brave officer was needed he was chosen. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -On receiving news of Natásha’s illness, the countess, though not quite -well yet and still weak, went to Moscow with Pétya and the rest of the -household, and the whole family moved from Márya Dmítrievna’s house to -their own and settled down in town. - -Natásha’s illness was so serious that, fortunately for her and for -her parents, the consideration of all that had caused the illness, -her conduct and the breaking off of her engagement, receded into the -background. She was so ill that it was impossible for them to consider -in how far she was to blame for what had happened. She could not eat -or sleep, grew visibly thinner, coughed, and, as the doctors made them -feel, was in danger. They could not think of anything but how to help -her. Doctors came to see her singly and in consultation, talked much in -French, German, and Latin, blamed one another, and prescribed a great -variety of medicines for all the diseases known to them, but the simple -idea never occurred to any of them that they could not know the disease -Natásha was suffering from, as no disease suffered by a live man can be -known, for every living person has his own peculiarities and always -has his own peculiar, personal, novel, complicated disease, unknown to -medicine—not a disease of the lungs, liver, skin, heart, nerves, and so -on mentioned in medical books, but a disease consisting of one of the -innumerable combinations of the maladies of those organs. This simple -thought could not occur to the doctors (as it cannot occur to a wizard -that he is unable to work his charms) because the business of their -lives was to cure, and they received money for it and had spent the best -years of their lives on that business. But, above all, that thought -was kept out of their minds by the fact that they saw they were -really useful, as in fact they were to the whole Rostóv family. Their -usefulness did not depend on making the patient swallow substances for -the most part harmful (the harm was scarcely perceptible, as they -were given in small doses), but they were useful, necessary, and -indispensable because they satisfied a mental need of the invalid and -of those who loved her—and that is why there are, and always will be, -pseudo-healers, wise women, homeopaths, and allopaths. They satisfied -that eternal human need for hope of relief, for sympathy, and that -something should be done, which is felt by those who are suffering. They -satisfied the need seen in its most elementary form in a child, when it -wants to have a place rubbed that has been hurt. A child knocks itself -and runs at once to the arms of its mother or nurse to have the aching -spot rubbed or kissed, and it feels better when this is done. The child -cannot believe that the strongest and wisest of its people have no -remedy for its pain, and the hope of relief and the expression of its -mother’s sympathy while she rubs the bump comforts it. The doctors were -of use to Natásha because they kissed and rubbed her bump, assuring her -that it would soon pass if only the coachman went to the chemist’s in -the Arbát and got a powder and some pills in a pretty box for a ruble -and seventy kopeks, and if she took those powders in boiled water at -intervals of precisely two hours, neither more nor less. - -What would Sónya and the count and countess have done, how would they -have looked, if nothing had been done, if there had not been those pills -to give by the clock, the warm drinks, the chicken cutlets, and all the -other details of life ordered by the doctors, the carrying out of which -supplied an occupation and consolation to the family circle? How would -the count have borne his dearly loved daughter’s illness had he not -known that it was costing him a thousand rubles, and that he would not -grudge thousands more to benefit her, or had he not known that if her -illness continued he would not grudge yet other thousands and would take -her abroad for consultations there, and had he not been able to explain -the details of how Métivier and Feller had not understood the symptoms, -but Frise had, and Múdrov had diagnosed them even better? What would the -countess have done had she not been able sometimes to scold the invalid -for not strictly obeying the doctor’s orders? - -“You’ll never get well like that,” she would say, forgetting her grief -in her vexation, “if you won’t obey the doctor and take your medicine at -the right time! You mustn’t trifle with it, you know, or it may turn to -pneumonia,” she would go on, deriving much comfort from the utterance of -that foreign word, incomprehensible to others as well as to herself. - -What would Sónya have done without the glad consciousness that she had -not undressed during the first three nights, in order to be ready to -carry out all the doctor’s injunctions with precision, and that she -still kept awake at night so as not to miss the proper time when the -slightly harmful pills in the little gilt box had to be administered? -Even to Natásha herself it was pleasant to see that so many sacrifices -were being made for her sake, and to know that she had to take medicine -at certain hours, though she declared that no medicine would cure her -and that it was all nonsense. And it was even pleasant to be able to -show, by disregarding the orders, that she did not believe in medical -treatment and did not value her life. - -The doctor came every day, felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, and -regardless of her grief-stricken face joked with her. But when he had -gone into another room, to which the countess hurriedly followed him, he -assumed a grave air and thoughtfully shaking his head said that though -there was danger, he had hopes of the effect of this last medicine and -one must wait and see, that the malady was chiefly mental, but... And -the countess, trying to conceal the action from herself and from him, -slipped a gold coin into his hand and always returned to the patient -with a more tranquil mind. - -The symptoms of Natásha’s illness were that she ate little, slept -little, coughed, and was always low-spirited. The doctors said that -she could not get on without medical treatment, so they kept her in the -stifling atmosphere of the town, and the Rostóvs did not move to the -country that summer of 1812. - -In spite of the many pills she swallowed and the drops and powders out -of the little bottles and boxes of which Madame Schoss who was fond of -such things made a large collection, and in spite of being deprived of -the country life to which she was accustomed, youth prevailed. Natásha’s -grief began to be overlaid by the impressions of daily life, it ceased -to press so painfully on her heart, it gradually faded into the past, -and she began to recover physically. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -Natásha was calmer but no happier. She not merely avoided all external -forms of pleasure—balls, promenades, concerts, and theaters—but she -never laughed without a sound of tears in her laughter. She could not -sing. As soon as she began to laugh, or tried to sing by herself, tears -choked her: tears of remorse, tears at the recollection of those pure -times which could never return, tears of vexation that she should so -uselessly have ruined her young life which might have been so happy. -Laughter and singing in particular seemed to her like a blasphemy, -in face of her sorrow. Without any need of self-restraint, no wish to -coquet ever entered her head. She said and felt at that time that no -man was more to her than Nastásya Ivánovna, the buffoon. Something stood -sentinel within her and forbade her every joy. Besides, she had lost all -the old interests of her carefree girlish life that had been so full -of hope. The previous autumn, the hunting, “Uncle,” and the Christmas -holidays spent with Nicholas at Otrádnoe were what she recalled oftenest -and most painfully. What would she not have given to bring back even a -single day of that time! But it was gone forever. Her presentiment at -the time had not deceived her—that that state of freedom and readiness -for any enjoyment would not return again. Yet it was necessary to live -on. - -It comforted her to reflect that she was not better as she had formerly -imagined, but worse, much worse, than anybody else in the world. But -this was not enough. She knew that, and asked herself, “What next?” -But there was nothing to come. There was no joy in life, yet life was -passing. Natásha apparently tried not to be a burden or a hindrance to -anyone, but wanted nothing for herself. She kept away from everyone in -the house and felt at ease only with her brother Pétya. She liked to -be with him better than with the others, and when alone with him she -sometimes laughed. She hardly ever left the house and of those who came -to see them was glad to see only one person, Pierre. It would have been -impossible to treat her with more delicacy, greater care, and at the -same time more seriously than did Count Bezúkhov. Natásha unconsciously -felt this delicacy and so found great pleasure in his society. But -she was not even grateful to him for it; nothing good on Pierre’s part -seemed to her to be an effort, it seemed so natural for him to be kind -to everyone that there was no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natásha -noticed embarrassment and awkwardness on his part in her presence, -especially when he wanted to do something to please her, or feared that -something they spoke of would awaken memories distressing to her. She -noticed this and attributed it to his general kindness and shyness, -which she imagined must be the same toward everyone as it was to her. -After those involuntary words—that if he were free he would have asked -on his knees for her hand and her love—uttered at a moment when she was -so strongly agitated, Pierre never spoke to Natásha of his feelings; -and it seemed plain to her that those words, which had then so comforted -her, were spoken as all sorts of meaningless words are spoken to comfort -a crying child. It was not because Pierre was a married man, but because -Natásha felt very strongly with him that moral barrier the absence of -which she had experienced with Kurágin that it never entered her head -that the relations between him and herself could lead to love on her -part, still less on his, or even to the kind of tender, self-conscious, -romantic friendship between a man and a woman of which she had known -several instances. - -Before the end of the fast of St. Peter, Agraféna Ivánovna Belóva, a -country neighbor of the Rostóvs, came to Moscow to pay her devotions at -the shrines of the Moscow saints. She suggested that Natásha should fast -and prepare for Holy Communion, and Natásha gladly welcomed the idea. -Despite the doctor’s orders that she should not go out early in the -morning, Natásha insisted on fasting and preparing for the sacrament, -not as they generally prepared for it in the Rostóv family by attending -three services in their own house, but as Agraféna Ivánovna did, by -going to church every day for a week and not once missing Vespers, -Matins, or Mass. - -The countess was pleased with Natásha’s zeal; after the poor results of -the medical treatment, in the depths of her heart she hoped that prayer -might help her daughter more than medicines and, though not without -fear and concealing it from the doctor, she agreed to Natásha’s wish and -entrusted her to Belóva. Agraféna Ivánovna used to come to wake Natásha -at three in the morning, but generally found her already awake. She was -afraid of being late for Matins. Hastily washing, and meekly putting on -her shabbiest dress and an old mantilla, Natásha, shivering in the fresh -air, went out into the deserted streets lit by the clear light of dawn. -By Agraféna Ivánovna’s advice Natásha prepared herself not in their -own parish, but at a church where, according to the devout Agraféna -Ivánovna, the priest was a man of very severe and lofty life. There were -never many people in the church; Natásha always stood beside Belóva in -the customary place before an icon of the Blessed Virgin, let into the -screen before the choir on the left side, and a feeling, new to her, of -humility before something great and incomprehensible, seized her when -at that unusual morning hour, gazing at the dark face of the Virgin -illuminated by the candles burning before it and by the morning light -falling from the window, she listened to the words of the service which -she tried to follow with understanding. When she understood them her -personal feeling became interwoven in the prayers with shades of its -own. When she did not understand, it was sweeter still to think that -the wish to understand everything is pride, that it is impossible to -understand all, that it is only necessary to believe and to commit -oneself to God, whom she felt guiding her soul at those moments. She -crossed herself, bowed low, and when she did not understand, in horror -at her own vileness, simply asked God to forgive her everything, -everything, to have mercy upon her. The prayers to which she surrendered -herself most of all were those of repentance. On her way home at an -early hour when she met no one but bricklayers going to work or men -sweeping the street, and everybody within the houses was still asleep, -Natásha experienced a feeling new to her, a sense of the possibility -of correcting her faults, the possibility of a new, clean life, and of -happiness. - -During the whole week she spent in this way, that feeling grew every -day. And the happiness of taking communion, or “communing” as Agraféna -Ivánovna, joyously playing with the word, called it, seemed to Natásha -so great that she felt she should never live till that blessed Sunday. - -But the happy day came, and on that memorable Sunday, when, dressed in -white muslin, she returned home after communion, for the first time for -many months she felt calm and not oppressed by the thought of the life -that lay before her. - -The doctor who came to see her that day ordered her to continue the -powders he had prescribed a fortnight previously. - -“She must certainly go on taking them morning and evening,” said -he, evidently sincerely satisfied with his success. “Only, please be -particular about it. - -“Be quite easy,” he continued playfully, as he adroitly took the gold -coin in his palm. “She will soon be singing and frolicking about. The -last medicine has done her a very great deal of good. She has freshened -up very much.” - -The countess, with a cheerful expression on her face, looked down at her -nails and spat a little for luck as she returned to the drawing room. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -At the beginning of July more and more disquieting reports about the war -began to spread in Moscow; people spoke of an appeal by the Emperor to -the people, and of his coming himself from the army to Moscow. And as -up to the eleventh of July no manifesto or appeal had been received, -exaggerated reports became current about them and about the position of -Russia. It was said that the Emperor was leaving the army because it was -in danger, it was said that Smolénsk had surrendered, that Napoleon had -an army of a million and only a miracle could save Russia. - -On the eleventh of July, which was Saturday, the manifesto was received -but was not yet in print, and Pierre, who was at the Rostóvs’, promised -to come to dinner next day, Sunday, and bring a copy of the manifesto -and appeal, which he would obtain from Count Rostopchín. - -That Sunday, the Rostóvs went to Mass at the Razumóvskis’ private chapel -as usual. It was a hot July day. Even at ten o’clock, when the Rostóvs -got out of their carriage at the chapel, the sultry air, the shouts of -hawkers, the light and gay summer clothes of the crowd, the dusty leaves -of the trees on the boulevard, the sounds of the band and the white -trousers of a battalion marching to parade, the rattling of wheels on -the cobblestones, and the brilliant, hot sunshine were all full of that -summer languor, that content and discontent with the present, which -is most strongly felt on a bright, hot day in town. All the Moscow -notabilities, all the Rostóvs’ acquaintances, were at the Razumóvskis’ -chapel, for, as if expecting something to happen, many wealthy families -who usually left town for their country estates had not gone away that -summer. As Natásha, at her mother’s side, passed through the crowd -behind a liveried footman who cleared the way for them, she heard a -young man speaking about her in too loud a whisper. - -“That’s Rostóva, the one who...” - -“She’s much thinner, but all the same she’s pretty!” - -She heard, or thought she heard, the names of Kurágin and Bolkónski. But -she was always imagining that. It always seemed to her that everyone -who looked at her was thinking only of what had happened to her. With a -sinking heart, wretched as she always was now when she found herself -in a crowd, Natásha in her lilac silk dress trimmed with black lace -walked—as women can walk—with the more repose and stateliness the -greater the pain and shame in her soul. She knew for certain that she -was pretty, but this no longer gave her satisfaction as it used to. -On the contrary it tormented her more than anything else of late, and -particularly so on this bright, hot summer day in town. “It’s Sunday -again—another week past,” she thought, recalling that she had been here -the Sunday before, “and always the same life that is no life, and the -same surroundings in which it used to be so easy to live. I’m pretty, -I’m young, and I know that now I am good. I used to be bad, but now I -know I am good,” she thought, “but yet my best years are slipping by -and are no good to anyone.” She stood by her mother’s side and exchanged -nods with acquaintances near her. From habit she scrutinized the ladies’ -dresses, condemned the bearing of a lady standing close by who was not -crossing herself properly but in a cramped manner, and again she thought -with vexation that she was herself being judged and was judging others, -and suddenly, at the sound of the service, she felt horrified at her own -vileness, horrified that the former purity of her soul was again lost to -her. - -A comely, fresh-looking old man was conducting the service with that -mild solemnity which has so elevating and soothing an effect on the -souls of the worshipers. The gates of the sanctuary screen were closed, -the curtain was slowly drawn, and from behind it a soft mysterious voice -pronounced some words. Tears, the cause of which she herself did not -understand, made Natásha’s breast heave, and a joyous but oppressive -feeling agitated her. - -“Teach me what I should do, how to live my life, how I may grow good -forever, forever!” she pleaded. - -The deacon came out onto the raised space before the altar screen and, -holding his thumb extended, drew his long hair from under his dalmatic -and, making the sign of the cross on his breast, began in a loud and -solemn voice to recite the words of the prayer.... - -“In peace let us pray unto the Lord.” - -“As one community, without distinction of class, without enmity, united -by brotherly love—let us pray!” thought Natásha. - -“For the peace that is from above, and for the salvation of our souls.” - -“For the world of angels and all the spirits who dwell above us,” prayed -Natásha. - -When they prayed for the warriors, she thought of her brother and -Denísov. When they prayed for all traveling by land and sea, she -remembered Prince Andrew, prayed for him, and asked God to forgive her -all the wrongs she had done him. When they prayed for those who love us, -she prayed for the members of her own family, her father and mother and -Sónya, realizing for the first time how wrongly she had acted toward -them, and feeling all the strength of her love for them. When they -prayed for those who hate us, she tried to think of her enemies and -people who hated her, in order to pray for them. She included among her -enemies the creditors and all who had business dealings with her -father, and always at the thought of enemies and those who hated her she -remembered Anatole who had done her so much harm—and though he did not -hate her she gladly prayed for him as for an enemy. Only at prayer did -she feel able to think clearly and calmly of Prince Andrew and Anatole, -as men for whom her feelings were as nothing compared with her awe and -devotion to God. When they prayed for the Imperial family and the Synod, -she bowed very low and made the sign of the cross, saying to herself -that even if she did not understand, still she could not doubt, and at -any rate loved the governing Synod and prayed for it. - -When he had finished the Litany the deacon crossed the stole over his -breast and said, “Let us commit ourselves and our whole lives to Christ -the Lord!” - -“Commit ourselves to God,” Natásha inwardly repeated. “Lord God, I -submit myself to Thy will!” she thought. “I want nothing, wish for -nothing; teach me what to do and how to use my will! Take me, take -me!” prayed Natásha, with impatient emotion in her heart, not crossing -herself but letting her slender arms hang down as if expecting some -invisible power at any moment to take her and deliver her from herself, -from her regrets, desires, remorse, hopes, and sins. - -The countess looked round several times at her daughter’s softened face -and shining eyes and prayed God to help her. - -Unexpectedly, in the middle of the service, and not in the usual order -Natásha knew so well, the deacon brought out a small stool, the one he -knelt on when praying on Trinity Sunday, and placed it before the doors -of the sanctuary screen. The priest came out with his purple velvet -biretta on his head, adjusted his hair, and knelt down with an effort. -Everybody followed his example and they looked at one another in -surprise. Then came the prayer just received from the Synod—a prayer for -the deliverance of Russia from hostile invasion. - -“Lord God of might, God of our salvation!” began the priest in that -voice, clear, not grandiloquent but mild, in which only the Slav clergy -read and which acts so irresistibly on a Russian heart. - -“Lord God of might, God of our salvation! Look this day in mercy and -blessing on Thy humble people, and graciously hear us, spare us, and -have mercy upon us! This foe confounding Thy land, desiring to lay -waste the whole world, rises against us; these lawless men are gathered -together to overthrow Thy kingdom, to destroy Thy dear Jerusalem, Thy -beloved Russia; to defile Thy temples, to overthrow Thine altars, and to -desecrate our holy shrines. How long, O Lord, how long shall the wicked -triumph? How long shall they wield unlawful power? - -“Lord God! Hear us when we pray to Thee; strengthen with Thy might -our most gracious sovereign lord, the Emperor Alexander Pávlovich; be -mindful of his uprightness and meekness, reward him according to his -righteousness, and let it preserve us, Thy chosen Israel! Bless his -counsels, his undertakings, and his work; strengthen his kingdom by -Thine almighty hand, and give him victory over his enemy, even as Thou -gavest Moses the victory over Amalek, Gideon over Midian, and David over -Goliath. Preserve his army, put a bow of brass in the hands of those who -have armed themselves in Thy Name, and gird their loins with strength -for the fight. Take up the spear and shield and arise to help us; -confound and put to shame those who have devised evil against us, may -they be before the faces of Thy faithful warriors as dust before the -wind, and may Thy mighty Angel confound them and put them to flight; may -they be ensnared when they know it not, and may the plots they have laid -in secret be turned against them; let them fall before Thy servants’ -feet and be laid low by our hosts! Lord, Thou art able to save both -great and small; Thou art God, and man cannot prevail against Thee! - -“God of our fathers! Remember Thy bounteous mercy and loving-kindness -which are from of old; turn not Thy face from us, but be gracious to our -unworthiness, and in Thy great goodness and Thy many mercies regard not -our transgressions and iniquities! Create in us a clean heart and renew -a right spirit within us, strengthen us all in Thy faith, fortify our -hope, inspire us with true love one for another, arm us with unity of -spirit in the righteous defense of the heritage Thou gavest to us and -to our fathers, and let not the scepter of the wicked be exalted against -the destiny of those Thou hast sanctified. - -“O Lord our God, in whom we believe and in whom we put our trust, let us -not be confounded in our hope of Thy mercy, and give us a token of Thy -blessing, that those who hate us and our Orthodox faith may see it and -be put to shame and perish, and may all the nations know that Thou art -the Lord and we are Thy people. Show Thy mercy upon us this day, O Lord, -and grant us Thy salvation; make the hearts of Thy servants to rejoice -in Thy mercy; smite down our enemies and destroy them swiftly beneath -the feet of Thy faithful servants! For Thou art the defense, the succor, -and the victory of them that put their trust in Thee, and to Thee be all -glory, to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, now and forever, world without -end. Amen.” - -In Natásha’s receptive condition of soul this prayer affected her -strongly. She listened to every word about the victory of Moses over -Amalek, of Gideon over Midian, and of David over Goliath, and about -the destruction of “Thy Jerusalem,” and she prayed to God with the -tenderness and emotion with which her heart was overflowing, but without -fully understanding what she was asking of God in that prayer. She -shared with all her heart in the prayer for the spirit of righteousness, -for the strengthening of the heart by faith and hope, and its animation -by love. But she could not pray that her enemies might be trampled under -foot when but a few minutes before she had been wishing she had more -of them that she might pray for them. But neither could she doubt the -righteousness of the prayer that was being read on bended knees. She -felt in her heart a devout and tremulous awe at the thought of the -punishment that overtakes men for their sins, and especially of her own -sins, and she prayed to God to forgive them all, and her too, and to -give them all, and her too, peace and happiness. And it seemed to her -that God heard her prayer. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -From the day when Pierre, after leaving the Rostóvs’ with Natásha’s -grateful look fresh in his mind, had gazed at the comet that seemed to -be fixed in the sky and felt that something new was appearing on his own -horizon—from that day the problem of the vanity and uselessness of all -earthly things, that had incessantly tormented him, no longer presented -itself. That terrible question “Why?” “Wherefore?” which had come to him -amid every occupation, was now replaced, not by another question or by a -reply to the former question, but by her image. When he listened to, or -himself took part in, trivial conversations, when he read or heard of -human baseness or folly, he was not horrified as formerly, and did -not ask himself why men struggled so about these things when all is so -transient and incomprehensible—but he remembered her as he had last -seen her, and all his doubts vanished—not because she had answered -the questions that had haunted him, but because his conception of her -transferred him instantly to another, a brighter, realm of spiritual -activity in which no one could be justified or guilty—a realm of beauty -and love which it was worth living for. Whatever worldly baseness -presented itself to him, he said to himself: - -“Well, supposing N. N. has swindled the country and the Tsar, and the -country and the Tsar confer honors upon him, what does that matter? She -smiled at me yesterday and asked me to come again, and I love her, and -no one will ever know it.” And his soul felt calm and peaceful. - -Pierre still went into society, drank as much and led the same idle -and dissipated life, because besides the hours he spent at the Rostóvs’ -there were other hours he had to spend somehow, and the habits and -acquaintances he had made in Moscow formed a current that bore him along -irresistibly. But latterly, when more and more disquieting reports came -from the seat of war and Natásha’s health began to improve and she -no longer aroused in him the former feeling of careful pity, an -ever-increasing restlessness, which he could not explain, took -possession of him. He felt that the condition he was in could not -continue long, that a catastrophe was coming which would change his -whole life, and he impatiently sought everywhere for signs of that -approaching catastrophe. One of his brother Masons had revealed to -Pierre the following prophecy concerning Napoleon, drawn from the -Revelation of St. John. - -In chapter 13, verse 18, of the Apocalypse, it is said: - -Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of -the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred -threescore and six. - -And in the fifth verse of the same chapter: - -And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and -blasphemies; and power was given unto him to continue forty and two -months. - - -The French alphabet, written out with the same numerical values as the -Hebrew, in which the first nine letters denote units and the others -tens, will have the following significance: - - a b c d e f g h i k - 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 - l m n o p q r s - 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 - t u v w x y - 100 110 120 130 140 150 - z - 160 - -Writing the words L’Empereur Napoléon in numbers, it appears that the -sum of them is 666, and that Napoleon was therefore the beast foretold -in the Apocalypse. Moreover, by applying the same system to the words -quarante-deux, * which was the term allowed to the beast that “spoke -great things and blasphemies,” the same number 666 was obtained; from -which it followed that the limit fixed for Napoleon’s power had come -in the year 1812 when the French emperor was forty-two. This prophecy -pleased Pierre very much and he often asked himself what would put an -end to the power of the beast, that is, of Napoleon, and tried by the -same system of using letters as numbers and adding them up, to find an -answer to the question that engrossed him. He wrote the words L’Empereur -Alexandre, La nation russe and added up their numbers, but the sums -were either more or less than 666. Once when making such calculations he -wrote down his own name in French, Comte Pierre Besouhoff, but the -sum of the numbers did not come right. Then he changed the spelling, -substituting a z for the s and adding de and the article le, still -without obtaining the desired result. Then it occurred to him: if the -answer to the question were contained in his name, his nationality would -also be given in the answer. So he wrote Le russe Besuhof and adding -up the numbers got 671. This was only five too much, and five was -represented by e, the very letter elided from the article le before the -word Empereur. By omitting the e, though incorrectly, Pierre got the -answer he sought. L’russe Besuhof made 666. This discovery excited him. -How, or by what means, he was connected with the great event foretold in -the Apocalypse he did not know, but he did not doubt that connection for -a moment. His love for Natásha, Antichrist, Napoleon, the invasion, the -comet, 666, L’Empereur Napoléon, and L’russe Besuhof—all this had to -mature and culminate, to lift him out of that spellbound, petty sphere -of Moscow habits in which he felt himself held captive and lead him to a -great achievement and great happiness. - - * Forty-two. - - -On the eve of the Sunday when the special prayer was read, Pierre had -promised the Rostóvs to bring them, from Count Rostopchín whom he knew -well, both the appeal to the people and the news from the army. In the -morning, when he went to call at Rostopchín’s he met there a courier -fresh from the army, an acquaintance of his own, who often danced at -Moscow balls. - -“Do, please, for heaven’s sake, relieve me of something!” said the -courier. “I have a sackful of letters to parents.” - -Among these letters was one from Nicholas Rostóv to his father. Pierre -took that letter, and Rostopchín also gave him the Emperor’s appeal to -Moscow, which had just been printed, the last army orders, and his own -most recent bulletin. Glancing through the army orders, Pierre found in -one of them, in the lists of killed, wounded, and rewarded, the name of -Nicholas Rostóv, awarded a St. George’s Cross of the Fourth Class for -courage shown in the Ostróvna affair, and in the same order the name -of Prince Andrew Bolkónski, appointed to the command of a regiment of -Chasseurs. Though he did not want to remind the Rostóvs of Bolkónski, -Pierre could not refrain from making them happy by the news of their -son’s having received a decoration, so he sent that printed army order -and Nicholas’ letter to the Rostóvs, keeping the appeal, the bulletin, -and the other orders to take with him when he went to dinner. - -His conversation with Count Rostopchín and the latter’s tone of anxious -hurry, the meeting with the courier who talked casually of how badly -things were going in the army, the rumors of the discovery of spies in -Moscow and of a leaflet in circulation stating that Napoleon promised -to be in both the Russian capitals by the autumn, and the talk of the -Emperor’s being expected to arrive next day—all aroused with fresh force -that feeling of agitation and expectation in Pierre which he had been -conscious of ever since the appearance of the comet, and especially -since the beginning of the war. - -He had long been thinking of entering the army and would have done so -had he not been hindered, first, by his membership of the Society of -Freemasons to which he was bound by oath and which preached perpetual -peace and the abolition of war, and secondly, by the fact that when he -saw the great mass of Muscovites who had donned uniform and were talking -patriotism, he somehow felt ashamed to take the step. But the chief -reason for not carrying out his intention to enter the army lay in the -vague idea that he was L’russe Besuhof who had the number of the beast, -666; that his part in the great affair of setting a limit to the -power of the beast that spoke great and blasphemous things had been -predestined from eternity, and that therefore he ought not to undertake -anything, but wait for what was bound to come to pass. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -A few intimate friends were dining with the Rostóvs that day, as usual -on Sundays. - -Pierre came early so as to find them alone. - -He had grown so stout this year that he would have been abnormal had he -not been so tall, so broad of limb, and so strong that he carried his -bulk with evident ease. - -He went up the stairs, puffing and muttering something. His coachman did -not even ask whether he was to wait. He knew that when his master was -at the Rostóvs’ he stayed till midnight. The Rostóvs’ footman rushed -eagerly forward to help him off with his cloak and take his hat and -stick. Pierre, from club habit, always left both hat and stick in the -anteroom. - -The first person he saw in the house was Natásha. Even before he saw -her, while taking off his cloak, he heard her. She was practicing solfa -exercises in the music room. He knew that she had not sung since her -illness, and so the sound of her voice surprised and delighted him. He -opened the door softly and saw her, in the lilac dress she had worn at -church, walking about the room singing. She had her back to him when he -opened the door, but when, turning quickly, she saw his broad, surprised -face, she blushed and came rapidly up to him. - -“I want to try to sing again,” she said, adding as if by way of excuse, -“it is, at least, something to do.” - -“That’s capital!” - -“How glad I am you’ve come! I am so happy today,” she said, with the old -animation Pierre had not seen in her for a long time. “You know Nicholas -has received a St. George’s Cross? I am so proud of him.” - -“Oh yes, I sent that announcement. But I don’t want to interrupt you,” -he added, and was about to go to the drawing room. - -Natásha stopped him. - -“Count, is it wrong of me to sing?” she said blushing, and fixing her -eyes inquiringly on him. - -“No... Why should it be? On the contrary... But why do you ask me?” - -“I don’t know myself,” Natásha answered quickly, “but I should not like -to do anything you disapproved of. I believe in you completely. You -don’t know how important you are to me, how much you’ve done for me....” -She spoke rapidly and did not notice how Pierre flushed at her words. “I -saw in that same army order that he, Bolkónski” (she whispered the name -hastily), “is in Russia, and in the army again. What do you think?”—she -was speaking hurriedly, evidently afraid her strength might fail -her—“Will he ever forgive me? Will he not always have a bitter feeling -toward me? What do you think? What do you think?” - -“I think...” Pierre replied, “that he has nothing to forgive.... If I -were in his place...” - -By association of ideas, Pierre was at once carried back to the day -when, trying to comfort her, he had said that if he were not himself but -the best man in the world and free, he would ask on his knees for her -hand; and the same feeling of pity, tenderness, and love took possession -of him and the same words rose to his lips. But she did not give him -time to say them. - -“Yes, you... you...” she said, uttering the word you rapturously—“that’s -a different thing. I know no one kinder, more generous, or better than -you; nobody could be! Had you not been there then, and now too, I don’t -know what would have become of me, because...” - -Tears suddenly rose in her eyes, she turned away, lifted her music -before her eyes, began singing again, and again began walking up and -down the room. - -Just then Pétya came running in from the drawing room. - -Pétya was now a handsome rosy lad of fifteen with full red lips and -resembled Natásha. He was preparing to enter the university, but he and -his friend Obolénski had lately, in secret, agreed to join the hussars. - -Pétya had come rushing out to talk to his namesake about this affair. -He had asked Pierre to find out whether he would be accepted in the -hussars. - -Pierre walked up and down the drawing room, not listening to what Pétya -was saying. - -Pétya pulled him by the arm to attract his attention. - -“Well, what about my plan? Peter Kirílych, for heaven’s sake! You are my -only hope,” said Pétya. - -“Oh yes, your plan. To join the hussars? I’ll mention it, I’ll bring it -all up today.” - -“Well, mon cher, have you got the manifesto?” asked the old count. “The -countess has been to Mass at the Razumóvskis’ and heard the new prayer. -She says it’s very fine.” - -“Yes, I’ve got it,” said Pierre. “The Emperor is to be here tomorrow... -there’s to be an Extraordinary Meeting of the nobility, and they are -talking of a levy of ten men per thousand. Oh yes, let me congratulate -you!” - -“Yes, yes, thank God! Well, and what news from the army?” - -“We are again retreating. They say we’re already near Smolénsk,” replied -Pierre. - -“O Lord, O Lord!” exclaimed the count. “Where is the manifesto?” - -“The Emperor’s appeal? Oh yes!” - -Pierre began feeling in his pockets for the papers, but could not find -them. Still slapping his pockets, he kissed the hand of the countess -who entered the room and glanced uneasily around, evidently expecting -Natásha, who had left off singing but had not yet come into the drawing -room. - -“On my word, I don’t know what I’ve done with it,” he said. - -“There he is, always losing everything!” remarked the countess. - -Natásha entered with a softened and agitated expression of face and -sat down looking silently at Pierre. As soon as she entered, Pierre’s -features, which had been gloomy, suddenly lighted up, and while still -searching for the papers he glanced at her several times. - -“No, really! I’ll drive home, I must have left them there. I’ll -certainly...” - -“But you’ll be late for dinner.” - -“Oh! And my coachman has gone.” - -But Sónya, who had gone to look for the papers in the anteroom, had -found them in Pierre’s hat, where he had carefully tucked them under the -lining. Pierre was about to begin reading. - -“No, after dinner,” said the old count, evidently expecting much -enjoyment from that reading. - -At dinner, at which champagne was drunk to the health of the new -chevalier of St. George, Shinshín told them the town news, of the -illness of the old Georgian princess, of Métivier’s disappearance from -Moscow, and of how some German fellow had been brought to Rostopchín -and accused of being a French “spyer” (so Count Rostopchín had told the -story), and how Rostopchín let him go and assured the people that he was -“not a spire at all, but only an old German ruin.” - -“People are being arrested...” said the count. “I’ve told the countess -she should not speak French so much. It’s not the time for it now.” - -“And have you heard?” Shinshín asked. “Prince Golítsyn has engaged a -master to teach him Russian. It is becoming dangerous to speak French in -the streets.” - -“And how about you, Count Peter Kirílych? If they call up the militia, -you too will have to mount a horse,” remarked the old count, addressing -Pierre. - -Pierre had been silent and preoccupied all through dinner, seeming not -to grasp what was said. He looked at the count. - -“Oh yes, the war,” he said. “No! What sort of warrior should I make? And -yet everything is so strange, so strange! I can’t make it out. I don’t -know, I am very far from having military tastes, but in these times no -one can answer for himself.” - -After dinner the count settled himself comfortably in an easy chair and -with a serious face asked Sónya, who was considered an excellent reader, -to read the appeal. - -“To Moscow, our ancient Capital! - -“The enemy has entered the borders of Russia with immense forces. He -comes to despoil our beloved country.” - -Sónya read painstakingly in her high-pitched voice. The count listened -with closed eyes, heaving abrupt sighs at certain passages. - -Natásha sat erect, gazing with a searching look now at her father and -now at Pierre. - -Pierre felt her eyes on him and tried not to look round. The countess -shook her head disapprovingly and angrily at every solemn expression -in the manifesto. In all these words she saw only that the danger -threatening her son would not soon be over. Shinshín, with a sarcastic -smile on his lips, was evidently preparing to make fun of anything that -gave him the opportunity: Sónya’s reading, any remark of the count’s, or -even the manifesto itself should no better pretext present itself. - -After reading about the dangers that threatened Russia, the hopes the -Emperor placed on Moscow and especially on its illustrious nobility, -Sónya, with a quiver in her voice due chiefly to the attention that was -being paid to her, read the last words: - -“We ourselves will not delay to appear among our people in that Capital -and in other parts of our realm for consultation, and for the direction -of all our levies, both those now barring the enemy’s path and those -freshly formed to defeat him wherever he may appear. May the ruin he -hopes to bring upon us recoil on his own head, and may Europe delivered -from bondage glorify the name of Russia!” - - -“Yes, that’s it!” cried the count, opening his moist eyes and sniffing -repeatedly, as if a strong vinaigrette had been held to his nose; and he -added, “Let the Emperor but say the word and we’ll sacrifice everything -and begrudge nothing.” - -Before Shinshín had time to utter the joke he was ready to make on the -count’s patriotism, Natásha jumped up from her place and ran to her -father. - -“What a darling our Papa is!” she cried, kissing him, and she again -looked at Pierre with the unconscious coquetry that had returned to her -with her better spirits. - -“There! Here’s a patriot for you!” said Shinshín. - -“Not a patriot at all, but simply...” Natásha replied in an injured -tone. “Everything seems funny to you, but this isn’t at all a joke....” - -“A joke indeed!” put in the count. “Let him but say the word and we’ll -all go.... We’re not Germans!” - -“But did you notice, it says, ‘for consultation’?” said Pierre. - -“Never mind what it’s for....” - -At this moment, Pétya, to whom nobody was paying any attention, came up -to his father with a very flushed face and said in his breaking voice -that was now deep and now shrill: - -“Well, Papa, I tell you definitely, and Mamma too, it’s as you please, -but I say definitely that you must let me enter the army, because I -can’t... that’s all....” - -The countess, in dismay, looked up to heaven, clasped her hands, and -turned angrily to her husband. - -“That comes of your talking!” said she. - -But the count had already recovered from his excitement. - -“Come, come!” said he. “Here’s a fine warrior! No! Nonsense! You must -study.” - -“It’s not nonsense, Papa. Fédya Obolénski is younger than I, and he’s -going too. Besides, all the same I can’t study now when...” Pétya -stopped short, flushed till he perspired, but still got out the words, -“when our Fatherland is in danger.” - -“That’ll do, that’ll do—nonsense....” - -“But you said yourself that we would sacrifice everything.” - -“Pétya! Be quiet, I tell you!” cried the count, with a glance at his -wife, who had turned pale and was staring fixedly at her son. - -“And I tell you—Peter Kirílych here will also tell you...” - -“Nonsense, I tell you. Your mother’s milk has hardly dried on your lips -and you want to go into the army! There, there, I tell you,” and the -count moved to go out of the room, taking the papers, probably to reread -them in his study before having a nap. - -“Well, Peter Kirílych, let’s go and have a smoke,” he said. - -Pierre was agitated and undecided. Natásha’s unwontedly brilliant eyes, -continually glancing at him with a more than cordial look, had reduced -him to this condition. - -“No, I think I’ll go home.” - -“Home? Why, you meant to spend the evening with us.... You don’t -often come nowadays as it is, and this girl of mine,” said the count -good-naturedly, pointing to Natásha, “only brightens up when you’re -here.” - -“Yes, I had forgotten... I really must go home... business...” said -Pierre hurriedly. - -“Well, then, au revoir!” said the count, and went out of the room. - -“Why are you going? Why are you upset?” asked Natásha, and she looked -challengingly into Pierre’s eyes. - -“Because I love you!” was what he wanted to say, but he did not say it, -and only blushed till the tears came, and lowered his eyes. - -“Because it is better for me to come less often... because... No, simply -I have business....” - -“Why? No, tell me!” Natásha began resolutely and suddenly stopped. - -They looked at each other with dismayed and embarrassed faces. He tried -to smile but could not: his smile expressed suffering, and he silently -kissed her hand and went out. - -Pierre made up his mind not to go to the Rostóvs’ any more. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -After the definite refusal he had received, Pétya went to his room -and there locked himself in and wept bitterly. When he came in to tea, -silent, morose, and with tear-stained face, everybody pretended not to -notice anything. - -Next day the Emperor arrived in Moscow, and several of the Rostóvs’ -domestic serfs begged permission to go to have a look at him. That -morning Pétya was a long time dressing and arranging his hair and -collar to look like a grown-up man. He frowned before his looking glass, -gesticulated, shrugged his shoulders, and finally, without saying a word -to anyone, took his cap and left the house by the back door, trying to -avoid notice. Pétya decided to go straight to where the Emperor was and -to explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting (he imagined the Emperor -to be always surrounded by gentlemen-in-waiting) that he, Count Rostóv, -in spite of his youth wished to serve his country; that youth could be -no hindrance to loyalty, and that he was ready to... While -dressing, Pétya had prepared many fine things he meant to say to the -gentleman-in-waiting. - -It was on the very fact of being so young that Pétya counted for success -in reaching the Emperor—he even thought how surprised everyone would be -at his youthfulness—and yet in the arrangement of his collar and hair -and by his sedate deliberate walk he wished to appear a grown-up man. -But the farther he went and the more his attention was diverted by the -ever-increasing crowds moving toward the Krémlin, the less he remembered -to walk with the sedateness and deliberation of a man. As he approached -the Krémlin he even began to avoid being crushed and resolutely stuck -out his elbows in a menacing way. But within the Trinity Gateway he -was so pressed to the wall by people who probably were unaware of the -patriotic intentions with which he had come that in spite of all his -determination he had to give in, and stop while carriages passed in, -rumbling beneath the archway. Beside Pétya stood a peasant woman, a -footman, two tradesmen, and a discharged soldier. After standing some -time in the gateway, Pétya tried to move forward in front of the others -without waiting for all the carriages to pass, and he began resolutely -working his way with his elbows, but the woman just in front of him, who -was the first against whom he directed his efforts, angrily shouted at -him: - -“What are you shoving for, young lordling? Don’t you see we’re all -standing still? Then why push?” - -“Anybody can shove,” said the footman, and also began working his elbows -to such effect that he pushed Pétya into a very filthy corner of the -gateway. - -Pétya wiped his perspiring face with his hands and pulled up the damp -collar which he had arranged so well at home to seem like a man’s. - -He felt that he no longer looked presentable, and feared that if he were -now to approach the gentlemen-in-waiting in that plight he would not be -admitted to the Emperor. But it was impossible to smarten oneself up -or move to another place, because of the crowd. One of the generals who -drove past was an acquaintance of the Rostóvs’, and Pétya thought of -asking his help, but came to the conclusion that that would not be a -manly thing to do. When the carriages had all passed in, the crowd, -carrying Pétya with it, streamed forward into the Krémlin Square which -was already full of people. There were people not only in the square, -but everywhere—on the slopes and on the roofs. As soon as Pétya found -himself in the square he clearly heard the sound of bells and the joyous -voices of the crowd that filled the whole Krémlin. - -For a while the crowd was less dense, but suddenly all heads were bared, -and everyone rushed forward in one direction. Pétya was being pressed so -that he could scarcely breathe, and everybody shouted, “Hurrah! hurrah! -hurrah!” Pétya stood on tiptoe and pushed and pinched, but could see -nothing except the people about him. - -All the faces bore the same expression of excitement and enthusiasm. A -tradesman’s wife standing beside Pétya sobbed, and the tears ran down -her cheeks. - -“Father! Angel! Dear one!” she kept repeating, wiping away her tears -with her fingers. - -“Hurrah!” was heard on all sides. - -For a moment the crowd stood still, but then it made another rush -forward. - -Quite beside himself, Pétya, clinching his teeth and rolling his eyes -ferociously, pushed forward, elbowing his way and shouting “hurrah!” as -if he were prepared that instant to kill himself and everyone else, but -on both sides of him other people with similarly ferocious faces pushed -forward and everybody shouted “hurrah!” - -“So this is what the Emperor is!” thought Pétya. “No, I can’t petition -him myself—that would be too bold.” But in spite of this he continued -to struggle desperately forward, and from between the backs of those -in front he caught glimpses of an open space with a strip of red cloth -spread out on it; but just then the crowd swayed back—the police -in front were pushing back those who had pressed too close to the -procession: the Emperor was passing from the palace to the Cathedral of -the Assumption—and Pétya unexpectedly received such a blow on his side -and ribs and was squeezed so hard that suddenly everything grew dim -before his eyes and he lost consciousness. When he came to himself, a -man of clerical appearance with a tuft of gray hair at the back of -his head and wearing a shabby blue cassock—probably a church clerk and -chanter—was holding him under the arm with one hand while warding off -the pressure of the crowd with the other. - -“You’ve crushed the young gentleman!” said the clerk. “What are you up -to? Gently!... They’ve crushed him, crushed him!” - -The Emperor entered the Cathedral of the Assumption. The crowd spread -out again more evenly, and the clerk led Pétya—pale and breathless—to -the Tsar-cannon. Several people were sorry for Pétya, and suddenly a -crowd turned toward him and pressed round him. Those who stood nearest -him attended to him, unbuttoned his coat, seated him on the raised -platform of the cannon, and reproached those others (whoever they might -be) who had crushed him. - -“One might easily get killed that way! What do they mean by it? Killing -people! Poor dear, he’s as white as a sheet!”—various voices were heard -saying. - -Pétya soon came to himself, the color returned to his face, the pain had -passed, and at the cost of that temporary unpleasantness he had obtained -a place by the cannon from where he hoped to see the Emperor who -would be returning that way. Pétya no longer thought of presenting his -petition. If he could only see the Emperor he would be happy! - -While the service was proceeding in the Cathedral of the Assumption—it -was a combined service of prayer on the occasion of the Emperor’s -arrival and of thanksgiving for the conclusion of peace with the -Turks—the crowd outside spread out and hawkers appeared, selling kvas, -gingerbread, and poppyseed sweets (of which Pétya was particularly -fond), and ordinary conversation could again be heard. A tradesman’s -wife was showing a rent in her shawl and telling how much the shawl had -cost; another was saying that all silk goods had now got dear. The clerk -who had rescued Pétya was talking to a functionary about the priests who -were officiating that day with the bishop. The clerk several times used -the word “plenary” (of the service), a word Pétya did not understand. -Two young citizens were joking with some serf girls who were cracking -nuts. All these conversations, especially the joking with the girls, -were such as might have had a particular charm for Pétya at his age, but -they did not interest him now. He sat on his elevation—the pedestal of -the cannon—still agitated as before by the thought of the Emperor and by -his love for him. The feeling of pain and fear he had experienced when -he was being crushed, together with that of rapture, still further -intensified his sense of the importance of the occasion. - -Suddenly the sound of a firing of cannon was heard from the embankment, -to celebrate the signing of peace with the Turks, and the crowd rushed -impetuously toward the embankment to watch the firing. Pétya too would -have run there, but the clerk who had taken the young gentleman under -his protection stopped him. The firing was still proceeding when -officers, generals, and gentlemen-in-waiting came running out of the -cathedral, and after them others in a more leisurely manner: caps were -again raised, and those who had run to look at the cannon ran back -again. At last four men in uniforms and sashes emerged from the -cathedral doors. “Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the crowd again. - -“Which is he? Which?” asked Pétya in a tearful voice, of those around -him, but no one answered him, everybody was too excited; and Pétya, -fixing on one of those four men, whom he could not clearly see for the -tears of joy that filled his eyes, concentrated all his enthusiasm -on him—though it happened not to be the Emperor—frantically shouted -“Hurrah!” and resolved that tomorrow, come what might, he would join the -army. - -The crowd ran after the Emperor, followed him to the palace, and began -to disperse. It was already late, and Pétya had not eaten anything and -was drenched with perspiration, yet he did not go home but stood with -that diminishing, but still considerable, crowd before the palace while -the Emperor dined—looking in at the palace windows, expecting he knew -not what, and envying alike the notables he saw arriving at the entrance -to dine with the Emperor and the court footmen who served at table, -glimpses of whom could be seen through the windows. - -While the Emperor was dining, Valúev, looking out of the window, said: - -“The people are still hoping to see Your Majesty again.” - -The dinner was nearly over, and the Emperor, munching a biscuit, rose -and went out onto the balcony. The people, with Pétya among them, rushed -toward the balcony. - -“Angel! Dear one! Hurrah! Father!...” cried the crowd, and Pétya with -it, and again the women and men of weaker mold, Pétya among them, wept -with joy. - -A largish piece of the biscuit the Emperor was holding in his hand broke -off, fell on the balcony parapet, and then to the ground. A coachman in -a jerkin, who stood nearest, sprang forward and snatched it up. Several -people in the crowd rushed at the coachman. Seeing this the Emperor had -a plateful of biscuits brought him and began throwing them down from -the balcony. Pétya’s eyes grew bloodshot, and still more excited by the -danger of being crushed, he rushed at the biscuits. He did not know why, -but he had to have a biscuit from the Tsar’s hand and he felt that he -must not give way. He sprang forward and upset an old woman who was -catching at a biscuit; the old woman did not consider herself defeated -though she was lying on the ground—she grabbed at some biscuits but -her hand did not reach them. Pétya pushed her hand away with his knee, -seized a biscuit, and as if fearing to be too late, again shouted -“Hurrah!” with a voice already hoarse. - -The Emperor went in, and after that the greater part of the crowd began -to disperse. - -“There! I said if only we waited—and so it was!” was being joyfully said -by various people. - -Happy as Pétya was, he felt sad at having to go home knowing that all -the enjoyment of that day was over. He did not go straight home from -the Krémlin, but called on his friend Obolénski, who was fifteen and was -also entering the regiment. On returning home Pétya announced resolutely -and firmly that if he was not allowed to enter the service he would -run away. And next day, Count Ilyá Rostóv—though he had not yet quite -yielded—went to inquire how he could arrange for Pétya to serve where -there would be least danger. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -Two days later, on the fifteenth of July, an immense number of carriages -were standing outside the Slobóda Palace. - -The great halls were full. In the first were the nobility and gentry in -their uniforms, in the second bearded merchants in full-skirted coats -of blue cloth and wearing medals. In the noblemen’s hall there was -an incessant movement and buzz of voices. The chief magnates sat on -high-backed chairs at a large table under the portrait of the Emperor, -but most of the gentry were strolling about the room. - -All these nobles, whom Pierre met every day at the Club or in their own -houses, were in uniform—some in that of Catherine’s day, others in that -of Emperor Paul, others again in the new uniforms of Alexander’s time or -the ordinary uniform of the nobility, and the general characteristic -of being in uniform imparted something strange and fantastic to these -diverse and familiar personalities, both old and young. The old men, -dim-eyed, toothless, bald, sallow, and bloated, or gaunt and wrinkled, -were especially striking. For the most part they sat quietly in their -places and were silent, or, if they walked about and talked, attached -themselves to someone younger. On all these faces, as on the faces -of the crowd Pétya had seen in the Square, there was a striking -contradiction: the general expectation of a solemn event, and at the -same time the everyday interests in a boston card party, Peter the cook, -Zinaída Dmítrievna’s health, and so on. - -Pierre was there too, buttoned up since early morning in a nobleman’s -uniform that had become too tight for him. He was agitated; -this extraordinary gathering not only of nobles but also of the -merchant-class—les états généraux (States-General)—evoked in him a whole -series of ideas he had long laid aside but which were deeply graven in -his soul: thoughts of the Contrat Social and the French Revolution. The -words that had struck him in the Emperor’s appeal—that the sovereign was -coming to the capital for consultation with his people—strengthened this -idea. And imagining that in this direction something important which -he had long awaited was drawing near, he strolled about watching and -listening to conversations, but nowhere finding any confirmation of the -ideas that occupied him. - -The Emperor’s manifesto was read, evoking enthusiasm, and then all moved -about discussing it. Besides the ordinary topics of conversation, Pierre -heard questions of where the marshals of the nobility were to stand when -the Emperor entered, when a ball should be given in the Emperor’s -honor, whether they should group themselves by districts or by whole -provinces... and so on; but as soon as the war was touched on, or -what the nobility had been convened for, the talk became undecided and -indefinite. Then all preferred listening to speaking. - -A middle-aged man, handsome and virile, in the uniform of a retired -naval officer, was speaking in one of the rooms, and a small crowd was -pressing round him. Pierre went up to the circle that had formed round -the speaker and listened. Count Ilyá Rostóv, in a military uniform of -Catherine’s time, was sauntering with a pleasant smile among the crowd, -with all of whom he was acquainted. He too approached that group and -listened with a kindly smile and nods of approval, as he always did, -to what the speaker was saying. The retired naval man was speaking very -boldly, as was evident from the expression on the faces of the listeners -and from the fact that some people Pierre knew as the meekest and -quietest of men walked away disapprovingly or expressed disagreement -with him. Pierre pushed his way into the middle of the group, listened, -and convinced himself that the man was indeed a liberal, but of views -quite different from his own. The naval officer spoke in a particularly -sonorous, musical, and aristocratic baritone voice, pleasantly -swallowing his r’s and generally slurring his consonants: the voice of -a man calling out to his servant, “Heah! Bwing me my pipe!” It was -indicative of dissipation and the exercise of authority. - -“What if the Smolénsk people have offahd to waise militia for the -Empewah? Ah we to take Smolénsk as our patte’n? If the noble awistocwacy -of the pwovince of Moscow thinks fit, it can show its loyalty to our -sov’weign the Empewah in other ways. Have we fo’gotten the waising of -the militia in the yeah ‘seven? All that did was to enwich the pwiests’ -sons and thieves and wobbahs....” - -Count Ilyá Rostóv smiled blandly and nodded approval. - -“And was our militia of any use to the Empia? Not at all! It only wuined -our farming! Bettah have another conscwiption... o’ ou’ men will wetu’n -neithah soldiers no’ peasants, and we’ll get only depwavity fwom them. -The nobility don’t gwudge theah lives—evewy one of us will go and bwing -in more wecwuits, and the sov’weign” (that was the way he referred to -the Emperor) “need only say the word and we’ll all die fo’ him!” added -the orator with animation. - -Count Rostóv’s mouth watered with pleasure and he nudged Pierre, but -Pierre wanted to speak himself. He pushed forward, feeling stirred, -but not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say. Scarcely had he -opened his mouth when one of the senators, a man without a tooth in his -head, with a shrewd though angry expression, standing near the first -speaker, interrupted him. Evidently accustomed to managing debates and -to maintaining an argument, he began in low but distinct tones: - -“I imagine, sir,” said he, mumbling with his toothless mouth, “that we -have been summoned here not to discuss whether it’s best for the empire -at the present moment to adopt conscription or to call out the militia. -We have been summoned to reply to the appeal with which our sovereign -the Emperor has honored us. But to judge what is best—conscription or -the militia—we can leave to the supreme authority....” - -Pierre suddenly saw an outlet for his excitement. He hardened his heart -against the senator who was introducing this set and narrow attitude -into the deliberations of the nobility. Pierre stepped forward and -interrupted him. He himself did not yet know what he would say, but he -began to speak eagerly, occasionally lapsing into French or expressing -himself in bookish Russian. - -“Excuse me, your excellency,” he began. (He was well acquainted with -the senator, but thought it necessary on this occasion to address him -formally.) “Though I don’t agree with the gentleman...” (he hesitated: -he wished to say, “Mon très honorable préopinant”—“My very honorable -opponent”) “with the gentleman... whom I have not the honor of knowing, -I suppose that the nobility have been summoned not merely to express -their sympathy and enthusiasm but also to consider the means by which -we can assist our Fatherland! I imagine,” he went on, warming to his -subject, “that the Emperor himself would not be satisfied to find in us -merely owners of serfs whom we are willing to devote to his service, and -chair à canon * we are ready to make of ourselves—and not to obtain from -us any co-co-counsel.” - - * “Food for cannon.” - - -Many persons withdrew from the circle, noticing the senator’s sarcastic -smile and the freedom of Pierre’s remarks. Only Count Rostóv was pleased -with them as he had been pleased with those of the naval officer, the -senator, and in general with whatever speech he had last heard. - -“I think that before discussing these questions,” Pierre continued, “we -should ask the Emperor—most respectfully ask His Majesty—to let us know -the number of our troops and the position in which our army and our -forces now are, and then...” - -But scarcely had Pierre uttered these words before he was attacked from -three sides. The most vigorous attack came from an old acquaintance, -a boston player who had always been well disposed toward him, Stepán -Stepánovich Adráksin. Adráksin was in uniform, and whether as a result -of the uniform or from some other cause Pierre saw before him quite a -different man. With a sudden expression of malevolence on his aged face, -Adráksin shouted at Pierre: - -“In the first place, I tell you we have no right to question the Emperor -about that, and secondly, if the Russian nobility had that right, the -Emperor could not answer such a question. The troops are moved -according to the enemy’s movements and the number of men increases and -decreases....” - -Another voice, that of a nobleman of medium height and about forty years -of age, whom Pierre had formerly met at the gypsies’ and knew as a bad -cardplayer, and who, also transformed by his uniform, came up to Pierre, -interrupted Adráksin. - -“Yes, and this is not a time for discussing,” he continued, “but for -acting: there is war in Russia! The enemy is advancing to destroy -Russia, to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, to carry off our wives -and children.” The nobleman smote his breast. “We will all arise, -everyone of us will go, for our father the Tsar!” he shouted, rolling -his bloodshot eyes. Several approving voices were heard in the crowd. -“We are Russians and will not grudge our blood in defense of our faith, -the throne, and the Fatherland! We must cease raving if we are sons of -our Fatherland! We will show Europe how Russia rises to the defense of -Russia!” - -Pierre wished to reply, but could not get in a word. He felt that his -words, apart from what meaning they conveyed, were less audible than the -sound of his opponent’s voice. - -Count Rostóv at the back of the crowd was expressing approval; several -persons, briskly turning a shoulder to the orator at the end of a -phrase, said: - -“That’s right, quite right! Just so!” - -Pierre wished to say that he was ready to sacrifice his money, his -serfs, or himself, only one ought to know the state of affairs in -order to be able to improve it, but he was unable to speak. Many voices -shouted and talked at the same time, so that Count Rostóv had not time -to signify his approval of them all, and the group increased, dispersed, -re-formed, and then moved with a hum of talk into the largest hall and -to the big table. Not only was Pierre’s attempt to speak unsuccessful, -but he was rudely interrupted, pushed aside, and people turned away -from him as from a common enemy. This happened not because they were -displeased by the substance of his speech, which had even been forgotten -after the many subsequent speeches, but to animate it the crowd needed a -tangible object to love and a tangible object to hate. Pierre became the -latter. Many other orators spoke after the excited nobleman, and all in -the same tone. Many spoke eloquently and with originality. - -Glínka, the editor of the Russian Messenger, who was recognized (cries -of “author! author!” were heard in the crowd), said that “hell must be -repulsed by hell,” and that he had seen a child smiling at lightning -flashes and thunderclaps, but “we will not be that child.” - -“Yes, yes, at thunderclaps!” was repeated approvingly in the back rows -of the crowd. - -The crowd drew up to the large table, at which sat gray-haired or bald -seventy-year-old magnates, uniformed and besashed almost all of whom -Pierre had seen in their own homes with their buffoons, or playing -boston at the clubs. With an incessant hum of voices the crowd advanced -to the table. Pressed by the throng against the high backs of the -chairs, the orators spoke one after another and sometimes two together. -Those standing behind noticed what a speaker omitted to say and hastened -to supply it. Others in that heat and crush racked their brains to find -some thought and hastened to utter it. The old magnates, whom Pierre -knew, sat and turned to look first at one and then at another, and their -faces for the most part only expressed the fact that they found it very -hot. Pierre, however, felt excited, and the general desire to show that -they were ready to go to all lengths—which found expression in the tones -and looks more than in the substance of the speeches—infected him too. -He did not renounce his opinions, but felt himself in some way to blame -and wished to justify himself. - -“I only said that it would be more to the purpose to make sacrifices -when we know what is needed!” said he, trying to be heard above the -other voices. - -One of the old men nearest to him looked round, but his attention was -immediately diverted by an exclamation at the other side of the table. - -“Yes, Moscow will be surrendered! She will be our expiation!” shouted -one man. - -“He is the enemy of mankind!” cried another. “Allow me to speak....” -“Gentlemen, you are crushing me!...” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -At that moment Count Rostopchín with his protruding chin and alert eyes, -wearing the uniform of a general with sash over his shoulder, entered -the room, stepping briskly to the front of the crowd of gentry. - -“Our sovereign the Emperor will be here in a moment,” said Rostopchín. -“I am straight from the palace. Seeing the position we are in, I think -there is little need for discussion. The Emperor has deigned to summon -us and the merchants. Millions will pour forth from there”—he pointed -to the merchants’ hall—“but our business is to supply men and not spare -ourselves.... That is the least we can do!” - -A conference took place confined to the magnates sitting at the table. -The whole consultation passed more than quietly. After all the preceding -noise the sound of their old voices saying one after another, “I -agree,” or for variety, “I too am of that opinion,” and so on had even a -mournful effect. - -The secretary was told to write down the resolution of the Moscow -nobility and gentry, that they would furnish ten men, fully equipped, -out of every thousand serfs, as the Smolénsk gentry had done. Their -chairs made a scraping noise as the gentlemen who had conferred rose -with apparent relief, and began walking up and down, arm in arm, to -stretch their legs and converse in couples. - -“The Emperor! The Emperor!” a sudden cry resounded through the halls and -the whole throng hurried to the entrance. - -The Emperor entered the hall through a broad path between two lines of -nobles. Every face expressed respectful, awe-struck curiosity. Pierre -stood rather far off and could not hear all that the Emperor said. From -what he did hear he understood that the Emperor spoke of the danger -threatening the empire and of the hopes he placed on the Moscow -nobility. He was answered by a voice which informed him of the -resolution just arrived at. - -“Gentlemen!” said the Emperor with a quivering voice. - -There was a rustling among the crowd and it again subsided, so that -Pierre distinctly heard the pleasantly human voice of the Emperor saying -with emotion: - -“I never doubted the devotion of the Russian nobles, but today it has -surpassed my expectations. I thank you in the name of the Fatherland! -Gentlemen, let us act! Time is most precious....” - -The Emperor ceased speaking, the crowd began pressing round him, and -rapturous exclamations were heard from all sides. - -“Yes, most precious... a royal word,” said Count Rostóv, with a sob. He -stood at the back, and, though he had heard hardly anything, understood -everything in his own way. - -From the hall of the nobility the Emperor went to that of the merchants. -There he remained about ten minutes. Pierre was among those who saw him -come out from the merchants’ hall with tears of emotion in his eyes. -As became known later, he had scarcely begun to address the merchants -before tears gushed from his eyes and he concluded in a trembling -voice. When Pierre saw the Emperor he was coming out accompanied by two -merchants, one of whom Pierre knew, a fat otkupshchík. The other was -the mayor, a man with a thin sallow face and narrow beard. Both were -weeping. Tears filled the thin man’s eyes, and the fat otkupshchík -sobbed outright like a child and kept repeating: - -“Our lives and property—take them, Your Majesty!” - -Pierre’s one feeling at the moment was a desire to show that he was -ready to go all lengths and was prepared to sacrifice everything. He now -felt ashamed of his speech with its constitutional tendency and sought -an opportunity of effacing it. Having heard that Count Mamónov was -furnishing a regiment, Bezúkhov at once informed Rostopchín that he -would give a thousand men and their maintenance. - -Old Rostóv could not tell his wife of what had passed without tears, and -at once consented to Pétya’s request and went himself to enter his name. - -Next day the Emperor left Moscow. The assembled nobles all took off -their uniforms and settled down again in their homes and clubs, and not -without some groans gave orders to their stewards about the enrollment, -feeling amazed themselves at what they had done. - - - - - -BOOK TEN: 1812 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Napoleon began the war with Russia because he could not resist going -to Dresden, could not help having his head turned by the homage he -received, could not help donning a Polish uniform and yielding to the -stimulating influence of a June morning, and could not refrain from -bursts of anger in the presence of Kurákin and then of Balashëv. - -Alexander refused negotiations because he felt himself to be personally -insulted. Barclay de Tolly tried to command the army in the best -way, because he wished to fulfill his duty and earn fame as a great -commander. Rostóv charged the French because he could not restrain -his wish for a gallop across a level field; and in the same way the -innumerable people who took part in the war acted in accord with their -personal characteristics, habits, circumstances, and aims. They were -moved by fear or vanity, rejoiced or were indignant, reasoned, imagining -that they knew what they were doing and did it of their own free will, -but they all were involuntary tools of history, carrying on a work -concealed from them but comprehensible to us. Such is the inevitable -fate of men of action, and the higher they stand in the social hierarchy -the less are they free. - -The actors of 1812 have long since left the stage, their personal -interests have vanished leaving no trace, and nothing remains of that -time but its historic results. - -Providence compelled all these men, striving to attain personal aims, to -further the accomplishment of a stupendous result no one of them at all -expected—neither Napoleon, nor Alexander, nor still less any of those -who did the actual fighting. - -The cause of the destruction of the French army in 1812 is clear to us -now. No one will deny that that cause was, on the one hand, its advance -into the heart of Russia late in the season without any preparation for -a winter campaign and, on the other, the character given to the war -by the burning of Russian towns and the hatred of the foe this aroused -among the Russian people. But no one at the time foresaw (what now seems -so evident) that this was the only way an army of eight hundred thousand -men—the best in the world and led by the best general—could be destroyed -in conflict with a raw army of half its numerical strength, and led by -inexperienced commanders as the Russian army was. Not only did no one -see this, but on the Russian side every effort was made to hinder the -only thing that could save Russia, while on the French side, despite -Napoleon’s experience and so-called military genius, every effort was -directed to pushing on to Moscow at the end of the summer, that is, to -doing the very thing that was bound to lead to destruction. - -In historical works on the year 1812 French writers are very fond of -saying that Napoleon felt the danger of extending his line, that he -sought a battle and that his marshals advised him to stop at Smolénsk, -and of making similar statements to show that the danger of the campaign -was even then understood. Russian authors are still fonder of telling -us that from the commencement of the campaign a Scythian war plan was -adopted to lure Napoleon into the depths of Russia, and this plan some -of them attribute to Pfuel, others to a certain Frenchman, others to -Toll, and others again to Alexander himself—pointing to notes, projects, -and letters which contain hints of such a line of action. But all these -hints at what happened, both from the French side and the Russian, are -advanced only because they fit in with the event. Had that event not -occurred these hints would have been forgotten, as we have forgotten the -thousands and millions of hints and expectations to the contrary -which were current then but have now been forgotten because the event -falsified them. There are always so many conjectures as to the issue of -any event that however it may end there will always be people to say: -“I said then that it would be so,” quite forgetting that amid their -innumerable conjectures many were to quite the contrary effect. - -Conjectures as to Napoleon’s awareness of the danger of extending his -line, and (on the Russian side) as to luring the enemy into the depths -of Russia, are evidently of that kind, and only by much straining can -historians attribute such conceptions to Napoleon and his marshals, -or such plans to the Russian commanders. All the facts are in flat -contradiction to such conjectures. During the whole period of the war -not only was there no wish on the Russian side to draw the French -into the heart of the country, but from their first entry into Russia -everything was done to stop them. And not only was Napoleon not afraid -to extend his line, but he welcomed every step forward as a triumph and -did not seek battle as eagerly as in former campaigns, but very lazily. - -At the very beginning of the war our armies were divided, and our sole -aim was to unite them, though uniting the armies was no advantage if we -meant to retire and lure the enemy into the depths of the country. Our -Emperor joined the army to encourage it to defend every inch of Russian -soil and not to retreat. The enormous Drissa camp was formed on Pfuel’s -plan, and there was no intention of retiring farther. The Emperor -reproached the commanders in chief for every step they retired. He could -not bear the idea of letting the enemy even reach Smolénsk, still less -could he contemplate the burning of Moscow, and when our armies did -unite he was displeased that Smolénsk was abandoned and burned without a -general engagement having been fought under its walls. - -So thought the Emperor, and the Russian commanders and people were still -more provoked at the thought that our forces were retreating into the -depths of the country. - -Napoleon having cut our armies apart advanced far into the country and -missed several chances of forcing an engagement. In August he was at -Smolénsk and thought only of how to advance farther, though as we now -see that advance was evidently ruinous to him. - -The facts clearly show that Napoleon did not foresee the danger of the -advance on Moscow, nor did Alexander and the Russian commanders then -think of luring Napoleon on, but quite the contrary. The luring of -Napoleon into the depths of the country was not the result of any plan, -for no one believed it to be possible; it resulted from a most complex -interplay of intrigues, aims, and wishes among those who took part in -the war and had no perception whatever of the inevitable, or of the one -way of saving Russia. Everything came about fortuitously. The armies -were divided at the commencement of the campaign. We tried to unite -them, with the evident intention of giving battle and checking the -enemy’s advance, and by this effort to unite them while avoiding battle -with a much stronger enemy, and necessarily withdrawing the armies at -an acute angle—we led the French on to Smolénsk. But we withdrew at an -acute angle not only because the French advanced between our two armies; -the angle became still more acute and we withdrew still farther, because -Barclay de Tolly was an unpopular foreigner disliked by Bagratión (who -would come under his command), and Bagratión—being in command of the -second army—tried to postpone joining up and coming under Barclay’s -command as long as he could. Bagratión was slow in effecting the -junction—though that was the chief aim of all at headquarters—because, -as he alleged, he exposed his army to danger on this march, and it was -best for him to retire more to the left and more to the south, worrying -the enemy from flank and rear and securing from the Ukraine recruits for -his army; and it looks as if he planned this in order not to come under -the command of the detested foreigner Barclay, whose rank was inferior -to his own. - -The Emperor was with the army to encourage it, but his presence and -ignorance of what steps to take, and the enormous number of advisers and -plans, destroyed the first army’s energy and it retired. - -The intention was to make a stand at the Drissa camp, but Paulucci, -aiming at becoming commander in chief, unexpectedly employed his energy -to influence Alexander, and Pfuel’s whole plan was abandoned and the -command entrusted to Barclay. But as Barclay did not inspire confidence -his power was limited. The armies were divided, there was no unity of -command, and Barclay was unpopular; but from this confusion, division, -and the unpopularity of the foreign commander in chief, there resulted -on the one hand indecision and the avoidance of a battle (which we could -not have refrained from had the armies been united and had someone else, -instead of Barclay, been in command) and on the other an ever-increasing -indignation against the foreigners and an increase in patriotic zeal. - -At last the Emperor left the army, and as the most convenient and indeed -the only pretext for his departure it was decided that it was necessary -for him to inspire the people in the capitals and arouse the nation in -general to a patriotic war. And by this visit of the Emperor to Moscow -the strength of the Russian army was trebled. - -He left in order not to obstruct the commander in chief’s undivided -control of the army, and hoping that more decisive action would then -be taken, but the command of the armies became still more confused and -enfeebled. Bennigsen, the Tsarévich, and a swarm of adjutants general -remained with the army to keep the commander in chief under observation -and arouse his energy, and Barclay, feeling less free than ever under -the observation of all these “eyes of the Emperor,” became still more -cautious of undertaking any decisive action and avoided giving battle. - -Barclay stood for caution. The Tsarévich hinted at treachery and -demanded a general engagement. Lubomírski, Bronnítski, Wlocki, and the -others of that group stirred up so much trouble that Barclay, under -pretext of sending papers to the Emperor, dispatched these Polish -adjutants general to Petersburg and plunged into an open struggle with -Bennigsen and the Tsarévich. - -At Smolénsk the armies at last reunited, much as Bagratión disliked it. - -Bagratión drove up in a carriage to the house occupied by Barclay. -Barclay donned his sash and came out to meet and report to his senior -officer Bagratión. - -Despite his seniority in rank Bagratión, in this contest of magnanimity, -took his orders from Barclay, but, having submitted, agreed with him -less than ever. By the Emperor’s orders Bagratión reported direct to -him. He wrote to Arakchéev, the Emperor’s confidant: “It must be as -my sovereign pleases, but I cannot work with the Minister (meaning -Barclay). For God’s sake send me somewhere else if only in command of -a regiment. I cannot stand it here. Headquarters are so full of Germans -that a Russian cannot exist and there is no sense in anything. I thought -I was really serving my sovereign and the Fatherland, but it turns out -that I am serving Barclay. I confess I do not want to.” - -The swarm of Bronnítskis and Wintzingerodes and their like still further -embittered the relations between the commanders in chief, and even -less unity resulted. Preparations were made to fight the French before -Smolénsk. A general was sent to survey the position. This general, -hating Barclay, rode to visit a friend of his own, a corps commander, -and, having spent the day with him, returned to Barclay and condemned, -as unsuitable from every point of view, the battleground he had not -seen. - -While disputes and intrigues were going on about the future field of -battle, and while we were looking for the French—having lost touch with -them—the French stumbled upon Nevérovski’s division and reached the -walls of Smolénsk. - -It was necessary to fight an unexpected battle at Smolénsk to save our -lines of communication. The battle was fought and thousands were killed -on both sides. - -Smolénsk was abandoned contrary to the wishes of the Emperor and of the -whole people. But Smolénsk was burned by its own inhabitants who had -been misled by their governor. And these ruined inhabitants, setting -an example to other Russians, went to Moscow thinking only of their own -losses but kindling hatred of the foe. Napoleon advanced farther and we -retired, thus arriving at the very result which caused his destruction. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -The day after his son had left, Prince Nicholas sent for Princess Mary -to come to his study. - -“Well? Are you satisfied now?” said he. “You’ve made me quarrel with my -son! Satisfied, are you? That’s all you wanted! Satisfied?... It hurts -me, it hurts. I’m old and weak and this is what you wanted. Well then, -gloat over it! Gloat over it!” - -After that Princess Mary did not see her father for a whole week. He was -ill and did not leave his study. - -Princess Mary noticed to her surprise that during this illness the -old prince not only excluded her from his room, but did not admit -Mademoiselle Bourienne either. Tíkhon alone attended him. - -At the end of the week the prince reappeared and resumed his former way -of life, devoting himself with special activity to building operations -and the arrangement of the gardens and completely breaking off his -relations with Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looks and cold tone to his -daughter seemed to say: “There, you see? You plotted against me, you -lied to Prince Andrew about my relations with that Frenchwoman and made -me quarrel with him, but you see I need neither her nor you!” - -Princess Mary spent half of every day with little Nicholas, watching -his lessons, teaching him Russian and music herself, and talking to -Dessalles; the rest of the day she spent over her books, with her old -nurse, or with “God’s folk” who sometimes came by the back door to see -her. - -Of the war Princess Mary thought as women do think about wars. She -feared for her brother who was in it, was horrified by and amazed at -the strange cruelty that impels men to kill one another, but she did not -understand the significance of this war, which seemed to her like all -previous wars. She did not realize the significance of this war, though -Dessalles with whom she constantly conversed was passionately interested -in its progress and tried to explain his own conception of it to her, -and though the “God’s folk” who came to see her reported, in their own -way, the rumors current among the people of an invasion by Antichrist, -and though Julie (now Princess Drubetskáya), who had resumed -correspondence with her, wrote patriotic letters from Moscow. - -“I write you in Russian, my good friend,” wrote Julie in her Frenchified -Russian, “because I have a detestation for all the French, and the -same for their language which I cannot support to hear spoken.... We in -Moscow are elated by enthusiasm for our adored Emperor. - -“My poor husband is enduring pains and hunger in Jewish taverns, but the -news which I have inspires me yet more. - -“You heard probably of the heroic exploit of Raévski, embracing his two -sons and saying: ‘I will perish with them but we will not be shaken!’ -And truly though the enemy was twice stronger than we, we were -unshakable. We pass the time as we can, but in war as in war! The -princesses Aline and Sophie sit whole days with me, and we, unhappy -widows of live men, make beautiful conversations over our charpie, only -you, my friend, are missing...” and so on. - -The chief reason Princess Mary did not realize the full significance of -this war was that the old prince never spoke of it, did not recognize -it, and laughed at Dessalles when he mentioned it at dinner. -The prince’s tone was so calm and confident that Princess Mary -unhesitatingly believed him. - -All that July the old prince was exceedingly active and even animated. -He planned another garden and began a new building for the domestic -serfs. The only thing that made Princess Mary anxious about him was that -he slept very little and, instead of sleeping in his study as usual, -changed his sleeping place every day. One day he would order his camp -bed to be set up in the glass gallery, another day he remained on the -couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room and dozed there without -undressing, while—instead of Mademoiselle Bourienne—a serf boy read to -him. Then again he would spend a night in the dining room. - -On August 1, a second letter was received from Prince Andrew. In his -first letter which came soon after he had left home, Prince Andrew had -dutifully asked his father’s forgiveness for what he had allowed himself -to say and begged to be restored to his favor. To this letter the old -prince had replied affectionately, and from that time had kept the -Frenchwoman at a distance. Prince Andrew’s second letter, written near -Vítebsk after the French had occupied that town, gave a brief account of -the whole campaign, enclosed for them a plan he had drawn and forecasts -as to the further progress of the war. In this letter Prince Andrew -pointed out to his father the danger of staying at Bald Hills, so near -the theater of war and on the army’s direct line of march, and advised -him to move to Moscow. - -At dinner that day, on Dessalles’ mentioning that the French were said -to have already entered Vítebsk, the old prince remembered his son’s -letter. - -“There was a letter from Prince Andrew today,” he said to Princess -Mary—“Haven’t you read it?” - -“No, Father,” she replied in a frightened voice. - -She could not have read the letter as she did not even know it had -arrived. - -“He writes about this war,” said the prince, with the ironic smile that -had become habitual to him in speaking of the present war. - -“That must be very interesting,” said Dessalles. “Prince Andrew is in a -position to know...” - -“Oh, very interesting!” said Mademoiselle Bourienne. - -“Go and get it for me,” said the old prince to Mademoiselle Bourienne. -“You know—under the paperweight on the little table.” - -Mademoiselle Bourienne jumped up eagerly. - -“No, don’t!” he exclaimed with a frown. “You go, Michael Ivánovich.” - -Michael Ivánovich rose and went to the study. But as soon as he had left -the room the old prince, looking uneasily round, threw down his napkin -and went himself. - -“They can’t do anything... always make some muddle,” he muttered. - -While he was away Princess Mary, Dessalles, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and -even little Nicholas exchanged looks in silence. The old prince returned -with quick steps, accompanied by Michael Ivánovich, bringing the letter -and a plan. These he put down beside him—not letting anyone read them at -dinner. - -On moving to the drawing room he handed the letter to Princess Mary and, -spreading out before him the plan of the new building and fixing his -eyes upon it, told her to read the letter aloud. When she had done so -Princess Mary looked inquiringly at her father. He was examining the -plan, evidently engrossed in his own ideas. - -“What do you think of it, Prince?” Dessalles ventured to ask. - -“I? I?...” said the prince as if unpleasantly awakened, and not taking -his eyes from the plan of the building. - -“Very possibly the theater of war will move so near to us that...” - -“Ha ha ha! The theater of war!” said the prince. “I have said and still -say that the theater of war is Poland and the enemy will never get -beyond the Niemen.” - -Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, who was talking of the -Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper, but Princess Mary, -forgetting the geographical position of the Niemen, thought that what -her father was saying was correct. - -“When the snow melts they’ll sink in the Polish swamps. Only they -could fail to see it,” the prince continued, evidently thinking of the -campaign of 1807 which seemed to him so recent. “Bennigsen should have -advanced into Prussia sooner, then things would have taken a different -turn...” - -“But, Prince,” Dessalles began timidly, “the letter mentions -Vítebsk....” - -“Ah, the letter? Yes...” replied the prince peevishly. “Yes... yes...” -His face suddenly took on a morose expression. He paused. “Yes, he -writes that the French were beaten at... at... what river is it?” - -Dessalles dropped his eyes. - -“The prince says nothing about that,” he remarked gently. - -“Doesn’t he? But I didn’t invent it myself.” - -No one spoke for a long time. - -“Yes... yes... Well, Michael Ivánovich,” he suddenly went on, raising -his head and pointing to the plan of the building, “tell me how you mean -to alter it....” - -Michael Ivánovich went up to the plan, and the prince after speaking to -him about the building looked angrily at Princess Mary and Dessalles and -went to his own room. - -Princess Mary saw Dessalles’ embarrassed and astonished look fixed on -her father, noticed his silence, and was struck by the fact that her -father had forgotten his son’s letter on the drawing room table; but she -was not only afraid to speak of it and ask Dessalles the reason of his -confusion and silence, but was afraid even to think about it. - -In the evening Michael Ivánovich, sent by the prince, came to Princess -Mary for Prince Andrew’s letter which had been forgotten in the drawing -room. She gave it to him and, unpleasant as it was to her to do so, -ventured to ask him what her father was doing. - -“Always busy,” replied Michael Ivánovich with a respectfully ironic -smile which caused Princess Mary to turn pale. “He’s worrying very much -about the new building. He has been reading a little, but now”—Michael -Ivánovich went on, lowering his voice—“now he’s at his desk, busy with -his will, I expect.” (One of the prince’s favorite occupations of late -had been the preparation of some papers he meant to leave at his death -and which he called his “will.”) - -“And Alpátych is being sent to Smolénsk?” asked Princess Mary. - -“Oh, yes, he has been waiting to start for some time.” - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -When Michael Ivánovich returned to the study with the letter, the old -prince, with spectacles on and a shade over his eyes, was sitting at his -open bureau with screened candles, holding a paper in his outstretched -hand, and in a somewhat dramatic attitude was reading his manuscript—his -“Remarks” as he termed it—which was to be transmitted to the Emperor -after his death. - -When Michael Ivánovich went in there were tears in the prince’s eyes -evoked by the memory of the time when the paper he was now reading had -been written. He took the letter from Michael Ivánovich’s hand, put it -in his pocket, folded up his papers, and called in Alpátych who had long -been waiting. - -The prince had a list of things to be bought in Smolénsk and, walking -up and down the room past Alpátych who stood by the door, he gave his -instructions. - -“First, notepaper—do you hear? Eight quires, like this sample, -gilt-edged... it must be exactly like the sample. Varnish, sealing wax, -as in Michael Ivánovich’s list.” - -He paced up and down for a while and glanced at his notes. - -“Then hand to the governor in person a letter about the deed.” - -Next, bolts for the doors of the new building were wanted and had to be -of a special shape the prince had himself designed, and a leather case -had to be ordered to keep the “will” in. - -The instructions to Alpátych took over two hours and still the prince -did not let him go. He sat down, sank into thought, closed his eyes, and -dozed off. Alpátych made a slight movement. - -“Well, go, go! If anything more is wanted I’ll send after you.” - -Alpátych went out. The prince again went to his bureau, glanced into it, -fingered his papers, closed the bureau again, and sat down at the table -to write to the governor. - -It was already late when he rose after sealing the letter. He wished -to sleep, but he knew he would not be able to and that most depressing -thoughts came to him in bed. So he called Tíkhon and went through the -rooms with him to show him where to set up the bed for that night. - -He went about looking at every corner. Every place seemed -unsatisfactory, but worst of all was his customary couch in the study. -That couch was dreadful to him, probably because of the oppressive -thoughts he had had when lying there. It was unsatisfactory everywhere, -but the corner behind the piano in the sitting room was better than -other places: he had never slept there yet. - -With the help of a footman Tíkhon brought in the bedstead and began -putting it up. - -“That’s not right! That’s not right!” cried the prince, and himself -pushed it a few inches from the corner and then closer in again. - -“Well, at last I’ve finished, now I’ll rest,” thought the prince, and -let Tíkhon undress him. - -Frowning with vexation at the effort necessary to divest himself of his -coat and trousers, the prince undressed, sat down heavily on the -bed, and appeared to be meditating as he looked contemptuously at his -withered yellow legs. He was not meditating, but only deferring the -moment of making the effort to lift those legs up and turn over on the -bed. “Ugh, how hard it is! Oh, that this toil might end and you would -release me!” thought he. Pressing his lips together he made that effort -for the twenty-thousandth time and lay down. But hardly had he done so -before he felt the bed rocking backwards and forwards beneath him as if -it were breathing heavily and jolting. This happened to him almost every -night. He opened his eyes as they were closing. - -“No peace, damn them!” he muttered, angry he knew not with whom. “Ah -yes, there was something else important, very important, that I was -keeping till I should be in bed. The bolts? No, I told him about them. -No, it was something, something in the drawing room. Princess Mary -talked some nonsense. Dessalles, that fool, said something. Something in -my pocket—can’t remember....” - -“Tíkhon, what did we talk about at dinner?” - -“About Prince Michael...” - -“Be quiet, quiet!” The prince slapped his hand on the table. “Yes, I -know, Prince Andrew’s letter! Princess Mary read it. Dessalles said -something about Vítebsk. Now I’ll read it.” - -He had the letter taken from his pocket and the table—on which stood a -glass of lemonade and a spiral wax candle—moved close to the bed, and -putting on his spectacles he began reading. Only now in the stillness of -the night, reading it by the faint light under the green shade, did he -grasp its meaning for a moment. - -“The French at Vítebsk, in four days’ march they may be at Smolénsk; -perhaps are already there! Tíkhon!” Tíkhon jumped up. “No, no, I don’t -want anything!” he shouted. - -He put the letter under the candlestick and closed his eyes. And there -rose before him the Danube at bright noonday: reeds, the Russian -camp, and himself a young general without a wrinkle on his ruddy face, -vigorous and alert, entering Potëmkin’s gaily colored tent, and a -burning sense of jealousy of “the favorite” agitated him now as strongly -as it had done then. He recalled all the words spoken at that -first meeting with Potëmkin. And he saw before him a plump, rather -sallow-faced, short, stout woman, the Empress Mother, with her smile -and her words at her first gracious reception of him, and then that same -face on the catafalque, and the encounter he had with Zúbov over her -coffin about his right to kiss her hand. - -“Oh, quicker, quicker! To get back to that time and have done with all -the present! Quicker, quicker—and that they should leave me in peace!” - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Bolkónski’s estate, lay forty miles east -from Smolénsk and two miles from the main road to Moscow. - -The same evening that the prince gave his instructions to Alpátych, -Dessalles, having asked to see Princess Mary, told her that, as the -prince was not very well and was taking no steps to secure his safety, -though from Prince Andrew’s letter it was evident that to remain at Bald -Hills might be dangerous, he respectfully advised her to send a letter -by Alpátych to the Provincial Governor at Smolénsk, asking him to let -her know the state of affairs and the extent of the danger to which -Bald Hills was exposed. Dessalles wrote this letter to the Governor -for Princess Mary, she signed it, and it was given to Alpátych with -instructions to hand it to the Governor and to come back as quickly as -possible if there was danger. - -Having received all his orders Alpátych, wearing a white beaver hat—a -present from the prince—and carrying a stick as the prince did, went out -accompanied by his family. Three well-fed roans stood ready harnessed to -a small conveyance with a leather hood. - -The larger bell was muffled and the little bells on the harness stuffed -with paper. The prince allowed no one at Bald Hills to drive with -ringing bells; but on a long journey Alpátych liked to have them. His -satellites—the senior clerk, a countinghouse clerk, a scullery maid, -a cook, two old women, a little pageboy, the coachman, and various -domestic serfs—were seeing him off. - -His daughter placed chintz-covered down cushions for him to sit on and -behind his back. His old sister-in-law popped in a small bundle, and one -of the coachmen helped him into the vehicle. - -“There! There! Women’s fuss! Women, women!” said Alpátych, puffing and -speaking rapidly just as the prince did, and he climbed into the trap. - -After giving the clerk orders about the work to be done, Alpátych, not -trying to imitate the prince now, lifted the hat from his bald head and -crossed himself three times. - -“If there is anything... come back, Yákov Alpátych! For Christ’s sake -think of us!” cried his wife, referring to the rumors of war and the -enemy. - -“Women, women! Women’s fuss!” muttered Alpátych to himself and started -on his journey, looking round at the fields of yellow rye and the -still-green, thickly growing oats, and at other quite black fields just -being plowed a second time. - -As he went along he looked with pleasure at the year’s splendid crop -of corn, scrutinized the strips of ryefield which here and there were -already being reaped, made his calculations as to the sowing and the -harvest, and asked himself whether he had not forgotten any of the -prince’s orders. - -Having baited the horses twice on the way, he arrived at the town toward -evening on the fourth of August. - -Alpátych kept meeting and overtaking baggage trains and troops on the -road. As he approached Smolénsk he heard the sounds of distant firing, -but these did not impress him. What struck him most was the sight of a -splendid field of oats in which a camp had been pitched and which -was being mown down by the soldiers, evidently for fodder. This fact -impressed Alpátych, but in thinking about his own business he soon -forgot it. - -All the interests of his life for more than thirty years had been -bounded by the will of the prince, and he never went beyond that limit. -Everything not connected with the execution of the prince’s orders did -not interest and did not even exist for Alpátych. - -On reaching Smolénsk on the evening of the fourth of August he put up -in the Gáchina suburb across the Dnieper, at the inn kept by Ferapóntov, -where he had been in the habit of putting up for the last thirty years. -Some thirty years ago Ferapóntov, by Alpátych’s advice, had bought a -wood from the prince, had begun to trade, and now had a house, an -inn, and a corn dealer’s shop in that province. He was a stout, dark, -red-faced peasant in the forties, with thick lips, a broad knob of a -nose, similar knobs over his black frowning brows, and a round belly. - -Wearing a waistcoat over his cotton shirt, Ferapóntov was standing -before his shop which opened onto the street. On seeing Alpátych he went -up to him. - -“You’re welcome, Yákov Alpátych. Folks are leaving the town, but you -have come to it,” said he. - -“Why are they leaving the town?” asked Alpátych. - -“That’s what I say. Folks are foolish! Always afraid of the French.” - -“Women’s fuss, women’s fuss!” said Alpátych. - -“Just what I think, Yákov Alpátych. What I say is: orders have been -given not to let them in, so that must be right. And the peasants are -asking three rubles for carting—it isn’t Christian!” - -Yákov Alpátych heard without heeding. He asked for a samovar and for hay -for his horses, and when he had had his tea he went to bed. - -All night long troops were moving past the inn. Next morning Alpátych -donned a jacket he wore only in town and went out on business. It was a -sunny morning and by eight o’clock it was already hot. “A good day for -harvesting,” thought Alpátych. - -From beyond the town firing had been heard since early morning. At eight -o’clock the booming of cannon was added to the sound of musketry. Many -people were hurrying through the streets and there were many soldiers, -but cabs were still driving about, tradesmen stood at their shops, and -service was being held in the churches as usual. Alpátych went to the -shops, to government offices, to the post office, and to the Governor’s. -In the offices and shops and at the post office everyone was talking -about the army and about the enemy who was already attacking the town, -everybody was asking what should be done, and all were trying to calm -one another. - -In front of the Governor’s house Alpátych found a large number of -people, Cossacks, and a traveling carriage of the Governor’s. At the -porch he met two of the landed gentry, one of whom he knew. This man, an -ex-captain of police, was saying angrily: - -“It’s no joke, you know! It’s all very well if you’re single. ‘One man -though undone is but one,’ as the proverb says, but with thirteen in -your family and all the property... They’ve brought us to utter ruin! -What sort of governors are they to do that? They ought to be hanged—the -brigands!...” - -“Oh come, that’s enough!” said the other. - -“What do I care? Let him hear! We’re not dogs,” said the ex-captain of -police, and looking round he noticed Alpátych. - -“Oh, Yákov Alpátych! What have you come for?” - -“To see the Governor by his excellency’s order,” answered Alpátych, -lifting his head and proudly thrusting his hand into the bosom of his -coat as he always did when he mentioned the prince.... “He has ordered -me to inquire into the position of affairs,” he added. - -“Yes, go and find out!” shouted the angry gentleman. “They’ve brought -things to such a pass that there are no carts or anything!... There it -is again, do you hear?” said he, pointing in the direction whence came -the sounds of firing. - -“They’ve brought us all to ruin... the brigands!” he repeated, and -descended the porch steps. - -Alpátych swayed his head and went upstairs. In the waiting room were -tradesmen, women, and officials, looking silently at one another. The -door of the Governor’s room opened and they all rose and moved forward. -An official ran out, said some words to a merchant, called a stout -official with a cross hanging on his neck to follow him, and vanished -again, evidently wishing to avoid the inquiring looks and questions -addressed to him. Alpátych moved forward and next time the official came -out addressed him, one hand placed in the breast of his buttoned coat, -and handed him two letters. - -“To his Honor Baron Asch, from General-in-Chief Prince Bolkónski,” he -announced with such solemnity and significance that the official turned -to him and took the letters. - -A few minutes later the Governor received Alpátych and hurriedly said to -him: - -“Inform the prince and princess that I knew nothing: I acted on the -highest instructions—here...” and he handed a paper to Alpátych. “Still, -as the prince is unwell my advice is that they should go to Moscow. I am -just starting myself. Inform them...” - -But the Governor did not finish: a dusty perspiring officer ran into the -room and began to say something in French. The Governor’s face expressed -terror. - -“Go,” he said, nodding his head to Alpátych, and began questioning the -officer. - -Eager, frightened, helpless glances were turned on Alpátych when he came -out of the Governor’s room. Involuntarily listening now to the firing, -which had drawn nearer and was increasing in strength, Alpátych hurried -to his inn. The paper handed to him by the Governor said this: - -“I assure you that the town of Smolénsk is not in the slightest danger -as yet and it is unlikely that it will be threatened with any. I from -the one side and Prince Bagratión from the other are marching to unite -our forces before Smolénsk, which junction will be effected on the -22nd instant, and both armies with their united forces will defend our -compatriots of the province entrusted to your care till our efforts -shall have beaten back the enemies of our Fatherland, or till the last -warrior in our valiant ranks has perished. From this you will see that -you have a perfect right to reassure the inhabitants of Smolénsk, for -those defended by two such brave armies may feel assured of victory.” -(Instructions from Barclay de Tolly to Baron Asch, the civil governor of -Smolénsk, 1812.) - -People were anxiously roaming about the streets. - -Carts piled high with household utensils, chairs, and cupboards kept -emerging from the gates of the yards and moving along the streets. -Loaded carts stood at the house next to Ferapóntov’s and women were -wailing and lamenting as they said good-by. A small watchdog ran round -barking in front of the harnessed horses. - -Alpátych entered the innyard at a quicker pace than usual and went -straight to the shed where his horses and trap were. The coachman was -asleep. He woke him up, told him to harness, and went into the passage. -From the host’s room came the sounds of a child crying, the despairing -sobs of a woman, and the hoarse angry shouting of Ferapóntov. The cook -began running hither and thither in the passage like a frightened hen, -just as Alpátych entered. - -“He’s done her to death. Killed the mistress!... Beat her... dragged her -about so!...” - -“What for?” asked Alpátych. - -“She kept begging to go away. She’s a woman! ‘Take me away,’ says she, -‘don’t let me perish with my little children! Folks,’ she says, ‘are all -gone, so why,’ she says, ‘don’t we go?’ And he began beating and pulling -her about so!” - -At these words Alpátych nodded as if in approval, and not wishing to -hear more went to the door of the room opposite the innkeeper’s, where -he had left his purchases. - -“You brute, you murderer!” screamed a thin, pale woman who, with a baby -in her arms and her kerchief torn from her head, burst through the door -at that moment and down the steps into the yard. - -Ferapóntov came out after her, but on seeing Alpátych adjusted his -waistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alpátych into the -opposite room. - -“Going already?” said he. - -Alpátych, without answering or looking at his host, sorted his packages -and asked how much he owed. - -“We’ll reckon up! Well, have you been to the Governor’s?” asked -Ferapóntov. “What has been decided?” - -Alpátych replied that the Governor had not told him anything definite. - -“With our business, how can we get away?” said Ferapóntov. “We’d have -to pay seven rubles a cartload to Dorogobúzh and I tell them they’re -not Christians to ask it! Selivánov, now, did a good stroke last -Thursday—sold flour to the army at nine rubles a sack. Will you have -some tea?” he added. - -While the horses were being harnessed Alpátych and Ferapóntov over their -tea talked of the price of corn, the crops, and the good weather for -harvesting. - -“Well, it seems to be getting quieter,” remarked Ferapóntov, finishing -his third cup of tea and getting up. “Ours must have got the best of it. -The orders were not to let them in. So we’re in force, it seems.... -They say the other day Matthew Iványch Plátov drove them into the river -Márina and drowned some eighteen thousand in one day.” - -Alpátych collected his parcels, handed them to the coachman who had come -in, and settled up with the innkeeper. The noise of wheels, hoofs, and -bells was heard from the gateway as a little trap passed out. - -It was by now late in the afternoon. Half the street was in shadow, the -other half brightly lit by the sun. Alpátych looked out of the window -and went to the door. Suddenly the strange sound of a far-off whistling -and thud was heard, followed by a boom of cannon blending into a dull -roar that set the windows rattling. - -He went out into the street: two men were running past toward the -bridge. From different sides came whistling sounds and the thud of -cannon balls and bursting shells falling on the town. But these sounds -were hardly heard in comparison with the noise of the firing outside the -town and attracted little attention from the inhabitants. The town was -being bombarded by a hundred and thirty guns which Napoleon had ordered -up after four o’clock. The people did not at once realize the meaning of -this bombardment. - -At first the noise of the falling bombs and shells only aroused -curiosity. Ferapóntov’s wife, who till then had not ceased wailing under -the shed, became quiet and with the baby in her arms went to the gate, -listening to the sounds and looking in silence at the people. - -The cook and a shop assistant came to the gate. With lively curiosity -everyone tried to get a glimpse of the projectiles as they flew over -their heads. Several people came round the corner talking eagerly. - -“What force!” remarked one. “Knocked the roof and ceiling all to -splinters!” - -“Routed up the earth like a pig,” said another. - -“That’s grand, it bucks one up!” laughed the first. “Lucky you jumped -aside, or it would have wiped you out!” - -Others joined those men and stopped and told how cannon balls had fallen -on a house close to them. Meanwhile still more projectiles, now with -the swift sinister whistle of a cannon ball, now with the agreeable -intermittent whistle of a shell, flew over people’s heads incessantly, -but not one fell close by, they all flew over. Alpátych was getting into -his trap. The innkeeper stood at the gate. - -“What are you staring at?” he shouted to the cook, who in her red skirt, -with sleeves rolled up, swinging her bare elbows, had stepped to the -corner to listen to what was being said. - -“What marvels!” she exclaimed, but hearing her master’s voice she turned -back, pulling down her tucked-up skirt. - -Once more something whistled, but this time quite close, swooping -downwards like a little bird; a flame flashed in the middle of the -street, something exploded, and the street was shrouded in smoke. - -“Scoundrel, what are you doing?” shouted the innkeeper, rushing to the -cook. - -At that moment the pitiful wailing of women was heard from different -sides, the frightened baby began to cry, and people crowded silently -with pale faces round the cook. The loudest sound in that crowd was her -wailing. - -“Oh-h-h! Dear souls, dear kind souls! Don’t let me die! My good -souls!...” - -Five minutes later no one remained in the street. The cook, with her -thigh broken by a shell splinter, had been carried into the kitchen. -Alpátych, his coachman, Ferapóntov’s wife and children and the house -porter were all sitting in the cellar, listening. The roar of guns, the -whistling of projectiles, and the piteous moaning of the cook, which -rose above the other sounds, did not cease for a moment. The mistress -rocked and hushed her baby and when anyone came into the cellar asked -in a pathetic whisper what had become of her husband who had remained -in the street. A shopman who entered told her that her husband had -gone with others to the cathedral, whence they were fetching the -wonder-working icon of Smolénsk. - -Toward dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alpátych left the cellar -and stopped in the doorway. The evening sky that had been so clear was -clouded with smoke, through which, high up, the sickle of the new moon -shone strangely. Now that the terrible din of the guns had ceased a hush -seemed to reign over the town, broken only by the rustle of footsteps, -the moaning, the distant cries, and the crackle of fires which seemed -widespread everywhere. The cook’s moans had now subsided. On two sides -black curling clouds of smoke rose and spread from the fires. Through -the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked or ran confusedly in -different directions like ants from a ruined ant-hill. Several of them -ran into Ferapóntov’s yard before Alpátych’s eyes. Alpátych went out -to the gate. A retreating regiment, thronging and hurrying, blocked the -street. - -Noticing him, an officer said: “The town is being abandoned. Get away, -get away!” and then, turning to the soldiers, shouted: - -“I’ll teach you to run into the yards!” - -Alpátych went back to the house, called the coachman, and told him to -set off. Ferapóntov’s whole household came out too, following Alpátych -and the coachman. The women, who had been silent till then, suddenly -began to wail as they looked at the fires—the smoke and even the flames -of which could be seen in the failing twilight—and as if in reply the -same kind of lamentation was heard from other parts of the street. -Inside the shed Alpátych and the coachman arranged the tangled reins and -traces of their horses with trembling hands. - -As Alpátych was driving out of the gate he saw some ten soldiers in -Ferapóntov’s open shop, talking loudly and filling their bags and -knapsacks with flour and sunflower seeds. Just then Ferapóntov returned -and entered his shop. On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout at -them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching at his hair, burst into sobs -and laughter: - -“Loot everything, lads! Don’t let those devils get it!” he cried, taking -some bags of flour himself and throwing them into the street. - -Some of the soldiers were frightened and ran away, others went on -filling their bags. On seeing Alpátych, Ferapóntov turned to him: - -“Russia is done for!” he cried. “Alpátych, I’ll set the place on fire -myself. We’re done for!...” and Ferapóntov ran into the yard. - -Soldiers were passing in a constant stream along the street blocking -it completely, so that Alpátych could not pass out and had to wait. -Ferapóntov’s wife and children were also sitting in a cart waiting till -it was possible to drive out. - -Night had come. There were stars in the sky and the new moon shone out -amid the smoke that screened it. On the sloping descent to the Dnieper -Alpátych’s cart and that of the innkeeper’s wife, which were slowly -moving amid the rows of soldiers and of other vehicles, had to stop. -In a side street near the crossroads where the vehicles had stopped, a -house and some shops were on fire. This fire was already burning itself -out. The flames now died down and were lost in the black smoke, now -suddenly flared up again brightly, lighting up with strange distinctness -the faces of the people crowding at the crossroads. Black figures -flitted about before the fire, and through the incessant crackling of -the flames talking and shouting could be heard. Seeing that his trap -would not be able to move on for some time, Alpátych got down and turned -into the side street to look at the fire. Soldiers were continually -rushing backwards and forwards near it, and he saw two of them and a -man in a frieze coat dragging burning beams into another yard across the -street, while others carried bundles of hay. - -Alpátych went up to a large crowd standing before a high barn which was -blazing briskly. The walls were all on fire and the back wall had fallen -in, the wooden roof was collapsing, and the rafters were alight. The -crowd was evidently watching for the roof to fall in, and Alpátych -watched for it too. - -“Alpátych!” a familiar voice suddenly hailed the old man. - -“Mercy on us! Your excellency!” answered Alpátych, immediately -recognizing the voice of his young prince. - -Prince Andrew in his riding cloak, mounted on a black horse, was looking -at Alpátych from the back of the crowd. - -“Why are you here?” he asked. - -“Your... your excellency,” stammered Alpátych and broke into sobs. “Are -we really lost? Master!...” - -“Why are you here?” Prince Andrew repeated. - -At that moment the flames flared up and showed his young master’s pale -worn face. Alpátych told how he had been sent there and how difficult it -was to get away. - -“Are we really quite lost, your excellency?” he asked again. - -Prince Andrew without replying took out a notebook and raising his knee -began writing in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to his sister: - -“Smolénsk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will be occupied by the enemy -within a week. Set off immediately for Moscow. Let me know at once when -you will start. Send by special messenger to Usvyázh.” - -Having written this and given the paper to Alpátych, he told him how -to arrange for departure of the prince, the princess, his son, and the -boy’s tutor, and how and where to let him know immediately. Before -he had had time to finish giving these instructions, a chief of staff -followed by a suite galloped up to him. - -“You are a colonel?” shouted the chief of staff with a German accent, -in a voice familiar to Prince Andrew. “Houses are set on fire in your -presence and you stand by! What does this mean? You will answer for -it!” shouted Berg, who was now assistant to the chief of staff of the -commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army, a place, -as Berg said, “very agreeable and well en évidence.” - -Prince Andrew looked at him and without replying went on speaking to -Alpátych. - -“So tell them that I shall await a reply till the tenth, and if by the -tenth I don’t receive news that they have all got away I shall have to -throw up everything and come myself to Bald Hills.” - -“Prince,” said Berg, recognizing Prince Andrew, “I only spoke because -I have to obey orders, because I always do obey exactly.... You must -please excuse me,” he went on apologetically. - -Something cracked in the flames. The fire died down for a moment and -wreaths of black smoke rolled from under the roof. There was another -terrible crash and something huge collapsed. - -“Ou-rou-rou!” yelled the crowd, echoing the crash of the collapsing roof -of the barn, the burning grain in which diffused a cakelike aroma all -around. The flames flared up again, lighting the animated, delighted, -exhausted faces of the spectators. - -The man in the frieze coat raised his arms and shouted: - -“It’s fine, lads! Now it’s raging... It’s fine!” - -“That’s the owner himself,” cried several voices. - -“Well then,” continued Prince Andrew to Alpátych, “report to them as I -have told you”; and not replying a word to Berg who was now mute beside -him, he touched his horse and rode down the side street. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -From Smolénsk the troops continued to retreat, followed by the enemy. -On the tenth of August the regiment Prince Andrew commanded was marching -along the highroad past the avenue leading to Bald Hills. Heat and -drought had continued for more than three weeks. Each day fleecy clouds -floated across the sky and occasionally veiled the sun, but toward -evening the sky cleared again and the sun set in reddish-brown mist. -Heavy night dews alone refreshed the earth. The unreaped corn was -scorched and shed its grain. The marshes dried up. The cattle lowed from -hunger, finding no food on the sun-parched meadows. Only at night and -in the forests while the dew lasted was there any freshness. But on the -road, the highroad along which the troops marched, there was no such -freshness even at night or when the road passed through the forest; the -dew was imperceptible on the sandy dust churned up more than six inches -deep. As soon as day dawned the march began. The artillery and baggage -wagons moved noiselessly through the deep dust that rose to the very -hubs of the wheels, and the infantry sank ankle-deep in that soft, -choking, hot dust that never cooled even at night. Some of this dust -was kneaded by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a -cloud over the troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and -worst of all in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that -road. The higher the sun rose the higher rose that cloud of dust, and -through the screen of its hot fine particles one could look with naked -eye at the sun, which showed like a huge crimson ball in the unclouded -sky. There was no wind, and the men choked in that motionless -atmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their noses and -mouths. When they passed through a village they all rushed to the wells -and fought for the water and drank it down to the mud. - -Prince Andrew was in command of a regiment, and the management of that -regiment, the welfare of the men and the necessity of receiving -and giving orders, engrossed him. The burning of Smolénsk and its -abandonment made an epoch in his life. A novel feeling of anger against -the foe made him forget his own sorrow. He was entirely devoted to the -affairs of his regiment and was considerate and kind to his men and -officers. In the regiment they called him “our prince,” were proud -of him and loved him. But he was kind and gentle only to those of his -regiment, to Timókhin and the like—people quite new to him, belonging -to a different world and who could not know and understand his past. As -soon as he came across a former acquaintance or anyone from the -staff, he bristled up immediately and grew spiteful, ironical, and -contemptuous. Everything that reminded him of his past was repugnant to -him, and so in his relations with that former circle he confined himself -to trying to do his duty and not to be unfair. - -In truth everything presented itself in a dark and gloomy light to -Prince Andrew, especially after the abandonment of Smolénsk on the sixth -of August (he considered that it could and should have been defended) -and after his sick father had had to flee to Moscow, abandoning to -pillage his dearly beloved Bald Hills which he had built and peopled. -But despite this, thanks to his regiment, Prince Andrew had something to -think about entirely apart from general questions. Two days previously -he had received news that his father, son, and sister had left for -Moscow; and though there was nothing for him to do at Bald Hills, Prince -Andrew with a characteristic desire to foment his own grief decided that -he must ride there. - -He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leaving his regiment on the -march, rode to his father’s estate where he had been born and spent his -childhood. Riding past the pond where there used always to be dozens -of women chattering as they rinsed their linen or beat it with wooden -beetles, Prince Andrew noticed that there was not a soul about and that -the little washing wharf, torn from its place and half submerged, was -floating on its side in the middle of the pond. He rode to the keeper’s -lodge. No one at the stone entrance gates of the drive and the door -stood open. Grass had already begun to grow on the garden paths, and -horses and calves were straying in the English park. Prince Andrew rode -up to the hothouse; some of the glass panes were broken, and of the -trees in tubs some were overturned and others dried up. He called for -Tarás the gardener, but no one replied. Having gone round the corner -of the hothouse to the ornamental garden, he saw that the carved garden -fence was broken and branches of the plum trees had been torn off with -the fruit. An old peasant whom Prince Andrew in his childhood had often -seen at the gate was sitting on a green garden seat, plaiting a bast -shoe. - -He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrew ride up. He was sitting on -the seat the old prince used to like to sit on, and beside him strips of -bast were hanging on the broken and withered branch of a magnolia. - -Prince Andrew rode up to the house. Several limes in the old garden had -been cut down and a piebald mare and her foal were wandering in front of -the house among the rosebushes. The shutters were all closed, except at -one window which was open. A little serf boy, seeing Prince Andrew, ran -into the house. Alpátych, having sent his family away, was alone at -Bald Hills and was sitting indoors reading the Lives of the Saints. On -hearing that Prince Andrew had come, he went out with his spectacles on -his nose, buttoning his coat, and, hastily stepping up, without a word -began weeping and kissing Prince Andrew’s knee. - -Then, vexed at his own weakness, he turned away and began to report -on the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuable had been -removed to Boguchárovo. Seventy quarters of grain had also been carted -away. The hay and the spring corn, of which Alpátych said there had been -a remarkable crop that year, had been commandeered by the troops and -mown down while still green. The peasants were ruined; some of them too -had gone to Boguchárovo, only a few remained. - -Without waiting to hear him out, Prince Andrew asked: - -“When did my father and sister leave?” meaning when did they leave for -Moscow. - -Alpátych, understanding the question to refer to their departure for -Boguchárovo, replied that they had left on the seventh and again went -into details concerning the estate management, asking for instructions. - -“Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to take a receipt for them? -We have still six hundred quarters left,” he inquired. - -“What am I to say to him?” thought Prince Andrew, looking down on the -old man’s bald head shining in the sun and seeing by the expression on -his face that the old man himself understood how untimely such questions -were and only asked them to allay his grief. - -“Yes, let them have it,” replied Prince Andrew. - -“If you noticed some disorder in the garden,” said Alpátych, “it was -impossible to prevent it. Three regiments have been here and spent -the night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of their -commanding officer, to hand in a complaint about it.” - -“Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemy -occupies the place?” asked Prince Andrew. - -Alpátych turned his face to Prince Andrew, looked at him, and suddenly -with a solemn gesture raised his arm. - -“He is my refuge! His will be done!” he exclaimed. - -A group of bareheaded peasants was approaching across the meadow toward -the prince. - -“Well, good-by!” said Prince Andrew, bending over to Alpátych. “You -must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to go to the -Ryazán estate or to the one near Moscow.” - -Alpátych clung to Prince Andrew’s leg and burst into sobs. Gently -disengaging himself, the prince spurred his horse and rode down the -avenue at a gallop. - -The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly -impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on -which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running out -from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked from -the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew. On seeing the young master, -the elder one with frightened look clutched her younger companion by the -hand and hid with her behind a birch tree, not stopping to pick up some -green plums they had dropped. - -Prince Andrew turned away with startled haste, unwilling to let them -see that they had been observed. He was sorry for the pretty frightened -little girl, was afraid of looking at her, and yet felt an irresistible -desire to do so. A new sensation of comfort and relief came over him -when, seeing these girls, he realized the existence of other human -interests entirely aloof from his own and just as legitimate as those -that occupied him. Evidently these girls passionately desired one -thing—to carry away and eat those green plums without being caught—and -Prince Andrew shared their wish for the success of their enterprise. He -could not resist looking at them once more. Believing their danger past, -they sprang from their ambush and, chirruping something in their shrill -little voices and holding up their skirts, their bare little sunburned -feet scampered merrily and quickly across the meadow grass. - -Prince Andrew was somewhat refreshed by having ridden off the dusty -highroad along which the troops were moving. But not far from Bald Hills -he again came out on the road and overtook his regiment at its halting -place by the dam of a small pond. It was past one o’clock. The sun, -a red ball through the dust, burned and scorched his back intolerably -through his black coat. The dust always hung motionless above the buzz -of talk that came from the resting troops. There was no wind. As he -crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled the ooze and freshness of the -pond. He longed to get into that water, however dirty it might be, and -he glanced round at the pool from whence came sounds of shrieks and -laughter. The small, muddy, green pond had risen visibly more than a -foot, flooding the dam, because it was full of the naked white bodies -of soldiers with brick-red hands, necks, and faces, who were splashing -about in it. All this naked white human flesh, laughing and shrieking, -floundered about in that dirty pool like carp stuffed into a watering -can, and the suggestion of merriment in that floundering mass rendered -it specially pathetic. - -One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince Andrew -knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossed himself, -stepped back to get a good run, and plunged into the water; another, -a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood up to his -waist in the water joyfully wriggling his muscular figure and snorted -with satisfaction as he poured the water over his head with hands -blackened to the wrists. There were sounds of men slapping one another, -yelling, and puffing. - -Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and in the pond, there was healthy, -white, muscular flesh. The officer, Timókhin, with his red little nose, -standing on the dam wiping himself with a towel, felt confused at seeing -the prince, but made up his mind to address him nevertheless. - -“It’s very nice, your excellency! Wouldn’t you like to?” said he. - -“It’s dirty,” replied Prince Andrew, making a grimace. - -“We’ll clear it out for you in a minute,” said Timókhin, and, still -undressed, ran off to clear the men out of the pond. - -“The prince wants to bathe.” - -“What prince? Ours?” said many voices, and the men were in such haste -to clear out that the prince could hardly stop them. He decided that he -would rather wash himself with water in the barn. - -“Flesh, bodies, cannon fodder!” he thought, and he looked at his own -naked body and shuddered, not from cold but from a sense of disgust -and horror he did not himself understand, aroused by the sight of that -immense number of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond. - - -On the seventh of August Prince Bagratión wrote as follows from his -quarters at Mikháylovna on the Smolénsk road: - -Dear Count Aléxis Andréevich—(He was writing to Arakchéev but knew that -his letter would be read by the Emperor, and therefore weighed every -word in it to the best of his ability.) - -I expect the Minister (Barclay de Tolly) has already reported the -abandonment of Smolénsk to the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, and -the whole army is in despair that this most important place has been -wantonly abandoned. I, for my part, begged him personally most urgently -and finally wrote him, but nothing would induce him to consent. I swear -to you on my honor that Napoleon was in such a fix as never before and -might have lost half his army but could not have taken Smolénsk. Our -troops fought, and are fighting, as never before. With fifteen thousand -men I held the enemy at bay for thirty-five hours and beat him; but he -would not hold out even for fourteen hours. It is disgraceful, a stain -on our army, and as for him, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If -he reports that our losses were great, it is not true; perhaps about -four thousand, not more, and not even that; but even were they ten -thousand, that’s war! But the enemy has lost masses.... - -What would it have cost him to hold out for another two days? They would -have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no water for men -or horses. He gave me his word he would not retreat, but suddenly sent -instructions that he was retiring that night. We cannot fight in this -way, or we may soon bring the enemy to Moscow.... - -There is a rumor that you are thinking of peace. God forbid that you -should make peace after all our sacrifices and such insane retreats! You -would set all Russia against you and everyone of us would feel ashamed -to wear the uniform. If it has come to this—we must fight as long as -Russia can and as long as there are men able to stand.... - -One man ought to be in command, and not two. Your Minister may perhaps -be good as a Minister, but as a general he is not merely bad but -execrable, yet to him is entrusted the fate of our whole country.... I -am really frantic with vexation; forgive my writing boldly. It is clear -that the man who advocates the conclusion of a peace, and that the -Minister should command the army, does not love our sovereign and -desires the ruin of us all. So I write you frankly: call out the -militia. For the Minister is leading these visitors after him to Moscow -in a most masterly way. The whole army feels great suspicion of the -Imperial aide-de-camp Wolzogen. He is said to be more Napoleon’s man -than ours, and he is always advising the Minister. I am not merely civil -to him but obey him like a corporal, though I am his senior. This is -painful, but, loving my benefactor and sovereign, I submit. Only I am -sorry for the Emperor that he entrusts our fine army to such as he. -Consider that on our retreat we have lost by fatigue and left in the -hospital more than fifteen thousand men, and had we attacked this would -not have happened. Tell me, for God’s sake, what will Russia, our mother -Russia, say to our being so frightened, and why are we abandoning our -good and gallant Fatherland to such rabble and implanting feelings of -hatred and shame in all our subjects? What are we scared at and of whom -are we afraid? I am not to blame that the Minister is vacillating, -a coward, dense, dilatory, and has all bad qualities. The whole army -bewails it and calls down curses upon him.... - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Among the innumerable categories applicable to the phenomena of human -life one may discriminate between those in which substance prevails -and those in which form prevails. To the latter—as distinguished -from village, country, provincial, or even Moscow life—we may allot -Petersburg life, and especially the life of its salons. That life of -the salons is unchanging. Since the year 1805 we had made peace and had -again quarreled with Bonaparte and had made constitutions and unmade -them again, but the salons of Anna Pávlovna and Hélène remained just -as they had been—the one seven and the other five years before. At Anna -Pávlovna’s they talked with perplexity of Bonaparte’s successes just -as before and saw in them and in the subservience shown to him by the -European sovereigns a malicious conspiracy, the sole object of which was -to cause unpleasantness and anxiety to the court circle of which Anna -Pávlovna was the representative. And in Hélène’s salon, which Rumyántsev -himself honored with his visits, regarding Hélène as a remarkably -intelligent woman, they talked with the same ecstasy in 1812 as in 1808 -of the “great nation” and the “great man,” and regretted our rupture -with France, a rupture which, according to them, ought to be promptly -terminated by peace. - -Of late, since the Emperor’s return from the army, there had been some -excitement in these conflicting salon circles and some demonstrations -of hostility to one another, but each camp retained its own tendency. -In Anna Pávlovna’s circle only those Frenchmen were admitted who were -deep-rooted legitimists, and patriotic views were expressed to the -effect that one ought not to go to the French theater and that to -maintain the French troupe was costing the government as much as a whole -army corps. The progress of the war was eagerly followed, and only -the reports most flattering to our army were circulated. In the French -circle of Hélène and Rumyántsev the reports of the cruelty of the -enemy and of the war were contradicted and all Napoleon’s attempts at -conciliation were discussed. In that circle they discountenanced those -who advised hurried preparations for a removal to Kazán of the court and -the girls’ educational establishments under the patronage of the Dowager -Empress. In Hélène’s circle the war in general was regarded as a series -of formal demonstrations which would very soon end in peace, and the -view prevailed expressed by Bilíbin—who now in Petersburg was quite at -home in Hélène’s house, which every clever man was obliged to visit—that -not by gunpowder but by those who invented it would matters be -settled. In that circle the Moscow enthusiasm—news of which had reached -Petersburg simultaneously with the Emperor’s return—was ridiculed -sarcastically and very cleverly, though with much caution. - -Anna Pávlovna’s circle on the contrary was enraptured by this enthusiasm -and spoke of it as Plutarch speaks of the deeds of the ancients. -Prince Vasíli, who still occupied his former important posts, formed a -connecting link between these two circles. He visited his “good friend -Anna Pávlovna” as well as his daughter’s “diplomatic salon,” and often -in his constant comings and goings between the two camps became confused -and said at Hélène’s what he should have said at Anna Pávlovna’s and -vice versa. - -Soon after the Emperor’s return Prince Vasíli in a conversation about -the war at Anna Pávlovna’s severely condemned Barclay de Tolly, but was -undecided as to who ought to be appointed commander in chief. One of the -visitors, usually spoken of as “a man of great merit,” having described -how he had that day seen Kutúzov, the newly chosen chief of the -Petersburg militia, presiding over the enrollment of recruits at the -Treasury, cautiously ventured to suggest that Kutúzov would be the man -to satisfy all requirements. - -Anna Pávlovna remarked with a melancholy smile that Kutúzov had done -nothing but cause the Emperor annoyance. - -“I have talked and talked at the Assembly of the Nobility,” Prince -Vasíli interrupted, “but they did not listen to me. I told them his -election as chief of the militia would not please the Emperor. They did -not listen to me. - -“It’s all this mania for opposition,” he went on. “And who for? It is -all because we want to ape the foolish enthusiasm of those Muscovites,” -Prince Vasíli continued, forgetting for a moment that though at Hélène’s -one had to ridicule the Moscow enthusiasm, at Anna Pávlovna’s one had to -be ecstatic about it. But he retrieved his mistake at once. “Now, is -it suitable that Count Kutúzov, the oldest general in Russia, should -preside at that tribunal? He will get nothing for his pains! How could -they make a man commander in chief who cannot mount a horse, who drops -asleep at a council, and has the very worst morals! A good reputation -he made for himself at Bucharest! I don’t speak of his capacity as a -general, but at a time like this how they appoint a decrepit, blind old -man, positively blind? A fine idea to have a blind general! He can’t see -anything. To play blindman’s bluff? He can’t see at all!” - -No one replied to his remarks. - -This was quite correct on the twenty-fourth of July. But on the -twenty-ninth of July Kutúzov received the title of Prince. This might -indicate a wish to get rid of him, and therefore Prince Vasíli’s opinion -continued to be correct though he was not now in any hurry to express -it. But on the eighth of August a committee, consisting of Field Marshal -Saltykóv, Arakchéev, Vyazmítinov, Lopukhín, and Kochubéy met to consider -the progress of the war. This committee came to the conclusion that -our failures were due to a want of unity in the command and though the -members of the committee were aware of the Emperor’s dislike of Kutúzov, -after a short deliberation they agreed to advise his appointment as -commander in chief. That same day Kutúzov was appointed commander -in chief with full powers over the armies and over the whole region -occupied by them. - -On the ninth of August Prince Vasíli at Anna Pávlovna’s again met the -“man of great merit.” The latter was very attentive to Anna Pávlovna -because he wanted to be appointed director of one of the educational -establishments for young ladies. Prince Vasíli entered the room with the -air of a happy conqueror who has attained the object of his desires. - -“Well, have you heard the great news? Prince Kutúzov is field marshal! -All dissensions are at an end! I am so glad, so delighted! At last -we have a man!” said he, glancing sternly and significantly round at -everyone in the drawing room. - -The “man of great merit,” despite his desire to obtain the post of -director, could not refrain from reminding Prince Vasíli of his former -opinion. Though this was impolite to Prince Vasíli in Anna Pávlovna’s -drawing room, and also to Anna Pávlovna herself who had received the -news with delight, he could not resist the temptation. - -“But, Prince, they say he is blind!” said he, reminding Prince Vasíli of -his own words. - -“Eh? Nonsense! He sees well enough,” said Prince Vasíli rapidly, in a -deep voice and with a slight cough—the voice and cough with which he was -wont to dispose of all difficulties. - -“He sees well enough,” he added. “And what I am so pleased about,” he -went on, “is that our sovereign has given him full powers over all -the armies and the whole region—powers no commander in chief ever had -before. He is a second autocrat,” he concluded with a victorious smile. - -“God grant it! God grant it!” said Anna Pávlovna. - -The “man of great merit,” who was still a novice in court circles, -wishing to flatter Anna Pávlovna by defending her former position on -this question, observed: - -“It is said that the Emperor was reluctant to give Kutúzov those powers. -They say he blushed like a girl to whom Joconde is read, when he said to -Kutúzov: ‘Your Emperor and the Fatherland award you this honor.’” - -“Perhaps the heart took no part in that speech,” said Anna Pávlovna. - -“Oh, no, no!” warmly rejoined Prince Vasíli, who would not now yield -Kutúzov to anyone; in his opinion Kutúzov was not only admirable -himself, but was adored by everybody. “No, that’s impossible,” said he, -“for our sovereign appreciated him so highly before.” - -“God grant only that Prince Kutúzov assumes real power and does not -allow anyone to put a spoke in his wheel,” observed Anna Pávlovna. - -Understanding at once to whom she alluded, Prince Vasíli said in a -whisper: - -“I know for a fact that Kutúzov made it an absolute condition that the -Tsarévich should not be with the army. Do you know what he said to the -Emperor?” - -And Prince Vasíli repeated the words supposed to have been spoken by -Kutúzov to the Emperor. “I can neither punish him if he does wrong nor -reward him if he does right.” - -“Oh, a very wise man is Prince Kutúzov! I have known him a long time!” - -“They even say,” remarked the “man of great merit” who did not yet -possess courtly tact, “that his excellency made it an express condition -that the sovereign himself should not be with the army.” - -As soon as he said this both Prince Vasíli and Anna Pávlovna turned away -from him and glanced sadly at one another with a sigh at his naïveté. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -While this was taking place in Petersburg the French had already passed -Smolénsk and were drawing nearer and nearer to Moscow. Napoleon’s -historian Thiers, like other of his historians, trying to justify his -hero says that he was drawn to the walls of Moscow against his will. He -is as right as other historians who look for the explanation of historic -events in the will of one man; he is as right as the Russian historians -who maintain that Napoleon was drawn to Moscow by the skill of the -Russian commanders. Here besides the law of retrospection, which regards -all the past as a preparation for events that subsequently occur, -the law of reciprocity comes in, confusing the whole matter. A good -chessplayer having lost a game is sincerely convinced that his loss -resulted from a mistake he made and looks for that mistake in the -opening, but forgets that at each stage of the game there were similar -mistakes and that none of his moves were perfect. He only notices the -mistake to which he pays attention, because his opponent took advantage -of it. How much more complex than this is the game of war, which -occurs under certain limits of time, and where it is not one will that -manipulates lifeless objects, but everything results from innumerable -conflicts of various wills! - -After Smolénsk Napoleon sought a battle beyond Dorogobúzh at Vyázma, and -then at Tsárevo-Zaymíshche, but it happened that owing to a conjunction -of innumerable circumstances the Russians could not give battle till -they reached Borodinó, seventy miles from Moscow. From Vyázma Napoleon -ordered a direct advance on Moscow. - -Moscou, la capitale asiatique de ce grand empire, la ville sacrée des -peuples d’Alexandre, Moscou avec ses innombrables églises en forme de -pagodes chinoises, * this Moscow gave Napoleon’s imagination no rest. -On the march from Vyázma to Tsárevo-Zaymíshche he rode his light bay -bobtailed ambler accompanied by his Guards, his bodyguard, his pages, -and aides-de-camp. Berthier, his chief of staff, dropped behind to -question a Russian prisoner captured by the cavalry. Followed by -Lelorgne d’Ideville, an interpreter, he overtook Napoleon at a gallop -and reined in his horse with an amused expression. - - * “Moscow, the Asiatic capital of this great empire, the - sacred city of Alexander’s people, Moscow with its - innumerable churches shaped like Chinese pagodas.” - - -“Well?” asked Napoleon. - -“One of Plátov’s Cossacks says that Plátov’s corps is joining up with -the main army and that Kutúzov has been appointed commander in chief. He -is a very shrewd and garrulous fellow.” - -Napoleon smiled and told them to give the Cossack a horse and bring the -man to him. He wished to talk to him himself. Several adjutants galloped -off, and an hour later, Lavrúshka, the serf Denísov had handed over -to Rostóv, rode up to Napoleon in an orderly’s jacket and on a French -cavalry saddle, with a merry, and tipsy face. Napoleon told him to ride -by his side and began questioning him. - -“You are a Cossack?” - -“Yes, a Cossack, your Honor.” - -“The Cossack, not knowing in what company he was, for Napoleon’s plain -appearance had nothing about it that would reveal to an Oriental mind -the presence of a monarch, talked with extreme familiarity of the -incidents of the war,” says Thiers, narrating this episode. In -reality Lavrúshka, having got drunk the day before and left his master -dinnerless, had been whipped and sent to the village in quest of -chickens, where he engaged in looting till the French took him prisoner. -Lavrúshka was one of those coarse, bare-faced lackeys who have seen all -sorts of things, consider it necessary to do everything in a mean and -cunning way, are ready to render any sort of service to their master, -and are keen at guessing their master’s baser impulses, especially those -prompted by vanity and pettiness. - -Finding himself in the company of Napoleon, whose identity he had easily -and surely recognized, Lavrúshka was not in the least abashed but merely -did his utmost to gain his new master’s favor. - -He knew very well that this was Napoleon, but Napoleon’s presence could -no more intimidate him than Rostóv’s, or a sergeant major’s with the -rods, would have done, for he had nothing that either the sergeant major -or Napoleon could deprive him of. - -So he rattled on, telling all the gossip he had heard among the -orderlies. Much of it true. But when Napoleon asked him whether the -Russians thought they would beat Bonaparte or not, Lavrúshka screwed up -his eyes and considered. - -In this question he saw subtle cunning, as men of his type see cunning -in everything, so he frowned and did not answer immediately. - -“It’s like this,” he said thoughtfully, “if there’s a battle soon, yours -will win. That’s right. But if three days pass, then after that, well, -then that same battle will not soon be over.” - -Lelorgne d’Ideville smilingly interpreted this speech to Napoleon thus: -“If a battle takes place within the next three days the French will -win, but if later, God knows what will happen.” Napoleon did not smile, -though he was evidently in high good humor, and he ordered these words -to be repeated. - -Lavrúshka noticed this and to entertain him further, pretending not to -know who Napoleon was, added: - -“We know that you have Bonaparte and that he has beaten everybody in the -world, but we are a different matter...”—without knowing why or how this -bit of boastful patriotism slipped out at the end. - -The interpreter translated these words without the last phrase, and -Bonaparte smiled. “The young Cossack made his mighty interlocutor -smile,” says Thiers. After riding a few paces in silence, Napoleon -turned to Berthier and said he wished to see how the news that he was -talking to the Emperor himself, to that very Emperor who had written his -immortally victorious name on the Pyramids, would affect this enfant du -Don. * - - * “Child of the Don.” - - -The fact was accordingly conveyed to Lavrúshka. - -Lavrúshka, understanding that this was done to perplex him and that -Napoleon expected him to be frightened, to gratify his new masters -promptly pretended to be astonished and awe-struck, opened his eyes -wide, and assumed the expression he usually put on when taken to be -whipped. “As soon as Napoleon’s interpreter had spoken,” says Thiers, -“the Cossack, seized by amazement, did not utter another word, but rode -on, his eyes fixed on the conqueror whose fame had reached him across -the steppes of the East. All his loquacity was suddenly arrested and -replaced by a naïve and silent feeling of admiration. Napoleon, after -making the Cossack a present, had him set free like a bird restored to -its native fields.” - -Napoleon rode on, dreaming of the Moscow that so appealed to his -imagination, and “the bird restored to its native fields” galloped to -our outposts, inventing on the way all that had not taken place but that -he meant to relate to his comrades. What had really taken place he did -not wish to relate because it seemed to him not worth telling. He -found the Cossacks, inquired for the regiment operating with Plátov’s -detachment and by evening found his master, Nicholas Rostóv, quartered -at Yankóvo. Rostóv was just mounting to go for a ride round the -neighboring villages with Ilyín; he let Lavrúshka have another horse and -took him along with him. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Princess Mary was not in Moscow and out of danger as Prince Andrew -supposed. - -After the return of Alpátych from Smolénsk the old prince suddenly -seemed to awake as from a dream. He ordered the militiamen to be called -up from the villages and armed, and wrote a letter to the commander in -chief informing him that he had resolved to remain at Bald Hills to the -last extremity and to defend it, leaving to the commander in chief’s -discretion to take measures or not for the defense of Bald Hills, where -one of Russia’s oldest generals would be captured or killed, and he -announced to his household that he would remain at Bald Hills. - -But while himself remaining, he gave instructions for the departure of -the princess and Dessalles with the little prince to Boguchárovo and -thence to Moscow. Princess Mary, alarmed by her father’s feverish and -sleepless activity after his previous apathy, could not bring herself to -leave him alone and for the first time in her life ventured to disobey -him. She refused to go away and her father’s fury broke over her in a -terrible storm. He repeated every injustice he had ever inflicted on -her. Trying to convict her, he told her she had worn him out, had caused -his quarrel with his son, had harbored nasty suspicions of him, making -it the object of her life to poison his existence, and he drove her from -his study telling her that if she did not go away it was all the same -to him. He declared that he did not wish to remember her existence and -warned her not to dare to let him see her. The fact that he did not, as -she had feared, order her to be carried away by force but only told her -not to let him see her cheered Princess Mary. She knew it was a proof -that in the depth of his soul he was glad she was remaining at home and -had not gone away. - -The morning after little Nicholas had left, the old prince donned his -full uniform and prepared to visit the commander in chief. His calèche -was already at the door. Princess Mary saw him walk out of the house in -his uniform wearing all his orders and go down the garden to review his -armed peasants and domestic serfs. She sat by the window listening to -his voice which reached her from the garden. Suddenly several men came -running up the avenue with frightened faces. - -Princess Mary ran out to the porch, down the flower-bordered path, and -into the avenue. A large crowd of militiamen and domestics were moving -toward her, and in their midst several men were supporting by -the armpits and dragging along a little old man in a uniform and -decorations. She ran up to him and, in the play of the sunlight that -fell in small round spots through the shade of the lime-tree avenue, -could not be sure what change there was in his face. All she could see -was that his former stern and determined expression had altered to one -of timidity and submission. On seeing his daughter he moved his helpless -lips and made a hoarse sound. It was impossible to make out what he -wanted. He was lifted up, carried to his study, and laid on the very -couch he had so feared of late. - -The doctor, who was fetched that same night, bled him and said that the -prince had had a seizure paralyzing his right side. - -It was becoming more and more dangerous to remain at Bald Hills, and -next day they moved the prince to Boguchárovo, the doctor accompanying -him. - -By the time they reached Boguchárovo, Dessalles and the little prince -had already left for Moscow. - -For three weeks the old prince lay stricken by paralysis in the new -house Prince Andrew had built at Boguchárovo, ever in the same state, -getting neither better nor worse. He was unconscious and lay like -a distorted corpse. He muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows and lips -twitching, and it was impossible to tell whether he understood what was -going on around him or not. One thing was certain—that he was suffering -and wished to say something. But what it was, no one could tell: it -might be some caprice of a sick and half-crazy man, or it might relate -to public affairs, or possibly to family concerns. - -The doctor said this restlessness did not mean anything and was due -to physical causes; but Princess Mary thought he wished to tell -her something, and the fact that her presence always increased his -restlessness confirmed her opinion. - -He was evidently suffering both physically and mentally. There was no -hope of recovery. It was impossible for him to travel, it would not do -to let him die on the road. “Would it not be better if the end did come, -the very end?” Princess Mary sometimes thought. Night and day, hardly -sleeping at all, she watched him and, terrible to say, often watched -him not with hope of finding signs of improvement but wishing to find -symptoms of the approach of the end. - -Strange as it was to her to acknowledge this feeling in herself, yet -there it was. And what seemed still more terrible to her was that since -her father’s illness began (perhaps even sooner, when she stayed with -him expecting something to happen), all the personal desires and hopes -that had been forgotten or sleeping within her had awakened. Thoughts -that had not entered her mind for years—thoughts of a life free from -the fear of her father, and even the possibility of love and of family -happiness—floated continually in her imagination like temptations of the -devil. Thrust them aside as she would, questions continually recurred -to her as to how she would order her life now, after that. These were -temptations of the devil and Princess Mary knew it. She knew that the -sole weapon against him was prayer, and she tried to pray. She assumed -an attitude of prayer, looked at the icons, repeated the words of a -prayer, but she could not pray. She felt that a different world had -now taken possession of her—the life of a world of strenuous and free -activity, quite opposed to the spiritual world in which till now she -had been confined and in which her greatest comfort had been prayer. -She could not pray, could not weep, and worldly cares took possession of -her. - -It was becoming dangerous to remain in Boguchárovo. News of the approach -of the French came from all sides, and in one village, ten miles from -Boguchárovo, a homestead had been looted by French marauders. - -The doctor insisted on the necessity of moving the prince; the -provincial Marshal of the Nobility sent an official to Princess Mary -to persuade her to get away as quickly as possible, and the head of the -rural police having come to Boguchárovo urged the same thing, saying -that the French were only some twenty-five miles away, that French -proclamations were circulating in the villages, and that if the princess -did not take her father away before the fifteenth, he could not answer -for the consequences. - -The princess decided to leave on the fifteenth. The cares of preparation -and giving orders, for which everyone came to her, occupied her all day. -She spent the night of the fourteenth as usual, without undressing, in -the room next to the one where the prince lay. Several times, waking up, -she heard his groans and muttering, the creak of his bed, and the steps -of Tíkhon and the doctor when they turned him over. Several times she -listened at the door, and it seemed to her that his mutterings were -louder than usual and that they turned him over oftener. She could not -sleep and several times went to the door and listened, wishing to enter -but not deciding to do so. Though he did not speak, Princess Mary saw -and knew how unpleasant every sign of anxiety on his account was to him. -She had noticed with what dissatisfaction he turned from the look she -sometimes involuntarily fixed on him. She knew that her going in during -the night at an unusual hour would irritate him. - -But never had she felt so grieved for him or so much afraid of losing -him. She recalled all her life with him and in every word and act of his -found an expression of his love of her. Occasionally amid these memories -temptations of the devil would surge into her imagination: thoughts of -how things would be after his death, and how her new, liberated life -would be ordered. But she drove these thoughts away with disgust. Toward -morning he became quiet and she fell asleep. - -She woke late. That sincerity which often comes with waking showed her -clearly what chiefly concerned her about her father’s illness. On waking -she listened to what was going on behind the door and, hearing him -groan, said to herself with a sigh that things were still the same. - -“But what could have happened? What did I want? I want his death!” she -cried with a feeling of loathing for herself. - -She washed, dressed, said her prayers, and went out to the porch. In -front of it stood carriages without horses and things were being packed -into the vehicles. - -It was a warm, gray morning. Princess Mary stopped at the porch, still -horrified by her spiritual baseness and trying to arrange her thoughts -before going to her father. The doctor came downstairs and went out to -her. - -“He is a little better today,” said he. “I was looking for you. One can -make out something of what he is saying. His head is clearer. Come in, -he is asking for you....” - -Princess Mary’s heart beat so violently at this news that she grew pale -and leaned against the wall to keep from falling. To see him, talk to -him, feel his eyes on her now that her whole soul was overflowing with -those dreadful, wicked temptations, was a torment of joy and terror. - -“Come,” said the doctor. - -Princess Mary entered her father’s room and went up to his bed. He was -lying on his back propped up high, and his small bony hands with -their knotted purple veins were lying on the quilt; his left eye gazed -straight before him, his right eye was awry, and his brows and lips -motionless. He seemed altogether so thin, small, and pathetic. His face -seemed to have shriveled or melted; his features had grown smaller. -Princess Mary went up and kissed his hand. His left hand pressed hers -so that she understood that he had long been waiting for her to come. He -twitched her hand, and his brows and lips quivered angrily. - -She looked at him in dismay trying to guess what he wanted of her. When -she changed her position so that his left eye could see her face he -calmed down, not taking his eyes off her for some seconds. Then his lips -and tongue moved, sounds came, and he began to speak, gazing timidly and -imploringly at her, evidently afraid that she might not understand. - -Straining all her faculties Princess Mary looked at him. The comic -efforts with which he moved his tongue made her drop her eyes and with -difficulty repress the sobs that rose to her throat. He said something, -repeating the same words several times. She could not understand them, -but tried to guess what he was saying and inquiringly repeated the words -he uttered. - -“Mmm...ar...ate...ate...” he repeated several times. - -It was quite impossible to understand these sounds. The doctor thought -he had guessed them, and inquiringly repeated: “Mary, are you afraid?” -The prince shook his head, again repeated the same sounds. - -“My mind, my mind aches?” questioned Princess Mary. - -He made a mumbling sound in confirmation of this, took her hand, and -began pressing it to different parts of his breast as if trying to find -the right place for it. - -“Always thoughts... about you... thoughts...” he then uttered much -more clearly than he had done before, now that he was sure of being -understood. - -Princess Mary pressed her head against his hand, trying to hide her sobs -and tears. - -He moved his hand over her hair. - -“I have been calling you all night...” he brought out. - -“If only I had known...” she said through her tears. “I was afraid to -come in.” - -He pressed her hand. - -“Weren’t you asleep?” - -“No, I did not sleep,” said Princess Mary, shaking her head. - -Unconsciously imitating her father, she now tried to express herself as -he did, as much as possible by signs, and her tongue too seemed to move -with difficulty. - -“Dear one... Dearest...” Princess Mary could not quite make out what he -had said, but from his look it was clear that he had uttered a tender -caressing word such as he had never used to her before. “Why didn’t you -come in?” - -“And I was wishing for his death!” thought Princess Mary. - -He was silent awhile. - -“Thank you... daughter dear!... for all, for all... forgive!... thank -you!... forgive!... thank you!...” and tears began to flow from his -eyes. “Call Andrew!” he said suddenly, and a childish, timid expression -of doubt showed itself on his face as he spoke. - -He himself seemed aware that his demand was meaningless. So at least it -seemed to Princess Mary. - -“I have a letter from him,” she replied. - -He glanced at her with timid surprise. - -“Where is he?” - -“He’s with the army, Father, at Smolénsk.” - -He closed his eyes and remained silent a long time. Then as if in -answer to his doubts and to confirm the fact that now he understood and -remembered everything, he nodded his head and reopened his eyes. - -“Yes,” he said, softly and distinctly. “Russia has perished. They’ve -destroyed her.” - -And he began to sob, and again tears flowed from his eyes. Princess Mary -could no longer restrain herself and wept while she gazed at his face. - -Again he closed his eyes. His sobs ceased, he pointed to his eyes, and -Tíkhon, understanding him, wiped away the tears. - -Then he again opened his eyes and said something none of them could -understand for a long time, till at last Tíkhon understood and repeated -it. Princess Mary had sought the meaning of his words in the mood in -which he had just been speaking. She thought he was speaking of Russia, -or Prince Andrew, of herself, of his grandson, or of his own death, and -so she could not guess his words. - -“Put on your white dress. I like it,” was what he said. - -Having understood this Princess Mary sobbed still louder, and the doctor -taking her arm led her out to the veranda, soothing her and trying to -persuade her to prepare for her journey. When she had left the room the -prince again began speaking about his son, about the war, and about the -Emperor, angrily twitching his brows and raising his hoarse voice, and -then he had a second and final stroke. - -Princess Mary stayed on the veranda. The day had cleared, it was hot and -sunny. She could understand nothing, think of nothing and feel nothing, -except passionate love for her father, love such as she thought she had -never felt till that moment. She ran out sobbing into the garden and as -far as the pond, along the avenues of young lime trees Prince Andrew had -planted. - -“Yes... I... I... I wished for his death! Yes, I wanted it to end -quicker.... I wished to be at peace.... And what will become of me? What -use will peace be when he is no longer here?” Princess Mary murmured, -pacing the garden with hurried steps and pressing her hands to her bosom -which heaved with convulsive sobs. - -When she had completed the tour of the garden, which brought her -again to the house, she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne—who had remained -at Boguchárovo and did not wish to leave it—coming toward her with a -stranger. This was the Marshal of the Nobility of the district, who -had come personally to point out to the princess the necessity for her -prompt departure. Princess Mary listened without understanding him; she -led him to the house, offered him lunch, and sat down with him. Then, -excusing herself, she went to the door of the old prince’s room. The -doctor came out with an agitated face and said she could not enter. - -“Go away, Princess! Go away... go away!” - -She returned to the garden and sat down on the grass at the foot of the -slope by the pond, where no one could see her. She did not know how -long she had been there when she was aroused by the sound of a woman’s -footsteps running along the path. She rose and saw Dunyásha her maid, -who was evidently looking for her, and who stopped suddenly as if in -alarm on seeing her mistress. - -“Please come, Princess... The Prince,” said Dunyásha in a breaking -voice. - -“Immediately, I’m coming, I’m coming!” replied the princess hurriedly, -not giving Dunyásha time to finish what she was saying, and trying to -avoid seeing the girl she ran toward the house. - -“Princess, it’s God’s will! You must be prepared for everything,” said -the Marshal, meeting her at the house door. - -“Let me alone; it’s not true!” she cried angrily to him. - -The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed him aside and ran to her -father’s door. “Why are these people with frightened faces stopping me? -I don’t want any of them! And what are they doing here?” she thought. -She opened the door and the bright daylight in that previously darkened -room startled her. In the room were her nurse and other women. They all -drew back from the bed, making way for her. He was still lying on the -bed as before, but the stern expression of his quiet face made Princess -Mary stop short on the threshold. - -“No, he’s not dead—it’s impossible!” she told herself and approached -him, and repressing the terror that seized her, she pressed her lips -to his cheek. But she stepped back immediately. All the force of the -tenderness she had been feeling for him vanished instantly and was -replaced by a feeling of horror at what lay there before her. “No, he -is no more! He is not, but here where he was is something unfamiliar and -hostile, some dreadful, terrifying, and repellent mystery!” And hiding -her face in her hands, Princess Mary sank into the arms of the doctor, -who held her up. - - -In the presence of Tíkhon and the doctor the women washed what had been -the prince, tied his head up with a handkerchief that the mouth should -not stiffen while open, and with another handkerchief tied together the -legs that were already spreading apart. Then they dressed him in uniform -with his decorations and placed his shriveled little body on a table. -Heaven only knows who arranged all this and when, but it all got done -as if of its own accord. Toward night candles were burning round his -coffin, a pall was spread over it, the floor was strewn with sprays of -juniper, a printed band was tucked in under his shriveled head, and in a -corner of the room sat a chanter reading the psalms. - -Just as horses shy and snort and gather about a dead horse, so the -inmates of the house and strangers crowded into the drawing room round -the coffin—the Marshal, the village Elder, peasant women—and all with -fixed and frightened eyes, crossing themselves, bowed and kissed the old -prince’s cold and stiffened hand. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Until Prince Andrew settled in Boguchárovo its owners had always been -absentees, and its peasants were of quite a different character from -those of Bald Hills. They differed from them in speech, dress, and -disposition. They were called steppe peasants. The old prince used to -approve of them for their endurance at work when they came to Bald Hills -to help with the harvest or to dig ponds, and ditches, but he disliked -them for their boorishness. - -Prince Andrew’s last stay at Boguchárovo, when he introduced hospitals -and schools and reduced the quitrent the peasants had to pay, had not -softened their disposition but had on the contrary strengthened in -them the traits of character the old prince called boorishness. Various -obscure rumors were always current among them: at one time a rumor that -they would all be enrolled as Cossacks; at another of a new religion to -which they were all to be converted; then of some proclamation of the -Tsar’s and of an oath to the Tsar Paul in 1797 (in connection with which -it was rumored that freedom had been granted them but the landowners had -stopped it), then of Peter Fëdorovich’s return to the throne in seven -years’ time, when everything would be made free and so “simple” that -there would be no restrictions. Rumors of the war with Bonaparte and -his invasion were connected in their minds with the same sort of vague -notions of Antichrist, the end of the world, and “pure freedom.” - -In the vicinity of Boguchárovo were large villages belonging to the -crown or to owners whose serfs paid quitrent and could work where they -pleased. There were very few resident landlords in the neighborhood -and also very few domestic or literate serfs, and in the lives of the -peasantry of those parts the mysterious undercurrents in the life of -the Russian people, the causes and meaning of which are so baffling to -contemporaries, were more clearly and strongly noticeable than among -others. One instance, which had occurred some twenty years before, was -a movement among the peasants to emigrate to some unknown “warm rivers.” -Hundreds of peasants, among them the Boguchárovo folk, suddenly began -selling their cattle and moving in whole families toward the southeast. -As birds migrate to somewhere beyond the sea, so these men with their -wives and children streamed to the southeast, to parts where none of -them had ever been. They set off in caravans, bought their freedom one -by one or ran away, and drove or walked toward the “warm rivers.” Many -of them were punished, some sent to Siberia, many died of cold and -hunger on the road, many returned of their own accord, and the movement -died down of itself just as it had sprung up, without apparent reason. -But such undercurrents still existed among the people and gathered new -forces ready to manifest themselves just as strangely, unexpectedly, and -at the same time simply, naturally, and forcibly. Now in 1812, to anyone -living in close touch with these people it was apparent that these -undercurrents were acting strongly and nearing an eruption. - -Alpátych, who had reached Boguchárovo shortly before the old prince’s -death, noticed an agitation among the peasants, and that contrary to -what was happening in the Bald Hills district, where over a radius of -forty miles all the peasants were moving away and leaving their villages -to be devastated by the Cossacks, the peasants in the steppe region -round Boguchárovo were, it was rumored, in touch with the French, -received leaflets from them that passed from hand to hand, and did not -migrate. He learned from domestic serfs loyal to him that the peasant -Karp, who possessed great influence in the village commune and had -recently been away driving a government transport, had returned with -news that the Cossacks were destroying deserted villages, but that the -French did not harm them. Alpátych also knew that on the previous day -another peasant had even brought from the village of Visloúkhovo, which -was occupied by the French, a proclamation by a French general that no -harm would be done to the inhabitants, and if they remained they would -be paid for anything taken from them. As proof of this the peasant had -brought from Visloúkhovo a hundred rubles in notes (he did not know that -they were false) paid to him in advance for hay. - -More important still, Alpátych learned that on the morning of the -very day he gave the village Elder orders to collect carts to move the -princess’ luggage from Boguchárovo, there had been a village meeting at -which it had been decided not to move but to wait. Yet there was no -time to waste. On the fifteenth, the day of the old prince’s death, -the Marshal had insisted on Princess Mary’s leaving at once, as it was -becoming dangerous. He had told her that after the sixteenth he could -not be responsible for what might happen. On the evening of the day the -old prince died the Marshal went away, promising to return next day for -the funeral. But this he was unable to do, for he received tidings that -the French had unexpectedly advanced, and had barely time to remove his -own family and valuables from his estate. - -For some thirty years Boguchárovo had been managed by the village Elder, -Dron, whom the old prince called by the diminutive “Drónushka.” - -Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasants who grow -big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchanged till they -are sixty or seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of a tooth, as -straight and strong at sixty as at thirty. - -Soon after the migration to the “warm rivers,” in which he had taken -part like the rest, Dron was made village Elder and overseer of -Boguchárovo, and had since filled that post irreproachably for -twenty-three years. The peasants feared him more than they did their -master. The masters, both the old prince and the young, and the steward -respected him and jestingly called him “the Minister.” During the -whole time of his service Dron had never been drunk or ill, never after -sleepless nights or the hardest tasks had he shown the least fatigue, -and though he could not read he had never forgotten a single money -account or the number of quarters of flour in any of the endless -cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a single shock of the whole corn -crop on any single acre of the Boguchárovo fields. - -Alpátych, arriving from the devastated Bald Hills estate, sent for his -Dron on the day of the prince’s funeral and told him to have twelve -horses got ready for the princess’ carriages and eighteen carts for -the things to be removed from Boguchárovo. Though the peasants paid -quitrent, Alpátych thought no difficulty would be made about complying -with this order, for there were two hundred and thirty households at -work in Boguchárovo and the peasants were well to do. But on hearing the -order Dron lowered his eyes and remained silent. Alpátych named certain -peasants he knew, from whom he told him to take the carts. - -Dron replied that the horses of these peasants were away carting. -Alpátych named others, but they too, according to Dron, had no horses -available: some horses were carting for the government, others were too -weak, and others had died for want of fodder. It seemed that no horses -could be had even for the carriages, much less for the carting. - -Alpátych looked intently at Dron and frowned. Just as Dron was a model -village Elder, so Alpátych had not managed the prince’s estates for -twenty years in vain. He was a model steward, possessing in the highest -degree the faculty of divining the needs and instincts of those he dealt -with. Having glanced at Dron he at once understood that his answers did -not express his personal views but the general mood of the Boguchárovo -commune, by which the Elder had already been carried away. But he also -knew that Dron, who had acquired property and was hated by the commune, -must be hesitating between the two camps: the masters’ and the serfs’. -He noticed this hesitation in Dron’s look and therefore frowned and -moved closer up to him. - -“Now just listen, Drónushka,” said he. “Don’t talk nonsense to me. His -excellency Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move all the people -away and not leave them with the enemy, and there is an order from the -Tsar about it too. Anyone who stays is a traitor to the Tsar. Do you -hear?” - -“I hear,” Dron answered without lifting his eyes. - -Alpátych was not satisfied with this reply. - -“Eh, Dron, it will turn out badly!” he said, shaking his head. - -“The power is in your hands,” Dron rejoined sadly. - -“Eh, Dron, drop it!” Alpátych repeated, withdrawing his hand from his -bosom and solemnly pointing to the floor at Dron’s feet. “I can see -through you and three yards into the ground under you,” he continued, -gazing at the floor in front of Dron. - -Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at Alpátych and again lowered -his eyes. - -“You drop this nonsense and tell the people to get ready to leave their -homes and go to Moscow and to get carts ready for tomorrow morning -for the princess’ things. And don’t go to any meeting yourself, do you -hear?” - -Dron suddenly fell on his knees. - -“Yákov Alpátych, discharge me! Take the keys from me and discharge me, -for Christ’s sake!” - -“Stop that!” cried Alpátych sternly. “I see through you and three yards -under you,” he repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping, his -knowledge of the right time to sow the oats, and the fact that he had -been able to retain the old prince’s favor for twenty years had long -since gained him the reputation of being a wizard, and that the power of -seeing three yards under a man is considered an attribute of wizards. - -Dron got up and was about to say something, but Alpátych interrupted -him. - -“What is it you have got into your heads, eh?... What are you thinking -of, eh?” - -“What am I to do with the people?” said Dron. “They’re quite beside -themselves; I have already told them...” - -“‘Told them,’ I dare say!” said Alpátych. “Are they drinking?” he asked -abruptly. - -“Quite beside themselves, Yákov Alpátych; they’ve fetched another -barrel.” - -“Well, then, listen! I’ll go to the police officer, and you tell them -so, and that they must stop this and the carts must be got ready.” - -“I understand.” - -Alpátych did not insist further. He had managed people for a long time -and knew that the chief way to make them obey is to show no suspicion -that they can possibly disobey. Having wrung a submissive “I understand” -from Dron, Alpátych contented himself with that, though he not only -doubted but felt almost certain that without the help of troops the -carts would not be forthcoming. - -And so it was, for when evening came no carts had been provided. In the -village, outside the drink shop, another meeting was being held, which -decided that the horses should be driven out into the woods and the -carts should not be provided. Without saying anything of this to the -princess, Alpátych had his own belongings taken out of the carts which -had arrived from Bald Hills and had those horses got ready for -the princess’ carriages. Meanwhile he went himself to the police -authorities. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -After her father’s funeral Princess Mary shut herself up in her room and -did not admit anyone. A maid came to the door to say that Alpátych was -asking for orders about their departure. (This was before his talk with -Dron.) Princess Mary raised herself on the sofa on which she had been -lying and replied through the closed door that she did not mean to go -away and begged to be left in peace. - -The windows of the room in which she was lying looked westward. She -lay on the sofa with her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of the -leather cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion, and her confused -thoughts were centered on one subject—the irrevocability of death and -her own spiritual baseness, which she had not suspected, but which had -shown itself during her father’s illness. She wished to pray but did not -dare to, dared not in her present state of mind address herself to God. -She lay for a long time in that position. - -The sun had reached the other side of the house, and its slanting rays -shone into the open window, lighting up the room and part of the morocco -cushion at which Princess Mary was looking. The flow of her thoughts -suddenly stopped. Unconsciously she sat up, smoothed her hair, got up, -and went to the window, involuntarily inhaling the freshness of the -clear but windy evening. - -“Yes, you can well enjoy the evening now! He is gone and no one will -hinder you,” she said to herself, and sinking into a chair she let her -head fall on the window sill. - -Someone spoke her name in a soft and tender voice from the garden and -kissed her head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bourienne in a black -dress and weepers. She softly approached Princess Mary, sighed, kissed -her, and immediately began to cry. The princess looked up at her. All -their former disharmony and her own jealousy recurred to her mind. -But she remembered too how he had changed of late toward Mademoiselle -Bourienne and could not bear to see her, thereby showing how unjust were -the reproaches Princess Mary had mentally addressed to her. “Besides, -is it for me, for me who desired his death, to condemn anyone?” she -thought. - -Princess Mary vividly pictured to herself the position of Mademoiselle -Bourienne, whom she had of late kept at a distance, but who yet was -dependent on her and living in her house. She felt sorry for her -and held out her hand with a glance of gentle inquiry. Mademoiselle -Bourienne at once began crying again and kissed that hand, speaking of -the princess’ sorrow and making herself a partner in it. She said her -only consolation was the fact that the princess allowed her to share her -sorrow, that all the old misunderstandings should sink into nothing but -this great grief; that she felt herself blameless in regard to everyone, -and that he, from above, saw her affection and gratitude. The princess -heard her, not heeding her words but occasionally looking up at her and -listening to the sound of her voice. - -“Your position is doubly terrible, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle -Bourienne after a pause. “I understand that you could not, and cannot, -think of yourself, but with my love for you I must do so.... Has -Alpátych been to you? Has he spoken to you of going away?” she asked. - -Princess Mary did not answer. She did not understand who was to go or -where to. “Is it possible to plan or think of anything now? Is it not -all the same?” she thought, and did not reply. - -“You know, chère Marie,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “that we are in -danger—are surrounded by the French. It would be dangerous to move now. -If we go we are almost sure to be taken prisoners, and God knows...” - -Princess Mary looked at her companion without understanding what she was -talking about. - -“Oh, if anyone knew how little anything matters to me now,” she said. -“Of course I would on no account wish to go away from him.... Alpátych -did say something about going.... Speak to him; I can do nothing, -nothing, and don’t want to....” - -“I’ve spoken to him. He hopes we should be in time to get away tomorrow, -but I think it would now be better to stay here,” said Mademoiselle -Bourienne. “Because, you will agree, chère Marie, to fall into the hands -of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would be terrible.” - -Mademoiselle Bourienne took from her reticule a proclamation (not -printed on ordinary Russian paper) of General Rameau’s, telling people -not to leave their homes and that the French authorities would afford -them proper protection. She handed this to the princess. - -“I think it would be best to appeal to that general,” she continued, -“and I am sure that all due respect would be shown you.” - -Princess Mary read the paper, and her face began to quiver with stifled -sobs. - -“From whom did you get this?” she asked. - -“They probably recognized that I am French, by my name,” replied -Mademoiselle Bourienne blushing. - -Princess Mary, with the paper in her hand, rose from the window and with -a pale face went out of the room and into what had been Prince Andrew’s -study. - -“Dunyásha, send Alpátych, or Drónushka, or somebody to me!” she said, -“and tell Mademoiselle Bourienne not to come to me,” she added, hearing -Mademoiselle Bourienne’s voice. “We must go at once, at once!” she said, -appalled at the thought of being left in the hands of the French. - -“If Prince Andrew heard that I was in the power of the French! That -I, the daughter of Prince Nicholas Bolkónski, asked General Rameau for -protection and accepted his favor!” This idea horrified her, made her -shudder, blush, and feel such a rush of anger and pride as she had never -experienced before. All that was distressing, and especially all that -was humiliating, in her position rose vividly to her mind. “They, the -French, would settle in this house: M. le Général Rameau would occupy -Prince Andrew’s study and amuse himself by looking through and reading -his letters and papers. Mademoiselle Bourienne would do the honors of -Boguchárovo for him. I should be given a small room as a favor, the -soldiers would violate my father’s newly dug grave to steal his crosses -and stars, they would tell me of their victories over the Russians, and -would pretend to sympathize with my sorrow...” thought Princess Mary, -not thinking her own thoughts but feeling bound to think like her father -and her brother. For herself she did not care where she remained or what -happened to her, but she felt herself the representative of her dead -father and of Prince Andrew. Involuntarily she thought their thoughts -and felt their feelings. What they would have said and what they would -have done she felt bound to say and do. She went into Prince Andrew’s -study, trying to enter completely into his ideas, and considered her -position. - -The demands of life, which had seemed to her annihilated by her father’s -death, all at once rose before her with a new, previously unknown force -and took possession of her. - -Agitated and flushed she paced the room, sending now for Michael -Ivánovich and now for Tíkhon or Dron. Dunyásha, the nurse, and the other -maids could not say in how far Mademoiselle Bourienne’s statement was -correct. Alpátych was not at home, he had gone to the police. Neither -could the architect Michael Ivánovich, who on being sent for came in -with sleepy eyes, tell Princess Mary anything. With just the same smile -of agreement with which for fifteen years he had been accustomed to -answer the old prince without expressing views of his own, he now -replied to Princess Mary, so that nothing definite could be got from his -answers. The old valet Tíkhon, with sunken, emaciated face that bore the -stamp of inconsolable grief, replied: “Yes, Princess” to all Princess -Mary’s questions and hardly refrained from sobbing as he looked at her. - -At length Dron, the village Elder, entered the room and with a deep bow -to Princess Mary came to a halt by the doorpost. - -Princess Mary walked up and down the room and stopped in front of him. - -“Drónushka,” she said, regarding as a sure friend this Drónushka who -always used to bring a special kind of gingerbread from his visit to the -fair at Vyázma every year and smilingly offer it to her, “Drónushka, now -since our misfortune...” she began, but could not go on. - -“We are all in God’s hands,” said he, with a sigh. - -They were silent for a while. - -“Drónushka, Alpátych has gone off somewhere and I have no one to turn -to. Is it true, as they tell me, that I can’t even go away?” - -“Why shouldn’t you go away, your excellency? You can go,” said Dron. - -“I was told it would be dangerous because of the enemy. Dear friend, I -can do nothing. I understand nothing. I have nobody! I want to go away -tonight or early tomorrow morning.” - -Dron paused. He looked askance at Princess Mary and said: “There are no -horses; I told Yákov Alpátych so.” - -“Why are there none?” asked the princess. - -“It’s all God’s scourge,” said Dron. “What horses we had have been -taken for the army or have died—this is such a year! It’s not a case of -feeding horses—we may die of hunger ourselves! As it is, some go three -days without eating. We’ve nothing, we’ve been ruined.” - -Princess Mary listened attentively to what he told her. - -“The peasants are ruined? They have no bread?” she asked. - -“They’re dying of hunger,” said Dron. “It’s not a case of carting.” - -“But why didn’t you tell me, Drónushka? Isn’t it possible to help them? -I’ll do all I can....” - -To Princess Mary it was strange that now, at a moment when such sorrow -was filling her soul, there could be rich people and poor, and the rich -could refrain from helping the poor. She had heard vaguely that there -was such a thing as “landlord’s corn” which was sometimes given to the -peasants. She also knew that neither her father nor her brother would -refuse to help the peasants in need, she only feared to make some -mistake in speaking about the distribution of the grain she wished to -give. She was glad such cares presented themselves, enabling her -without scruple to forget her own grief. She began asking Dron about the -peasants’ needs and what there was in Boguchárovo that belonged to the -landlord. - -“But we have grain belonging to my brother?” she said. - -“The landlord’s grain is all safe,” replied Dron proudly. “Our prince -did not order it to be sold.” - -“Give it to the peasants, let them have all they need; I give you leave -in my brother’s name,” said she. - -Dron made no answer but sighed deeply. - -“Give them that corn if there is enough of it. Distribute it all. I -give this order in my brother’s name; and tell them that what is ours is -theirs. We do not grudge them anything. Tell them so.” - -Dron looked intently at the princess while she was speaking. - -“Discharge me, little mother, for God’s sake! Order the keys to be taken -from me,” said he. “I have served twenty-three years and have done no -wrong. Discharge me, for God’s sake!” - -Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he was -asking to be discharged. She replied that she had never doubted his -devotion and that she was ready to do anything for him and for the -peasants. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -An hour later Dunyásha came to tell the princess that Dron had come, and -all the peasants had assembled at the barn by the princess’ order and -wished to have word with their mistress. - -“But I never told them to come,” said Princess Mary. “I only told Dron -to let them have the grain.” - -“Only, for God’s sake, Princess dear, have them sent away and don’t go -out to them. It’s all a trick,” said Dunyásha, “and when Yákov Alpátych -returns let us get away... and please don’t...” - -“What is a trick?” asked Princess Mary in surprise. - -“I know it is, only listen to me for God’s sake! Ask nurse too. They say -they don’t agree to leave Boguchárovo as you ordered.” - -“You’re making some mistake. I never ordered them to go away,” said -Princess Mary. “Call Drónushka.” - -Dron came and confirmed Dunyásha’s words; the peasants had come by the -princess’ order. - -“But I never sent for them,” declared the princess. “You must have given -my message wrong. I only said that you were to give them the grain.” - -Dron only sighed in reply. - -“If you order it they will go away,” said he. - -“No, no. I’ll go out to them,” said Princess Mary, and in spite of -the nurse’s and Dunyásha’s protests she went out into the porch; Dron, -Dunyásha, the nurse, and Michael Ivánovich following her. - -“They probably think I am offering them the grain to bribe them to -remain here, while I myself go away leaving them to the mercy of the -French,” thought Princess Mary. “I will offer them monthly rations and -housing at our Moscow estate. I am sure Andrew would do even more in -my place,” she thought as she went out in the twilight toward the crowd -standing on the pasture by the barn. - -The men crowded closer together, stirred, and rapidly took off their -hats. Princess Mary lowered her eyes and, tripping over her skirt, came -close up to them. So many different eyes, old and young, were fixed -on her, and there were so many different faces, that she could not -distinguish any of them and, feeling that she must speak to them all -at once, did not know how to do it. But again the sense that she -represented her father and her brother gave her courage, and she boldly -began her speech. - -“I am very glad you have come,” she said without raising her eyes, and -feeling her heart beating quickly and violently. “Drónushka tells me -that the war has ruined you. That is our common misfortune, and I -shall grudge nothing to help you. I am myself going away because it -is dangerous here... the enemy is near... because... I am giving you -everything, my friends, and I beg you to take everything, all our grain, -so that you may not suffer want! And if you have been told that I am -giving you the grain to keep you here—that is not true. On the contrary, -I ask you to go with all your belongings to our estate near Moscow, and -I promise you I will see to it that there you shall want for nothing. -You shall be given food and lodging.” - -The princess stopped. Sighs were the only sound heard in the crowd. - -“I am not doing this on my own account,” she continued, “I do it in the -name of my dead father, who was a good master to you, and of my brother -and his son.” - -Again she paused. No one broke the silence. - -“Ours is a common misfortune and we will share it together. All that is -mine is yours,” she concluded, scanning the faces before her. - -All eyes were gazing at her with one and the same expression. She -could not fathom whether it was curiosity, devotion, gratitude, or -apprehension and distrust—but the expression on all the faces was -identical. - -“We are all very thankful for your bounty, but it won’t do for us to -take the landlord’s grain,” said a voice at the back of the crowd. - -“But why not?” asked the princess. - -No one replied and Princess Mary, looking round at the crowd, found that -every eye she met now was immediately dropped. - -“But why don’t you want to take it?” she asked again. - -No one answered. - -The silence began to oppress the princess and she tried to catch -someone’s eye. - -“Why don’t you speak?” she inquired of a very old man who stood just -in front of her leaning on his stick. “If you think something more is -wanted, tell me! I will do anything,” said she, catching his eye. - -But as if this angered him, he bent his head quite low and muttered: - -“Why should we agree? We don’t want the grain.” - -“Why should we give up everything? We don’t agree. Don’t agree.... We -are sorry for you, but we’re not willing. Go away yourself, alone...” -came from various sides of the crowd. - -And again all the faces in that crowd bore an identical expression, -though now it was certainly not an expression of curiosity or gratitude, -but of angry resolve. - -“But you can’t have understood me,” said Princess Mary with a sad smile. -“Why don’t you want to go? I promise to house and feed you, while here -the enemy would ruin you....” - -But her voice was drowned by the voices of the crowd. - -“We’re not willing. Let them ruin us! We won’t take your grain. We don’t -agree.” - -Again Princess Mary tried to catch someone’s eye, but not a single eye -in the crowd was turned to her; evidently they were all trying to avoid -her look. She felt strange and awkward. - -“Oh yes, an artful tale! Follow her into slavery! Pull down your houses -and go into bondage! I dare say! ‘I’ll give you grain, indeed!’ she -says,” voices in the crowd were heard saying. - -With drooping head Princess Mary left the crowd and went back to the -house. Having repeated her order to Dron to have horses ready for her -departure next morning, she went to her room and remained alone with her -own thoughts. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -For a long time that night Princess Mary sat by the open window of her -room hearing the sound of the peasants’ voices that reached her from -the village, but it was not of them she was thinking. She felt that she -could not understand them however much she might think about them. She -thought only of one thing, her sorrow, which, after the break caused -by cares for the present, seemed already to belong to the past. Now she -could remember it and weep or pray. - -After sunset the wind had dropped. The night was calm and fresh. Toward -midnight the voices began to subside, a cock crowed, the full moon began -to show from behind the lime trees, a fresh white dewy mist began to -rise, and stillness reigned over the village and the house. - -Pictures of the near past—her father’s illness and last moments—rose -one after another to her memory. With mournful pleasure she now lingered -over these images, repelling with horror only the last one, the -picture of his death, which she felt she could not contemplate even in -imagination at this still and mystic hour of night. And these pictures -presented themselves to her so clearly and in such detail that they -seemed now present, now past, and now future. - -She vividly recalled the moment when he had his first stroke and was -being dragged along by his armpits through the garden at Bald Hills, -muttering something with his helpless tongue, twitching his gray -eyebrows and looking uneasily and timidly at her. - -“Even then he wanted to tell me what he told me the day he died,” she -thought. “He had always thought what he said then.” And she recalled in -all its detail the night at Bald Hills before he had the last stroke, -when with a foreboding of disaster she had remained at home against his -will. She had not slept and had stolen downstairs on tiptoe, and going -to the door of the conservatory where he slept that night had listened -at the door. In a suffering and weary voice he was saying something to -Tíkhon, speaking of the Crimea and its warm nights and of the Empress. -Evidently he had wanted to talk. “And why didn’t he call me? Why didn’t -he let me be there instead of Tíkhon?” Princess Mary had thought and -thought again now. “Now he will never tell anyone what he had in his -soul. Never will that moment return for him or for me when he might have -said all he longed to say, and not Tíkhon but I might have heard and -understood him. Why didn’t I enter the room?” she thought. “Perhaps he -would then have said to me what he said the day he died. While talking -to Tíkhon he asked about me twice. He wanted to see me, and I was -standing close by, outside the door. It was sad and painful for him -to talk to Tíkhon who did not understand him. I remember how he began -speaking to him about Lise as if she were alive—he had forgotten she -was dead—and Tíkhon reminded him that she was no more, and he shouted, -‘Fool!’ He was greatly depressed. From behind the door I heard how he -lay down on his bed groaning and loudly exclaimed, ‘My God!’ Why didn’t -I go in then? What could he have done to me? What could I have lost? And -perhaps he would then have been comforted and would have said that word -to me.” And Princess Mary uttered aloud the caressing word he had said -to her on the day of his death. “Dear-est!” she repeated, and began -sobbing, with tears that relieved her soul. She now saw his face before -her. And not the face she had known ever since she could remember and -had always seen at a distance, but the timid, feeble face she had seen -for the first time quite closely, with all its wrinkles and details, -when she stooped near to his mouth to catch what he said. - -“Dear-est!” she repeated again. - -“What was he thinking when he uttered that word? What is he thinking -now?” This question suddenly presented itself to her, and in answer she -saw him before her with the expression that was on his face as he lay -in his coffin with his chin bound up with a white handkerchief. And the -horror that had seized her when she touched him and convinced herself -that that was not he, but something mysterious and horrible, seized her -again. She tried to think of something else and to pray, but could do -neither. With wide-open eyes she gazed at the moonlight and the shadows, -expecting every moment to see his dead face, and she felt that the -silence brooding over the house and within it held her fast. - -“Dunyásha,” she whispered. “Dunyásha!” she screamed wildly, and tearing -herself out of this silence she ran to the servants’ quarters to meet -her old nurse and the maidservants who came running toward her. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -On the seventeenth of August Rostóv and Ilyín, accompanied by Lavrúshka -who had just returned from captivity and by an hussar orderly, left -their quarters at Yankóvo, ten miles from Boguchárovo, and went for a -ride—to try a new horse Ilyín had bought and to find out whether there -was any hay to be had in the villages. - -For the last three days Boguchárovo had lain between the two hostile -armies, so that it was as easy for the Russian rearguard to get to it as -for the French vanguard; Rostóv, as a careful squadron commander, wished -to take such provisions as remained at Boguchárovo before the French -could get them. - -Rostóv and Ilyín were in the merriest of moods. On the way to -Boguchárovo, a princely estate with a dwelling house and farm where -they hoped to find many domestic serfs and pretty girls, they questioned -Lavrúshka about Napoleon and laughed at his stories, and raced one -another to try Ilyín’s horse. - -Rostóv had no idea that the village he was entering was the property of -that very Bolkónski who had been engaged to his sister. - -Rostóv and Ilyín gave rein to their horses for a last race along the -incline before reaching Boguchárovo, and Rostóv, outstripping Ilyín, was -the first to gallop into the village street. - -“You’re first!” cried Ilyín, flushed. - -“Yes, always first both on the grassland and here,” answered Rostóv, -stroking his heated Donéts horse. - -“And I’d have won on my Frenchy, your excellency,” said Lavrúshka -from behind, alluding to his shabby cart horse, “only I didn’t wish to -mortify you.” - -They rode at a footpace to the barn, where a large crowd of peasants was -standing. - -Some of the men bared their heads, others stared at the new arrivals -without doffing their caps. Two tall old peasants with wrinkled faces -and scanty beards emerged from the tavern, smiling, staggering, and -singing some incoherent song, and approached the officers. - -“Fine fellows!” said Rostóv laughing. “Is there any hay here?” - -“And how like one another,” said Ilyín. - -“A mo-o-st me-r-r-y co-o-m-pa...!” sang one of the peasants with a -blissful smile. - -One of the men came out of the crowd and went up to Rostóv. - -“Who do you belong to?” he asked. - -“The French,” replied Ilyín jestingly, “and here is Napoleon -himself”—and he pointed to Lavrúshka. - -“Then you are Russians?” the peasant asked again. - -“And is there a large force of you here?” said another, a short man, -coming up. - -“Very large,” answered Rostóv. “But why have you collected here?” he -added. “Is it a holiday?” - -“The old men have met to talk over the business of the commune,” replied -the peasant, moving away. - -At that moment, on the road leading from the big house, two women and a -man in a white hat were seen coming toward the officers. - -“The one in pink is mine, so keep off!” said Ilyín on seeing Dunyásha -running resolutely toward him. - -“She’ll be ours!” said Lavrúshka to Ilyín, winking. - -“What do you want, my pretty?” said Ilyín with a smile. - -“The princess ordered me to ask your regiment and your name.” - -“This is Count Rostóv, squadron commander, and I am your humble -servant.” - -“Co-o-om-pa-ny!” roared the tipsy peasant with a beatific smile as -he looked at Ilyín talking to the girl. Following Dunyásha, Alpátych -advanced to Rostóv, having bared his head while still at a distance. - -“May I make bold to trouble your honor?” said he respectfully, but with -a shade of contempt for the youthfulness of this officer and with a hand -thrust into his bosom. “My mistress, daughter of General in Chief Prince -Nicholas Bolkónski who died on the fifteenth of this month, finding -herself in difficulties owing to the boorishness of these people”—he -pointed to the peasants—“asks you to come up to the house.... Won’t -you, please, ride on a little farther,” said Alpátych with a melancholy -smile, “as it is not convenient in the presence of...?” He pointed to -the two peasants who kept as close to him as horseflies to a horse. - -“Ah!... Alpátych... Ah, Yákov Alpátych... Grand! Forgive us for Christ’s -sake, eh?” said the peasants, smiling joyfully at him. - -Rostóv looked at the tipsy peasants and smiled. - -“Or perhaps they amuse your honor?” remarked Alpátych with a staid air, -as he pointed at the old men with his free hand. - -“No, there’s not much to be amused at here,” said Rostóv, and rode on a -little way. “What’s the matter?” he asked. - -“I make bold to inform your honor that the rude peasants here don’t -wish to let the mistress leave the estate, and threaten to unharness her -horses, so that though everything has been packed up since morning, her -excellency cannot get away.” - -“Impossible!” exclaimed Rostóv. - -“I have the honor to report to you the actual truth,” said Alpátych. - -Rostóv dismounted, gave his horse to the orderly, and followed Alpátych -to the house, questioning him as to the state of affairs. It appeared -that the princess’ offer of corn to the peasants the previous day, and -her talk with Dron and at the meeting, had actually had so bad an effect -that Dron had finally given up the keys and joined the peasants and had -not appeared when Alpátych sent for him; and that in the morning when -the princess gave orders to harness for her journey, the peasants had -come in a large crowd to the barn and sent word that they would not let -her leave the village: that there was an order not to move, and that -they would unharness the horses. Alpátych had gone out to admonish them, -but was told (it was chiefly Karp who did the talking, Dron not showing -himself in the crowd) that they could not let the princess go, that -there was an order to the contrary, but that if she stayed they would -serve her as before and obey her in everything. - -At the moment when Rostóv and Ilyín were galloping along the road, -Princess Mary, despite the dissuasions of Alpátych, her nurse, and the -maids, had given orders to harness and intended to start, but when the -cavalrymen were espied they were taken for Frenchmen, the coachman ran -away, and the women in the house began to wail. - -“Father! Benefactor! God has sent you!” exclaimed deeply moved voices as -Rostóv passed through the anteroom. - -Princess Mary was sitting helpless and bewildered in the large sitting -room, when Rostóv was shown in. She could not grasp who he was and why -he had come, or what was happening to her. When she saw his Russian -face, and by his walk and the first words he uttered recognized him as a -man of her own class, she glanced at him with her deep radiant look and -began speaking in a voice that faltered and trembled with emotion. This -meeting immediately struck Rostóv as a romantic event. “A helpless girl -overwhelmed with grief, left to the mercy of coarse, rioting peasants! -And what a strange fate sent me here! What gentleness and nobility there -are in her features and expression!” thought he as he looked at her and -listened to her timid story. - -When she began to tell him that all this had happened the day after her -father’s funeral, her voice trembled. She turned away, and then, as if -fearing he might take her words as meant to move him to pity, looked at -him with an apprehensive glance of inquiry. There were tears in Rostóv’s -eyes. Princess Mary noticed this and glanced gratefully at him with that -radiant look which caused the plainness of her face to be forgotten. - -“I cannot express, Princess, how glad I am that I happened to ride here -and am able to show my readiness to serve you,” said Rostóv, rising. “Go -when you please, and I give you my word of honor that no one shall dare -to cause you annoyance if only you will allow me to act as your escort.” -And bowing respectfully, as if to a lady of royal blood, he moved toward -the door. - -Rostóv’s deferential tone seemed to indicate that though he would -consider himself happy to be acquainted with her, he did not wish to -take advantage of her misfortunes to intrude upon her. - -Princess Mary understood this and appreciated his delicacy. - -“I am very, very grateful to you,” she said in French, “but I hope it -was all a misunderstanding and that no one is to blame for it.” She -suddenly began to cry. - -“Excuse me!” she said. - -Rostóv, knitting his brows, left the room with another low bow. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -“Well, is she pretty? Ah, friend—my pink one is delicious; her name is -Dunyásha....” - -But on glancing at Rostóv’s face Ilyín stopped short. He saw that his -hero and commander was following quite a different train of thought. - -Rostóv glanced angrily at Ilyín and without replying strode off with -rapid steps to the village. - -“I’ll show them; I’ll give it to them, the brigands!” said he to -himself. - -Alpátych at a gliding trot, only just managing not to run, kept up with -him with difficulty. - -“What decision have you been pleased to come to?” said he. - -Rostóv stopped and, clenching his fists, suddenly and sternly turned on -Alpátych. - -“Decision? What decision? Old dotard!...” cried he. “What have you been -about? Eh? The peasants are rioting, and you can’t manage them? You’re -a traitor yourself! I know you. I’ll flay you all alive!...” And as if -afraid of wasting his store of anger, he left Alpátych and went rapidly -forward. Alpátych, mastering his offended feelings, kept pace with -Rostóv at a gliding gait and continued to impart his views. He said -the peasants were obdurate and that at the present moment it would be -imprudent to “overresist” them without an armed force, and would it not -be better first to send for the military? - -“I’ll give them armed force... I’ll ‘overresist’ them!” uttered Rostóv -meaninglessly, breathless with irrational animal fury and the need to -vent it. - -Without considering what he would do he moved unconciously with quick, -resolute steps toward the crowd. And the nearer he drew to it the more -Alpátych felt that this unreasonable action might produce good results. -The peasants in the crowd were similarly impressed when they saw -Rostóv’s rapid, firm steps and resolute, frowning face. - -After the hussars had come to the village and Rostóv had gone to see the -princess, a certain confusion and dissension had arisen among the crowd. -Some of the peasants said that these new arrivals were Russians and -might take it amiss that the mistress was being detained. Dron was of -this opinion, but as soon as he expressed it Karp and others attacked -their ex-Elder. - -“How many years have you been fattening on the commune?” Karp shouted at -him. “It’s all one to you! You’ll dig up your pot of money and take -it away with you.... What does it matter to you whether our homes are -ruined or not?” - -“We’ve been told to keep order, and that no one is to leave their homes -or take away a single grain, and that’s all about it!” cried another. - -“It was your son’s turn to be conscripted, but no fear! You begrudged -your lump of a son,” a little old man suddenly began attacking Dron—“and -so they took my Vánka to be shaved for a soldier! But we all have to -die.” - -“To be sure, we all have to die. I’m not against the commune,” said -Dron. - -“That’s it—not against it! You’ve filled your belly....” - -The two tall peasants had their say. As soon as Rostóv, followed by -Ilyín, Lavrúshka, and Alpátych, came up to the crowd, Karp, thrusting -his fingers into his belt and smiling a little, walked to the front. -Dron on the contrary retired to the rear and the crowd drew closer -together. - -“Who is your Elder here? Hey?” shouted Rostóv, coming up to the crowd -with quick steps. - -“The Elder? What do you want with him?...” asked Karp. - -But before the words were well out of his mouth, his cap flew off and a -fierce blow jerked his head to one side. - -“Caps off, traitors!” shouted Rostóv in a wrathful voice. “Where’s the -Elder?” he cried furiously. - -“The Elder.... He wants the Elder!... Dron Zakhárych, you!” meek and -flustered voices here and there were heard calling and caps began to -come off their heads. - -“We don’t riot, we’re following the orders,” declared Karp, and at that -moment several voices began speaking together. - -“It’s as the old men have decided—there’s too many of you giving -orders.” - -“Arguing? Mutiny!... Brigands! Traitors!” cried Rostóv unmeaningly in a -voice not his own, gripping Karp by the collar. “Bind him, bind him!” he -shouted, though there was no one to bind him but Lavrúshka and Alpátych. - -Lavrúshka, however, ran up to Karp and seized him by the arms from -behind. - -“Shall I call up our men from beyond the hill?” he called out. - -Alpátych turned to the peasants and ordered two of them by name to come -and bind Karp. The men obediently came out of the crowd and began taking -off their belts. - -“Where’s the Elder?” demanded Rostóv in a loud voice. - -With a pale and frowning face Dron stepped out of the crowd. - -“Are you the Elder? Bind him, Lavrúshka!” shouted Rostóv, as if that -order, too, could not possibly meet with any opposition. - -And in fact two more peasants began binding Dron, who took off his own -belt and handed it to them, as if to aid them. - -“And you all listen to me!” said Rostóv to the peasants. “Be off to your -houses at once, and don’t let one of your voices be heard!” - -“Why, we’ve not done any harm! We did it just out of foolishness. It’s -all nonsense.... I said then that it was not in order,” voices were -heard bickering with one another. - -“There! What did I say?” said Alpátych, coming into his own again. “It’s -wrong, lads!” - -“All our stupidity, Yákov Alpátych,” came the answers, and the crowd -began at once to disperse through the village. - -The two bound men were led off to the master’s house. The two drunken -peasants followed them. - -“Aye, when I look at you!...” said one of them to Karp. - -“How can one talk to the masters like that? What were you thinking of, -you fool?” added the other—“A real fool!” - -Two hours later the carts were standing in the courtyard of the -Boguchárovo house. The peasants were briskly carrying out the -proprietor’s goods and packing them on the carts, and Dron, liberated at -Princess Mary’s wish from the cupboard where he had been confined, was -standing in the yard directing the men. - -“Don’t put it in so carelessly,” said one of the peasants, a man with a -round smiling face, taking a casket from a housemaid. “You know it has -cost money! How can you chuck it in like that or shove it under the cord -where it’ll get rubbed? I don’t like that way of doing things. Let it -all be done properly, according to rule. Look here, put it under the -bast matting and cover it with hay—that’s the way!” - -“Eh, books, books!” said another peasant, bringing out Prince Andrew’s -library cupboards. “Don’t catch up against it! It’s heavy, lads—solid -books.” - -“Yes, they worked all day and didn’t play!” remarked the tall, -round-faced peasant gravely, pointing with a significant wink at the -dictionaries that were on the top. - - -Unwilling to obtrude himself on the princess, Rostóv did not go back to -the house but remained in the village awaiting her departure. When her -carriage drove out of the house, he mounted and accompanied her eight -miles from Boguchárovo to where the road was occupied by our troops. At -the inn at Yankóvo he respectfully took leave of her, for the first time -permitting himself to kiss her hand. - -“How can you speak so!” he blushingly replied to Princess Mary’s -expressions of gratitude for her deliverance, as she termed what had -occurred. “Any police officer would have done as much! If we had had -only peasants to fight, we should not have let the enemy come so far,” -said he with a sense of shame and wishing to change the subject. “I -am only happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance. -Good-by, Princess. I wish you happiness and consolation and hope to meet -you again in happier circumstances. If you don’t want to make me blush, -please don’t thank me!” - -But the princess, if she did not again thank him in words, thanked -him with the whole expression of her face, radiant with gratitude and -tenderness. She could not believe that there was nothing to thank him -for. On the contrary, it seemed to her certain that had he not been -there she would have perished at the hands of the mutineers and of the -French, and that he had exposed himself to terrible and obvious danger -to save her, and even more certain was it that he was a man of lofty and -noble soul, able to understand her position and her sorrow. His kind, -honest eyes, with the tears rising in them when she herself had begun to -cry as she spoke of her loss, did not leave her memory. - -When she had taken leave of him and remained alone she suddenly felt -her eyes filling with tears, and then not for the first time the strange -question presented itself to her: did she love him? - -On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess’ position was not -a cheerful one, Dunyásha, who went with her in the carriage, more than -once noticed that her mistress leaned out of the window and smiled at -something with an expression of mingled joy and sorrow. - -“Well, supposing I do love him?” thought Princess Mary. - -Ashamed as she was of acknowledging to herself that she had fallen in -love with a man who would perhaps never love her, she comforted herself -with the thought that no one would ever know it and that she would not -be to blame if, without ever speaking of it to anyone, she continued to -the end of her life to love the man with whom she had fallen in love for -the first and last time in her life. - -Sometimes when she recalled his looks, his sympathy, and his words, -happiness did not appear impossible to her. It was at those moments that -Dunyásha noticed her smiling as she looked out of the carriage window. - -“Was it not fate that brought him to Boguchárovo, and at that very -moment?” thought Princess Mary. “And that caused his sister to refuse my -brother?” And in all this Princess Mary saw the hand of Providence. - -The impression the princess made on Rostóv was a very agreeable one. To -remember her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, hearing of his -adventure at Boguchárovo, rallied him on having gone to look for hay -and having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses in Russia, he grew -angry. It made him angry just because the idea of marrying the gentle -Princess Mary, who was attractive to him and had an enormous fortune, -had against his will more than once entered his head. For himself -personally Nicholas could not wish for a better wife: by marrying her -he would make the countess his mother happy, would be able to put his -father’s affairs in order, and would even—he felt it—ensure Princess -Mary’s happiness. - -But Sónya? And his plighted word? That was why Rostóv grew angry when he -was rallied about Princess Bolkónskaya. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -On receiving command of the armies Kutúzov remembered Prince Andrew and -sent an order for him to report at headquarters. - -Prince Andrew arrived at Tsárevo-Zaymíshche on the very day and at the -very hour that Kutúzov was reviewing the troops for the first time. He -stopped in the village at the priest’s house in front of which stood the -commander in chief’s carriage, and he sat down on the bench at the gate -awaiting his Serene Highness, as everyone now called Kutúzov. From the -field beyond the village came now sounds of regimental music and now the -roar of many voices shouting “Hurrah!” to the new commander in chief. -Two orderlies, a courier and a major-domo, stood near by, some ten paces -from Prince Andrew, availing themselves of Kutúzov’s absence and of the -fine weather. A short, swarthy lieutenant colonel of hussars with thick -mustaches and whiskers rode up to the gate and, glancing at Prince -Andrew, inquired whether his Serene Highness was putting up there and -whether he would soon be back. - -Prince Andrew replied that he was not on his Serene Highness’ staff -but was himself a new arrival. The lieutenant colonel turned to a smart -orderly, who, with the peculiar contempt with which a commander in -chief’s orderly speaks to officers, replied: - -“What? His Serene Highness? I expect he’ll be here soon. What do you -want?” - -The lieutenant colonel of hussars smiled beneath his mustache at the -orderly’s tone, dismounted, gave his horse to a dispatch runner, and -approached Bolkónski with a slight bow. Bolkónski made room for him on -the bench and the lieutenant colonel sat down beside him. - -“You’re also waiting for the commander in chief?” said he. “They say he -weceives evewyone, thank God!... It’s awful with those sausage eaters! -Ermólov had weason to ask to be pwomoted to be a German! Now p’waps -Wussians will get a look in. As it was, devil only knows what was -happening. We kept wetweating and wetweating. Did you take part in the -campaign?” he asked. - -“I had the pleasure,” replied Prince Andrew, “not only of taking part in -the retreat but of losing in that retreat all I held dear—not to mention -the estate and home of my birth—my father, who died of grief. I belong -to the province of Smolénsk.” - -“Ah? You’re Pwince Bolkónski? Vewy glad to make your acquaintance! I’m -Lieutenant Colonel Denísov, better known as ‘Váska,’” said Denísov, -pressing Prince Andrew’s hand and looking into his face with a -particularly kindly attention. “Yes, I heard,” said he sympathetically, -and after a short pause added: “Yes, it’s Scythian warfare. It’s all -vewy well—only not for those who get it in the neck. So you are Pwince -Andwew Bolkónski?” He swayed his head. “Vewy pleased, Pwince, to make -your acquaintance!” he repeated again, smiling sadly, and he again -pressed Prince Andrew’s hand. - -Prince Andrew knew Denísov from what Natásha had told him of her first -suitor. This memory carried him sadly and sweetly back to those painful -feelings of which he had not thought lately, but which still found -place in his soul. Of late he had received so many new and very serious -impressions—such as the retreat from Smolénsk, his visit to Bald Hills, -and the recent news of his father’s death—and had experienced so many -emotions, that for a long time past those memories had not entered his -mind, and now that they did, they did not act on him with nearly their -former strength. For Denísov, too, the memories awakened by the name of -Bolkónski belonged to a distant, romantic past, when after supper and -after Natásha’s singing he had proposed to a little girl of fifteen -without realizing what he was doing. He smiled at the recollection of -that time and of his love for Natásha, and passed at once to what now -interested him passionately and exclusively. This was a plan of campaign -he had devised while serving at the outposts during the retreat. He had -proposed that plan to Barclay de Tolly and now wished to propose it -to Kutúzov. The plan was based on the fact that the French line -of operation was too extended, and it proposed that instead of, or -concurrently with, action on the front to bar the advance of the French, -we should attack their line of communication. He began explaining his -plan to Prince Andrew. - -“They can’t hold all that line. It’s impossible. I will undertake to -bweak thwough. Give me five hundwed men and I will bweak the line, -that’s certain! There’s only one way—guewilla warfare!” - -Denísov rose and began gesticulating as he explained his plan to -Bolkónski. In the midst of his explanation shouts were heard from the -army, growing more incoherent and more diffused, mingling with music -and songs and coming from the field where the review was held. Sounds of -hoofs and shouts were nearing the village. - -“He’s coming! He’s coming!” shouted a Cossack standing at the gate. - -Bolkónski and Denísov moved to the gate, at which a knot of soldiers -(a guard of honor) was standing, and they saw Kutúzov coming down the -street mounted on a rather small sorrel horse. A huge suite of generals -rode behind him. Barclay was riding almost beside him, and a crowd of -officers ran after and around them shouting, “Hurrah!” - -His adjutants galloped into the yard before him. Kutúzov was impatiently -urging on his horse, which ambled smoothly under his weight, and he -raised his hand to his white Horse Guard’s cap with a red band and no -peak, nodding his head continually. When he came up to the guard of -honor, a fine set of Grenadiers mostly wearing decorations, who were -giving him the salute, he looked at them silently and attentively for -nearly a minute with the steady gaze of a commander and then turned to -the crowd of generals and officers surrounding him. Suddenly his face -assumed a subtle expression, he shrugged his shoulders with an air of -perplexity. - -“And with such fine fellows to retreat and retreat! Well, good-by, -General,” he added, and rode into the yard past Prince Andrew and -Denísov. - -“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” shouted those behind him. - -Since Prince Andrew had last seen him Kutúzov had grown still more -corpulent, flaccid, and fat. But the bleached eyeball, the scar, and the -familiar weariness of his expression were still the same. He was wearing -the white Horse Guard’s cap and a military overcoat with a whip hanging -over his shoulder by a thin strap. He sat heavily and swayed limply on -his brisk little horse. - -“Whew... whew... whew!” he whistled just audibly as he rode into the -yard. His face expressed the relief of relaxed strain felt by a man who -means to rest after a ceremony. He drew his left foot out of the stirrup -and, lurching with his whole body and puckering his face with the -effort, raised it with difficulty onto the saddle, leaned on his knee, -groaned, and slipped down into the arms of the Cossacks and adjutants -who stood ready to assist him. - -He pulled himself together, looked round, screwing up his eyes, glanced -at Prince Andrew, and, evidently not recognizing him, moved with his -waddling gait to the porch. “Whew... whew... whew!” he whistled, and -again glanced at Prince Andrew. As often occurs with old men, it was -only after some seconds that the impression produced by Prince Andrew’s -face linked itself up with Kutúzov’s remembrance of his personality. - -“Ah, how do you do, my dear prince? How do you do, my dear boy? Come -along...” said he, glancing wearily round, and he stepped onto the porch -which creaked under his weight. - -He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a bench in the porch. - -“And how’s your father?” - -“I received news of his death, yesterday,” replied Prince Andrew -abruptly. - -Kutúzov looked at him with eyes wide open with dismay and then took off -his cap and crossed himself: - -“May the kingdom of Heaven be his! God’s will be done to us all!” He -sighed deeply, his whole chest heaving, and was silent for a while. “I -loved him and respected him, and sympathize with you with all my heart.” - -He embraced Prince Andrew, pressing him to his fat breast, and for some -time did not let him go. When he released him Prince Andrew saw that -Kutúzov’s flabby lips were trembling and that tears were in his eyes. He -sighed and pressed on the bench with both hands to raise himself. - -“Come! Come with me, we’ll have a talk,” said he. - -But at that moment Denísov, no more intimidated by his superiors than by -the enemy, came with jingling spurs up the steps of the porch, despite -the angry whispers of the adjutants who tried to stop him. Kutúzov, his -hands still pressed on the seat, glanced at him glumly. Denísov, having -given his name, announced that he had to communicate to his Serene -Highness a matter of great importance for their country’s welfare. -Kutúzov looked wearily at him and, lifting his hands with a gesture of -annoyance, folded them across his stomach, repeating the words: “For our -country’s welfare? Well, what is it? Speak!” Denísov blushed like a -girl (it was strange to see the color rise in that shaggy, bibulous, -time-worn face) and boldly began to expound his plan of cutting the -enemy’s lines of communication between Smolénsk and Vyázma. Denísov came -from those parts and knew the country well. His plan seemed decidedly -a good one, especially from the strength of conviction with which he -spoke. Kutúzov looked down at his own legs, occasionally glancing at the -door of the adjoining hut as if expecting something unpleasant to emerge -from it. And from that hut, while Denísov was speaking, a general with a -portfolio under his arm really did appear. - -“What?” said Kutúzov, in the midst of Denísov’s explanations, “are you -ready so soon?” - -“Ready, your Serene Highness,” replied the general. - -Kutúzov swayed his head, as much as to say: “How is one man to deal with -it all?” and again listened to Denísov. - -“I give my word of honor as a Wussian officer,” said Denísov, “that I -can bweak Napoleon’s line of communication!” - -“What relation are you to Intendant General Kiríl Andréevich Denísov?” -asked Kutúzov, interrupting him. - -“He is my uncle, your Sewene Highness.” - -“Ah, we were friends,” said Kutúzov cheerfully. “All right, all right, -friend, stay here at the staff and tomorrow we’ll have a talk.” - -With a nod to Denísov he turned away and put out his hand for the papers -Konovnítsyn had brought him. - -“Would not your Serene Highness like to come inside?” said the general -on duty in a discontented voice, “the plans must be examined and several -papers have to be signed.” - -An adjutant came out and announced that everything was in readiness -within. But Kutúzov evidently did not wish to enter that room till he -was disengaged. He made a grimace.... - -“No, tell them to bring a small table out here, my dear boy. I’ll look -at them here,” said he. “Don’t go away,” he added, turning to Prince -Andrew, who remained in the porch and listened to the general’s report. - -While this was being given, Prince Andrew heard the whisper of a woman’s -voice and the rustle of a silk dress behind the door. Several times on -glancing that way he noticed behind that door a plump, rosy, handsome -woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her head, holding -a dish and evidently awaiting the entrance of the commander in chief. -Kutúzov’s adjutant whispered to Prince Andrew that this was the wife of -the priest whose home it was, and that she intended to offer his Serene -Highness bread and salt. “Her husband has welcomed his Serene Highness -with the cross at the church, and she intends to welcome him in the -house.... She’s very pretty,” added the adjutant with a smile. At -those words Kutúzov looked round. He was listening to the general’s -report—which consisted chiefly of a criticism of the position at -Tsárevo-Zaymíshche—as he had listened to Denísov, and seven years -previously had listened to the discussion at the Austerlitz council of -war. He evidently listened only because he had ears which, though there -was a piece of tow in one of them, could not help hearing; but it -was evident that nothing the general could say would surprise or even -interest him, that he knew all that would be said beforehand, and heard -it all only because he had to, as one has to listen to the chanting of -a service of prayer. All that Denísov had said was clever and to the -point. What the general was saying was even more clever and to -the point, but it was evident that Kutúzov despised knowledge -and cleverness, and knew of something else that would decide the -matter—something independent of cleverness and knowledge. Prince -Andrew watched the commander in chief’s face attentively, and the only -expression he could see there was one of boredom, curiosity as to the -meaning of the feminine whispering behind the door, and a desire to -observe propriety. It was evident that Kutúzov despised cleverness and -learning and even the patriotic feeling shown by Denísov, but despised -them not because of his own intellect, feelings, or knowledge—he did not -try to display any of these—but because of something else. He despised -them because of his old age and experience of life. The only instruction -Kutúzov gave of his own accord during that report referred to looting by -the Russian troops. At the end of the report the general put before -him for signature a paper relating to the recovery of payment from army -commanders for green oats mown down by the soldiers, when landowners -lodged petitions for compensation. - -After hearing the matter, Kutúzov smacked his lips together and shook -his head. - -“Into the stove... into the fire with it! I tell you once for all, my -dear fellow,” said he, “into the fire with all such things! Let them cut -the crops and burn wood to their hearts’ content. I don’t order it -or allow it, but I don’t exact compensation either. One can’t get on -without it. ‘When wood is chopped the chips will fly.’” He looked at the -paper again. “Oh, this German precision!” he muttered, shaking his head. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -“Well, that’s all!” said Kutúzov as he signed the last of the documents, -and rising heavily and smoothing out the folds in his fat white neck he -moved toward the door with a more cheerful expression. - -The priest’s wife, flushing rosy red, caught up the dish she had after -all not managed to present at the right moment, though she had so long -been preparing for it, and with a low bow offered it to Kutúzov. - -He screwed up his eyes, smiled, lifted her chin with his hand, and said: - -“Ah, what a beauty! Thank you, sweetheart!” - -He took some gold pieces from his trouser pocket and put them on the -dish for her. “Well, my dear, and how are we getting on?” he asked, -moving to the door of the room assigned to him. The priest’s wife -smiled, and with dimples in her rosy cheeks followed him into the room. -The adjutant came out to the porch and asked Prince Andrew to lunch with -him. Half an hour later Prince Andrew was again called to Kutúzov. -He found him reclining in an armchair, still in the same unbuttoned -overcoat. He had in his hand a French book which he closed as Prince -Andrew entered, marking the place with a knife. Prince Andrew saw by the -cover that it was Les Chevaliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis. - -“Well, sit down, sit down here. Let’s have a talk,” said Kutúzov. “It’s -sad, very sad. But remember, my dear fellow, that I am a father to you, -a second father....” - -Prince Andrew told Kutúzov all he knew of his father’s death, and what -he had seen at Bald Hills when he passed through it. - -“What... what they have brought us to!” Kutúzov suddenly cried in an -agitated voice, evidently picturing vividly to himself from Prince -Andrew’s story the condition Russia was in. “But give me time, give me -time!” he said with a grim look, evidently not wishing to continue this -agitating conversation, and added: “I sent for you to keep you with me.” - -“I thank your Serene Highness, but I fear I am no longer fit for the -staff,” replied Prince Andrew with a smile which Kutúzov noticed. - -Kutúzov glanced inquiringly at him. - -“But above all,” added Prince Andrew, “I have grown used to my regiment, -am fond of the officers, and I fancy the men also like me. I should be -sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honor of being with you, -believe me...” - -A shrewd, kindly, yet subtly derisive expression lit up Kutúzov’s podgy -face. He cut Bolkónski short. - -“I am sorry, for I need you. But you’re right, you’re right! It’s not -here that men are needed. Advisers are always plentiful, but men are -not. The regiments would not be what they are if the would-be advisers -served there as you do. I remember you at Austerlitz.... I remember, -yes, I remember you with the standard!” said Kutúzov, and a flush of -pleasure suffused Prince Andrew’s face at this recollection. - -Taking his hand and drawing him downwards, Kutúzov offered his cheek to -be kissed, and again Prince Andrew noticed tears in the old man’s eyes. -Though Prince Andrew knew that Kutúzov’s tears came easily, and that he -was particularly tender to and considerate of him from a wish to -show sympathy with his loss, yet this reminder of Austerlitz was both -pleasant and flattering to him. - -“Go your way and God be with you. I know your path is the path of -honor!” He paused. “I missed you at Bucharest, but I needed someone to -send.” And changing the subject, Kutúzov began to speak of the Turkish -war and the peace that had been concluded. “Yes, I have been much -blamed,” he said, “both for that war and the peace... but everything -came at the right time. Tout vient à point à celui qui sait attendre. * -And there were as many advisers there as here...” he went on, returning -to the subject of “advisers” which evidently occupied him. “Ah, those -advisers!” said he. “If we had listened to them all we should not have -made peace with Turkey and should not have been through with that war. -Everything in haste, but more haste, less speed. Kámenski would have -been lost if he had not died. He stormed fortresses with thirty thousand -men. It is not difficult to capture a fortress but it is difficult to -win a campaign. For that, not storming and attacking but patience and -time are wanted. Kámenski sent soldiers to Rustchuk, but I only employed -these two things and took more fortresses than Kámenski and made them -Turks eat horseflesh!” He swayed his head. “And the French shall too, -believe me,” he went on, growing warmer and beating his chest, “I’ll -make them eat horseflesh!” And tears again dimmed his eyes. - - * “Everything comes in time to him who knows how to wait.” - - -“But shan’t we have to accept battle?” remarked Prince Andrew. - -“We shall if everybody wants it; it can’t be helped.... But believe -me, my dear boy, there is nothing stronger than those two: patience and -time, they will do it all. But the advisers n’entendent pas de cette -oreille, voilà le mal. * Some want a thing—others don’t. What’s one to -do?” he asked, evidently expecting an answer. “Well, what do you want -us to do?” he repeated and his eye shone with a deep, shrewd look. -“I’ll tell you what to do,” he continued, as Prince Andrew still did not -reply: “I will tell you what to do, and what I do. Dans le doute, mon -cher,” he paused, “abstiens-toi” *(2)—he articulated the French proverb -deliberately. - - * “Don’t see it that way, that’s the trouble.” - - * (2) “When in doubt, my dear fellow, do nothing.” - - -“Well, good-by, my dear fellow; remember that with all my heart I share -your sorrow, and that for you I am not a Serene Highness, nor a prince, -nor a commander in chief, but a father! If you want anything come -straight to me. Good-by, my dear boy.” - -Again he embraced and kissed Prince Andrew, but before the latter -had left the room Kutúzov gave a sigh of relief and went on with his -unfinished novel, Les Chevaliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis. - -Prince Andrew could not have explained how or why it was, but after that -interview with Kutúzov he went back to his regiment reassured as to -the general course of affairs and as to the man to whom it had been -entrusted. The more he realized the absence of all personal motive in -that old man—in whom there seemed to remain only the habit of passions, -and in place of an intellect (grouping events and drawing conclusions) -only the capacity calmly to contemplate the course of events—the more -reassured he was that everything would be as it should. “He will not -bring in any plan of his own. He will not devise or undertake -anything,” thought Prince Andrew, “but he will hear everything, remember -everything, and put everything in its place. He will not hinder -anything useful nor allow anything harmful. He understands that there is -something stronger and more important than his own will—the inevitable -course of events, and he can see them and grasp their significance, -and seeing that significance can refrain from meddling and renounce his -personal wish directed to something else. And above all,” thought Prince -Andrew, “one believes in him because he’s Russian, despite the novel -by Genlis and the French proverbs, and because his voice shook when he -said: ‘What they have brought us to!’ and had a sob in it when he said -he would ‘make them eat horseflesh!’” - -On such feelings, more or less dimly shared by all, the unanimity and -general approval were founded with which, despite court influences, the -popular choice of Kutúzov as commander in chief was received. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -After the Emperor had left Moscow, life flowed on there in its usual -course, and its course was so very usual that it was difficult to -remember the recent days of patriotic elation and ardor, hard to believe -that Russia was really in danger and that the members of the English -Club were also sons of the Fatherland ready to sacrifice everything -for it. The one thing that recalled the patriotic fervor everyone had -displayed during the Emperor’s stay was the call for contributions of -men and money, a necessity that as soon as the promises had been made -assumed a legal, official form and became unavoidable. - -With the enemy’s approach to Moscow, the Moscovites’ view of their -situation did not grow more serious but on the contrary became even -more frivolous, as always happens with people who see a great danger -approaching. At the approach of danger there are always two voices that -speak with equal power in the human soul: one very reasonably tells a -man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of escaping it; -the other, still more reasonably, says that it is too depressing and -painful to think of the danger, since it is not in man’s power to -foresee everything and avert the general course of events, and it is -therefore better to disregard what is painful till it comes, and to -think about what is pleasant. In solitude a man generally listens to -the first voice, but in society to the second. So it was now with the -inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since people had been as gay in -Moscow as that year. - -Rostopchín’s broadsheets, headed by woodcuts of a drink shop, a potman, -and a Moscow burgher called Karpúshka Chigírin, “who—having been a -militiaman and having had rather too much at the pub—heard that Napoleon -wished to come to Moscow, grew angry, abused the French in very bad -language, came out of the drink shop, and, under the sign of the -eagle, began to address the assembled people,” were read and discussed, -together with the latest of Vasíli Lvóvich Púshkin’s bouts rimés. - -In the corner room at the Club, members gathered to read these -broadsheets, and some liked the way Karpúshka jeered at the French, -saying: “They will swell up with Russian cabbage, burst with our -buckwheat porridge, and choke themselves with cabbage soup. They are all -dwarfs and one peasant woman will toss three of them with a hayfork.” -Others did not like that tone and said it was stupid and vulgar. It was -said that Rostopchín had expelled all Frenchmen and even all foreigners -from Moscow, and that there had been some spies and agents of Napoleon -among them; but this was told chiefly to introduce Rostopchín’s witty -remark on that occasion. The foreigners were deported to Nízhni by -boat, and Rostopchín had said to them in French: “Rentrez en vous-mêmes; -entrez dans la barque, et n’en faites pas une barque de Charon.” * There -was talk of all the government offices having been already removed from -Moscow, and to this Shinshín’s witticism was added—that for that alone -Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. It was said that Mamónov’s -regiment would cost him eight hundred thousand rubles, and that Bezúkhov -had spent even more on his, but that the best thing about Bezúkhov’s -action was that he himself was going to don a uniform and ride at the -head of his regiment without charging anything for the show. - - * “Think it over; get into the barque, and take care not to - make it a barque of Charon.” - - -“You don’t spare anyone,” said Julie Drubetskáya as she collected -and pressed together a bunch of raveled lint with her thin, beringed -fingers. - -Julie was preparing to leave Moscow next day and was giving a farewell -soiree. - -“Bezúkhov est ridicule, but he is so kind and good-natured. What -pleasure is there to be so caustique?” - -“A forfeit!” cried a young man in militia uniform whom Julie called “mon -chevalier,” and who was going with her to Nízhni. - -In Julie’s set, as in many other circles in Moscow, it had been agreed -that they would speak nothing but Russian and that those who made a -slip and spoke French should pay fines to the Committee of Voluntary -Contributions. - -“Another forfeit for a Gallicism,” said a Russian writer who was -present. “‘What pleasure is there to be’ is not Russian!” - -“You spare no one,” continued Julie to the young man without heeding the -author’s remark. - -“For caustique—I am guilty and will pay, and I am prepared to pay again -for the pleasure of telling you the truth. For Gallicisms I won’t be -responsible,” she remarked, turning to the author: “I have neither the -money nor the time, like Prince Galítsyn, to engage a master to teach me -Russian!” - -“Ah, here he is!” she added. “Quand on... No, no,” she said to the -militia officer, “you won’t catch me. Speak of the sun and you see its -rays!” and she smiled amiably at Pierre. “We were just talking of you,” -she said with the facility in lying natural to a society woman. “We were -saying that your regiment would be sure to be better than Mamónov’s.” - -“Oh, don’t talk to me of my regiment,” replied Pierre, kissing his -hostess’ hand and taking a seat beside her. “I am so sick of it.” - -“You will, of course, command it yourself?” said Julie, directing a sly, -sarcastic glance toward the militia officer. - -The latter in Pierre’s presence had ceased to be caustic, and his face -expressed perplexity as to what Julie’s smile might mean. In spite of -his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pierre’s personality immediately -checked any attempt to ridicule him to his face. - -“No,” said Pierre, with a laughing glance at his big, stout body. “I -should make too good a target for the French, besides I am afraid I -should hardly be able to climb onto a horse.” - -Among those whom Julie’s guests happened to choose to gossip about were -the Rostóvs. - -“I hear that their affairs are in a very bad way,” said Julie. “And he -is so unreasonable, the count himself I mean. The Razumóvskis wanted -to buy his house and his estate near Moscow, but it drags on and on. He -asks too much.” - -“No, I think the sale will come off in a few days,” said someone. -“Though it is madness to buy anything in Moscow now.” - -“Why?” asked Julie. “You don’t think Moscow is in danger?” - -“Then why are you leaving?” - -“I? What a question! I am going because... well, because everyone is -going: and besides—I am not Joan of Arc or an Amazon.” - -“Well, of course, of course! Let me have some more strips of linen.” - -“If he manages the business properly he will be able to pay off all his -debts,” said the militia officer, speaking of Rostóv. - -“A kindly old man but not up to much. And why do they stay on so long in -Moscow? They meant to leave for the country long ago. Natalie is quite -well again now, isn’t she?” Julie asked Pierre with a knowing smile. - -“They are waiting for their younger son,” Pierre replied. “He joined -Obolénski’s Cossacks and went to Bélaya Tsérkov where the regiment is -being formed. But now they have had him transferred to my regiment and -are expecting him every day. The count wanted to leave long ago, but the -countess won’t on any account leave Moscow till her son returns.” - -“I met them the day before yesterday at the Arkhárovs’. Natalie has -recovered her looks and is brighter. She sang a song. How easily some -people get over everything!” - -“Get over what?” inquired Pierre, looking displeased. - -Julie smiled. - -“You know, Count, such knights as you are only found in Madame de -Souza’s novels.” - -“What knights? What do you mean?” demanded Pierre, blushing. - -“Oh, come, my dear count! C’est la fable de tout Moscou. Je vous admire, -ma parole d’honneur!” * - - * “It is the talk of all Moscow. My word, I admire you!” - - -“Forfeit, forfeit!” cried the militia officer. - -“All right, one can’t talk—how tiresome!” - -“What is ‘the talk of all Moscow’?” Pierre asked angrily, rising to his -feet. - -“Come now, Count, you know!” - -“I don’t know anything about it,” said Pierre. - -“I know you were friendly with Natalie, and so... but I was always more -friendly with Véra—that dear Véra.” - -“No, madame!” Pierre continued in a tone of displeasure, “I have not -taken on myself the role of Natalie Rostóva’s knight at all, and have -not been to their house for nearly a month. But I cannot understand the -cruelty...” - -“Qui s’excuse s’accuse,” * said Julie, smiling and waving the lint -triumphantly, and to have the last word she promptly changed the -subject. “Do you know what I heard today? Poor Mary Bolkónskaya arrived -in Moscow yesterday. Do you know that she has lost her father?” - - * “Who excuses himself, accuses himself.” - - -“Really? Where is she? I should like very much to see her,” said Pierre. - -“I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going to their estate -near Moscow either today or tomorrow morning, with her nephew.” - -“Well, and how is she?” asked Pierre. - -“She is well, but sad. But do you know who rescued her? It is quite a -romance. Nicholas Rostóv! She was surrounded, and they wanted to kill -her and had wounded some of her people. He rushed in and saved her....” - -“Another romance,” said the militia officer. “Really, this general -flight has been arranged to get all the old maids married off. Catiche -is one and Princess Bolkónskaya another.” - -“Do you know, I really believe she is un petit peu amoureuse du jeune -homme.” * - - * “A little bit in love with the young man.” - - -“Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit!” - -“But how could one say that in Russian?” - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -When Pierre returned home he was handed two of Rostopchín’s broadsheets -that had been brought that day. - -The first declared that the report that Count Rostopchín had forbidden -people to leave Moscow was false; on the contrary he was glad that -ladies and tradesmen’s wives were leaving the city. “There will be less -panic and less gossip,” ran the broadsheet “but I will stake my life on -it that that scoundrel will not enter Moscow.” These words showed Pierre -clearly for the first time that the French would enter Moscow. The -second broadsheet stated that our headquarters were at Vyázma, that -Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that as many of the -inhabitants of Moscow wished to be armed, weapons were ready for them -at the arsenal: sabers, pistols, and muskets which could be had at a low -price. The tone of the proclamation was not as jocose as in the former -Chigírin talks. Pierre pondered over these broadsheets. Evidently the -terrible stormcloud he had desired with the whole strength of his soul -but which yet aroused involuntary horror in him was drawing near. - -“Shall I join the army and enter the service, or wait?” he asked himself -for the hundredth time. He took a pack of cards that lay on the table -and began to lay them out for a game of patience. - -“If this patience comes out,” he said to himself after shuffling the -cards, holding them in his hand, and lifting his head, “if it comes out, -it means... what does it mean?” - -He had not decided what it should mean when he heard the voice of the -eldest princess at the door asking whether she might come in. - -“Then it will mean that I must go to the army,” said Pierre to himself. -“Come in, come in!” he added to the princess. - -Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and long waist, -was still living in Pierre’s house. The two younger ones had both -married. - -“Excuse my coming to you, cousin,” she said in a reproachful and -agitated voice. “You know some decision must be come to. What is going -to happen? Everyone has left Moscow and the people are rioting. How is -it that we are staying on?” - -“On the contrary, things seem satisfactory, ma cousine,” said Pierre -in the bantering tone he habitually adopted toward her, always feeling -uncomfortable in the role of her benefactor. - -“Satisfactory, indeed! Very satisfactory! Barbara Ivánovna told me today -how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It certainly does them -credit! And the people too are quite mutinous—they no longer obey, -even my maid has taken to being rude. At this rate they will soon begin -beating us. One can’t walk in the streets. But, above all, the French -will be here any day now, so what are we waiting for? I ask just one -thing of you, cousin,” she went on, “arrange for me to be taken to -Petersburg. Whatever I may be, I can’t live under Bonaparte’s rule.” - -“Oh, come, ma cousine! Where do you get your information from? On the -contrary...” - -“I won’t submit to your Napoleon! Others may if they please.... If you -don’t want to do this...” - -“But I will, I’ll give the order at once.” - -The princess was apparently vexed at not having anyone to be angry with. -Muttering to herself, she sat down on a chair. - -“But you have been misinformed,” said Pierre. “Everything is quiet in -the city and there is not the slightest danger. See! I’ve just been -reading...” He showed her the broadsheet. “Count Rostopchín writes that -he will stake his life on it that the enemy will not enter Moscow.” - -“Oh, that count of yours!” said the princess malevolently. “He is a -hypocrite, a rascal who has himself roused the people to riot. Didn’t -he write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, ‘whoever it might be, -should be dragged to the lockup by his hair’? (How silly!) ‘And honor -and glory to whoever captures him,’ he says. This is what his cajolery -has brought us to! Barbara Ivánovna told me the mob near killed her -because she said something in French.” - -“Oh, but it’s so... You take everything so to heart,” said Pierre, and -began laying out his cards for patience. - -Although that patience did come out, Pierre did not join the army, -but remained in deserted Moscow ever in the same state of agitation, -irresolution, and alarm, yet at the same time joyfully expecting -something terrible. - -Next day toward evening the princess set off, and Pierre’s head steward -came to inform him that the money needed for the equipment of his -regiment could not be found without selling one of the estates. In -general the head steward made out to Pierre that his project of raising -a regiment would ruin him. Pierre listened to him, scarcely able to -repress a smile. - -“Well then, sell it,” said he. “What’s to be done? I can’t draw back -now!” - -The worse everything became, especially his own affairs, the better -was Pierre pleased and the more evident was it that the catastrophe he -expected was approaching. Hardly anyone he knew was left in town. Julie -had gone, and so had Princess Mary. Of his intimate friends only the -Rostóvs remained, but he did not go to see them. - -To distract his thoughts he drove that day to the village of Vorontsóvo -to see the great balloon Leppich was constructing to destroy the foe, -and a trial balloon that was to go up next day. The balloon was not yet -ready, but Pierre learned that it was being constructed by the Emperor’s -desire. The Emperor had written to Count Rostopchín as follows: - -As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew of reliable and -intelligent men for his car and send a courier to General Kutúzov to let -him know. I have informed him of the matter. - -Please impress upon Leppich to be very careful where he descends for -the first time, that he may not make a mistake and fall into the enemy’s -hands. It is essential for him to combine his movements with those of -the commander in chief. - - -On his way home from Vorontsóvo, as he was passing the Bolótnoe Place -Pierre, seeing a large crowd round the Lóbnoe Place, stopped and got out -of his trap. A French cook accused of being a spy was being flogged. The -flogging was only just over, and the executioner was releasing from the -flogging bench a stout man with red whiskers, in blue stockings and -a green jacket, who was moaning piteously. Another criminal, thin and -pale, stood near. Judging by their faces they were both Frenchmen. With -a frightened and suffering look resembling that on the thin Frenchman’s -face, Pierre pushed his way in through the crowd. - -“What is it? Who is it? What is it for?” he kept asking. - -But the attention of the crowd—officials, burghers, shopkeepers, -peasants, and women in cloaks and in pelisses—was so eagerly centered on -what was passing in Lóbnoe Place that no one answered him. The stout man -rose, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and evidently trying to appear -firm began to pull on his jacket without looking about him, but suddenly -his lips trembled and he began to cry, in the way full-blooded grown-up -men cry, though angry with himself for doing so. In the crowd people -began talking loudly, to stifle their feelings of pity as it seemed to -Pierre. - -“He’s cook to some prince.” - -“Eh, mounseer, Russian sauce seems to be sour to a Frenchman... sets his -teeth on edge!” said a wrinkled clerk who was standing behind Pierre, -when the Frenchman began to cry. - -The clerk glanced round, evidently hoping that his joke would be -appreciated. Some people began to laugh, others continued to watch in -dismay the executioner who was undressing the other man. - -Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he turned hastily away, went back -to his trap muttering something to himself as he went, and took his -seat. As they drove along he shuddered and exclaimed several times so -audibly that the coachman asked him: - -“What is your pleasure?” - -“Where are you going?” shouted Pierre to the man, who was driving to -Lubyánka Street. - -“To the Governor’s, as you ordered,” answered the coachman. - -“Fool! Idiot!” shouted Pierre, abusing his coachman—a thing he rarely -did. “Home, I told you! And drive faster, blockhead!” “I must get away -this very day,” he murmured to himself. - -At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd surrounding the -Lóbnoe Place, Pierre had so definitely made up his mind that he could no -longer remain in Moscow and would leave for the army that very day that -it seemed to him that either he had told the coachman this or that the -man ought to have known it for himself. - -On reaching home Pierre gave orders to Evstáfey—his head coachman who -knew everything, could do anything, and was known to all Moscow—that -he would leave that night for the army at Mozháysk, and that his saddle -horses should be sent there. This could not all be arranged that day, -so on Evstáfey’s representation Pierre had to put off his departure till -next day to allow time for the relay horses to be sent on in advance. - -On the twenty-fourth the weather cleared up after a spell of rain, and -after dinner Pierre left Moscow. When changing horses that night -in Perkhúshkovo, he learned that there had been a great battle that -evening. (This was the battle of Shevárdino.) He was told that there in -Perkhúshkovo the earth trembled from the firing, but nobody could answer -his questions as to who had won. At dawn next day Pierre was approaching -Mozháysk. - -Every house in Mozháysk had soldiers quartered in it, and at the hostel -where Pierre was met by his groom and coachman there was no room to be -had. It was full of officers. - -Everywhere in Mozháysk and beyond it, troops were stationed or on the -march. Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, and cannon -were everywhere. Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, and the -farther he left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged into that sea -of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitation and a new and -joyful feeling he had not experienced before. It was a feeling akin -to what he had felt at the Slobóda Palace during the Emperor’s visit—a -sense of the necessity of undertaking something and sacrificing -something. He now experienced a glad consciousness that everything that -constitutes men’s happiness—the comforts of life, wealth, even -life itself—is rubbish it is pleasant to throw away, compared with -something... With what? Pierre could not say, and he did not try to -determine for whom and for what he felt such particular delight in -sacrificing everything. He was not occupied with the question of what to -sacrifice for; the fact of sacrificing in itself afforded him a new and -joyous sensation. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -On the twenty-fourth of August the battle of the Shevárdino Redoubt was -fought, on the twenty-fifth not a shot was fired by either side, and on -the twenty-sixth the battle of Borodinó itself took place. - -Why and how were the battles of Shevárdino and Borodinó given and -accepted? Why was the battle of Borodinó fought? There was not the least -sense in it for either the French or the Russians. Its immediate result -for the Russians was, and was bound to be, that we were brought nearer -to the destruction of Moscow—which we feared more than anything in -the world; and for the French its immediate result was that they were -brought nearer to the destruction of their whole army—which they feared -more than anything in the world. What the result must be was quite -obvious, and yet Napoleon offered and Kutúzov accepted that battle. - -If the commanders had been guided by reason, it would seem that it must -have been obvious to Napoleon that by advancing thirteen hundred miles -and giving battle with a probability of losing a quarter of his army, -he was advancing to certain destruction, and it must have been equally -clear to Kutúzov that by accepting battle and risking the loss of a -quarter of his army he would certainly lose Moscow. For Kutúzov this was -mathematically clear, as it is that if when playing draughts I have one -man less and go on exchanging, I shall certainly lose, and therefore -should not exchange. When my opponent has sixteen men and I have -fourteen, I am only one eighth weaker than he, but when I have exchanged -thirteen more men he will be three times as strong as I am. - -Before the battle of Borodinó our strength in proportion to the French -was about as five to six, but after that battle it was little more than -one to two: previously we had a hundred thousand against a hundred and -twenty thousand; afterwards little more than fifty thousand against a -hundred thousand. Yet the shrewd and experienced Kutúzov accepted the -battle, while Napoleon, who was said to be a commander of genius, -gave it, losing a quarter of his army and lengthening his lines of -communication still more. If it is said that he expected to end the -campaign by occupying Moscow as he had ended a previous campaign by -occupying Vienna, there is much evidence to the contrary. Napoleon’s -historians themselves tell us that from Smolénsk onwards he wished -to stop, knew the danger of his extended position, and knew that the -occupation of Moscow would not be the end of the campaign, for he had -seen at Smolénsk the state in which Russian towns were left to him, and -had not received a single reply to his repeated announcements of his -wish to negotiate. - -In giving and accepting battle at Borodinó, Kutúzov acted involuntarily -and irrationally. But later on, to fit what had occurred, the historians -provided cunningly devised evidence of the foresight and genius of the -generals who, of all the blind tools of history were the most enslaved -and involuntary. - -The ancients have left us model heroic poems in which the heroes furnish -the whole interest of the story, and we are still unable to accustom -ourselves to the fact that for our epoch histories of that kind are -meaningless. - -On the other question, how the battle of Borodinó and the preceding -battle of Shevárdino were fought, there also exists a definite and -well-known, but quite false, conception. All the historians describe the -affair as follows: - -The Russian army, they say, in its retreat from Smolénsk sought out -for itself the best position for a general engagement and found such a -position at Borodinó. - -The Russians, they say, fortified this position in advance on the left -of the highroad (from Moscow to Smolénsk) and almost at a right angle -to it, from Borodinó to Utítsa, at the very place where the battle was -fought. - -In front of this position, they say, a fortified outpost was set up on -the Shevárdino mound to observe the enemy. On the twenty-fourth, we -are told, Napoleon attacked this advanced post and took it, and, on the -twenty-sixth, attacked the whole Russian army, which was in position on -the field of Borodinó. - -So the histories say, and it is all quite wrong, as anyone who cares to -look into the matter can easily convince himself. - -The Russians did not seek out the best position but, on the contrary, -during the retreat passed many positions better than Borodinó. They did -not stop at any one of these positions because Kutúzov did not wish to -occupy a position he had not himself chosen, because the popular demand -for a battle had not yet expressed itself strongly enough, and because -Milorádovich had not yet arrived with the militia, and for many other -reasons. The fact is that other positions they had passed were stronger, -and that the position at Borodinó (the one where the battle was fought), -far from being strong, was no more a position than any other spot one -might find in the Russian Empire by sticking a pin into the map at -hazard. - -Not only did the Russians not fortify the position on the field of -Borodinó to the left of, and at a right angle to, the highroad (that -is, the position on which the battle took place), but never till the -twenty-fifth of August, 1812, did they think that a battle might be -fought there. This was shown first by the fact that there were no -entrenchments there by the twenty fifth and that those begun on the -twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth were not completed, and secondly, by the -position of the Shevárdino Redoubt. That redoubt was quite senseless -in front of the position where the battle was accepted. Why was it -more strongly fortified than any other post? And why were all efforts -exhausted and six thousand men sacrificed to defend it till late at -night on the twenty-fourth? A Cossack patrol would have sufficed to -observe the enemy. Thirdly, as proof that the position on which the -battle was fought had not been foreseen and that the Shevárdino Redoubt -was not an advanced post of that position, we have the fact that up to -the twenty-fifth, Barclay de Tolly and Bagratión were convinced that the -Shevárdino Redoubt was the left flank of the position, and that Kutúzov -himself in his report, written in hot haste after the battle, speaks of -the Shevárdino Redoubt as the left flank of the position. It was much -later, when reports on the battle of Borodinó were written at leisure, -that the incorrect and extraordinary statement was invented (probably to -justify the mistakes of a commander in chief who had to be represented -as infallible) that the Shevárdino Redoubt was an advanced post—whereas -in reality it was simply a fortified point on the left flank—and that -the battle of Borodinó was fought by us on an entrenched position -previously selected, whereas it was fought on a quite unexpected spot -which was almost unentrenched. - -The case was evidently this: a position was selected along the river -Kolochá—which crosses the highroad not at a right angle but at an acute -angle—so that the left flank was at Shevárdino, the right flank near the -village of Nóvoe, and the center at Borodinó at the confluence of the -rivers Kolochá and Vóyna. - -To anyone who looks at the field of Borodinó without thinking of how -the battle was actually fought, this position, protected by the river -Kolochá, presents itself as obvious for an army whose object was to -prevent an enemy from advancing along the Smolénsk road to Moscow. - -Napoleon, riding to Valúevo on the twenty-fourth, did not see (as the -history books say he did) the position of the Russians from Utítsa -to Borodinó (he could not have seen that position because it did not -exist), nor did he see an advanced post of the Russian army, but while -pursuing the Russian rearguard he came upon the left flank of the -Russian position—at the Shevárdino Redoubt—and unexpectedly for the -Russians moved his army across the Kolochá. And the Russians, not having -time to begin a general engagement, withdrew their left wing from the -position they had intended to occupy and took up a new position which -had not been foreseen and was not fortified. By crossing to the other -side of the Kolochá to the left of the highroad, Napoleon shifted the -whole forthcoming battle from right to left (looking from the Russian -side) and transferred it to the plain between Utítsa, Semënovsk, and -Borodinó—a plain no more advantageous as a position than any other plain -in Russia—and there the whole battle of the twenty-sixth of August took -place. - -Had Napoleon not ridden out on the evening of the twenty-fourth to the -Kolochá, and had he not then ordered an immediate attack on the redoubt -but had begun the attack next morning, no one would have doubted that -the Shevárdino Redoubt was the left flank of our position, and the -battle would have taken place where we expected it. In that case -we should probably have defended the Shevárdino Redoubt—our left -flank—still more obstinately. We should have attacked Napoleon in the -center or on the right, and the engagement would have taken place on the -twenty-fifth, in the position we intended and had fortified. But as the -attack on our left flank took place in the evening after the retreat of -our rear guard (that is, immediately after the fight at Gridnëva), and -as the Russian commanders did not wish, or were not in time, to begin a -general engagement then on the evening of the twenty-fourth, the first -and chief action of the battle of Borodinó was already lost on the -twenty-fourth, and obviously led to the loss of the one fought on the -twenty-sixth. - -After the loss of the Shevárdino Redoubt, we found ourselves on the -morning of the twenty-fifth without a position for our left flank, and -were forced to bend it back and hastily entrench it where it chanced to -be. - -Not only was the Russian army on the twenty-sixth defended by weak, -unfinished entrenchments, but the disadvantage of that position was -increased by the fact that the Russian commanders—not having fully -realized what had happened, namely the loss of our position on the left -flank and the shifting of the whole field of the forthcoming battle from -right to left—maintained their extended position from the village of -Nóvoe to Utítsa, and consequently had to move their forces from right to -left during the battle. So it happened that throughout the whole battle -the Russians opposed the entire French army launched against our left -flank with but half as many men. (Poniatowski’s action against Utítsa, -and Uvárov’s on the right flank against the French, were actions -distinct from the main course of the battle.) So the battle of Borodinó -did not take place at all as (in an effort to conceal our commanders’ -mistakes even at the cost of diminishing the glory due to the Russian -army and people) it has been described. The battle of Borodinó was not -fought on a chosen and entrenched position with forces only slightly -weaker than those of the enemy, but, as a result of the loss of the -Shevárdino Redoubt, the Russians fought the battle of Borodinó on an -open and almost unentrenched position, with forces only half as numerous -as the French; that is to say, under conditions in which it was not -merely unthinkable to fight for ten hours and secure an indecisive -result, but unthinkable to keep an army even from complete -disintegration and flight. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -On the morning of the twenty-fifth Pierre was leaving Mozháysk. At the -descent of the high steep hill, down which a winding road led out of the -town past the cathedral on the right, where a service was being held and -the bells were ringing, Pierre got out of his vehicle and proceeded on -foot. Behind him a cavalry regiment was coming down the hill preceded by -its singers. Coming up toward him was a train of carts carrying men who -had been wounded in the engagement the day before. The peasant drivers, -shouting and lashing their horses, kept crossing from side to side. The -carts, in each of which three or four wounded soldiers were lying -or sitting, jolted over the stones that had been thrown on the steep -incline to make it something like a road. The wounded, bandaged with -rags, with pale cheeks, compressed lips, and knitted brows, held on to -the sides of the carts as they were jolted against one another. Almost -all of them stared with naïve, childlike curiosity at Pierre’s white hat -and green swallow-tail coat. - -Pierre’s coachman shouted angrily at the convoy of wounded to keep to -one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, as it descended the hill -with its singers, surrounded Pierre’s carriage and blocked the road. -Pierre stopped, being pressed against the side of the cutting in which -the road ran. The sunshine from behind the hill did not penetrate into -the cutting and there it was cold and damp, but above Pierre’s head was -the bright August sunshine and the bells sounded merrily. One of the -carts with wounded stopped by the side of the road close to Pierre. The -driver in his bast shoes ran panting up to it, placed a stone under one -of its tireless hind wheels, and began arranging the breech-band on his -little horse. - -One of the wounded, an old soldier with a bandaged arm who was following -the cart on foot, caught hold of it with his sound hand and turned to -look at Pierre. - -“I say, fellow countryman! Will they set us down here or take us on to -Moscow?” he asked. - -Pierre was so deep in thought that he did not hear the question. He was -looking now at the cavalry regiment that had met the convoy of wounded, -now at the cart by which he was standing, in which two wounded men -were sitting and one was lying. One of those sitting up in the cart had -probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head was wrapped in rags -and one cheek was swollen to the size of a baby’s head. His nose -and mouth were twisted to one side. This soldier was looking at the -cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young lad, a fair-haired -recruit as white as though there was no blood in his thin face, looked -at Pierre kindly, with a fixed smile. The third lay prone so that his -face was not visible. The cavalry singers were passing close by: - - Ah lost, quite lost... is my head so keen, - Living in a foreign land... - -they sang their soldiers’ dance song. - -As if responding to them but with a different sort of merriment, the -metallic sound of the bells reverberated high above and the hot rays of -the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with yet another sort of -merriment. But beneath the slope, by the cart with the wounded near the -panting little nag where Pierre stood, it was damp, somber, and sad. - -The soldier with the swollen cheek looked angrily at the cavalry -singers. - -“Oh, the coxcombs!” he muttered reproachfully. - -“It’s not the soldiers only, but I’ve seen peasants today, too.... -The peasants—even they have to go,” said the soldier behind the cart, -addressing Pierre with a sad smile. “No distinctions made nowadays.... -They want the whole nation to fall on them—in a word, it’s Moscow! They -want to make an end of it.” - -In spite of the obscurity of the soldier’s words Pierre understood what -he wanted to say and nodded approval. - -The road was clear again; Pierre descended the hill and drove on. - -He kept looking to either side of the road for familiar faces, but only -saw everywhere the unfamiliar faces of various military men of different -branches of the service, who all looked with astonishment at his white -hat and green tail coat. - -Having gone nearly three miles he at last met an acquaintance and -eagerly addressed him. This was one of the head army doctors. He was -driving toward Pierre in a covered gig, sitting beside a young surgeon, -and on recognizing Pierre he told the Cossack who occupied the driver’s -seat to pull up. - -“Count! Your excellency, how come you to be here?” asked the doctor. - -“Well, you know, I wanted to see...” - -“Yes, yes, there will be something to see....” - -Pierre got out and talked to the doctor, explaining his intention of -taking part in a battle. - -The doctor advised him to apply direct to Kutúzov. - -“Why should you be God knows where out of sight, during the battle?” he -said, exchanging glances with his young companion. “Anyhow his Serene -Highness knows you and will receive you graciously. That’s what you must -do.” - -The doctor seemed tired and in a hurry. - -“You think so?... Ah, I also wanted to ask you where our position is -exactly?” said Pierre. - -“The position?” repeated the doctor. “Well, that’s not my line. Drive -past Tatárinova, a lot of digging is going on there. Go up the hillock -and you’ll see.” - -“Can one see from there?... If you would...” - -But the doctor interrupted him and moved toward his gig. - -“I would go with you but on my honor I’m up to here”—and he pointed to -his throat. “I’m galloping to the commander of the corps. How do matters -stand?... You know, Count, there’ll be a battle tomorrow. Out of an army -of a hundred thousand we must expect at least twenty thousand wounded, -and we haven’t stretchers, or bunks, or dressers, or doctors enough for -six thousand. We have ten thousand carts, but we need other things as -well—we must manage as best we can!” - -The strange thought that of the thousands of men, young and old, who -had stared with merry surprise at his hat (perhaps the very men he had -noticed), twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and death -amazed Pierre. - -“They may die tomorrow; why are they thinking of anything but death?” -And by some latent sequence of thought the descent of the Mozháysk hill, -the carts with the wounded, the ringing bells, the slanting rays of the -sun, and the songs of the cavalrymen vividly recurred to his mind. - -“The cavalry ride to battle and meet the wounded and do not for a moment -think of what awaits them, but pass by, winking at the wounded. Yet from -among these men twenty thousand are doomed to die, and they wonder at my -hat! Strange!” thought Pierre, continuing his way to Tatárinova. - -In front of a landowner’s house to the left of the road stood carriages, -wagons, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels. The commander in chief -was putting up there, but just when Pierre arrived he was not in and -hardly any of the staff were there—they had gone to the church service. -Pierre drove on toward Górki. - -When he had ascended the hill and reached the little village street, he -saw for the first time peasant militiamen in their white shirts and with -crosses on their caps, who, talking and laughing loudly, animated and -perspiring, were at work on a huge knoll overgrown with grass to the -right of the road. - -Some of them were digging, others were wheeling barrowloads of earth -along planks, while others stood about doing nothing. - -Two officers were standing on the knoll, directing the men. On seeing -these peasants, who were evidently still amused by the novelty of their -position as soldiers, Pierre once more thought of the wounded men at -Mozháysk and understood what the soldier had meant when he said: “They -want the whole nation to fall on them.” The sight of these bearded -peasants at work on the battlefield, with their queer, clumsy boots -and perspiring necks, and their shirts opening from the left toward -the middle, unfastened, exposing their sunburned collarbones, impressed -Pierre more strongly with the solemnity and importance of the moment -than anything he had yet seen or heard. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -Pierre stepped out of his carriage and, passing the toiling militiamen, -ascended the knoll from which, according to the doctor, the battlefield -could be seen. - -It was about eleven o’clock. The sun shone somewhat to the left and -behind him and brightly lit up the enormous panorama which, rising like -an amphitheater, extended before him in the clear rarefied atmosphere. - -From above on the left, bisecting that amphitheater, wound the Smolénsk -highroad, passing through a village with a white church some five -hundred paces in front of the knoll and below it. This was Borodinó. -Below the village the road crossed the river by a bridge and, winding -down and up, rose higher and higher to the village of Valúevo visible -about four miles away, where Napoleon was then stationed. Beyond Valúevo -the road disappeared into a yellowing forest on the horizon. Far in -the distance in that birch and fir forest to the right of the road, the -cross and belfry of the Kolochá Monastery gleamed in the sun. Here and -there over the whole of that blue expanse, to right and left of the -forest and the road, smoking campfires could be seen and indefinite -masses of troops—ours and the enemy’s. The ground to the right—along the -course of the Kolochá and Moskvá rivers—was broken and hilly. Between -the hollows the villages of Bezúbova and Zakhárino showed in the -distance. On the left the ground was more level; there were fields of -grain, and the smoking ruins of Semënovsk, which had been burned down, -could be seen. - -All that Pierre saw was so indefinite that neither the left nor the -right side of the field fully satisfied his expectations. Nowhere -could he see the battlefield he had expected to find, but only fields, -meadows, troops, woods, the smoke of campfires, villages, mounds, and -streams; and try as he would he could descry no military “position” in -this place which teemed with life, nor could he even distinguish our -troops from the enemy’s. - -“I must ask someone who knows,” he thought, and addressed an officer who -was looking with curiosity at his huge unmilitary figure. - -“May I ask you,” said Pierre, “what village that is in front?” - -“Búrdino, isn’t it?” said the officer, turning to his companion. - -“Borodinó,” the other corrected him. - -The officer, evidently glad of an opportunity for a talk, moved up to -Pierre. - -“Are those our men there?” Pierre inquired. - -“Yes, and there, further on, are the French,” said the officer. “There -they are, there... you can see them.” - -“Where? Where?” asked Pierre. - -“One can see them with the naked eye... Why, there!” - -The officer pointed with his hand to the smoke visible on the left -beyond the river, and the same stern and serious expression that Pierre -had noticed on many of the faces he had met came into his face. - -“Ah, those are the French! And over there?...” Pierre pointed to a knoll -on the left, near which some troops could be seen. - -“Those are ours.” - -“Ah, ours! And there?...” Pierre pointed to another knoll in the -distance with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollow -where also some campfires were smoking and something black was visible. - -“That’s his again,” said the officer. (It was the Shevárdino Redoubt.) -“It was ours yesterday, but now it is his.” - -“Then how about our position?” - -“Our position?” replied the officer with a smile of satisfaction. “I -can tell you quite clearly, because I constructed nearly all our -entrenchments. There, you see? There’s our center, at Borodinó, just -there,” and he pointed to the village in front of them with the white -church. “That’s where one crosses the Kolochá. You see down there where -the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, there’s the bridge. That’s our -center. Our right flank is over there”—he pointed sharply to the right, -far away in the broken ground—“That’s where the Moskvá River is, and -we have thrown up three redoubts there, very strong ones. The left -flank...” here the officer paused. “Well, you see, that’s difficult to -explain.... Yesterday our left flank was there at Shevárdino, you see, -where the oak is, but now we have withdrawn our left wing—now it is over -there, do you see that village and the smoke? That’s Semënovsk, yes, -there,” he pointed to Raévski’s knoll. “But the battle will hardly -be there. His having moved his troops there is only a ruse; he will -probably pass round to the right of the Moskvá. But wherever it may be, -many a man will be missing tomorrow!” he remarked. - -An elderly sergeant who had approached the officer while he was giving -these explanations had waited in silence for him to finish speaking, but -at this point, evidently not liking the officer’s remark, interrupted -him. - -“Gabions must be sent for,” said he sternly. - -The officer appeared abashed, as though he understood that one might -think of how many men would be missing tomorrow but ought not to speak -of it. - -“Well, send number three company again,” the officer replied hurriedly. - -“And you, are you one of the doctors?” - -“No, I’ve come on my own,” answered Pierre, and he went down the hill -again, passing the militiamen. - -“Oh, those damned fellows!” muttered the officer who followed him, -holding his nose as he ran past the men at work. - -“There they are... bringing her, coming... There they are... They’ll be -here in a minute...” voices were suddenly heard saying; and officers, -soldiers, and militiamen began running forward along the road. - -A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodinó. First along -the dusty road came the infantry in ranks, bareheaded and with arms -reversed. From behind them came the sound of church singing. - -Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past Pierre toward the -procession. - -“They are bringing her, our Protectress!... The Iberian Mother of God!” -someone cried. - -“The Smolénsk Mother of God,” another corrected him. - -The militiamen, both those who had been in the village and those who had -been at work on the battery, threw down their spades and ran to meet the -church procession. Following the battalion that marched along the dusty -road came priests in their vestments—one little old man in a hood with -attendants and singers. Behind them soldiers and officers bore a large, -dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover. This was the icon that had -been brought from Smolénsk and had since accompanied the army. Behind, -before, and on both sides, crowds of militiamen with bared heads walked, -ran, and bowed to the ground. - -At the summit of the hill they stopped with the icon; the men who had -been holding it up by the linen bands attached to it were relieved by -others, the chanters relit their censers, and service began. The hot -rays of the sun beat down vertically and a fresh soft wind played with -the hair of the bared heads and with the ribbons decorating the icon. -The singing did not sound loud under the open sky. An immense crowd -of bareheaded officers, soldiers, and militiamen surrounded the icon. -Behind the priest and a chanter stood the notabilities on a spot -reserved for them. A bald general with a St. George’s Cross on his neck -stood just behind the priest’s back, and without crossing himself (he -was evidently a German) patiently awaited the end of the service, which -he considered it necessary to hear to the end, probably to arouse the -patriotism of the Russian people. Another general stood in a martial -pose, crossing himself by shaking his hand in front of his chest -while looking about him. Standing among the crowd of peasants, Pierre -recognized several acquaintances among these notables, but did not -look at them—his whole attention was absorbed in watching the serious -expression on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militiamen who were -all gazing eagerly at the icon. As soon as the tired chanters, who were -singing the service for the twentieth time that day, began lazily and -mechanically to sing: “Save from calamity Thy servants, O Mother of -God,” and the priest and deacon chimed in: “For to Thee under God we all -flee as to an inviolable bulwark and protection,” there again kindled in -all those faces the same expression of consciousness of the solemnity -of the impending moment that Pierre had seen on the faces at the foot of -the hill at Mozháysk and momentarily on many and many faces he had met -that morning; and heads were bowed more frequently and hair tossed back, -and sighs and the sound men made as they crossed themselves were heard. - -The crowd round the icon suddenly parted and pressed against Pierre. -Someone, a very important personage judging by the haste with which way -was made for him, was approaching the icon. - -It was Kutúzov, who had been riding round the position and on his way -back to Tatárinova had stopped where the service was being held. Pierre -recognized him at once by his peculiar figure, which distinguished him -from everybody else. - -With a long overcoat on his exceedingly stout, round-shouldered body, -with uncovered white head and puffy face showing the white ball of the -eye he had lost, Kutúzov walked with plunging, swaying gait into -the crowd and stopped behind the priest. He crossed himself with an -accustomed movement, bent till he touched the ground with his hand, and -bowed his white head with a deep sigh. Behind Kutúzov was Bennigsen and -the suite. Despite the presence of the commander in chief, who attracted -the attention of all the superior officers, the militiamen and soldiers -continued their prayers without looking at him. - -When the service was over, Kutúzov stepped up to the icon, sank heavily -to his knees, bowed to the ground, and for a long time tried vainly to -rise, but could not do so on account of his weakness and weight. His -white head twitched with the effort. At last he rose, kissed the icon as -a child does with naïvely pouting lips, and again bowed till he touched -the ground with his hand. The other generals followed his example, -then the officers, and after them with excited faces, pressing on one -another, crowding, panting, and pushing, scrambled the soldiers and -militiamen. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -Staggering amid the crush, Pierre looked about him. - -“Count Peter Kirílovich! How did you get here?” said a voice. - -Pierre looked round. Borís Drubetskóy, brushing his knees with his hand -(he had probably soiled them when he, too, had knelt before the icon), -came up to him smiling. Borís was elegantly dressed, with a slightly -martial touch appropriate to a campaign. He wore a long coat and like -Kutúzov had a whip slung across his shoulder. - -Meanwhile Kutúzov had reached the village and seated himself in the -shade of the nearest house, on a bench which one Cossack had run -to fetch and another had hastily covered with a rug. An immense and -brilliant suite surrounded him. - -The icon was carried further, accompanied by the throng. Pierre stopped -some thirty paces from Kutúzov, talking to Borís. - -He explained his wish to be present at the battle and to see the -position. - -“This is what you must do,” said Borís. “I will do the honors of the -camp to you. You will see everything best from where Count Bennigsen -will be. I am in attendance on him, you know; I’ll mention it to him. -But if you want to ride round the position, come along with us. We are -just going to the left flank. Then when we get back, do spend the night -with me and we’ll arrange a game of cards. Of course you know Dmítri -Sergéevich? Those are his quarters,” and he pointed to the third house -in the village of Górki. - -“But I should like to see the right flank. They say it’s very strong,” -said Pierre. “I should like to start from the Moskvá River and ride -round the whole position.” - -“Well, you can do that later, but the chief thing is the left flank.” - -“Yes, yes. But where is Prince Bolkónski’s regiment? Can you point it -out to me?” - -“Prince Andrew’s? We shall pass it and I’ll take you to him.” - -“What about the left flank?” asked Pierre - -“To tell you the truth, between ourselves, God only knows what state our -left flank is in,” said Borís confidentially lowering his voice. “It is -not at all what Count Bennigsen intended. He meant to fortify that knoll -quite differently, but...” Borís shrugged his shoulders, “his Serene -Highness would not have it, or someone persuaded him. You see...” but -Borís did not finish, for at that moment Kaysárov, Kutúzov’s adjutant, -came up to Pierre. “Ah, Kaysárov!” said Borís, addressing him with an -unembarrassed smile, “I was just trying to explain our position to -the count. It is amazing how his Serene Highness could so foresee the -intentions of the French!” - -“You mean the left flank?” asked Kaysárov. - -“Yes, exactly; the left flank is now extremely strong.” - -Though Kutúzov had dismissed all unnecessary men from the staff, Borís -had contrived to remain at headquarters after the changes. He had -established himself with Count Bennigsen, who, like all on whom Borís -had been in attendance, considered young Prince Drubetskóy an invaluable -man. - -In the higher command there were two sharply defined parties: Kutúzov’s -party and that of Bennigsen, the chief of staff. Borís belonged to the -latter and no one else, while showing servile respect to Kutúzov, could -so create an impression that the old fellow was not much good and that -Bennigsen managed everything. Now the decisive moment of battle had come -when Kutúzov would be destroyed and the power pass to Bennigsen, or even -if Kutúzov won the battle it would be felt that everything was done by -Bennigsen. In any case many great rewards would have to be given for -tomorrow’s action, and new men would come to the front. So Borís was -full of nervous vivacity all day. - -After Kaysárov, others whom Pierre knew came up to him, and he had not -time to reply to all the questions about Moscow that were showered upon -him, or to listen to all that was told him. The faces all expressed -animation and apprehension, but it seemed to Pierre that the cause of -the excitement shown in some of these faces lay chiefly in questions -of personal success; his mind, however, was occupied by the different -expression he saw on other faces—an expression that spoke not of -personal matters but of the universal questions of life and death. -Kutúzov noticed Pierre’s figure and the group gathered round him. - -“Call him to me,” said Kutúzov. - -An adjutant told Pierre of his Serene Highness’ wish, and Pierre went -toward Kutúzov’s bench. But a militiaman got there before him. It was -Dólokhov. - -“How did that fellow get here?” asked Pierre. - -“He’s a creature that wriggles in anywhere!” was the answer. “He -has been degraded, you know. Now he wants to bob up again. He’s been -proposing some scheme or other and has crawled into the enemy’s picket -line at night.... He’s a brave fellow.” - -Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Kutúzov. - -“I concluded that if I reported to your Serene Highness you might send -me away or say that you knew what I was reporting, but then I shouldn’t -lose anything...” Dólokhov was saying. - -“Yes, yes.” - -“But if I were right, I should be rendering a service to my Fatherland -for which I am ready to die.” - -“Yes, yes.” - -“And should your Serene Highness require a man who will not spare his -skin, please think of me.... Perhaps I may prove useful to your Serene -Highness.” - -“Yes... Yes...” Kutúzov repeated, his laughing eye narrowing more and -more as he looked at Pierre. - -Just then Borís, with his courtierlike adroitness, stepped up to -Pierre’s side near Kutúzov and in a most natural manner, without -raising his voice, said to Pierre, as though continuing an interrupted -conversation: - -“The militia have put on clean white shirts to be ready to die. What -heroism, Count!” - -Borís evidently said this to Pierre in order to be overheard by his -Serene Highness. He knew Kutúzov’s attention would be caught by those -words, and so it was. - -“What are you saying about the militia?” he asked Borís. - -“Preparing for tomorrow, your Serene Highness—for death—they have put on -clean shirts.” - -“Ah... a wonderful, a matchless people!” said Kutúzov; and he closed his -eyes and swayed his head. “A matchless people!” he repeated with a sigh. - -“So you want to smell gunpowder?” he said to Pierre. “Yes, it’s a -pleasant smell. I have the honor to be one of your wife’s adorers. Is -she well? My quarters are at your service.” - -And as often happens with old people, Kutúzov began looking about -absent-mindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do. - -Then, evidently remembering what he wanted, he beckoned to Andrew -Kaysárov, his adjutant’s brother. - -“Those verses... those verses of Márin’s... how do they go, eh? Those he -wrote about Gerákov: ‘Lectures for the corps inditing’... Recite them, -recite them!” said he, evidently preparing to laugh. - -Kaysárov recited.... Kutúzov smilingly nodded his head to the rhythm of -the verses. - -When Pierre had left Kutúzov, Dólokhov came up to him and took his hand. - -“I am very glad to meet you here, Count,” he said aloud, regardless -of the presence of strangers and in a particularly resolute and solemn -tone. “On the eve of a day when God alone knows who of us is fated to -survive, I am glad of this opportunity to tell you that I regret the -misunderstandings that occurred between us and should wish you not to -have any ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me.” - -Pierre looked at Dólokhov with a smile, not knowing what to say to him. -With tears in his eyes Dólokhov embraced Pierre and kissed him. - -Borís said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen turned to -Pierre and proposed that he should ride with him along the line. - -“It will interest you,” said he. - -“Yes, very much,” replied Pierre. - -Half an hour later Kutúzov left for Tatárinova, and Bennigsen and his -suite, with Pierre among them, set out on their ride along the line. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -From Górki, Bennigsen descended the highroad to the bridge which, when -they had looked at it from the hill, the officer had pointed out as -being the center of our position and where rows of fragrant new-mown hay -lay by the riverside. They rode across that bridge into the village of -Borodinó and thence turned to the left, passing an enormous number of -troops and guns, and came to a high knoll where militiamen were digging. -This was the redoubt, as yet unnamed, which afterwards became known as -the Raévski Redoubt, or the Knoll Battery, but Pierre paid no special -attention to it. He did not know that it would become more memorable to -him than any other spot on the plain of Borodinó. - -They then crossed the hollow to Semënovsk, where the soldiers were -dragging away the last logs from the huts and barns. Then they rode -downhill and uphill, across a ryefield trodden and beaten down as if by -hail, following a track freshly made by the artillery over the furrows -of the plowed land, and reached some flèches * which were still being -dug. - - * A kind of entrenchment. - -At the flèches Bennigsen stopped and began looking at the Shevárdino -Redoubt opposite, which had been ours the day before and where several -horsemen could be descried. The officers said that either Napoleon or -Murat was there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little group of -horsemen. Pierre also looked at them, trying to guess which of the -scarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last those mounted men -rode away from the mound and disappeared. - -Bennigsen spoke to a general who approached him, and began explaining -the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to him, straining each -faculty to understand the essential points of the impending battle, but -was mortified to feel that his mental capacity was inadequate for the -task. He could make nothing of it. Bennigsen stopped speaking and, -noticing that Pierre was listening, suddenly said to him: - -“I don’t think this interests you?” - -“On the contrary it’s very interesting!” replied Pierre not quite -truthfully. - -From the flèches they rode still farther to the left, along a road -winding through a thick, low-growing birch wood. In the middle of the -wood a brown hare with white feet sprang out and, scared by the tramp of -the many horses, grew so confused that it leaped along the road in front -of them for some time, arousing general attention and laughter, and only -when several voices shouted at it did it dart to one side and disappear -in the thicket. After going through the wood for about a mile and a half -they came out on a glade where troops of Túchkov’s corps were stationed -to defend the left flank. - -Here, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen talked a great deal and with -much heat, and, as it seemed to Pierre, gave orders of great military -importance. In front of Túchkov’s troops was some high ground not -occupied by troops. Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake, saying -that it was madness to leave a height which commanded the country around -unoccupied and to place troops below it. Some of the generals expressed -the same opinion. One in particular declared with martial heat that they -were put there to be slaughtered. Bennigsen on his own authority ordered -the troops to occupy the high ground. This disposition on the left flank -increased Pierre’s doubt of his own capacity to understand military -matters. Listening to Bennigsen and the generals criticizing the -position of the troops behind the hill, he quite understood them and -shared their opinion, but for that very reason he could not understand -how the man who put them there behind the hill could have made so gross -and palpable a blunder. - -Pierre did not know that these troops were not, as Bennigsen supposed, -put there to defend the position, but were in a concealed position as -an ambush, that they should not be seen and might be able to strike an -approaching enemy unexpectedly. Bennigsen did not know this and moved -the troops forward according to his own ideas without mentioning the -matter to the commander in chief. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -On that bright evening of August 25, Prince Andrew lay leaning on his -elbow in a broken-down shed in the village of Knyazkóvo at the further -end of his regiment’s encampment. Through a gap in the broken wall he -could see, beside the wooden fence, a row of thirty-year-old birches -with their lower branches lopped off, a field on which shocks of -oats were standing, and some bushes near which rose the smoke of -campfires—the soldiers’ kitchens. - -Narrow and burdensome and useless to anyone as his life now seemed to -him, Prince Andrew on the eve of battle felt agitated and irritable as -he had done seven years before at Austerlitz. - -He had received and given the orders for next day’s battle and had -nothing more to do. But his thoughts—the simplest, clearest, and -therefore most terrible thoughts—would give him no peace. He knew that -tomorrow’s battle would be the most terrible of all he had taken -part in, and for the first time in his life the possibility of death -presented itself to him—not in relation to any worldly matter or with -reference to its effect on others, but simply in relation to himself, to -his own soul—vividly, plainly, terribly, and almost as a certainty. And -from the height of this perception all that had previously tormented and -preoccupied him suddenly became illumined by a cold white light without -shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outline. All life -appeared to him like magic-lantern pictures at which he had long been -gazing by artificial light through a glass. Now he suddenly saw those -badly daubed pictures in clear daylight and without a glass. “Yes, -yes! There they are, those false images that agitated, enraptured, -and tormented me,” said he to himself, passing in review the principal -pictures of the magic lantern of life and regarding them now in the cold -white daylight of his clear perception of death. “There they are, those -rudely painted figures that once seemed splendid and mysterious. -Glory, the good of society, love of a woman, the Fatherland itself—how -important these pictures appeared to me, with what profound meaning they -seemed to be filled! And it is all so simple, pale, and crude in the -cold white light of this morning which I feel is dawning for me.” The -three great sorrows of his life held his attention in particular: his -love for a woman, his father’s death, and the French invasion which had -overrun half Russia. “Love... that little girl who seemed to me brimming -over with mystic forces! Yes, indeed, I loved her. I made romantic plans -of love and happiness with her! Oh, what a boy I was!” he said aloud -bitterly. “Ah me! I believed in some ideal love which was to keep her -faithful to me for the whole year of my absence! Like the gentle dove -in the fable she was to pine apart from me.... But it was much simpler -really.... It was all very simple and horrible.” - -“When my father built Bald Hills he thought the place was his: his -land, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came and swept him aside, -unconscious of his existence, as he might brush a chip from his path, -and his Bald Hills and his whole life fell to pieces. Princess Mary says -it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, when he is not -here and will never return? He is not here! For whom then is the trial -intended? The Fatherland, the destruction of Moscow! And tomorrow I -shall be killed, perhaps not even by a Frenchman but by one of our own -men, by a soldier discharging a musket close to my ear as one of them -did yesterday, and the French will come and take me by head and heels -and fling me into a hole that I may not stink under their noses, and new -conditions of life will arise, which will seem quite ordinary to others -and about which I shall know nothing. I shall not exist....” - -He looked at the row of birches shining in the sunshine, with their -motionless green and yellow foliage and white bark. “To die... to be -killed tomorrow... That I should not exist... That all this should still -be, but no me....” - -And the birches with their light and shade, the curly clouds, the -smoke of the campfires, and all that was around him changed and seemed -terrible and menacing. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He rose -quickly, went out of the shed, and began to walk about. - -After he had returned, voices were heard outside the shed. “Who’s that?” -he cried. - -The red-nosed Captain Timókhin, formerly Dólokhov’s squadron commander, -but now from lack of officers a battalion commander, shyly entered the -shed followed by an adjutant and the regimental paymaster. - -Prince Andrew rose hastily, listened to the business they had come -about, gave them some further instructions, and was about to dismiss -them when he heard a familiar, lisping, voice behind the shed. - -“Devil take it!” said the voice of a man stumbling over something. - -Prince Andrew looked out of the shed and saw Pierre, who had tripped -over a pole on the ground and had nearly fallen, coming his way. It was -unpleasant to Prince Andrew to meet people of his own set in general, -and Pierre especially, for he reminded him of all the painful moments of -his last visit to Moscow. - -“You? What a surprise!” said he. “What brings you here? This is -unexpected!” - -As he said this his eyes and face expressed more than coldness—they -expressed hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approached -the shed full of animation, but on seeing Prince Andrew’s face he felt -constrained and ill at ease. - -“I have come... simply... you know... come... it interests me,” said -Pierre, who had so often that day senselessly repeated that word -“interesting.” “I wish to see the battle.” - -“Oh yes, and what do the Masonic brothers say about war? How would they -stop it?” said Prince Andrew sarcastically. “Well, and how’s Moscow? And -my people? Have they reached Moscow at last?” he asked seriously. - -“Yes, they have. Julie Drubetskáya told me so. I went to see them, but -missed them. They have gone to your estate near Moscow.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -The officers were about to take leave, but Prince Andrew, apparently -reluctant to be left alone with his friend, asked them to stay and have -tea. Seats were brought in and so was the tea. The officers gazed with -surprise at Pierre’s huge stout figure and listened to his talk of -Moscow and the position of our army, round which he had ridden. Prince -Andrew remained silent, and his expression was so forbidding that Pierre -addressed his remarks chiefly to the good-natured battalion commander. - -“So you understand the whole position of our troops?” Prince Andrew -interrupted him. - -“Yes—that is, how do you mean?” said Pierre. “Not being a military man -I can’t say I have understood it fully, but I understand the general -position.” - -“Well, then, you know more than anyone else, be it who it may,” said -Prince Andrew. - -“Oh!” said Pierre, looking over his spectacles in perplexity at Prince -Andrew. “Well, and what do you think of Kutúzov’s appointment?” he -asked. - -“I was very glad of his appointment, that’s all I know,” replied Prince -Andrew. - -“And tell me your opinion of Barclay de Tolly. In Moscow they are saying -heaven knows what about him.... What do you think of him?” - -“Ask them,” replied Prince Andrew, indicating the officers. - -Pierre looked at Timókhin with the condescendingly interrogative smile -with which everybody involuntarily addressed that officer. - -“We see light again, since his Serenity has been appointed, your -excellency,” said Timókhin timidly, and continually turning to glance at -his colonel. - -“Why so?” asked Pierre. - -“Well, to mention only firewood and fodder, let me inform you. Why, when -we were retreating from Sventsyáni we dare not touch a stick or a wisp -of hay or anything. You see, we were going away, so he would get it all; -wasn’t it so, your excellency?” and again Timókhin turned to the prince. -“But we daren’t. In our regiment two officers were court-martialed for -that kind of thing. But when his Serenity took command everything became -straightforward. Now we see light....” - -“Then why was it forbidden?” - -Timókhin looked about in confusion, not knowing what or how to answer -such a question. Pierre put the same question to Prince Andrew. - -“Why, so as not to lay waste the country we were abandoning to the -enemy,” said Prince Andrew with venomous irony. “It is very sound: -one can’t permit the land to be pillaged and accustom the troops to -marauding. At Smolénsk too he judged correctly that the French might -outflank us, as they had larger forces. But he could not understand -this,” cried Prince Andrew in a shrill voice that seemed to escape him -involuntarily: “he could not understand that there, for the first time, -we were fighting for Russian soil, and that there was a spirit in the -men such as I had never seen before, that we had held the French for -two days, and that that success had increased our strength tenfold. He -ordered us to retreat, and all our efforts and losses went for nothing. -He had no thought of betraying us, he tried to do the best he could, -he thought out everything, and that is why he is unsuitable. He is -unsuitable now, just because he plans out everything very thoroughly and -accurately as every German has to. How can I explain?... Well, say your -father has a German valet, and he is a splendid valet and satisfies your -father’s requirements better than you could, then it’s all right to let -him serve. But if your father is mortally sick you’ll send the valet -away and attend to your father with your own unpracticed, awkward hands, -and will soothe him better than a skilled man who is a stranger could. -So it has been with Barclay. While Russia was well, a foreigner could -serve her and be a splendid minister; but as soon as she is in danger -she needs one of her own kin. But in your Club they have been making him -out a traitor! They slander him as a traitor, and the only result will -be that afterwards, ashamed of their false accusations, they will make -him out a hero or a genius instead of a traitor, and that will be still -more unjust. He is an honest and very punctilious German.” - -“And they say he’s a skillful commander,” rejoined Pierre. - -“I don’t understand what is meant by ‘a skillful commander,’” replied -Prince Andrew ironically. - -“A skillful commander?” replied Pierre. “Why, one who foresees all -contingencies... and foresees the adversary’s intentions.” - -“But that’s impossible,” said Prince Andrew as if it were a matter -settled long ago. - -Pierre looked at him in surprise. - -“And yet they say that war is like a game of chess?” he remarked. - -“Yes,” replied Prince Andrew, “but with this little difference, that -in chess you may think over each move as long as you please and are not -limited for time, and with this difference too, that a knight is always -stronger than a pawn, and two pawns are always stronger than one, while -in war a battalion is sometimes stronger than a division and sometimes -weaker than a company. The relative strength of bodies of troops can -never be known to anyone. Believe me,” he went on, “if things -depended on arrangements made by the staff, I should be there making -arrangements, but instead of that I have the honor to serve here in -the regiment with these gentlemen, and I consider that on us tomorrow’s -battle will depend and not on those others.... Success never depends, -and never will depend, on position, or equipment, or even on numbers, -and least of all on position.” - -“But on what then?” - -“On the feeling that is in me and in him,” he pointed to Timókhin, “and -in each soldier.” - -Prince Andrew glanced at Timókhin, who looked at his commander in alarm -and bewilderment. In contrast to his former reticent taciturnity -Prince Andrew now seemed excited. He could apparently not refrain from -expressing the thoughts that had suddenly occurred to him. - -“A battle is won by those who firmly resolve to win it! Why did we lose -the battle at Austerlitz? The French losses were almost equal to ours, -but very early we said to ourselves that we were losing the battle, -and we did lose it. And we said so because we had nothing to fight for -there, we wanted to get away from the battlefield as soon as we could. -‘We’ve lost, so let us run,’ and we ran. If we had not said that till -the evening, heaven knows what might not have happened. But tomorrow we -shan’t say it! You talk about our position, the left flank weak and the -right flank too extended,” he went on. “That’s all nonsense, there’s -nothing of the kind. But what awaits us tomorrow? A hundred million most -diverse chances which will be decided on the instant by the fact that -our men or theirs run or do not run, and that this man or that man is -killed, but all that is being done at present is only play. The fact is -that those men with whom you have ridden round the position not only -do not help matters, but hinder. They are only concerned with their own -petty interests.” - -“At such a moment?” said Pierre reproachfully. - -“At such a moment!” Prince Andrew repeated. “To them it is only a moment -affording opportunities to undermine a rival and obtain an extra cross -or ribbon. For me tomorrow means this: a Russian army of a hundred -thousand and a French army of a hundred thousand have met to fight, and -the thing is that these two hundred thousand men will fight and the side -that fights more fiercely and spares itself least will win. And if you -like I will tell you that whatever happens and whatever muddles those at -the top may make, we shall win tomorrow’s battle. Tomorrow, happen what -may, we shall win!” - -“There now, your excellency! That’s the truth, the real truth,” said -Timókhin. “Who would spare himself now? The soldiers in my battalion, -believe me, wouldn’t drink their vodka! ‘It’s not the day for that!’ -they say.” - -All were silent. The officers rose. Prince Andrew went out of the shed -with them, giving final orders to the adjutant. After they had gone -Pierre approached Prince Andrew and was about to start a conversation -when they heard the clatter of three horses’ hoofs on the road not far -from the shed, and looking in that direction Prince Andrew recognized -Wolzogen and Clausewitz accompanied by a Cossack. They rode close by -continuing to converse, and Prince Andrew involuntarily heard these -words: - -“Der Krieg muss in Raum verlegt werden. Der Ansicht kann ich nicht genug -Preis geben,” * said one of them. - - * “The war must be extended widely. I cannot sufficiently - commend that view.” - - -“Oh, ja,” said the other, “der Zweck ist nur den Feind zu schwächen, -so kann man gewiss nicht den Verlust der Privat-Personen in Achtung -nehmen.” * - - * “Oh, yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, so of - course one cannot take into account the loss of private - individuals.” - - -“Oh, no,” agreed the other. - -“Extend widely!” said Prince Andrew with an angry snort, when they had -ridden past. “In that ‘extend’ were my father, son, and sister, at Bald -Hills. That’s all the same to him! That’s what I was saying to you—those -German gentlemen won’t win the battle tomorrow but will only make all -the mess they can, because they have nothing in their German heads but -theories not worth an empty eggshell and haven’t in their hearts the one -thing needed tomorrow—that which Timókhin has. They have yielded up all -Europe to him, and have now come to teach us. Fine teachers!” and again -his voice grew shrill. - -“So you think we shall win tomorrow’s battle?” asked Pierre. - -“Yes, yes,” answered Prince Andrew absently. “One thing I would do if -I had the power,” he began again, “I would not take prisoners. Why take -prisoners? It’s chivalry! The French have destroyed my home and are on -their way to destroy Moscow, they have outraged and are outraging me -every moment. They are my enemies. In my opinion they are all criminals. -And so thinks Timókhin and the whole army. They should be executed! -Since they are my foes they cannot be my friends, whatever may have been -said at Tilsit.” - -“Yes, yes,” muttered Pierre, looking with shining eyes at Prince Andrew. -“I quite agree with you!” - -The question that had perturbed Pierre on the Mozháysk hill and all -that day now seemed to him quite clear and completely solved. He now -understood the whole meaning and importance of this war and of the -impending battle. All he had seen that day, all the significant and -stern expressions on the faces he had seen in passing, were lit up -for him by a new light. He understood that latent heat (as they say in -physics) of patriotism which was present in all these men he had seen, -and this explained to him why they all prepared for death calmly, and as -it were lightheartedly. - -“Not take prisoners,” Prince Andrew continued: “That by itself would -quite change the whole war and make it less cruel. As it is we have -played at war—that’s what’s vile! We play at magnanimity and all that -stuff. Such magnanimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity and -sensibility of a lady who faints when she sees a calf being killed: she -is so kindhearted that she can’t look at blood, but enjoys eating the -calf served up with sauce. They talk to us of the rules of war, of -chivalry, of flags of truce, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. It’s -all rubbish! I saw chivalry and flags of truce in 1805; they humbugged -us and we humbugged them. They plunder other people’s houses, issue -false paper money, and worst of all they kill my children and my -father, and then talk of rules of war and magnanimity to foes! Take no -prisoners, but kill and be killed! He who has come to this as I have -through the same sufferings...” - -Prince Andrew, who had thought it was all the same to him whether or -not Moscow was taken as Smolénsk had been, was suddenly checked in his -speech by an unexpected cramp in his throat. He paced up and down a -few times in silence, but his eyes glittered feverishly and his lips -quivered as he began speaking. - -“If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only -when it was worth while going to certain death, as now. Then there would -not be war because Paul Ivánovich had offended Michael Ivánovich. And -when there was a war, like this one, it would be war! And then the -determination of the troops would be quite different. Then all these -Westphalians and Hessians whom Napoleon is leading would not follow -him into Russia, and we should not go to fight in Austria and Prussia -without knowing why. War is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in -life; and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to -accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in -that: get rid of falsehood and let war be war and not a game. As it is -now, war is the favorite pastime of the idle and frivolous. The military -calling is the most highly honored. - -“But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the -habits of the military? The aim of war is murder; the methods of war -are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of a country’s -inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provision the army, and fraud -and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class -are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance, -cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this it is the -highest class, respected by everyone. All the kings, except the Chinese, -wear military uniforms, and he who kills most people receives the -highest rewards. - -“They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to murder one another; they kill -and maim tens of thousands, and then have thanksgiving services for -having killed so many people (they even exaggerate the number), and they -announce a victory, supposing that the more people they have killed -the greater their achievement. How does God above look at them and hear -them?” exclaimed Prince Andrew in a shrill, piercing voice. “Ah, my -friend, it has of late become hard for me to live. I see that I have -begun to understand too much. And it doesn’t do for man to taste of the -tree of knowledge of good and evil.... Ah, well, it’s not for long!” he -added. - -“However, you’re sleepy, and it’s time for me to sleep. Go back to -Górki!” said Prince Andrew suddenly. - -“Oh no!” Pierre replied, looking at Prince Andrew with frightened, -compassionate eyes. - -“Go, go! Before a battle one must have one’s sleep out,” repeated Prince -Andrew. - -He came quickly up to Pierre and embraced and kissed him. “Good-by, be -off!” he shouted. “Whether we meet again or not...” and turning away -hurriedly he entered the shed. - -It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out whether the -expression of Prince Andrew’s face was angry or tender. - -For some time he stood in silence considering whether he should follow -him or go away. “No, he does not want it!” Pierre concluded. “And I know -that this is our last meeting!” He sighed deeply and rode back to Górki. - -On re-entering the shed Prince Andrew lay down on a rug, but he could -not sleep. - -He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded another in his imagination. On -one of them he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled an evening -in Petersburg. Natásha with animated and excited face was telling him -how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous summer and had lost -her way in the big forest. She incoherently described the depths of -the forest, her feelings, and a talk with a beekeeper she met, and -constantly interrupted her story to say: “No, I can’t! I’m not telling -it right; no, you don’t understand,” though he encouraged her by saying -that he did understand, and he really had understood all she wanted to -say. But Natásha was not satisfied with her own words: she felt that -they did not convey the passionately poetic feeling she had experienced -that day and wished to convey. “He was such a delightful old man, and -it was so dark in the forest... and he had such kind... No, I can’t -describe it,” she had said, flushed and excited. Prince Andrew smiled -now the same happy smile as then when he had looked into her eyes. “I -understood her,” he thought. “I not only understood her, but it was just -that inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, that frankness of soul—that -very soul of hers which seemed to be fettered by her body—it was that -soul I loved in her... loved so strongly and happily...” and suddenly -he remembered how his love had ended. “He did not need anything of that -kind. He neither saw nor understood anything of the sort. He only saw in -her a pretty and fresh young girl, with whom he did not deign to unite -his fate. And I?... and he is still alive and gay!” - -Prince Andrew jumped up as if someone had burned him, and again began -pacing up and down in front of the shed. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -On August 25, the eve of the battle of Borodinó, M. de Beausset, prefect -of the French Emperor’s palace, arrived at Napoleon’s quarters at -Valúevo with Colonel Fabvier, the former from Paris and the latter from -Madrid. - -Donning his court uniform, M. de Beausset ordered a box he had -brought for the Emperor to be carried before him and entered the first -compartment of Napoleon’s tent, where he began opening the box while -conversing with Napoleon’s aides-de-camp who surrounded him. - -Fabvier, not entering the tent, remained at the entrance talking to some -generals of his acquaintance. - -The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom and was finishing his -toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presented now his back and -now his plump hairy chest to the brush with which his valet was rubbing -him down. Another valet, with his finger over the mouth of a bottle, -was sprinkling Eau de Cologne on the Emperor’s pampered body with an -expression which seemed to say that he alone knew where and how much Eau -de Cologne should be sprinkled. Napoleon’s short hair was wet and -matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed -physical satisfaction. “Go on, harder, go on!” he muttered to the valet -who was rubbing him, slightly twitching and grunting. An aide-de-camp, -who had entered the bedroom to report to the Emperor the number of -prisoners taken in yesterday’s action, was standing by the door after -delivering his message, awaiting permission to withdraw. Napoleon, -frowning, looked at him from under his brows. - -“No prisoners!” said he, repeating the aide-de-camp’s words. “They -are forcing us to exterminate them. So much the worse for the Russian -army.... Go on... harder, harder!” he muttered, hunching his back and -presenting his fat shoulders. - -“All right. Let Monsieur de Beausset enter, and Fabvier too,” he said, -nodding to the aide-de-camp. - -“Yes, sire,” and the aide-de-camp disappeared through the door of the -tent. - -Two valets rapidly dressed His Majesty, and wearing the blue uniform of -the Guards he went with firm quick steps to the reception room. - -De Beausset’s hands meanwhile were busily engaged arranging the present -he had brought from the Empress, on two chairs directly in front of the -entrance. But Napoleon had dressed and come out with such unexpected -rapidity that he had not time to finish arranging the surprise. - -Napoleon noticed at once what they were about and guessed that they were -not ready. He did not wish to deprive them of the pleasure of giving him -a surprise, so he pretended not to see de Beausset and called Fabvier to -him, listening silently and with a stern frown to what Fabvier told him -of the heroism and devotion of his troops fighting at Salamanca, at -the other end of Europe, with but one thought—to be worthy of their -Emperor—and but one fear—to fail to please him. The result of that -battle had been deplorable. Napoleon made ironic remarks during -Fabvier’s account, as if he had not expected that matters could go -otherwise in his absence. - -“I must make up for that in Moscow,” said Napoleon. “I’ll see you -later,” he added, and summoned de Beausset, who by that time had -prepared the surprise, having placed something on the chairs and covered -it with a cloth. - -De Beausset bowed low, with that courtly French bow which only the -old retainers of the Bourbons knew how to make, and approached him, -presenting an envelope. - -Napoleon turned to him gaily and pulled his ear. - -“You have hurried here. I am very glad. Well, what is Paris saying?” he -asked, suddenly changing his former stern expression for a most cordial -tone. - -“Sire, all Paris regrets your absence,” replied de Beausset as was -proper. - -But though Napoleon knew that de Beausset had to say something of this -kind, and though in his lucid moments he knew it was untrue, he was -pleased to hear it from him. Again he honored him by touching his ear. - -“I am very sorry to have made you travel so far,” said he. - -“Sire, I expected nothing less than to find you at the gates of Moscow,” -replied de Beausset. - -Napoleon smiled and, lifting his head absent-mindedly, glanced to the -right. An aide-de-camp approached with gliding steps and offered him a -gold snuffbox, which he took. - -“Yes, it has happened luckily for you,” he said, raising the open -snuffbox to his nose. “You are fond of travel, and in three days you -will see Moscow. You surely did not expect to see that Asiatic capital. -You will have a pleasant journey.” - -De Beausset bowed gratefully at this regard for his taste for travel (of -which he had not till then been aware). - -“Ha, what’s this?” asked Napoleon, noticing that all the courtiers were -looking at something concealed under a cloth. - -With courtly adroitness de Beausset half turned and without turning his -back to the Emperor retired two steps, twitching off the cloth at the -same time, and said: - -“A present to Your Majesty from the Empress.” - -It was a portrait, painted in bright colors by Gérard, of the son borne -to Napoleon by the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boy whom for -some reason everyone called “The King of Rome.” - -A very pretty curly-headed boy with a look of the Christ in the Sistine -Madonna was depicted playing at stick and ball. The ball represented the -terrestrial globe and the stick in his other hand a scepter. - -Though it was not clear what the artist meant to express by depicting -the so-called King of Rome spiking the earth with a stick, the allegory -apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it had done to all who had seen it in -Paris, quite clear and very pleasing. - -“The King of Rome!” he said, pointing to the portrait with a graceful -gesture. “Admirable!” - -With the natural capacity of an Italian for changing the expression of -his face at will, he drew nearer to the portrait and assumed a look -of pensive tenderness. He felt that what he now said and did would be -historical, and it seemed to him that it would now be best for him—whose -grandeur enabled his son to play stick and ball with the terrestrial -globe—to show, in contrast to that grandeur, the simplest paternal -tenderness. His eyes grew dim, he moved forward, glanced round at a -chair (which seemed to place itself under him), and sat down on it -before the portrait. At a single gesture from him everyone went out on -tiptoe, leaving the great man to himself and his emotion. - -Having sat still for a while he touched—himself not knowing why—the -thick spot of paint representing the highest light in the portrait, -rose, and recalled de Beausset and the officer on duty. He ordered the -portrait to be carried outside his tent, that the Old Guard, stationed -round it, might not be deprived of the pleasure of seeing the King of -Rome, the son and heir of their adored monarch. - -And while he was doing M. de Beausset the honor of breakfasting with -him, they heard, as Napoleon had anticipated, the rapturous cries of the -officers and men of the Old Guard who had run up to see the portrait. - -“Vive l’Empereur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive l’Empereur!” came those -ecstatic cries. - -After breakfast Napoleon in de Beausset’s presence dictated his order of -the day to the army. - -“Short and energetic!” he remarked when he had read over the -proclamation which he had dictated straight off without corrections. It -ran: - -Soldiers! This is the battle you have so longed for. Victory depends on -you. It is essential for us; it will give us all we need: comfortable -quarters and a speedy return to our country. Behave as you did at -Austerlitz, Friedland, Vítebsk, and Smolénsk. Let our remotest posterity -recall your achievements this day with pride. Let it be said of each of -you: “He was in the great battle before Moscow!” - -“Before Moscow!” repeated Napoleon, and inviting M. de Beausset, who was -so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out of the tent -to where the horses stood saddled. - -“Your Majesty is too kind!” replied de Beausset to the invitation to -accompany the Emperor; he wanted to sleep, did not know how to ride and -was afraid of doing so. - -But Napoleon nodded to the traveler, and de Beausset had to mount. When -Napoleon came out of the tent the shouting of the Guards before his -son’s portrait grew still louder. Napoleon frowned. - -“Take him away!” he said, pointing with a gracefully majestic gesture to -the portrait. “It is too soon for him to see a field of battle.” - -De Beausset closed his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed deeply, to -indicate how profoundly he valued and comprehended the Emperor’s words. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -On the twenty-fifth of August, so his historians tell us, Napoleon spent -the whole day on horseback inspecting the locality, considering plans -submitted to him by his marshals, and personally giving commands to his -generals. - -The original line of the Russian forces along the river Kolochá had -been dislocated by the capture of the Shevárdino Redoubt on the -twenty-fourth, and part of the line—the left flank—had been drawn back. -That part of the line was not entrenched and in front of it the ground -was more open and level than elsewhere. It was evident to anyone, -military or not, that it was here the French should attack. It would -seem that not much consideration was needed to reach this conclusion, -nor any particular care or trouble on the part of the Emperor and his -marshals, nor was there any need of that special and supreme quality -called genius that people are so apt to ascribe to Napoleon; yet the -historians who described the event later and the men who then surrounded -Napoleon, and he himself, thought otherwise. - -Napoleon rode over the plain and surveyed the locality with a profound -air and in silence, nodded with approval or shook his head dubiously, -and without communicating to the generals around him the profound -course of ideas which guided his decisions merely gave them his final -conclusions in the form of commands. Having listened to a suggestion -from Davout, who was now called Prince d’Eckmühl, to turn the Russian -left wing, Napoleon said it should not be done, without explaining -why not. To a proposal made by General Campan (who was to attack the -flèches) to lead his division through the woods, Napoleon agreed, though -the so-called Duke of Elchingen (Ney) ventured to remark that a movement -through the woods was dangerous and might disorder the division. - -Having inspected the country opposite the Shevárdino Redoubt, Napoleon -pondered a little in silence and then indicated the spots where two -batteries should be set up by the morrow to act against the Russian -entrenchments, and the places where, in line with them, the field -artillery should be placed. - -After giving these and other commands he returned to his tent, and the -dispositions for the battle were written down from his dictation. - -These dispositions, of which the French historians write with enthusiasm -and other historians with profound respect, were as follows: - -At dawn the two new batteries established during the night on the -plain occupied by the Prince d’Eckmühl will open fire on the opposing -batteries of the enemy. - -At the same time the commander of the artillery of the 1st Corps, -General Pernetti, with thirty cannon of Campan’s division and all the -howitzers of Dessaix’s and Friant’s divisions, will move forward, open -fire, and overwhelm with shellfire the enemy’s battery, against which -will operate: - - 24 guns of the artillery of the Guards - 30 guns of Campan’s division - - and 8 guns of Friant’s and Dessaix’s divisions - — - - in all 62 guns. - -The commander of the artillery of the 3rd Corps, General Fouché, will -place the howitzers of the 3rd and 8th Corps, sixteen in all, on the -flanks of the battery that is to bombard the entrenchment on the left, -which will have forty guns in all directed against it. - -General Sorbier must be ready at the first order to advance with all the -howitzers of the Guard’s artillery against either one or other of the -entrenchments. - -During the cannonade Prince Poniatowski is to advance through the wood -on the village and turn the enemy’s position. - -General Campan will move through the wood to seize the first -fortification. - -After the advance has begun in this manner, orders will be given in -accordance with the enemy’s movements. - -The cannonade on the left flank will begin as soon as the guns of the -right wing are heard. The sharpshooters of Morand’s division and of -the vice-King’s division will open a heavy fire on seeing the attack -commence on the right wing. - -The vice-King will occupy the village and cross by its three bridges, -advancing to the same heights as Morand’s and Gibrard’s divisions, which -under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt and come into -line with the rest of the forces. - -All this must be done in good order (le tout se fera avec ordre et -méthode) as far as possible retaining troops in reserve. - -The Imperial Camp near Mozháysk, - -September, 6, 1812. - - -These dispositions, which are very obscure and confused if one allows -oneself to regard the arrangements without religious awe of his genius, -related to Napoleon’s orders to deal with four points—four different -orders. Not one of these was, or could be, carried out. - -In the disposition it is said first that the batteries placed on the -spot chosen by Napoleon, with the guns of Pernetti and Fouché; which -were to come in line with them, 102 guns in all, were to open fire and -shower shells on the Russian flèches and redoubts. This could not be -done, as from the spots selected by Napoleon the projectiles did not -carry to the Russian works, and those 102 guns shot into the air until -the nearest commander, contrary to Napoleon’s instructions, moved them -forward. - -The second order was that Poniatowski, moving to the village through the -wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This could not be done and -was not done, because Poniatowski, advancing on the village through the -wood, met Túchkov there barring his way, and could not and did not turn -the Russian position. - -The third order was: General Campan will move through the wood to seize -the first fortification. General Campan’s division did not seize the -first fortification but was driven back, for on emerging from the wood -it had to reform under grapeshot, of which Napoleon was unaware. - -The fourth order was: The vice-King will occupy the village (Borodinó) -and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights as -Morand’s and Gérard’s divisions (for whose movements no directions are -given), which under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt -and come into line with the rest of the forces. - -As far as one can make out, not so much from this unintelligible -sentence as from the attempts the vice-King made to execute the orders -given him, he was to advance from the left through Borodinó to the -redoubt while the divisions of Morand and Gérard were to advance -simultaneously from the front. - -All this, like the other parts of the disposition, was not and could -not be executed. After passing through Borodinó the vice-King was driven -back to the Kolochá and could get no farther; while the divisions of -Morand and Gérard did not take the redoubt but were driven back, and the -redoubt was only taken at the end of the battle by the cavalry (a thing -probably unforeseen and not heard of by Napoleon). So not one of -the orders in the disposition was, or could be, executed. But in the -disposition it is said that, after the fight has commenced in this -manner, orders will be given in accordance with the enemy’s movements, -and so it might be supposed that all necessary arrangements would be -made by Napoleon during the battle. But this was not and could not be -done, for during the whole battle Napoleon was so far away that, as -appeared later, he could not know the course of the battle and not one -of his orders during the fight could be executed. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -Many historians say that the French did not win the battle of Borodinó -because Napoleon had a cold, and that if he had not had a cold the -orders he gave before and during the battle would have been still more -full of genius and Russia would have been lost and the face of the world -have been changed. To historians who believe that Russia was shaped -by the will of one man—Peter the Great—and that France from a republic -became an empire and French armies went to Russia at the will of one -man—Napoleon—to say that Russia remained a power because Napoleon had a -bad cold on the twenty-fourth of August may seem logical and convincing. - -If it had depended on Napoleon’s will to fight or not to fight the -battle of Borodinó, and if this or that other arrangement depended on -his will, then evidently a cold affecting the manifestation of his will -might have saved Russia, and consequently the valet who omitted to bring -Napoleon his waterproof boots on the twenty-fourth would have been -the savior of Russia. Along that line of thought such a deduction is -indubitable, as indubitable as the deduction Voltaire made in jest -(without knowing what he was jesting at) when he saw that the Massacre -of St. Bartholomew was due to Charles IX’s stomach being deranged. But -to men who do not admit that Russia was formed by the will of one man, -Peter I, or that the French Empire was formed and the war with Russia -begun by the will of one man, Napoleon, that argument seems not merely -untrue and irrational, but contrary to all human reality. To the -question of what causes historic events another answer presents itself, -namely, that the course of human events is predetermined from on -high—depends on the coincidence of the wills of all who take part in the -events, and that a Napoleon’s influence on the course of these events is -purely external and fictitious. - -Strange as at first glance it may seem to suppose that the Massacre of -St. Bartholomew was not due to Charles IX’s will, though he gave the -order for it and thought it was done as a result of that order; and -strange as it may seem to suppose that the slaughter of eighty thousand -men at Borodinó was not due to Napoleon’s will, though he ordered the -commencement and conduct of the battle and thought it was done -because he ordered it; strange as these suppositions appear, yet human -dignity—which tells me that each of us is, if not more at least not less -a man than the great Napoleon—demands the acceptance of that solution of -the question, and historic investigation abundantly confirms it. - -At the battle of Borodinó Napoleon shot at no one and killed no one. -That was all done by the soldiers. Therefore it was not he who killed -people. - -The French soldiers went to kill and be killed at the battle of Borodinó -not because of Napoleon’s orders but by their own volition. The whole -army—French, Italian, German, Polish, and Dutch—hungry, ragged, and -weary of the campaign, felt at the sight of an army blocking their road -to Moscow that the wine was drawn and must be drunk. Had Napoleon then -forbidden them to fight the Russians, they would have killed him and -have proceeded to fight the Russians because it was inevitable. - -When they heard Napoleon’s proclamation offering them, as compensation -for mutilation and death, the words of posterity about their having been -in the battle before Moscow, they cried “Vive l’Empereur!” just as they -had cried “Vive l’Empereur!” at the sight of the portrait of the boy -piercing the terrestrial globe with a toy stick, and just as they would -have cried “Vive l’Empereur!” at any nonsense that might be told them. -There was nothing left for them to do but cry “Vive l’Empereur!” and go -to fight, in order to get food and rest as conquerors in Moscow. So it -was not because of Napoleon’s commands that they killed their fellow -men. - -And it was not Napoleon who directed the course of the battle, for none -of his orders were executed and during the battle he did not know what -was going on before him. So the way in which these people killed one -another was not decided by Napoleon’s will but occurred independently of -him, in accord with the will of hundreds of thousands of people who took -part in the common action. It only seemed to Napoleon that it all took -place by his will. And so the question whether he had or had not a -cold has no more historic interest than the cold of the least of the -transport soldiers. - -Moreover, the assertion made by various writers that his cold was -the cause of his dispositions not being as well-planned as on former -occasions, and of his orders during the battle not being as good as -previously, is quite baseless, which again shows that Napoleon’s cold on -the twenty-sixth of August was unimportant. - -The dispositions cited above are not at all worse, but are even -better, than previous dispositions by which he had won victories. His -pseudo-orders during the battle were also no worse than formerly, but -much the same as usual. These dispositions and orders only seem worse -than previous ones because the battle of Borodinó was the first Napoleon -did not win. The profoundest and most excellent dispositions and orders -seem very bad, and every learned militarist criticizes them with looks -of importance, when they relate to a battle that has been lost, and the -very worst dispositions and orders seem very good, and serious people -fill whole volumes to demonstrate their merits, when they relate to a -battle that has been won. - -The dispositions drawn up by Weyrother for the battle of Austerlitz were -a model of perfection for that kind of composition, but still they were -criticized—criticized for their very perfection, for their excessive -minuteness. - -Napoleon at the battle of Borodinó fulfilled his office as -representative of authority as well as, and even better than, at other -battles. He did nothing harmful to the progress of the battle; he -inclined to the most reasonable opinions, he made no confusion, did not -contradict himself, did not get frightened or run away from the field of -battle, but with his great tact and military experience carried out his -role of appearing to command, calmly and with dignity. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -On returning from a second inspection of the lines, Napoleon remarked: - -“The chessmen are set up, the game will begin tomorrow!” - -Having ordered punch and summoned de Beausset, he began to talk to him -about Paris and about some changes he meant to make in the Empress’ -household, surprising the prefect by his memory of minute details -relating to the court. - -He showed an interest in trifles, joked about de Beausset’s love of -travel, and chatted carelessly, as a famous, self-confident surgeon who -knows his job does when turning up his sleeves and putting on his apron -while a patient is being strapped to the operating table. “The matter is -in my hands and is clear and definite in my head. When the time comes to -set to work I shall do it as no one else could, but now I can jest, and -the more I jest and the calmer I am the more tranquil and confident you -ought to be, and the more amazed at my genius.” - -Having finished his second glass of punch, Napoleon went to rest before -the serious business which, he considered, awaited him next day. He -was so much interested in that task that he was unable to sleep, and -in spite of his cold which had grown worse from the dampness of the -evening, he went into the large division of the tent at three o’clock in -the morning, loudly blowing his nose. He asked whether the Russians had -not withdrawn, and was told that the enemy’s fires were still in the -same places. He nodded approval. - -The adjutant in attendance came into the tent. - -“Well, Rapp, do you think we shall do good business today?” Napoleon -asked him. - -“Without doubt, sire,” replied Rapp. - -Napoleon looked at him. - -“Do you remember, sire, what you did me the honor to say at Smolénsk?” -continued Rapp. “The wine is drawn and must be drunk.” - -Napoleon frowned and sat silent for a long time leaning his head on his -hand. - -“This poor army!” he suddenly remarked. “It has diminished greatly since -Smolénsk. Fortune is frankly a courtesan, Rapp. I have always said so -and I am beginning to experience it. But the Guards, Rapp, the Guards -are intact?” he remarked interrogatively. - -“Yes, sire,” replied Rapp. - -Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and glanced at his watch. -He was not sleepy and it was still not nearly morning. It was impossible -to give further orders for the sake of killing time, for the orders had -all been given and were now being executed. - -“Have the biscuits and rice been served out to the regiments of the -Guards?” asked Napoleon sternly. - -“Yes, sire.” - -“The rice too?” - -Rapp replied that he had given the Emperor’s order about the rice, but -Napoleon shook his head in dissatisfaction as if not believing that -his order had been executed. An attendant came in with punch. Napoleon -ordered another glass to be brought for Rapp, and silently sipped his -own. - -“I have neither taste nor smell,” he remarked, sniffing at his glass. -“This cold is tiresome. They talk about medicine—what is the good of -medicine when it can’t cure a cold! Corvisart gave me these lozenges but -they don’t help at all. What can doctors cure? One can’t cure anything. -Our body is a machine for living. It is organized for that, it is its -nature. Let life go on in it unhindered and let it defend itself, it -will do more than if you paralyze it by encumbering it with remedies. -Our body is like a perfect watch that should go for a certain time; the -watchmaker cannot open it, he can only adjust it by fumbling, and that -blindfold.... Yes, our body is just a machine for living, that is all.” - -And having entered on the path of definition, of which he was fond, -Napoleon suddenly and unexpectedly gave a new one. - -“Do you know, Rapp, what military art is?” asked he. “It is the art of -being stronger than the enemy at a given moment. That’s all.” - -Rapp made no reply. - -“Tomorrow we shall have to deal with Kutúzov!” said Napoleon. “We shall -see! Do you remember at Braunau he commanded an army for three weeks -and did not once mount a horse to inspect his entrenchments.... We shall -see!” - -He looked at his watch. It was still only four o’clock. He did not feel -sleepy. The punch was finished and there was still nothing to do. He -rose, walked to and fro, put on a warm overcoat and a hat, and went -out of the tent. The night was dark and damp, a scarcely perceptible -moisture was descending from above. Near by, the campfires were dimly -burning among the French Guards, and in the distance those of the -Russian line shone through the smoke. The weather was calm, and the -rustle and tramp of the French troops already beginning to move to take -up their positions were clearly audible. - -Napoleon walked about in front of his tent, looked at the fires and -listened to these sounds, and as he was passing a tall guardsman in -a shaggy cap, who was standing sentinel before his tent and had drawn -himself up like a black pillar at sight of the Emperor, Napoleon stopped -in front of him. - -“What year did you enter the service?” he asked with that affectation -of military bluntness and geniality with which he always addressed the -soldiers. - -The man answered the question. - -“Ah! One of the old ones! Has your regiment had its rice?” - -“It has, Your Majesty.” - -Napoleon nodded and walked away. - - -At half-past five Napoleon rode to the village of Shevárdino. - -It was growing light, the sky was clearing, only a single cloud lay in -the east. The abandoned campfires were burning themselves out in the -faint morning light. - -On the right a single deep report of a cannon resounded and died away in -the prevailing silence. Some minutes passed. A second and a third report -shook the air, then a fourth and a fifth boomed solemnly near by on the -right. - -The first shots had not yet ceased to reverberate before others rang out -and yet more were heard mingling with and overtaking one another. - -Napoleon with his suite rode up to the Shevárdino Redoubt where he -dismounted. The game had begun. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -On returning to Górki after having seen Prince Andrew, Pierre ordered -his groom to get the horses ready and to call him early in the morning, -and then immediately fell asleep behind a partition in a corner Borís -had given up to him. - -Before he was thoroughly awake next morning everybody had already left -the hut. The panes were rattling in the little windows and his groom was -shaking him. - -“Your excellency! Your excellency! Your excellency!” he kept repeating -pertinaciously while he shook Pierre by the shoulder without looking at -him, having apparently lost hope of getting him to wake up. - -“What? Has it begun? Is it time?” Pierre asked, waking up. - -“Hear the firing,” said the groom, a discharged soldier. “All the -gentlemen have gone out, and his Serene Highness himself rode past long -ago.” - -Pierre dressed hastily and ran out to the porch. Outside all was bright, -fresh, dewy, and cheerful. The sun, just bursting forth from behind a -cloud that had concealed it, was shining, with rays still half broken -by the clouds, over the roofs of the street opposite, on the -dew-besprinkled dust of the road, on the walls of the houses, on the -windows, the fence, and on Pierre’s horses standing before the hut. The -roar of guns sounded more distinct outside. An adjutant accompanied by a -Cossack passed by at a sharp trot. - -“It’s time, Count; it’s time!” cried the adjutant. - -Telling the groom to follow him with the horses, Pierre went down the -street to the knoll from which he had looked at the field of battle the -day before. A crowd of military men was assembled there, members of the -staff could be heard conversing in French, and Kutúzov’s gray head in -a white cap with a red band was visible, his gray nape sunk between his -shoulders. He was looking through a field glass down the highroad before -him. - -Mounting the steps to the knoll Pierre looked at the scene before him, -spellbound by beauty. It was the same panorama he had admired from that -spot the day before, but now the whole place was full of troops and -covered by smoke clouds from the guns, and the slanting rays of the -bright sun, rising slightly to the left behind Pierre, cast upon it -through the clear morning air penetrating streaks of rosy, golden-tinted -light and long dark shadows. The forest at the farthest extremity of -the panorama seemed carved in some precious stone of a yellowish-green -color; its undulating outline was silhouetted against the horizon and -was pierced beyond Valúevo by the Smolénsk highroad crowded with troops. -Nearer at hand glittered golden cornfields interspersed with copses. -There were troops to be seen everywhere, in front and to the right and -left. All this was vivid, majestic, and unexpected; but what impressed -Pierre most of all was the view of the battlefield itself, of Borodinó -and the hollows on both sides of the Kolochá. - -Above the Kolochá, in Borodinó and on both sides of it, especially to -the left where the Vóyna flowing between its marshy banks falls into -the Kolochá, a mist had spread which seemed to melt, to dissolve, and to -become translucent when the brilliant sun appeared and magically colored -and outlined everything. The smoke of the guns mingled with this mist, -and over the whole expanse and through that mist the rays of the morning -sun were reflected, flashing back like lightning from the water, from -the dew, and from the bayonets of the troops crowded together by the -riverbanks and in Borodinó. A white church could be seen through the -mist, and here and there the roofs of huts in Borodinó as well as dense -masses of soldiers, or green ammunition chests and ordnance. And all -this moved, or seemed to move, as the smoke and mist spread out over -the whole space. Just as in the mist-enveloped hollow near Borodinó, so -along the entire line outside and above it and especially in the woods -and fields to the left, in the valleys and on the summits of the high -ground, clouds of powder smoke seemed continually to spring up out of -nothing, now singly, now several at a time, some translucent, others -dense, which, swelling, growing, rolling, and blending, extended over -the whole expanse. - -These puffs of smoke and (strange to say) the sound of the firing -produced the chief beauty of the spectacle. - -“Puff!”—suddenly a round compact cloud of smoke was seen merging from -violet into gray and milky white, and “boom!” came the report a second -later. - -“Puff! puff!”—and two clouds arose pushing one another and blending -together; and “boom, boom!” came the sounds confirming what the eye had -seen. - -Pierre glanced round at the first cloud, which he had seen as a round -compact ball, and in its place already were balloons of smoke floating -to one side, and—“puff” (with a pause)—“puff, puff!” three and then four -more appeared and then from each, with the same interval—“boom—boom, -boom!” came the fine, firm, precise sounds in reply. It seemed as if -those smoke clouds sometimes ran and sometimes stood still while woods, -fields, and glittering bayonets ran past them. From the left, over -fields and bushes, those large balls of smoke were continually appearing -followed by their solemn reports, while nearer still, in the hollows and -woods, there burst from the muskets small cloudlets that had no time -to become balls, but had their little echoes in just the same way. -“Trakh-ta-ta-takh!” came the frequent crackle of musketry, but it was -irregular and feeble in comparison with the reports of the cannon. - -Pierre wished to be there with that smoke, those shining bayonets, that -movement, and those sounds. He turned to look at Kutúzov and his suite, -to compare his impressions with those of others. They were all looking -at the field of battle as he was, and, as it seemed to him, with the -same feelings. All their faces were now shining with that latent warmth -of feeling Pierre had noticed the day before and had fully understood -after his talk with Prince Andrew. - -“Go, my dear fellow, go... and Christ be with you!” Kutúzov was -saying to a general who stood beside him, not taking his eye from the -battlefield. - -Having received this order the general passed by Pierre on his way down -the knoll. - -“To the crossing!” said the general coldly and sternly in reply to one -of the staff who asked where he was going. - -“I’ll go there too, I too!” thought Pierre, and followed the general. - -The general mounted a horse a Cossack had brought him. Pierre went to -his groom who was holding his horses and, asking which was the quietest, -clambered onto it, seized it by the mane, and turning out his toes -pressed his heels against its sides and, feeling that his spectacles -were slipping off but unable to let go of the mane and reins, he -galloped after the general, causing the staff officers to smile as they -watched him from the knoll. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -Having descended the hill the general after whom Pierre was galloping -turned sharply to the left, and Pierre, losing sight of him, galloped -in among some ranks of infantry marching ahead of him. He tried to pass -either in front of them or to the right or left, but there were soldiers -everywhere, all with the same preoccupied expression and busy with -some unseen but evidently important task. They all gazed with the same -dissatisfied and inquiring expression at this stout man in a white hat, -who for some unknown reason threatened to trample them under his horse’s -hoofs. - -“Why ride into the middle of the battalion?” one of them shouted at him. - -Another prodded his horse with the butt end of a musket, and Pierre, -bending over his saddlebow and hardly able to control his shying horse, -galloped ahead of the soldiers where there was a free space. - -There was a bridge ahead of him, where other soldiers stood firing. -Pierre rode up to them. Without being aware of it he had come to the -bridge across the Kolochá between Górki and Borodinó, which the French -(having occupied Borodinó) were attacking in the first phase of the -battle. Pierre saw that there was a bridge in front of him and that -soldiers were doing something on both sides of it and in the meadow, -among the rows of new-mown hay which he had taken no notice of amid the -smoke of the campfires the day before; but despite the incessant firing -going on there he had no idea that this was the field of battle. He did -not notice the sound of the bullets whistling from every side, or the -projectiles that flew over him, did not see the enemy on the other side -of the river, and for a long time did not notice the killed and wounded, -though many fell near him. He looked about him with a smile which did -not leave his face. - -“Why’s that fellow in front of the line?” shouted somebody at him again. - -“To the left!... Keep to the right!” the men shouted to him. - -Pierre went to the right, and unexpectedly encountered one of Raévski’s -adjutants whom he knew. The adjutant looked angrily at him, evidently -also intending to shout at him, but on recognizing him he nodded. - -“How have you got here?” he said, and galloped on. - -Pierre, feeling out of place there, having nothing to do, and afraid of -getting in someone’s way again, galloped after the adjutant. - -“What’s happening here? May I come with you?” he asked. - -“One moment, one moment!” replied the adjutant, and riding up to a stout -colonel who was standing in the meadow, he gave him some message and -then addressed Pierre. - -“Why have you come here, Count?” he asked with a smile. “Still -inquisitive?” - -“Yes, yes,” assented Pierre. - -But the adjutant turned his horse about and rode on. - -“Here it’s tolerable,” said he, “but with Bagratión on the left flank -they’re getting it frightfully hot.” - -“Really?” said Pierre. “Where is that?” - -“Come along with me to our knoll. We can get a view from there and in -our battery it is still bearable,” said the adjutant. “Will you come?” - -“Yes, I’ll come with you,” replied Pierre, looking round for his groom. - -It was only now that he noticed wounded men staggering along or being -carried on stretchers. On that very meadow he had ridden over the day -before, a soldier was lying athwart the rows of scented hay, with his -head thrown awkwardly back and his shako off. - -“Why haven’t they carried him away?” Pierre was about to ask, but seeing -the stern expression of the adjutant who was also looking that way, he -checked himself. - -Pierre did not find his groom and rode along the hollow with the -adjutant to Raévski’s Redoubt. His horse lagged behind the adjutant’s -and jolted him at every step. - -“You don’t seem to be used to riding, Count?” remarked the adjutant. - -“No it’s not that, but her action seems so jerky,” said Pierre in a -puzzled tone. - -“Why... she’s wounded!” said the adjutant. “In the off foreleg above the -knee. A bullet, no doubt. I congratulate you, Count, on your baptism of -fire!” - -Having ridden in the smoke past the Sixth Corps, behind the artillery -which had been moved forward and was in action, deafening them with the -noise of firing, they came to a small wood. There it was cool and quiet, -with a scent of autumn. Pierre and the adjutant dismounted and walked up -the hill on foot. - -“Is the general here?” asked the adjutant on reaching the knoll. - -“He was here a minute ago but has just gone that way,” someone told him, -pointing to the right. - -The adjutant looked at Pierre as if puzzled what to do with him now. - -“Don’t trouble about me,” said Pierre. “I’ll go up onto the knoll if I -may?” - -“Yes, do. You’ll see everything from there and it’s less dangerous, and -I’ll come for you.” - -Pierre went to the battery and the adjutant rode on. They did not meet -again, and only much later did Pierre learn that he lost an arm that -day. - -The knoll to which Pierre ascended was that famous one afterwards known -to the Russians as the Knoll Battery or Raévski’s Redoubt, and to the -French as la grande redoute, la fatale redoute, la redoute du centre, -around which tens of thousands fell, and which the French regarded as -the key to the whole position. - -This redoubt consisted of a knoll, on three sides of which trenches had -been dug. Within the entrenchment stood ten guns that were being fired -through openings in the earthwork. - -In line with the knoll on both sides stood other guns which also fired -incessantly. A little behind the guns stood infantry. When ascending -that knoll Pierre had no notion that this spot, on which small trenches -had been dug and from which a few guns were firing, was the most -important point of the battle. - -On the contrary, just because he happened to be there he thought it one -of the least significant parts of the field. - -Having reached the knoll, Pierre sat down at one end of a trench -surrounding the battery and gazed at what was going on around him with -an unconsciously happy smile. Occasionally he rose and walked about the -battery still with that same smile, trying not to obstruct the soldiers -who were loading, hauling the guns, and continually running past -him with bags and charges. The guns of that battery were being fired -continually one after another with a deafening roar, enveloping the -whole neighborhood in powder smoke. - -In contrast with the dread felt by the infantrymen placed in support, -here in the battery where a small number of men busy at their work were -separated from the rest by a trench, everyone experienced a common and -as it were family feeling of animation. - -The intrusion of Pierre’s nonmilitary figure in a white hat made an -unpleasant impression at first. The soldiers looked askance at him with -surprise and even alarm as they went past him. The senior artillery -officer, a tall, long-legged, pockmarked man, moved over to Pierre as if -to see the action of the farthest gun and looked at him with curiosity. - -A young round-faced officer, quite a boy still and evidently only just -out of the Cadet College, who was zealously commanding the two guns -entrusted to him, addressed Pierre sternly. - -“Sir,” he said, “permit me to ask you to stand aside. You must not be -here.” - -The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked at Pierre. -But when they had convinced themselves that this man in the white hat -was doing no harm, but either sat quietly on the slope of the trench -with a shy smile or, politely making way for the soldiers, paced up -and down the battery under fire as calmly as if he were on a boulevard, -their feeling of hostile distrust gradually began to change into a -kindly and bantering sympathy, such as soldiers feel for their dogs, -cocks, goats, and in general for the animals that live with the -regiment. The men soon accepted Pierre into their family, adopted him, -gave him a nickname (“our gentleman”), and made kindly fun of him among -themselves. - -A shell tore up the earth two paces from Pierre and he looked around -with a smile as he brushed from his clothes some earth it had thrown up. - -“And how’s it you’re not afraid, sir, really now?” a red-faced, -broad-shouldered soldier asked Pierre, with a grin that disclosed a set -of sound, white teeth. - -“Are you afraid, then?” said Pierre. - -“What else do you expect?” answered the soldier. “She has no mercy, you -know! When she comes spluttering down, out go your innards. One can’t -help being afraid,” he said laughing. - -Several of the men, with bright kindly faces, stopped beside Pierre. -They seemed not to have expected him to talk like anybody else, and the -discovery that he did so delighted them. - -“It’s the business of us soldiers. But in a gentleman it’s wonderful! -There’s a gentleman for you!” - -“To your places!” cried the young officer to the men gathered round -Pierre. - -The young officer was evidently exercising his duties for the first or -second time and therefore treated both his superiors and the men with -great precision and formality. - -The booming cannonade and the fusillade of musketry were growing more -intense over the whole field, especially to the left where Bagratión’s -flèches were, but where Pierre was the smoke of the firing made it -almost impossible to distinguish anything. Moreover, his whole -attention was engrossed by watching the family circle—separated from all -else—formed by the men in the battery. His first unconscious feeling of -joyful animation produced by the sights and sounds of the battlefield -was now replaced by another, especially since he had seen that soldier -lying alone in the hayfield. Now, seated on the slope of the trench, he -observed the faces of those around him. - -By ten o’clock some twenty men had already been carried away from the -battery; two guns were smashed and cannon balls fell more and more -frequently on the battery and spent bullets buzzed and whistled around. -But the men in the battery seemed not to notice this, and merry voices -and jokes were heard on all sides. - -“A live one!” shouted a man as a whistling shell approached. - -“Not this way! To the infantry!” added another with loud laughter, -seeing the shell fly past and fall into the ranks of the supports. - -“Are you bowing to a friend, eh?” remarked another, chaffing a peasant -who ducked low as a cannon ball flew over. - -Several soldiers gathered by the wall of the trench, looking out to see -what was happening in front. - -“They’ve withdrawn the front line, it has retired,” said they, pointing -over the earthwork. - -“Mind your own business,” an old sergeant shouted at them. “If they’ve -retired it’s because there’s work for them to do farther back.” - -And the sergeant, taking one of the men by the shoulders, gave him a -shove with his knee. This was followed by a burst of laughter. - -“To the fifth gun, wheel it up!” came shouts from one side. - -“Now then, all together, like bargees!” rose the merry voices of those -who were moving the gun. - -“Oh, she nearly knocked our gentleman’s hat off!” cried the red-faced -humorist, showing his teeth chaffing Pierre. “Awkward baggage!” he added -reproachfully to a cannon ball that struck a cannon wheel and a man’s -leg. - -“Now then, you foxes!” said another, laughing at some militiamen who, -stooping low, entered the battery to carry away the wounded man. - -“So this gruel isn’t to your taste? Oh, you crows! You’re scared!” they -shouted at the militiamen who stood hesitating before the man whose leg -had been torn off. - -“There, lads... oh, oh!” they mimicked the peasants, “they don’t like it -at all!” - -Pierre noticed that after every ball that hit the redoubt, and after -every loss, the liveliness increased more and more. - -As the flames of the fire hidden within come more and more vividly and -rapidly from an approaching thundercloud, so, as if in opposition to -what was taking place, the lightning of hidden fire growing more and -more intense glowed in the faces of these men. - -Pierre did not look out at the battlefield and was not concerned to know -what was happening there; he was entirely absorbed in watching this fire -which burned ever more brightly and which he felt was flaming up in the -same way in his own soul. - -At ten o’clock the infantry that had been among the bushes in front of -the battery and along the Kámenka streamlet retreated. From the battery -they could be seen running back past it carrying their wounded on -their muskets. A general with his suite came to the battery, and after -speaking to the colonel gave Pierre an angry look and went away again -having ordered the infantry supports behind the battery to lie down, -so as to be less exposed to fire. After this from amid the ranks of -infantry to the right of the battery came the sound of a drum and shouts -of command, and from the battery one saw how those ranks of infantry -moved forward. - -Pierre looked over the wall of the trench and was particularly struck -by a pale young officer who, letting his sword hang down, was walking -backwards and kept glancing uneasily around. - -The ranks of the infantry disappeared amid the smoke but their -long-drawn shout and rapid musketry firing could still be heard. A few -minutes later crowds of wounded men and stretcher-bearers came back from -that direction. Projectiles began to fall still more frequently in the -battery. Several men were lying about who had not been removed. Around -the cannon the men moved still more briskly and busily. No one any -longer took notice of Pierre. Once or twice he was shouted at for being -in the way. The senior officer moved with big, rapid strides from one -gun to another with a frowning face. The young officer, with his face -still more flushed, commanded the men more scrupulously than ever. The -soldiers handed up the charges, turned, loaded, and did their business -with strained smartness. They gave little jumps as they walked, as -though they were on springs. - -The stormcloud had come upon them, and in every face the fire which -Pierre had watched kindle burned up brightly. Pierre standing beside the -commanding officer. The young officer, his hand to his shako, ran up to -his superior. - -“I have the honor to report, sir, that only eight rounds are left. Are -we to continue firing?” he asked. - -“Grapeshot!” the senior shouted, without answering the question, looking -over the wall of the trench. - -Suddenly something happened: the young officer gave a gasp and bending -double sat down on the ground like a bird shot on the wing. Everything -became strange, confused, and misty in Pierre’s eyes. - -One cannon ball after another whistled by and struck the earthwork, a -soldier, or a gun. Pierre, who had not noticed these sounds before, -now heard nothing else. On the right of the battery soldiers shouting -“Hurrah!” were running not forwards but backwards, it seemed to Pierre. - -A cannon ball struck the very end of the earth work by which he was -standing, crumbling down the earth; a black ball flashed before his eyes -and at the same instant plumped into something. Some militiamen who were -entering the battery ran back. - -“All with grapeshot!” shouted the officer. - -The sergeant ran up to the officer and in a frightened whisper informed -him (as a butler at dinner informs his master that there is no more of -some wine asked for) that there were no more charges. - -“The scoundrels! What are they doing?” shouted the officer, turning to -Pierre. - -The officer’s face was red and perspiring and his eyes glittered under -his frowning brow. - -“Run to the reserves and bring up the ammunition boxes!” he yelled, -angrily avoiding Pierre with his eyes and speaking to his men. - -“I’ll go,” said Pierre. - -The officer, without answering him, strode across to the opposite side. - -“Don’t fire.... Wait!” he shouted. - -The man who had been ordered to go for ammunition stumbled against -Pierre. - -“Eh, sir, this is no place for you,” said he, and ran down the slope. - -Pierre ran after him, avoiding the spot where the young officer was -sitting. - -One cannon ball, another, and a third flew over him, falling in front, -beside, and behind him. Pierre ran down the slope. “Where am I going?” -he suddenly asked himself when he was already near the green ammunition -wagons. He halted irresolutely, not knowing whether to return or go on. -Suddenly a terrible concussion threw him backwards to the ground. At the -same instant he was dazzled by a great flash of flame, and immediately a -deafening roar, crackling, and whistling made his ears tingle. - -When he came to himself he was sitting on the ground leaning on his -hands; the ammunition wagons he had been approaching no longer existed, -only charred green boards and rags littered the scorched grass, and a -horse, dangling fragments of its shaft behind it, galloped past, while -another horse lay, like Pierre, on the ground, uttering prolonged and -piercing cries. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -Beside himself with terror Pierre jumped up and ran back to the battery, -as to the only refuge from the horrors that surrounded him. - -On entering the earthwork he noticed that there were men doing something -there but that no shots were being fired from the battery. He had no -time to realize who these men were. He saw the senior officer lying on -the earth wall with his back turned as if he were examining something -down below and that one of the soldiers he had noticed before was -struggling forward shouting “Brothers!” and trying to free himself from -some men who were holding him by the arm. He also saw something else -that was strange. - -But he had not time to realize that the colonel had been killed, that -the soldier shouting “Brothers!” was a prisoner, and that another man -had been bayoneted in the back before his eyes, for hardly had he run -into the redoubt before a thin, sallow-faced, perspiring man in a blue -uniform rushed on him sword in hand, shouting something. Instinctively -guarding against the shock—for they had been running together at full -speed before they saw one another—Pierre put out his hands and seized -the man (a French officer) by the shoulder with one hand and by the -throat with the other. The officer, dropping his sword, seized Pierre by -his collar. - -For some seconds they gazed with frightened eyes at one another’s -unfamiliar faces and both were perplexed at what they had done and -what they were to do next. “Am I taken prisoner or have I taken him -prisoner?” each was thinking. But the French officer was evidently more -inclined to think he had been taken prisoner because Pierre’s strong -hand, impelled by instinctive fear, squeezed his throat ever tighter and -tighter. The Frenchman was about to say something, when just above their -heads, terrible and low, a cannon ball whistled, and it seemed to Pierre -that the French officer’s head had been torn off, so swiftly had he -ducked it. - -Pierre too bent his head and let his hands fall. Without further thought -as to who had taken whom prisoner, the Frenchman ran back to the battery -and Pierre ran down the slope stumbling over the dead and wounded who, -it seemed to him, caught at his feet. But before he reached the foot -of the knoll he was met by a dense crowd of Russian soldiers who, -stumbling, tripping up, and shouting, ran merrily and wildly toward -the battery. (This was the attack for which Ermólov claimed the credit, -declaring that only his courage and good luck made such a feat possible: -it was the attack in which he was said to have thrown some St. George’s -Crosses he had in his pocket into the battery for the first soldiers to -take who got there.) - -The French who had occupied the battery fled, and our troops shouting -“Hurrah!” pursued them so far beyond the battery that it was difficult -to call them back. - -The prisoners were brought down from the battery and among them was -a wounded French general, whom the officers surrounded. Crowds of -wounded—some known to Pierre and some unknown—Russians and French, -with faces distorted by suffering, walked, crawled, and were carried on -stretchers from the battery. Pierre again went up onto the knoll where -he had spent over an hour, and of that family circle which had received -him as a member he did not find a single one. There were many dead whom -he did not know, but some he recognized. The young officer still sat in -the same way, bent double, in a pool of blood at the edge of the earth -wall. The red-faced man was still twitching, but they did not carry him -away. - -Pierre ran down the slope once more. - -“Now they will stop it, now they will be horrified at what they have -done!” he thought, aimlessly going toward a crowd of stretcher bearers -moving from the battlefield. - -But behind the veil of smoke the sun was still high, and in front and -especially to the left, near Semënovsk, something seemed to be seething -in the smoke, and the roar of cannon and musketry did not diminish, but -even increased to desperation like a man who, straining himself, shrieks -with all his remaining strength. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -The chief action of the battle of Borodinó was fought within the seven -thousand feet between Borodinó and Bagratión’s flèches. Beyond that -space there was, on the one side, a demonstration made by the Russians -with Uvárov’s cavalry at midday, and on the other side, beyond Utítsa, -Poniatowski’s collision with Túchkov; but these two were detached and -feeble actions in comparison with what took place in the center of the -battlefield. On the field between Borodinó and the flèches, beside the -wood, the chief action of the day took place on an open space visible -from both sides and was fought in the simplest and most artless way. - -The battle began on both sides with a cannonade from several hundred -guns. - -Then when the whole field was covered with smoke, two divisions, -Campan’s and Dessaix’s, advanced from the French right, while Murat’s -troops advanced on Borodinó from their left. - -From the Shevárdino Redoubt where Napoleon was standing the flèches were -two thirds of a mile away, and it was more than a mile as the crow flies -to Borodinó, so that Napoleon could not see what was happening there, -especially as the smoke mingling with the mist hid the whole locality. -The soldiers of Dessaix’s division advancing against the flèches could -only be seen till they had entered the hollow that lay between them and -the flèches. As soon as they had descended into that hollow, the smoke -of the guns and musketry on the flèches grew so dense that it covered -the whole approach on that side of it. Through the smoke glimpses could -be caught of something black—probably men—and at times the glint of -bayonets. But whether they were moving or stationary, whether they were -French or Russian, could not be discovered from the Shevárdino Redoubt. - -The sun had risen brightly and its slanting rays struck straight into -Napoleon’s face as, shading his eyes with his hand, he looked at the -flèches. The smoke spread out before them, and at times it looked as if -the smoke were moving, at times as if the troops moved. Sometimes shouts -were heard through the firing, but it was impossible to tell what was -being done there. - -Napoleon, standing on the knoll, looked through a field glass, and in -its small circlet saw smoke and men, sometimes his own and sometimes -Russians, but when he looked again with the naked eye, he could not tell -where what he had seen was. - -He descended the knoll and began walking up and down before it. - -Occasionally he stopped, listened to the firing, and gazed intently at -the battlefield. - -But not only was it impossible to make out what was happening from where -he was standing down below, or from the knoll above on which some of his -generals had taken their stand, but even from the flèches themselves—in -which by this time there were now Russian and now French soldiers, -alternately or together, dead, wounded, alive, frightened, or -maddened—even at those flèches themselves it was impossible to make out -what was taking place. There for several hours amid incessant cannon and -musketry fire, now Russians were seen alone, now Frenchmen alone, now -infantry, and now cavalry: they appeared, fired, fell, collided, not -knowing what to do with one another, screamed, and ran back again. - -From the battlefield adjutants he had sent out, and orderlies from his -marshals, kept galloping up to Napoleon with reports of the progress -of the action, but all these reports were false, both because it was -impossible in the heat of battle to say what was happening at any given -moment and because many of the adjutants did not go to the actual place -of conflict but reported what they had heard from others; and also -because while an adjutant was riding more than a mile to Napoleon -circumstances changed and the news he brought was already becoming -false. Thus an adjutant galloped up from Murat with tidings that -Borodinó had been occupied and the bridge over the Kolochá was in the -hands of the French. The adjutant asked whether Napoleon wished the -troops to cross it? Napoleon gave orders that the troops should form up -on the farther side and wait. But before that order was given—almost -as soon in fact as the adjutant had left Borodinó—the bridge had been -retaken by the Russians and burned, in the very skirmish at which Pierre -had been present at the beginning of the battle. - -An adjutant galloped up from the flèches with a pale and frightened face -and reported to Napoleon that their attack had been repulsed, Campan -wounded, and Davout killed; yet at the very time the adjutant had been -told that the French had been repulsed, the flèches had in fact been -recaptured by other French troops, and Davout was alive and only -slightly bruised. On the basis of these necessarily untrustworthy -reports Napoleon gave his orders, which had either been executed before -he gave them or could not be and were not executed. - -The marshals and generals, who were nearer to the field of battle -but, like Napoleon, did not take part in the actual fighting and only -occasionally went within musket range, made their own arrangements -without asking Napoleon and issued orders where and in what direction to -fire and where cavalry should gallop and infantry should run. But even -their orders, like Napoleon’s, were seldom carried out, and then but -partially. For the most part things happened contrary to their orders. -Soldiers ordered to advance ran back on meeting grapeshot; soldiers -ordered to remain where they were, suddenly, seeing Russians -unexpectedly before them, sometimes rushed back and sometimes forward, -and the cavalry dashed without orders in pursuit of the flying Russians. -In this way two cavalry regiments galloped through the Semënovsk hollow -and as soon as they reached the top of the incline turned round and -galloped full speed back again. The infantry moved in the same way, -sometimes running to quite other places than those they were ordered to -go to. All orders as to where and when to move the guns, when to send -infantry to shoot or horsemen to ride down the Russian infantry—all -such orders were given by the officers on the spot nearest to the -units concerned, without asking either Ney, Davout, or Murat, much less -Napoleon. They did not fear getting into trouble for not fulfilling -orders or for acting on their own initiative, for in battle what is at -stake is what is dearest to man—his own life—and it sometimes seems that -safety lies in running back, sometimes in running forward; and these men -who were right in the heat of the battle acted according to the mood -of the moment. In reality, however, all these movements forward and -backward did not improve or alter the position of the troops. All -their rushing and galloping at one another did little harm, the harm of -disablement and death was caused by the balls and bullets that flew over -the fields on which these men were floundering about. As soon as they -left the place where the balls and bullets were flying about, their -superiors, located in the background, re-formed them and brought them -under discipline and under the influence of that discipline led them -back to the zone of fire, where under the influence of fear of death -they lost their discipline and rushed about according to the chance -promptings of the throng. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -Napoleon’s generals—Davout, Ney, and Murat, who were near that region of -fire and sometimes even entered it—repeatedly led into it huge masses of -well-ordered troops. But contrary to what had always happened in their -former battles, instead of the news they expected of the enemy’s flight, -these orderly masses returned thence as disorganized and terrified mobs. -The generals re-formed them, but their numbers constantly decreased. -In the middle of the day Murat sent his adjutant to Napoleon to demand -reinforcements. - -Napoleon sat at the foot of the knoll, drinking punch, when Murat’s -adjutant galloped up with an assurance that the Russians would be routed -if His Majesty would let him have another division. - -“Reinforcements?” said Napoleon in a tone of stern surprise, looking at -the adjutant—a handsome lad with long black curls arranged like Murat’s -own—as though he did not understand his words. - -“Reinforcements!” thought Napoleon to himself. “How can they need -reinforcements when they already have half the army directed against a -weak, unentrenched Russian wing?” - -“Tell the King of Naples,” said he sternly, “that it is not noon yet, -and I don’t yet see my chessboard clearly. Go!...” - -The handsome boy adjutant with the long hair sighed deeply without -removing his hand from his hat and galloped back to where men were being -slaughtered. - -Napoleon rose and having summoned Caulaincourt and Berthier began -talking to them about matters unconnected with the battle. - -In the midst of this conversation, which was beginning to interest -Napoleon, Berthier’s eyes turned to look at a general with a suite, who -was galloping toward the knoll on a lathering horse. It was Belliard. -Having dismounted he went up to the Emperor with rapid strides and in -a loud voice began boldly demonstrating the necessity of sending -reinforcements. He swore on his honor that the Russians were lost if the -Emperor would give another division. - -Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and continued to pace up and down -without replying. Belliard began talking loudly and eagerly to the -generals of the suite around him. - -“You are very fiery, Belliard,” said Napoleon, when he again came up to -the general. “In the heat of a battle it is easy to make a mistake. Go -and have another look and then come back to me.” - -Before Belliard was out of sight, a messenger from another part of the -battlefield galloped up. - -“Now then, what do you want?” asked Napoleon in the tone of a man -irritated at being continually disturbed. - -“Sire, the prince...” began the adjutant. - -“Asks for reinforcements?” said Napoleon with an angry gesture. - -The adjutant bent his head affirmatively and began to report, but the -Emperor turned from him, took a couple of steps, stopped, came back, and -called Berthier. - -“We must give reserves,” he said, moving his arms slightly apart. -“Who do you think should be sent there?” he asked of Berthier (whom he -subsequently termed “that gosling I have made an eagle”). - -“Send Claparède’s division, sire,” replied Berthier, who knew all the -division’s regiments, and battalions by heart. - -Napoleon nodded assent. - -The adjutant galloped to Claparède’s division and a few minutes later -the Young Guards stationed behind the knoll moved forward. Napoleon -gazed silently in that direction. - -“No!” he suddenly said to Berthier. “I can’t send Claparède. Send -Friant’s division.” - -Though there was no advantage in sending Friant’s division instead of -Claparède’s, and even an obvious inconvenience and delay in stopping -Claparède and sending Friant now, the order was carried out exactly. -Napoleon did not notice that in regard to his army he was playing -the part of a doctor who hinders by his medicines—a role he so justly -understood and condemned. - -Friant’s division disappeared as the others had done into the smoke -of the battlefield. From all sides adjutants continued to arrive at a -gallop and as if by agreement all said the same thing. They all asked -for reinforcements and all said that the Russians were holding their -positions and maintaining a hellish fire under which the French army was -melting away. - -Napoleon sat on a campstool, wrapped in thought. - -M. de Beausset, the man so fond of travel, having fasted since morning, -came up to the Emperor and ventured respectfully to suggest lunch to His -Majesty. - -“I hope I may now congratulate Your Majesty on a victory?” said he. - -Napoleon silently shook his head in negation. Assuming the negation to -refer only to the victory and not to the lunch, M. de Beausset ventured -with respectful jocularity to remark that there is no reason for not -having lunch when one can get it. - -“Go away...” exclaimed Napoleon suddenly and morosely, and turned aside. - -A beatific smile of regret, repentance, and ecstasy beamed on M. de -Beausset’s face and he glided away to the other generals. - -Napoleon was experiencing a feeling of depression like that of an -ever-lucky gambler who, after recklessly flinging money about and always -winning, suddenly just when he has calculated all the chances of the -game, finds that the more he considers his play the more surely he -loses. - -His troops were the same, his generals the same, the same preparations -had been made, the same dispositions, and the same proclamation courte -et énergique, he himself was still the same: he knew that and knew that -he was now even more experienced and skillful than before. Even the -enemy was the same as at Austerlitz and Friedland—yet the terrible -stroke of his arm had supernaturally become impotent. - -All the old methods that had been unfailingly crowned with success: the -concentration of batteries on one point, an attack by reserves to break -the enemy’s line, and a cavalry attack by “the men of iron,” all these -methods had already been employed, yet not only was there no victory, -but from all sides came the same news of generals killed and wounded, -of reinforcements needed, of the impossibility of driving back the -Russians, and of disorganization among his own troops. - -Formerly, after he had given two or three orders and uttered a -few phrases, marshals and adjutants had come galloping up with -congratulations and happy faces, announcing the trophies taken, the -corps of prisoners, bundles of enemy eagles and standards, cannon and -stores, and Murat had only begged leave to loose the cavalry to gather -in the baggage wagons. So it had been at Lodi, Marengo, Arcola, Jena, -Austerlitz, Wagram, and so on. But now something strange was happening -to his troops. - -Despite news of the capture of the flèches, Napoleon saw that this was -not the same, not at all the same, as what had happened in his former -battles. He saw that what he was feeling was felt by all the men about -him experienced in the art of war. All their faces looked dejected, and -they all shunned one another’s eyes—only a de Beausset could fail to -grasp the meaning of what was happening. - -But Napoleon with his long experience of war well knew the meaning of -a battle not gained by the attacking side in eight hours, after all -efforts had been expended. He knew that it was a lost battle and that -the least accident might now—with the fight balanced on such a strained -center—destroy him and his army. - -When he ran his mind over the whole of this strange Russian campaign in -which not one battle had been won, and in which not a flag, or cannon, -or army corps had been captured in two months, when he looked at the -concealed depression on the faces around him and heard reports of the -Russians still holding their ground—a terrible feeling like a nightmare -took possession of him, and all the unlucky accidents that might destroy -him occurred to his mind. The Russians might fall on his left wing, -might break through his center, he himself might be killed by a stray -cannon ball. All this was possible. In former battles he had only -considered the possibilities of success, but now innumerable unlucky -chances presented themselves, and he expected them all. Yes, it was like -a dream in which a man fancies that a ruffian is coming to attack him, -and raises his arm to strike that ruffian a terrible blow which he knows -should annihilate him, but then feels that his arm drops powerless and -limp like a rag, and the horror of unavoidable destruction seizes him in -his helplessness. - -The news that the Russians were attacking the left flank of the French -army aroused that horror in Napoleon. He sat silently on a campstool -below the knoll, with head bowed and elbows on his knees. Berthier -approached and suggested that they should ride along the line to -ascertain the position of affairs. - -“What? What do you say?” asked Napoleon. “Yes, tell them to bring me my -horse.” - -He mounted and rode toward Semënovsk. - -Amid the powder smoke, slowly dispersing over the whole space through -which Napoleon rode, horses and men were lying in pools of blood, singly -or in heaps. Neither Napoleon nor any of his generals had ever before -seen such horrors or so many slain in such a small area. The roar of -guns, that had not ceased for ten hours, wearied the ear and gave -a peculiar significance to the spectacle, as music does to tableaux -vivants. Napoleon rode up the high ground at Semënovsk, and through the -smoke saw ranks of men in uniforms of a color unfamiliar to him. They -were Russians. - -The Russians stood in serried ranks behind Semënovsk village and its -knoll, and their guns boomed incessantly along their line and sent -forth clouds of smoke. It was no longer a battle: it was a continuous -slaughter which could be of no avail either to the French or the -Russians. Napoleon stopped his horse and again fell into the reverie -from which Berthier had aroused him. He could not stop what was going on -before him and around him and was supposed to be directed by him and to -depend on him, and from its lack of success this affair, for the first -time, seemed to him unnecessary and horrible. - -One of the generals rode up to Napoleon and ventured to offer to lead -the Old Guard into action. Ney and Berthier, standing near Napoleon, -exchanged looks and smiled contemptuously at this general’s senseless -offer. - -Napoleon bowed his head and remained silent a long time. - -“At eight hundred leagues from France, I will not have my Guard -destroyed!” he said, and turning his horse rode back to Shevárdino. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -On the rug-covered bench where Pierre had seen him in the morning sat -Kutúzov, his gray head hanging, his heavy body relaxed. He gave no -orders, but only assented to or dissented from what others suggested. - -“Yes, yes, do that,” he replied to various proposals. “Yes, yes: go, -dear boy, and have a look,” he would say to one or another of those -about him; or, “No, don’t, we’d better wait!” He listened to the reports -that were brought him and gave directions when his subordinates demanded -that of him; but when listening to the reports it seemed as if he -were not interested in the import of the words spoken, but rather in -something else—in the expression of face and tone of voice of those who -were reporting. By long years of military experience he knew, and with -the wisdom of age understood, that it is impossible for one man to -direct hundreds of thousands of others struggling with death, and he -knew that the result of a battle is decided not by the orders of a -commander in chief, nor the place where the troops are stationed, nor by -the number of cannon or of slaughtered men, but by that intangible force -called the spirit of the army, and he watched this force and guided it -in as far as that was in his power. - -Kutúzov’s general expression was one of concentrated quiet attention, -and his face wore a strained look as if he found it difficult to master -the fatigue of his old and feeble body. - -At eleven o’clock they brought him news that the flèches captured by the -French had been retaken, but that Prince Bagratión was wounded. Kutúzov -groaned and swayed his head. - -“Ride over to Prince Peter Ivánovich and find out about it exactly,” he -said to one of his adjutants, and then turned to the Duke of Württemberg -who was standing behind him. - -“Will Your Highness please take command of the first army?” - -Soon after the duke’s departure—before he could possibly have reached -Semënovsk—his adjutant came back from him and told Kutúzov that the duke -asked for more troops. - -Kutúzov made a grimace and sent an order to Dokhtúrov to take over the -command of the first army, and a request to the duke—whom he said he -could not spare at such an important moment—to return to him. When -they brought him news that Murat had been taken prisoner, and the staff -officers congratulated him, Kutúzov smiled. - -“Wait a little, gentlemen,” said he. “The battle is won, and there is -nothing extraordinary in the capture of Murat. Still, it is better to -wait before we rejoice.” - -But he sent an adjutant to take the news round the army. - -When Scherbínin came galloping from the left flank with news that the -French had captured the flèches and the village of Semënovsk, Kutúzov, -guessing by the sounds of the battle and by Scherbínin’s looks that the -news was bad, rose as if to stretch his legs and, taking Scherbínin’s -arm, led him aside. - -“Go, my dear fellow,” he said to Ermólov, “and see whether something -can’t be done.” - -Kutúzov was in Górki, near the center of the Russian position. The -attack directed by Napoleon against our left flank had been several -times repulsed. In the center the French had not got beyond Borodinó, -and on their left flank Uvárov’s cavalry had put the French to flight. - -Toward three o’clock the French attacks ceased. On the faces of all -who came from the field of battle, and of those who stood around him, -Kutúzov noticed an expression of extreme tension. He was satisfied with -the day’s success—a success exceeding his expectations, but the old -man’s strength was failing him. Several times his head dropped low as if -it were falling and he dozed off. Dinner was brought him. - -Adjutant General Wolzogen, the man who when riding past Prince Andrew -had said, “the war should be extended widely,” and whom Bagratión so -detested, rode up while Kutúzov was at dinner. Wolzogen had come from -Barclay de Tolly to report on the progress of affairs on the left flank. -The sagacious Barclay de Tolly, seeing crowds of wounded men running -back and the disordered rear of the army, weighed all the circumstances, -concluded that the battle was lost, and sent his favorite officer to the -commander in chief with that news. - -Kutúzov was chewing a piece of roast chicken with difficulty and glanced -at Wolzogen with eyes that brightened under their puckering lids. - -Wolzogen, nonchalantly stretching his legs, approached Kutúzov with a -half-contemptuous smile on his lips, scarcely touching the peak of his -cap. - -He treated his Serene Highness with a somewhat affected nonchalance -intended to show that, as a highly trained military man, he left it to -Russians to make an idol of this useless old man, but that he knew whom -he was dealing with. “Der alte Herr” (as in their own set the Germans -called Kutúzov) “is making himself very comfortable,” thought Wolzogen, -and looking severely at the dishes in front of Kutúzov he began to -report to “the old gentleman” the position of affairs on the left flank -as Barclay had ordered him to and as he himself had seen and understood -it. - -“All the points of our position are in the enemy’s hands and we cannot -dislodge them for lack of troops, the men are running away and it is -impossible to stop them,” he reported. - -Kutúzov ceased chewing and fixed an astonished gaze on Wolzogen, as -if not understanding what was said to him. Wolzogen, noticing “the old -gentleman’s” agitation, said with a smile: - -“I have not considered it right to conceal from your Serene Highness -what I have seen. The troops are in complete disorder....” - -“You have seen? You have seen?...” Kutúzov shouted. Frowning and rising -quickly, he went up to Wolzogen. - -“How... how dare you!...” he shouted, choking and making a threatening -gesture with his trembling arms: “How dare you, sir, say that to me? You -know nothing about it. Tell General Barclay from me that his information -is incorrect and that the real course of the battle is better known to -me, the commander in chief, than to him.” - -Wolzogen was about to make a rejoinder, but Kutúzov interrupted him. - -“The enemy has been repulsed on the left and defeated on the right -flank. If you have seen amiss, sir, do not allow yourself to say what -you don’t know! Be so good as to ride to General Barclay and inform -him of my firm intention to attack the enemy tomorrow,” said Kutúzov -sternly. - -All were silent, and the only sound audible was the heavy breathing of -the panting old general. - -“They are repulsed everywhere, for which I thank God and our brave army! -The enemy is beaten, and tomorrow we shall drive him from the sacred -soil of Russia,” said Kutúzov crossing himself, and he suddenly sobbed -as his eyes filled with tears. - -Wolzogen, shrugging his shoulders and curling his lips, stepped silently -aside, marveling at “the old gentleman’s” conceited stupidity. - -“Ah, here he is, my hero!” said Kutúzov to a portly, handsome, -dark-haired general who was just ascending the knoll. - -This was Raévski, who had spent the whole day at the most important part -of the field of Borodinó. - -Raévski reported that the troops were firmly holding their ground and -that the French no longer ventured to attack. - -After hearing him, Kutúzov said in French: - -“Then you do not think, like some others, that we must retreat?” - -“On the contrary, your Highness, in indecisive actions it is always -the most stubborn who remain victors,” replied Raévski, “and in my -opinion...” - -“Kaysárov!” Kutúzov called to his adjutant. “Sit down and write out -the order of the day for tomorrow. And you,” he continued, addressing -another, “ride along the line and announce that tomorrow we attack.” - -While Kutúzov was talking to Raévski and dictating the order of the day, -Wolzogen returned from Barclay and said that General Barclay wished to -have written confirmation of the order the field marshal had given. - -Kutúzov, without looking at Wolzogen, gave directions for the order to -be written out which the former commander in chief, to avoid personal -responsibility, very judiciously wished to receive. - -And by means of that mysterious indefinable bond which maintains -throughout an army one and the same temper, known as “the spirit of -the army,” and which constitutes the sinew of war, Kutúzov’s words, his -order for a battle next day, immediately became known from one end of -the army to the other. - -It was far from being the same words or the same order that reached the -farthest links of that chain. The tales passing from mouth to mouth at -different ends of the army did not even resemble what Kutúzov had said, -but the sense of his words spread everywhere because what he said was -not the outcome of cunning calculations, but of a feeling that lay in -the commander in chief’s soul as in that of every Russian. - -And on learning that tomorrow they were to attack the enemy, and hearing -from the highest quarters a confirmation of what they wanted to believe, -the exhausted, wavering men felt comforted and inspirited. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -Prince Andrew’s regiment was among the reserves which till after one -o’clock were stationed inactive behind Semënovsk, under heavy artillery -fire. Toward two o’clock the regiment, having already lost more than -two hundred men, was moved forward into a trampled oatfield in the gap -between Semënovsk and the Knoll Battery, where thousands of men perished -that day and on which an intense, concentrated fire from several hundred -enemy guns was directed between one and two o’clock. - -Without moving from that spot or firing a single shot the regiment here -lost another third of its men. From in front and especially from the -right, in the unlifting smoke the guns boomed, and out of the mysterious -domain of smoke that overlay the whole space in front, quick hissing -cannon balls and slow whistling shells flew unceasingly. At times, as -if to allow them a respite, a quarter of an hour passed during which -the cannon balls and shells all flew overhead, but sometimes several men -were torn from the regiment in a minute and the slain were continually -being dragged away and the wounded carried off. - -With each fresh blow less and less chance of life remained for those not -yet killed. The regiment stood in columns of battalion, three hundred -paces apart, but nevertheless the men were always in one and the same -mood. All alike were taciturn and morose. Talk was rarely heard in the -ranks, and it ceased altogether every time the thud of a successful -shot and the cry of “stretchers!” was heard. Most of the time, by their -officers’ order, the men sat on the ground. One, having taken off his -shako, carefully loosened the gathers of its lining and drew them tight -again; another, rubbing some dry clay between his palms, polished -his bayonet; another fingered the strap and pulled the buckle of his -bandolier, while another smoothed and refolded his leg bands and put -his boots on again. Some built little houses of the tufts in the plowed -ground, or plaited baskets from the straw in the cornfield. All seemed -fully absorbed in these pursuits. When men were killed or wounded, when -rows of stretchers went past, when some troops retreated, and when great -masses of the enemy came into view through the smoke, no one paid any -attention to these things. But when our artillery or cavalry advanced or -some of our infantry were seen to move forward, words of approval -were heard on all sides. But the liveliest attention was attracted by -occurrences quite apart from, and unconnected with, the battle. It was -as if the minds of these morally exhausted men found relief in everyday, -commonplace occurrences. A battery of artillery was passing in front of -the regiment. The horse of an ammunition cart put its leg over a trace. -“Hey, look at the trace horse!... Get her leg out! She’ll fall.... Ah, -they don’t see it!” came identical shouts from the ranks all along the -regiment. Another time, general attention was attracted by a small brown -dog, coming heaven knows whence, which trotted in a preoccupied manner -in front of the ranks with tail stiffly erect till suddenly a shell fell -close by, when it yelped, tucked its tail between its legs, and darted -aside. Yells and shrieks of laughter rose from the whole regiment. But -such distractions lasted only a moment, and for eight hours the men had -been inactive, without food, in constant fear of death, and their pale -and gloomy faces grew ever paler and gloomier. - -Prince Andrew, pale and gloomy like everyone in the regiment, paced up -and down from the border of one patch to another, at the edge of the -meadow beside an oatfield, with head bowed and arms behind his back. -There was nothing for him to do and no orders to be given. Everything -went on of itself. The killed were dragged from the front, the wounded -carried away, and the ranks closed up. If any soldiers ran to the -rear they returned immediately and hastily. At first Prince Andrew, -considering it his duty to rouse the courage of the men and to set them -an example, walked about among the ranks, but he soon became convinced -that this was unnecessary and that there was nothing he could teach -them. All the powers of his soul, as of every soldier there, were -unconsciously bent on avoiding the contemplation of the horrors of their -situation. He walked along the meadow, dragging his feet, rustling the -grass, and gazing at the dust that covered his boots; now he took big -strides trying to keep to the footprints left on the meadow by the -mowers, then he counted his steps, calculating how often he must walk -from one strip to another to walk a mile, then he stripped the flowers -from the wormwood that grew along a boundary rut, rubbed them in his -palms, and smelled their pungent, sweetly bitter scent. Nothing remained -of the previous day’s thoughts. He thought of nothing. He listened with -weary ears to the ever-recurring sounds, distinguishing the whistle -of flying projectiles from the booming of the reports, glanced at the -tiresomely familiar faces of the men of the first battalion, and -waited. “Here it comes... this one is coming our way again!” he thought, -listening to an approaching whistle in the hidden region of smoke. “One, -another! Again! It has hit....” He stopped and looked at the ranks. “No, -it has gone over. But this one has hit!” And again he started trying -to reach the boundary strip in sixteen paces. A whizz and a thud! Five -paces from him, a cannon ball tore up the dry earth and disappeared. A -chill ran down his back. Again he glanced at the ranks. Probably many -had been hit—a large crowd had gathered near the second battalion. - -“Adjutant!” he shouted. “Order them not to crowd together.” - -The adjutant, having obeyed this instruction, approached Prince Andrew. -From the other side a battalion commander rode up. - -“Look out!” came a frightened cry from a soldier and, like a bird -whirring in rapid flight and alighting on the ground, a shell dropped -with little noise within two steps of Prince Andrew and close to the -battalion commander’s horse. The horse first, regardless of whether it -was right or wrong to show fear, snorted, reared almost throwing the -major, and galloped aside. The horse’s terror infected the men. - -“Lie down!” cried the adjutant, throwing himself flat on the ground. - -Prince Andrew hesitated. The smoking shell spun like a top between him -and the prostrate adjutant, near a wormwood plant between the field and -the meadow. - -“Can this be death?” thought Prince Andrew, looking with a quite new, -envious glance at the grass, the wormwood, and the streamlet of smoke -that curled up from the rotating black ball. “I cannot, I do not wish to -die. I love life—I love this grass, this earth, this air....” He thought -this, and at the same time remembered that people were looking at him. - -“It’s shameful, sir!” he said to the adjutant. “What...” - -He did not finish speaking. At one and the same moment came the sound of -an explosion, a whistle of splinters as from a breaking window frame, -a suffocating smell of powder, and Prince Andrew started to one side, -raising his arm, and fell on his chest. Several officers ran up to him. -From the right side of his abdomen, blood was welling out making a large -stain on the grass. - -The militiamen with stretchers who were called up stood behind the -officers. Prince Andrew lay on his chest with his face in the grass, -breathing heavily and noisily. - -“What are you waiting for? Come along!” - -The peasants went up and took him by his shoulders and legs, but he -moaned piteously and, exchanging looks, they set him down again. - -“Pick him up, lift him, it’s all the same!” cried someone. - -They again took him by the shoulders and laid him on the stretcher. - -“Ah, God! My God! What is it? The stomach? That means death! My -God!”—voices among the officers were heard saying. - -“It flew a hair’s breadth past my ear,” said the adjutant. - -The peasants, adjusting the stretcher to their shoulders, started -hurriedly along the path they had trodden down, to the dressing station. - -“Keep in step! Ah... those peasants!” shouted an officer, seizing by -their shoulders and checking the peasants, who were walking unevenly and -jolting the stretcher. - -“Get into step, Fëdor... I say, Fëdor!” said the foremost peasant. - -“Now that’s right!” said the one behind joyfully, when he had got into -step. - -“Your excellency! Eh, Prince!” said the trembling voice of Timókhin, who -had run up and was looking down on the stretcher. - -Prince Andrew opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker from the -stretcher into which his head had sunk deep and again his eyelids -drooped. - - -The militiamen carried Prince Andrew to the dressing station by the -wood, where wagons were stationed. The dressing station consisted of -three tents with flaps turned back, pitched at the edge of a birch wood. -In the wood, wagons and horses were standing. The horses were eating -oats from their movable troughs and sparrows flew down and pecked the -grains that fell. Some crows, scenting blood, flew among the birch -trees cawing impatiently. Around the tents, over more than five acres, -bloodstained men in various garbs stood, sat, or lay. Around the wounded -stood crowds of soldier stretcher-bearers with dismal and attentive -faces, whom the officers keeping order tried in vain to drive from the -spot. Disregarding the officers’ orders, the soldiers stood leaning -against their stretchers and gazing intently, as if trying to comprehend -the difficult problem of what was taking place before them. From the -tents came now loud angry cries and now plaintive groans. Occasionally -dressers ran out to fetch water, or to point out those who were to be -brought in next. The wounded men awaiting their turn outside the tents -groaned, sighed, wept, screamed, swore, or asked for vodka. Some were -delirious. Prince Andrew’s bearers, stepping over the wounded who had -not yet been bandaged, took him, as a regimental commander, close up to -one of the tents and there stopped, awaiting instructions. Prince Andrew -opened his eyes and for a long time could not make out what was going -on around him. He remembered the meadow, the wormwood, the field, the -whirling black ball, and his sudden rush of passionate love of life. -Two steps from him, leaning against a branch and talking loudly and -attracting general attention, stood a tall, handsome, black-haired -noncommissioned officer with a bandaged head. He had been wounded in the -head and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly listening to his talk, a -crowd of wounded and stretcher-bearers was gathered. - -“We kicked him out from there so that he chucked everything, we grabbed -the King himself!” cried he, looking around him with eyes that glittered -with fever. “If only reserves had come up just then, lads, there -wouldn’t have been nothing left of him! I tell you surely....” - -Like all the others near the speaker, Prince Andrew looked at him with -shining eyes and experienced a sense of comfort. “But isn’t it all the -same now?” thought he. “And what will be there, and what has there been -here? Why was I so reluctant to part with life? There was something in -this life I did not and do not understand.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -One of the doctors came out of the tent in a bloodstained apron, -holding a cigar between the thumb and little finger of one of his small -bloodstained hands, so as not to smear it. He raised his head and looked -about him, but above the level of the wounded men. He evidently wanted a -little respite. After turning his head from right to left for some time, -he sighed and looked down. - -“All right, immediately,” he replied to a dresser who pointed Prince -Andrew out to him, and he told them to carry him into the tent. - -Murmurs arose among the wounded who were waiting. - -“It seems that even in the next world only the gentry are to have a -chance!” remarked one. - -Prince Andrew was carried in and laid on a table that had only just been -cleared and which a dresser was washing down. Prince Andrew could not -make out distinctly what was in that tent. The pitiful groans from all -sides and the torturing pain in his thigh, stomach, and back distracted -him. All he saw about him merged into a general impression of naked, -bleeding human bodies that seemed to fill the whole of the low tent, as -a few weeks previously, on that hot August day, such bodies had filled -the dirty pond beside the Smolénsk road. Yes, it was the same flesh, -the same chair à canon, the sight of which had even then filled him with -horror, as by a presentiment. - -There were three operating tables in the tent. Two were occupied, and -on the third they placed Prince Andrew. For a little while he was left -alone and involuntarily witnessed what was taking place on the other two -tables. On the nearest one sat a Tartar, probably a Cossack, judging by -the uniform thrown down beside him. Four soldiers were holding him, and -a spectacled doctor was cutting into his muscular brown back. - -“Ooh, ooh, ooh!” grunted the Tartar, and suddenly lifting up his swarthy -snub-nosed face with its high cheekbones, and baring his white teeth, -he began to wriggle and twitch his body and utter piercing, ringing, -and prolonged yells. On the other table, round which many people were -crowding, a tall well-fed man lay on his back with his head thrown back. -His curly hair, its color, and the shape of his head seemed strangely -familiar to Prince Andrew. Several dressers were pressing on his chest -to hold him down. One large, white, plump leg twitched rapidly all -the time with a feverish tremor. The man was sobbing and choking -convulsively. Two doctors—one of whom was pale and trembling—were -silently doing something to this man’s other, gory leg. When he had -finished with the Tartar, whom they covered with an overcoat, the -spectacled doctor came up to Prince Andrew, wiping his hands. - -He glanced at Prince Andrew’s face and quickly turned away. - -“Undress him! What are you waiting for?” he cried angrily to the -dressers. - -His very first, remotest recollections of childhood came back to Prince -Andrew’s mind when the dresser with sleeves rolled up began hastily to -undo the buttons of his clothes and undressed him. The doctor bent -down over the wound, felt it, and sighed deeply. Then he made a sign to -someone, and the torturing pain in his abdomen caused Prince Andrew to -lose consciousness. When he came to himself the splintered portions of -his thighbone had been extracted, the torn flesh cut away, and the -wound bandaged. Water was being sprinkled on his face. As soon as Prince -Andrew opened his eyes, the doctor bent over, kissed him silently on the -lips, and hurried away. - -After the sufferings he had been enduring, Prince Andrew enjoyed a -blissful feeling such as he had not experienced for a long time. All the -best and happiest moments of his life—especially his earliest childhood, -when he used to be undressed and put to bed, and when leaning over him -his nurse sang him to sleep and he, burying his head in the pillow, -felt happy in the mere consciousness of life—returned to his memory, not -merely as something past but as something present. - -The doctors were busily engaged with the wounded man the shape of whose -head seemed familiar to Prince Andrew: they were lifting him up and -trying to quiet him. - -“Show it to me.... Oh, ooh... Oh! Oh, ooh!” his frightened moans could -be heard, subdued by suffering and broken by sobs. - -Hearing those moans Prince Andrew wanted to weep. Whether because he -was dying without glory, or because he was sorry to part with life, -or because of those memories of a childhood that could not return, or -because he was suffering and others were suffering and that man near him -was groaning so piteously—he felt like weeping childlike, kindly, and -almost happy tears. - -The wounded man was shown his amputated leg stained with clotted blood -and with the boot still on. - -“Oh! Oh, ooh!” he sobbed, like a woman. - -The doctor who had been standing beside him, preventing Prince Andrew -from seeing his face, moved away. - -“My God! What is this? Why is he here?” said Prince Andrew to himself. - -In the miserable, sobbing, enfeebled man whose leg had just been -amputated, he recognized Anatole Kurágin. Men were supporting him in -their arms and offering him a glass of water, but his trembling, swollen -lips could not grasp its rim. Anatole was sobbing painfully. “Yes, it is -he! Yes, that man is somehow closely and painfully connected with me,” -thought Prince Andrew, not yet clearly grasping what he saw before him. -“What is the connection of that man with my childhood and life?” he -asked himself without finding an answer. And suddenly a new unexpected -memory from that realm of pure and loving childhood presented itself to -him. He remembered Natásha as he had seen her for the first time at the -ball in 1810, with her slender neck and arms and with a frightened happy -face ready for rapture, and love and tenderness for her, stronger -and more vivid than ever, awoke in his soul. He now remembered the -connection that existed between himself and this man who was dimly -gazing at him through tears that filled his swollen eyes. He remembered -everything, and ecstatic pity and love for that man overflowed his happy -heart. - -Prince Andrew could no longer restrain himself and wept tender loving -tears for his fellow men, for himself, and for his own and their errors. - -“Compassion, love of our brothers, for those who love us and for those -who hate us, love of our enemies; yes, that love which God preached on -earth and which Princess Mary taught me and I did not understand—that is -what made me sorry to part with life, that is what remained for me had I -lived. But now it is too late. I know it!” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -The terrible spectacle of the battlefield covered with dead and wounded, -together with the heaviness of his head and the news that some twenty -generals he knew personally had been killed or wounded, and the -consciousness of the impotence of his once mighty arm, produced an -unexpected impression on Napoleon who usually liked to look at the -killed and wounded, thereby, he considered, testing his strength of -mind. This day the horrible appearance of the battlefield overcame -that strength of mind which he thought constituted his merit and his -greatness. He rode hurriedly from the battlefield and returned to the -Shevárdino knoll, where he sat on his campstool, his sallow face -swollen and heavy, his eyes dim, his nose red, and his voice hoarse, -involuntarily listening, with downcast eyes, to the sounds of firing. -With painful dejection he awaited the end of this action, in which he -regarded himself as a participant and which he was unable to arrest. -A personal, human feeling for a brief moment got the better of the -artificial phantasm of life he had served so long. He felt in his own -person the sufferings and death he had witnessed on the battlefield. -The heaviness of his head and chest reminded him of the possibility -of suffering and death for himself. At that moment he did not desire -Moscow, or victory, or glory (what need had he for any more glory?). The -one thing he wished for was rest, tranquillity, and freedom. But when he -had been on the Semënovsk heights the artillery commander had proposed -to him to bring several batteries of artillery up to those heights to -strengthen the fire on the Russian troops crowded in front of Knyazkóvo. -Napoleon had assented and had given orders that news should be brought -to him of the effect those batteries produced. - -An adjutant came now to inform him that the fire of two hundred guns -had been concentrated on the Russians, as he had ordered, but that they -still held their ground. - -“Our fire is mowing them down by rows, but still they hold on,” said the -adjutant. - -“They want more!...” said Napoleon in a hoarse voice. - -“Sire?” asked the adjutant who had not heard the remark. - -“They want more!” croaked Napoleon frowning. “Let them have it!” - -Even before he gave that order the thing he did not desire, and for -which he gave the order only because he thought it was expected of him, -was being done. And he fell back into that artificial realm of imaginary -greatness, and again—as a horse walking a treadmill thinks it is doing -something for itself—he submissively fulfilled the cruel, sad, gloomy, -and inhuman role predestined for him. - -And not for that day and hour alone were the mind and conscience -darkened of this man on whom the responsibility for what was happening -lay more than on all the others who took part in it. Never to the end -of his life could he understand goodness, beauty, or truth, or the -significance of his actions which were too contrary to goodness and -truth, too remote from everything human, for him ever to be able to -grasp their meaning. He could not disavow his actions, belauded as they -were by half the world, and so he had to repudiate truth, goodness, and -all humanity. - -Not only on that day, as he rode over the battlefield strewn with men -killed and maimed (by his will as he believed), did he reckon as he -looked at them how many Russians there were for each Frenchman and, -deceiving himself, find reason for rejoicing in the calculation that -there were five Russians for every Frenchman. Not on that day alone -did he write in a letter to Paris that “the battle field was superb,” -because fifty thousand corpses lay there, but even on the island of St. -Helena in the peaceful solitude where he said he intended to devote his -leisure to an account of the great deeds he had done, he wrote: - -The Russian war should have been the most popular war of modern times: -it was a war of good sense, for real interests, for the tranquillity and -security of all; it was purely pacific and conservative. - -It was a war for a great cause, the end of uncertainties and the -beginning of security. A new horizon and new labors were opening out, -full of well-being and prosperity for all. The European system was -already founded; all that remained was to organize it. - -Satisfied on these great points and with tranquility everywhere, I -too should have had my Congress and my Holy Alliance. Those ideas were -stolen from me. In that reunion of great sovereigns we should have -discussed our interests like one family, and have rendered account to -the peoples as clerk to master. - -Europe would in this way soon have been, in fact, but one people, and -anyone who traveled anywhere would have found himself always in the -common fatherland. I should have demanded the freedom of all navigable -rivers for everybody, that the seas should be common to all, and that -the great standing armies should be reduced henceforth to mere guards -for the sovereigns. - -On returning to France, to the bosom of the great, strong, magnificent, -peaceful, and glorious fatherland, I should have proclaimed -her frontiers immutable; all future wars purely defensive, all -aggrandizement antinational. I should have associated my son in the -Empire; my dictatorship would have been finished, and his constitutional -reign would have begun. - -Paris would have been the capital of the world, and the French the envy -of the nations! - -My leisure then, and my old age, would have been devoted, in company -with the Empress and during the royal apprenticeship of my son, to -leisurely visiting, with our own horses and like a true country couple, -every corner of the Empire, receiving complaints, redressing wrongs, -and scattering public buildings and benefactions on all sides and -everywhere. - -Napoleon, predestined by Providence for the gloomy role of executioner -of the peoples, assured himself that the aim of his actions had been the -peoples’ welfare and that he could control the fate of millions and by -the employment of power confer benefactions. - -“Of four hundred thousand who crossed the Vistula,” he wrote further -of the Russian war, “half were Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Poles, -Bavarians, Württembergers, Mecklenburgers, Spaniards, Italians, and -Neapolitans. The Imperial army, strictly speaking, was one third -composed of Dutch, Belgians, men from the borders of the Rhine, -Piedmontese, Swiss, Genevese, Tuscans, Romans, inhabitants of the -Thirty-second Military Division, of Bremen, of Hamburg, and so on: it -included scarcely a hundred and forty thousand who spoke French. The -Russian expedition actually cost France less than fifty thousand men; -the Russian army in its retreat from Vílna to Moscow lost in the various -battles four times more men than the French army; the burning of Moscow -cost the lives of a hundred thousand Russians who died of cold and want -in the woods; finally, in its march from Moscow to the Oder the Russian -army also suffered from the severity of the season; so that by the time -it reached Vílna it numbered only fifty thousand, and at Kálisch less -than eighteen thousand.” - -He imagined that the war with Russia came about by his will, and the -horrors that occurred did not stagger his soul. He boldly took the -whole responsibility for what happened, and his darkened mind found -justification in the belief that among the hundreds of thousands who -perished there were fewer Frenchmen than Hessians and Bavarians. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -Several tens of thousands of the slain lay in diverse postures and -various uniforms on the fields and meadows belonging to the Davýdov -family and to the crown serfs—those fields and meadows where for -hundreds of years the peasants of Borodinó, Górki, Shevárdino, and -Semënovsk had reaped their harvests and pastured their cattle. At the -dressing stations the grass and earth were soaked with blood for a space -of some three acres around. Crowds of men of various arms, wounded and -unwounded, with frightened faces, dragged themselves back to Mozháysk -from the one army and back to Valúevo from the other. Other crowds, -exhausted and hungry, went forward led by their officers. Others held -their ground and continued to fire. - -Over the whole field, previously so gaily beautiful with the glitter of -bayonets and cloudlets of smoke in the morning sun, there now spread a -mist of damp and smoke and a strange acid smell of saltpeter and blood. -Clouds gathered and drops of rain began to fall on the dead and wounded, -on the frightened, exhausted, and hesitating men, as if to say: “Enough, -men! Enough! Cease... bethink yourselves! What are you doing?” - -To the men of both sides alike, worn out by want of food and rest, -it began equally to appear doubtful whether they should continue to -slaughter one another; all the faces expressed hesitation, and the -question arose in every soul: “For what, for whom, must I kill and be -killed?... You may go and kill whom you please, but I don’t want to do -so any more!” By evening this thought had ripened in every soul. At any -moment these men might have been seized with horror at what they were -doing and might have thrown up everything and run away anywhere. - -But though toward the end of the battle the men felt all the horror of -what they were doing, though they would have been glad to leave off, -some incomprehensible, mysterious power continued to control them, and -they still brought up the charges, loaded, aimed, and applied the match, -though only one artilleryman survived out of every three, and though -they stumbled and panted with fatigue, perspiring and stained with blood -and powder. The cannon balls flew just as swiftly and cruelly from both -sides, crushing human bodies, and that terrible work which was not done -by the will of a man but at the will of Him who governs men and worlds -continued. - -Anyone looking at the disorganized rear of the Russian army would have -said that, if only the French made one more slight effort, it would -disappear; and anyone looking at the rear of the French army would have -said that the Russians need only make one more slight effort and the -French would be destroyed. But neither the French nor the Russians made -that effort, and the flame of battle burned slowly out. - -The Russians did not make that effort because they were not attacking -the French. At the beginning of the battle they stood blocking the -way to Moscow and they still did so at the end of the battle as at the -beginning. But even had the aim of the Russians been to drive the French -from their positions, they could not have made this last effort, for all -the Russian troops had been broken up, there was no part of the Russian -army that had not suffered in the battle, and though still holding their -positions they had lost ONE HALF of their army. - -The French, with the memory of all their former victories during -fifteen years, with the assurance of Napoleon’s invincibility, with the -consciousness that they had captured part of the battlefield and had -lost only a quarter of their men and still had their Guards intact, -twenty thousand strong, might easily have made that effort. The French -who had attacked the Russian army in order to drive it from its position -ought to have made that effort, for as long as the Russians continued to -block the road to Moscow as before, the aim of the French had not been -attained and all their efforts and losses were in vain. But the French -did not make that effort. Some historians say that Napoleon need only -have used his Old Guards, who were intact, and the battle would have -been won. To speak of what would have happened had Napoleon sent his -Guards is like talking of what would happen if autumn became spring. It -could not be. Napoleon did not give his Guards, not because he did not -want to, but because it could not be done. All the generals, officers, -and soldiers of the French army knew it could not be done, because the -flagging spirit of the troops would not permit it. - -It was not Napoleon alone who had experienced that nightmare feeling -of the mighty arm being stricken powerless, but all the generals and -soldiers of his army whether they had taken part in the battle or not, -after all their experience of previous battles—when after one tenth of -such efforts the enemy had fled—experienced a similar feeling of terror -before an enemy who, after losing HALF his men, stood as threateningly -at the end as at the beginning of the battle. The moral force of the -attacking French army was exhausted. Not that sort of victory which is -defined by the capture of pieces of material fastened to sticks, called -standards, and of the ground on which the troops had stood and were -standing, but a moral victory that convinces the enemy of the moral -superiority of his opponent and of his own impotence was gained by the -Russians at Borodinó. The French invaders, like an infuriated animal -that has in its onslaught received a mortal wound, felt that they were -perishing, but could not stop, any more than the Russian army, weaker -by one half, could help swerving. By impetus gained, the French army was -still able to roll forward to Moscow, but there, without further effort -on the part of the Russians, it had to perish, bleeding from the mortal -wound it had received at Borodinó. The direct consequence of the battle -of Borodinó was Napoleon’s senseless flight from Moscow, his retreat -along the old Smolénsk road, the destruction of the invading army of -five hundred thousand men, and the downfall of Napoleonic France, on -which at Borodinó for the first time the hand of an opponent of stronger -spirit had been laid. - - - - - -BOOK ELEVEN: 1812 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Absolute continuity of motion is not comprehensible to the human mind. -Laws of motion of any kind become comprehensible to man only when he -examines arbitrarily selected elements of that motion; but at the -same time, a large proportion of human error comes from the arbitrary -division of continuous motion into discontinuous elements. There is a -well-known, so-called sophism of the ancients consisting in this, that -Achilles could never catch up with a tortoise he was following, in spite -of the fact that he traveled ten times as fast as the tortoise. By -the time Achilles has covered the distance that separated him from the -tortoise, the tortoise has covered one tenth of that distance ahead -of him: when Achilles has covered that tenth, the tortoise has covered -another one hundredth, and so on forever. This problem seemed to -the ancients insoluble. The absurd answer (that Achilles could never -overtake the tortoise) resulted from this: that motion was arbitrarily -divided into discontinuous elements, whereas the motion both of Achilles -and of the tortoise was continuous. - -By adopting smaller and smaller elements of motion we only approach a -solution of the problem, but never reach it. Only when we have admitted -the conception of the infinitely small, and the resulting geometrical -progression with a common ratio of one tenth, and have found the sum of -this progression to infinity, do we reach a solution of the problem. - -A modern branch of mathematics having achieved the art of dealing with -the infinitely small can now yield solutions in other more complex -problems of motion which used to appear insoluble. - -This modern branch of mathematics, unknown to the ancients, when dealing -with problems of motion admits the conception of the infinitely small, -and so conforms to the chief condition of motion (absolute continuity) -and thereby corrects the inevitable error which the human mind cannot -avoid when it deals with separate elements of motion instead of -examining continuous motion. - -In seeking the laws of historical movement just the same thing happens. -The movement of humanity, arising as it does from innumerable arbitrary -human wills, is continuous. - -To understand the laws of this continuous movement is the aim of -history. But to arrive at these laws, resulting from the sum of all -those human wills, man’s mind postulates arbitrary and disconnected -units. The first method of history is to take an arbitrarily selected -series of continuous events and examine it apart from others, though -there is and can be no beginning to any event, for one event always -flows uninterruptedly from another. - -The second method is to consider the actions of some one man—a king or a -commander—as equivalent to the sum of many individual wills; whereas the -sum of individual wills is never expressed by the activity of a single -historic personage. - -Historical science in its endeavor to draw nearer to truth continually -takes smaller and smaller units for examination. But however small the -units it takes, we feel that to take any unit disconnected from others, -or to assume a beginning of any phenomenon, or to say that the will of -many men is expressed by the actions of any one historic personage, is -in itself false. - -It needs no critical exertion to reduce utterly to dust any deductions -drawn from history. It is merely necessary to select some larger or -smaller unit as the subject of observation—as criticism has every -right to do, seeing that whatever unit history observes must always be -arbitrarily selected. - -Only by taking infinitesimally small units for observation (the -differential of history, that is, the individual tendencies of men) and -attaining to the art of integrating them (that is, finding the sum of -these infinitesimals) can we hope to arrive at the laws of history. - -The first fifteen years of the nineteenth century in Europe present an -extraordinary movement of millions of people. Men leave their customary -pursuits, hasten from one side of Europe to the other, plunder and -slaughter one another, triumph and are plunged in despair, and for some -years the whole course of life is altered and presents an intensive -movement which first increases and then slackens. What was the cause of -this movement, by what laws was it governed? asks the mind of man. - -The historians, replying to this question, lay before us the sayings and -doings of a few dozen men in a building in the city of Paris, calling -these sayings and doings “the Revolution”; then they give a detailed -biography of Napoleon and of certain people favorable or hostile to him; -tell of the influence some of these people had on others, and say: that -is why this movement took place and those are its laws. - -But the mind of man not only refuses to believe this explanation, but -plainly says that this method of explanation is fallacious, because in -it a weaker phenomenon is taken as the cause of a stronger. The sum of -human wills produced the Revolution and Napoleon, and only the sum of -those wills first tolerated and then destroyed them. - -“But every time there have been conquests there have been conquerors; -every time there has been a revolution in any state there have been -great men,” says history. And, indeed, human reason replies: every time -conquerors appear there have been wars, but this does not prove that the -conquerors caused the wars and that it is possible to find the laws of -a war in the personal activity of a single man. Whenever I look at my -watch and its hands point to ten, I hear the bells of the neighboring -church; but because the bells begin to ring when the hands of the clock -reach ten, I have no right to assume that the movement of the bells is -caused by the position of the hands of the watch. - -Whenever I see the movement of a locomotive I hear the whistle and see -the valves opening and wheels turning; but I have no right to conclude -that the whistling and the turning of wheels are the cause of the -movement of the engine. - -The peasants say that a cold wind blows in late spring because the oaks -are budding, and really every spring cold winds do blow when the oak -is budding. But though I do not know what causes the cold winds to blow -when the oak buds unfold, I cannot agree with the peasants that the -unfolding of the oak buds is the cause of the cold wind, for the -force of the wind is beyond the influence of the buds. I see only a -coincidence of occurrences such as happens with all the phenomena of -life, and I see that however much and however carefully I observe the -hands of the watch, and the valves and wheels of the engine, and the -oak, I shall not discover the cause of the bells ringing, the engine -moving, or of the winds of spring. To that I must entirely change my -point of view and study the laws of the movement of steam, of the -bells, and of the wind. History must do the same. And attempts in this -direction have already been made. - -To study the laws of history we must completely change the subject of -our observation, must leave aside kings, ministers, and generals, and -study the common, infinitesimally small elements by which the masses are -moved. No one can say in how far it is possible for man to advance -in this way toward an understanding of the laws of history; but it is -evident that only along that path does the possibility of discovering -the laws of history lie, and that as yet not a millionth part as much -mental effort has been applied in this direction by historians as has -been devoted to describing the actions of various kings, commanders, -and ministers and propounding the historians’ own reflections concerning -these actions. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -The forces of a dozen European nations burst into Russia. The Russian -army and people avoided a collision till Smolénsk was reached, and again -from Smolénsk to Borodinó. The French army pushed on to Moscow, its -goal, its impetus ever increasing as it neared its aim, just as the -velocity of a falling body increases as it approaches the earth. Behind -it were seven hundred miles of hunger-stricken, hostile country; ahead -were a few dozen miles separating it from its goal. Every soldier in -Napoleon’s army felt this and the invasion moved on by its own momentum. - -The more the Russian army retreated the more fiercely a spirit of hatred -of the enemy flared up, and while it retreated the army increased and -consolidated. At Borodinó a collision took place. Neither army was -broken up, but the Russian army retreated immediately after the -collision as inevitably as a ball recoils after colliding with another -having a greater momentum, and with equal inevitability the ball -of invasion that had advanced with such momentum rolled on for some -distance, though the collision had deprived it of all its force. - -The Russians retreated eighty miles—to beyond Moscow—and the French -reached Moscow and there came to a standstill. For five weeks after that -there was not a single battle. The French did not move. As a bleeding, -mortally wounded animal licks its wounds, they remained inert in Moscow -for five weeks, and then suddenly, with no fresh reason, fled back: -they made a dash for the Kalúga road, and (after a victory—for at -Málo-Yaroslávets the field of conflict again remained theirs) without -undertaking a single serious battle, they fled still more rapidly back -to Smolénsk, beyond Smolénsk, beyond the Berëzina, beyond Vílna, and -farther still. - -On the evening of the twenty-sixth of August, Kutúzov and the whole -Russian army were convinced that the battle of Borodinó was a victory. -Kutúzov reported so to the Emperor. He gave orders to prepare for a -fresh conflict to finish the enemy and did this not to deceive anyone, -but because he knew that the enemy was beaten, as everyone who had taken -part in the battle knew it. - -But all that evening and next day reports came in one after another -of unheard-of losses, of the loss of half the army, and a fresh battle -proved physically impossible. - -It was impossible to give battle before information had been collected, -the wounded gathered in, the supplies of ammunition replenished, the -slain reckoned up, new officers appointed to replace those who had been -killed, and before the men had had food and sleep. And meanwhile, the -very next morning after the battle, the French army advanced of itself -upon the Russians, carried forward by the force of its own momentum now -seemingly increased in inverse proportion to the square of the distance -from its aim. Kutúzov’s wish was to attack next day, and the whole -army desired to do so. But to make an attack the wish to do so is not -sufficient, there must also be a possibility of doing it, and that -possibility did not exist. It was impossible not to retreat a day’s -march, and then in the same way it was impossible not to retreat another -and a third day’s march, and at last, on the first of September when -the army drew near Moscow—despite the strength of the feeling that had -arisen in all ranks—the force of circumstances compelled it to retire -beyond Moscow. And the troops retired one more, last, day’s march, and -abandoned Moscow to the enemy. - -For people accustomed to think that plans of campaign and battles are -made by generals—as anyone of us sitting over a map in his study may -imagine how he would have arranged things in this or that battle—the -questions present themselves: Why did Kutúzov during the retreat not do -this or that? Why did he not take up a position before reaching Filí? -Why did he not retire at once by the Kalúga road, abandoning Moscow? and -so on. People accustomed to think in that way forget, or do not know, -the inevitable conditions which always limit the activities of any -commander in chief. The activity of a commander in chief does not at all -resemble the activity we imagine to ourselves when we sit at ease in -our studies examining some campaign on the map, with a certain number of -troops on this and that side in a certain known locality, and begin our -plans from some given moment. A commander in chief is never dealing with -the beginning of any event—the position from which we always contemplate -it. The commander in chief is always in the midst of a series of -shifting events and so he never can at any moment consider the whole -import of an event that is occurring. Moment by moment the event is -imperceptibly shaping itself, and at every moment of this continuous, -uninterrupted shaping of events the commander in chief is in the -midst of a most complex play of intrigues, worries, contingencies, -authorities, projects, counsels, threats, and deceptions and is -continually obliged to reply to innumerable questions addressed to him, -which constantly conflict with one another. - -Learned military authorities quite seriously tell us that Kutúzov should -have moved his army to the Kalúga road long before reaching Filí, and -that somebody actually submitted such a proposal to him. But a commander -in chief, especially at a difficult moment, has always before him not -one proposal but dozens simultaneously. And all these proposals, based -on strategics and tactics, contradict each other. - -A commander in chief’s business, it would seem, is simply to choose one -of these projects. But even that he cannot do. Events and time do not -wait. For instance, on the twenty-eighth it is suggested to him to -cross to the Kalúga road, but just then an adjutant gallops up from -Milorádovich asking whether he is to engage the French or retire. An -order must be given him at once, that instant. And the order to retreat -carries us past the turn to the Kalúga road. And after the adjutant -comes the commissary general asking where the stores are to be taken, -and the chief of the hospitals asks where the wounded are to go, and a -courier from Petersburg brings a letter from the sovereign which does -not admit of the possibility of abandoning Moscow, and the commander in -chief’s rival, the man who is undermining him (and there are always -not merely one but several such), presents a new project diametrically -opposed to that of turning to the Kalúga road, and the commander in -chief himself needs sleep and refreshment to maintain his energy and -a respectable general who has been overlooked in the distribution of -rewards comes to complain, and the inhabitants of the district pray to -be defended, and an officer sent to inspect the locality comes in and -gives a report quite contrary to what was said by the officer -previously sent; and a spy, a prisoner, and a general who has been -on reconnaissance, all describe the position of the enemy’s army -differently. People accustomed to misunderstand or to forget these -inevitable conditions of a commander in chief’s actions describe to -us, for instance, the position of the army at Filí and assume that the -commander in chief could, on the first of September, quite freely decide -whether to abandon Moscow or defend it; whereas, with the Russian army -less than four miles from Moscow, no such question existed. When had -that question been settled? At Drissa and at Smolénsk and most -palpably of all on the twenty-fourth of August at Shevárdino and on -the twenty-sixth at Borodinó, and each day and hour and minute of the -retreat from Borodinó to Filí. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -When Ermólov, having been sent by Kutúzov to inspect the position, told -the field marshal that it was impossible to fight there before Moscow -and that they must retreat, Kutúzov looked at him in silence. - -“Give me your hand,” said he and, turning it over so as to feel the -pulse, added: “You are not well, my dear fellow. Think what you are -saying!” - -Kutúzov could not yet admit the possibility of retreating beyond Moscow -without a battle. - -On the Poklónny Hill, four miles from the Dorogomílov gate of Moscow, -Kutúzov got out of his carriage and sat down on a bench by the roadside. -A great crowd of generals gathered round him, and Count Rostopchín, who -had come out from Moscow, joined them. This brilliant company separated -into several groups who all discussed the advantages and disadvantages -of the position, the state of the army, the plans suggested, the -situation of Moscow, and military questions generally. Though they had -not been summoned for the purpose, and though it was not so called, they -all felt that this was really a council of war. The conversations all -dealt with public questions. If anyone gave or asked for personal -news, it was done in a whisper and they immediately reverted to general -matters. No jokes, or laughter, or smiles even, were seen among all -these men. They evidently all made an effort to hold themselves at the -height the situation demanded. And all these groups, while talking -among themselves, tried to keep near the commander in chief (whose -bench formed the center of the gathering) and to speak so that he might -overhear them. The commander in chief listened to what was being said -and sometimes asked them to repeat their remarks, but did not himself -take part in the conversations or express any opinion. After hearing -what was being said by one or other of these groups he generally turned -away with an air of disappointment, as though they were not speaking of -anything he wished to hear. Some discussed the position that had been -chosen, criticizing not the position itself so much as the mental -capacity of those who had chosen it. Others argued that a mistake had -been made earlier and that a battle should have been fought two days -before. Others again spoke of the battle of Salamanca, which was -described by Crosart, a newly arrived Frenchman in a Spanish uniform. -(This Frenchman and one of the German princes serving with the Russian -army were discussing the siege of Saragossa and considering the -possibility of defending Moscow in a similar manner.) Count Rostopchín -was telling a fourth group that he was prepared to die with the city -train bands under the walls of the capital, but that he still could not -help regretting having been left in ignorance of what was happening, and -that had he known it sooner things would have been different.... A -fifth group, displaying the profundity of their strategic perceptions, -discussed the direction the troops would now have to take. A sixth group -was talking absolute nonsense. Kutúzov’s expression grew more and more -preoccupied and gloomy. From all this talk he saw only one thing: that -to defend Moscow was a physical impossibility in the full meaning of -those words, that is to say, so utterly impossible that if any senseless -commander were to give orders to fight, confusion would result but the -battle would still not take place. It would not take place because the -commanders not merely all recognized the position to be impossible, but -in their conversations were only discussing what would happen after its -inevitable abandonment. How could the commanders lead their troops to -a field of battle they considered impossible to hold? The lower-grade -officers and even the soldiers (who too reason) also considered the -position impossible and therefore could not go to fight, fully convinced -as they were of defeat. If Bennigsen insisted on the position being -defended and others still discussed it, the question was no longer -important in itself but only as a pretext for disputes and intrigue. -This Kutúzov knew well. - -Bennigsen, who had chosen the position, warmly displayed his Russian -patriotism (Kutúzov could not listen to this without wincing) by -insisting that Moscow must be defended. His aim was as clear as daylight -to Kutúzov: if the defense failed, to throw the blame on Kutúzov who had -brought the army as far as the Sparrow Hills without giving battle; if -it succeeded, to claim the success as his own; or if battle were not -given, to clear himself of the crime of abandoning Moscow. But this -intrigue did not now occupy the old man’s mind. One terrible question -absorbed him and to that question he heard no reply from anyone. The -question for him now was: “Have I really allowed Napoleon to reach -Moscow, and when did I do so? When was it decided? Can it have been -yesterday when I ordered Plátov to retreat, or was it the evening -before, when I had a nap and told Bennigsen to issue orders? Or was it -earlier still?... When, when was this terrible affair decided? Moscow -must be abandoned. The army must retreat and the order to do so must -be given.” To give that terrible order seemed to him equivalent to -resigning the command of the army. And not only did he love power to -which he was accustomed (the honours awarded to Prince Prozoróvski, -under whom he had served in Turkey, galled him), but he was convinced -that he was destined to save Russia and that that was why, against -the Emperor’s wish and by the will of the people, he had been chosen -commander in chief. He was convinced that he alone could maintain -command of the army in these difficult circumstances, and that in all -the world he alone could encounter the invincible Napoleon without fear, -and he was horrified at the thought of the order he had to issue. But -something had to be decided, and these conversations around him which -were assuming too free a character must be stopped. - -He called the most important generals to him. - -“My head, be it good or bad, must depend on itself,” said he, rising -from the bench, and he rode to Filí where his carriages were waiting. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -The Council of War began to assemble at two in the afternoon in the -better and roomier part of Andrew Savostyánov’s hut. The men, women, and -children of the large peasant family crowded into the back room across -the passage. Only Malásha, Andrew’s six-year-old granddaughter whom -his Serene Highness had petted and to whom he had given a lump of sugar -while drinking his tea, remained on the top of the brick oven in the -larger room. Malásha looked down from the oven with shy delight at the -faces, uniforms, and decorations of the generals, who one after another -came into the room and sat down on the broad benches in the corner -under the icons. “Granddad” himself, as Malásha in her own mind called -Kutúzov, sat apart in a dark corner behind the oven. He sat, sunk deep -in a folding armchair, and continually cleared his throat and pulled at -the collar of his coat which, though it was unbuttoned, still seemed -to pinch his neck. Those who entered went up one by one to the field -marshal; he pressed the hands of some and nodded to others. His adjutant -Kaysárov was about to draw back the curtain of the window facing -Kutúzov, but the latter moved his hand angrily and Kaysárov understood -that his Serene Highness did not wish his face to be seen. - -Round the peasant’s deal table, on which lay maps, plans, pencils, and -papers, so many people gathered that the orderlies brought in another -bench and put it beside the table. Ermólov, Kaysárov, and Toll, who had -just arrived, sat down on this bench. In the foremost place, immediately -under the icons, sat Barclay de Tolly, his high forehead merging into -his bald crown. He had a St. George’s Cross round his neck and looked -pale and ill. He had been feverish for two days and was now shivering -and in pain. Beside him sat Uvárov, who with rapid gesticulations was -giving him some information, speaking in low tones as they all did. -Chubby little Dokhtúrov was listening attentively with eyebrows -raised and arms folded on his stomach. On the other side sat Count -Ostermann-Tolstóy, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts. His broad -head with its bold features and glittering eyes was resting on his hand. -Raévski, twitching forward the black hair on his temples as was his -habit, glanced now at Kutúzov and now at the door with a look of -impatience. Konovnítsyn’s firm, handsome, and kindly face was lit up by -a tender, sly smile. His glance met Malásha’s, and the expression of his -eyes caused the little girl to smile. - -They were all waiting for Bennigsen, who on the pretext of inspecting -the position was finishing his savory dinner. They waited for him from -four till six o’clock and did not begin their deliberations all that -time but talked in low tones of other matters. - -Only when Bennigsen had entered the hut did Kutúzov leave his corner and -draw toward the table, but not near enough for the candles that had been -placed there to light up his face. - -Bennigsen opened the council with the question: “Are we to abandon -Russia’s ancient and sacred capital without a struggle, or are we to -defend it?” A prolonged and general silence followed. There was a frown -on every face and only Kutúzov’s angry grunts and occasional cough -broke the silence. All eyes were gazing at him. Malásha too looked at -“Granddad.” She was nearest to him and saw how his face puckered; he -seemed about to cry, but this did not last long. - -“Russia’s ancient and sacred capital!” he suddenly said, repeating -Bennigsen’s words in an angry voice and thereby drawing attention to the -false note in them. “Allow me to tell you, your excellency, that that -question has no meaning for a Russian.” (He lurched his heavy body -forward.) “Such a question cannot be put; it is senseless! The question -I have asked these gentlemen to meet to discuss is a military one. -The question is that of saving Russia. Is it better to give up Moscow -without a battle, or by accepting battle to risk losing the army as well -as Moscow? That is the question on which I want your opinion,” and he -sank back in his chair. - -The discussion began. Bennigsen did not yet consider his game lost. -Admitting the view of Barclay and others that a defensive battle at -Filí was impossible, but imbued with Russian patriotism and the love -of Moscow, he proposed to move troops from the right to the left flank -during the night and attack the French right flank the following day. -Opinions were divided, and arguments were advanced for and against that -project. Ermólov, Dokhtúrov, and Raévski agreed with Bennigsen. Whether -feeling it necessary to make a sacrifice before abandoning the capital -or guided by other, personal considerations, these generals seemed not -to understand that this council could not alter the inevitable course -of events and that Moscow was in effect already abandoned. The other -generals, however, understood it and, leaving aside the question of -Moscow, spoke of the direction the army should take in its retreat. -Malásha, who kept her eyes fixed on what was going on before her, -understood the meaning of the council differently. It seemed to her that -it was only a personal struggle between “Granddad” and “Long-coat” as -she termed Bennigsen. She saw that they grew spiteful when they spoke to -one another, and in her heart she sided with “Granddad.” In the midst of -the conversation she noticed “Granddad” give Bennigsen a quick, subtle -glance, and then to her joys she saw that “Granddad” said something to -“Long-coat” which settled him. Bennigsen suddenly reddened and paced -angrily up and down the room. What so affected him was Kutúzov’s calm -and quiet comment on the advantage or disadvantage of Bennigsen’s -proposal to move troops by night from the right to the left flank to -attack the French right wing. - -“Gentlemen,” said Kutúzov, “I cannot approve of the count’s plan. Moving -troops in close proximity to an enemy is always dangerous, and military -history supports that view. For instance...” Kutúzov seemed to reflect, -searching for an example, then with a clear, naïve look at Bennigsen he -added: “Oh yes; take the battle of Friedland, which I think the count -well remembers, and which was... not fully successful, only because our -troops were rearranged too near the enemy....” - -There followed a momentary pause, which seemed very long to them all. - -The discussion recommenced, but pauses frequently occurred and they all -felt that there was no more to be said. - -During one of these pauses Kutúzov heaved a deep sigh as if preparing to -speak. They all looked at him. - -“Well, gentlemen, I see that it is I who will have to pay for the broken -crockery,” said he, and rising slowly he moved to the table. “Gentlemen, -I have heard your views. Some of you will not agree with me. But I,” he -paused, “by the authority entrusted to me by my Sovereign and country, -order a retreat.” - -After that the generals began to disperse with the solemnity and -circumspect silence of people who are leaving, after a funeral. - -Some of the generals, in low tones and in a strain very different from -the way they had spoken during the council, communicated something to -their commander in chief. - -Malásha, who had long been expected for supper, climbed carefully -backwards down from the oven, her bare little feet catching at its -projections, and slipping between the legs of the generals she darted -out of the room. - -When he had dismissed the generals Kutúzov sat a long time with his -elbows on the table, thinking always of the same terrible question: -“When, when did the abandonment of Moscow become inevitable? When was -that done which settled the matter? And who was to blame for it?” - -“I did not expect this,” said he to his adjutant Schneider when the -latter came in late that night. “I did not expect this! I did not think -this would happen.” - -“You should take some rest, your Serene Highness,” replied Schneider. - -“But no! They shall eat horseflesh yet, like the Turks!” exclaimed -Kutúzov without replying, striking the table with his podgy fist. “They -shall too, if only...” - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -At that very time, in circumstances even more important than retreating -without a battle, namely the evacuation and burning of Moscow, -Rostopchín, who is usually represented as being the instigator of that -event, acted in an altogether different manner from Kutúzov. - -After the battle of Borodinó the abandonment and burning of Moscow was -as inevitable as the retreat of the army beyond Moscow without fighting. - -Every Russian might have predicted it, not by reasoning but by the -feeling implanted in each of us and in our fathers. - -The same thing that took place in Moscow had happened in all the towns -and villages on Russian soil beginning with Smolénsk, without the -participation of Count Rostopchín and his broadsheets. The people -awaited the enemy unconcernedly, did not riot or become excited or tear -anyone to pieces, but faced its fate, feeling within it the strength to -find what it should do at that most difficult moment. And as soon as the -enemy drew near the wealthy classes went away abandoning their property, -while the poorer remained and burned and destroyed what was left. - -The consciousness that this would be so and would always be so was and -is present in the heart of every Russian. And a consciousness of this, -and a foreboding that Moscow would be taken, was present in Russian -Moscow society in 1812. Those who had quitted Moscow already in July -and at the beginning of August showed that they expected this. Those who -went away, taking what they could and abandoning their houses and half -their belongings, did so from the latent patriotism which expresses -itself not by phrases or by giving one’s children to save the fatherland -and similar unnatural exploits, but unobtrusively, simply, organically, -and therefore in the way that always produces the most powerful results. - -“It is disgraceful to run away from danger; only cowards are running -away from Moscow,” they were told. In his broadsheets Rostopchín -impressed on them that to leave Moscow was shameful. They were ashamed -to be called cowards, ashamed to leave, but still they left, knowing -it had to be done. Why did they go? It is impossible to suppose that -Rostopchín had scared them by his accounts of horrors Napoleon had -committed in conquered countries. The first people to go away were the -rich educated people who knew quite well that Vienna and Berlin had -remained intact and that during Napoleon’s occupation the inhabitants -had spent their time pleasantly in the company of the charming Frenchmen -whom the Russians, and especially the Russian ladies, then liked so -much. - -They went away because for Russians there could be no question as to -whether things would go well or ill under French rule in Moscow. It was -out of the question to be under French rule, it would be the worst thing -that could happen. They went away even before the battle of Borodinó and -still more rapidly after it, despite Rostopchín’s calls to defend Moscow -or the announcement of his intention to take the wonder-working icon of -the Iberian Mother of God and go to fight, or of the balloons that were -to destroy the French, and despite all the nonsense Rostopchín wrote in -his broadsheets. They knew that it was for the army to fight, and that -if it could not succeed it would not do to take young ladies and house -serfs to the Three Hills quarter of Moscow to fight Napoleon, and that -they must go away, sorry as they were to abandon their property -to destruction. They went away without thinking of the tremendous -significance of that immense and wealthy city being given over to -destruction, for a great city with wooden buildings was certain when -abandoned by its inhabitants to be burned. They went away each on his -own account, and yet it was only in consequence of their going away -that the momentous event was accomplished that will always remain the -greatest glory of the Russian people. The lady who, afraid of being -stopped by Count Rostopchín’s orders, had already in June moved with her -Negroes and her women jesters from Moscow to her Sarátov estate, with -a vague consciousness that she was not Bonaparte’s servant, was really, -simply, and truly carrying out the great work which saved Russia. But -Count Rostopchín, who now taunted those who left Moscow and now had the -government offices removed; now distributed quite useless weapons to -the drunken rabble; now had processions displaying the icons, and now -forbade Father Augustin to remove icons or the relics of saints; now -seized all the private carts in Moscow and on one hundred and thirty-six -of them removed the balloon that was being constructed by Leppich; now -hinted that he would burn Moscow and related how he had set fire to his -own house; now wrote a proclamation to the French solemnly upbraiding -them for having destroyed his Orphanage; now claimed the glory of -having hinted that he would burn Moscow and now repudiated the deed; -now ordered the people to catch all spies and bring them to him, and now -reproached them for doing so; now expelled all the French residents from -Moscow, and now allowed Madame Aubert-Chalmé (the center of the whole -French colony in Moscow) to remain, but ordered the venerable old -postmaster Klyucharëv to be arrested and exiled for no particular -offense; now assembled the people at the Three Hills to fight the French -and now, to get rid of them, handed over to them a man to be killed -and himself drove away by a back gate; now declared that he would -not survive the fall of Moscow, and now wrote French verses in albums -concerning his share in the affair—this man did not understand the -meaning of what was happening but merely wanted to do something himself -that would astonish people, to perform some patriotically heroic -feat; and like a child he made sport of the momentous, and unavoidable -event—the abandonment and burning of Moscow—and tried with his puny hand -now to speed and now to stay the enormous, popular tide that bore him -along with it. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Hélène, having returned with the court from Vílna to Petersburg, found -herself in a difficult position. - -In Petersburg she had enjoyed the special protection of a grandee who -occupied one of the highest posts in the Empire. In Vílna she had formed -an intimacy with a young foreign prince. When she returned to Petersburg -both the magnate and the prince were there, and both claimed their -rights. Hélène was faced by a new problem—how to preserve her intimacy -with both without offending either. - -What would have seemed difficult or even impossible to another woman did -not cause the least embarrassment to Countess Bezúkhova, who evidently -deserved her reputation of being a very clever woman. Had she attempted -concealment, or tried to extricate herself from her awkward position -by cunning, she would have spoiled her case by acknowledging herself -guilty. But Hélène, like a really great man who can do whatever -he pleases, at once assumed her own position to be correct, as she -sincerely believed it to be, and that everyone else was to blame. - -The first time the young foreigner allowed himself to reproach her, she -lifted her beautiful head and, half turning to him, said firmly: “That’s -just like a man—selfish and cruel! I expected nothing else. A woman -sacrifices herself for you, she suffers, and this is her reward! What -right have you, monseigneur, to demand an account of my attachments and -friendships? He is a man who has been more than a father to me!” The -prince was about to say something, but Hélène interrupted him. - -“Well, yes,” said she, “it may be that he has other sentiments for me -than those of a father, but that is not a reason for me to shut my door -on him. I am not a man, that I should repay kindness with ingratitude! -Know, monseigneur, that in all that relates to my intimate feelings I -render account only to God and to my conscience,” she concluded, laying -her hand on her beautiful, fully expanded bosom and looking up to -heaven. - -“But for heaven’s sake listen to me!” - -“Marry me, and I will be your slave!” - -“But that’s impossible.” - -“You won’t deign to demean yourself by marrying me, you...” said Hélène, -beginning to cry. - -The prince tried to comfort her, but Hélène, as if quite distraught, -said through her tears that there was nothing to prevent her marrying, -that there were precedents (there were up to that time very few, but -she mentioned Napoleon and some other exalted personages), that she had -never been her husband’s wife, and that she had been sacrificed. - -“But the law, religion...” said the prince, already yielding. - -“The law, religion... What have they been invented for if they can’t -arrange that?” said Hélène. - -The prince was surprised that so simple an idea had not occurred to him, -and he applied for advice to the holy brethren of the Society of Jesus, -with whom he was on intimate terms. - -A few days later at one of those enchanting fetes which Hélène gave at -her country house on the Stone Island, the charming Monsieur de Jobert, -a man no longer young, with snow white hair and brilliant black eyes, -a Jesuit à robe courte * was presented to her, and in the garden by the -light of the illuminations and to the sound of music talked to her for a -long time of the love of God, of Christ, of the Sacred Heart, and of the -consolations the one true Catholic religion affords in this world and -the next. Hélène was touched, and more than once tears rose to her eyes -and to those of Monsieur de Jobert and their voices trembled. A dance, -for which her partner came to seek her, put an end to her discourse with -her future directeur de conscience, but the next evening Monsieur de -Jobert came to see Hélène when she was alone, and after that often came -again. - - * Lay member of the Society of Jesus. - -One day he took the countess to a Roman Catholic church, where she knelt -down before the altar to which she was led. The enchanting, middle-aged -Frenchman laid his hands on her head and, as she herself afterward -described it, she felt something like a fresh breeze wafted into her -soul. It was explained to her that this was la grâce. - -After that a long-frocked abbé was brought to her. She confessed to -him, and he absolved her from her sins. Next day she received a box -containing the Sacred Host, which was left at her house for her to -partake of. A few days later Hélène learned with pleasure that she had -now been admitted to the true Catholic Church and that in a few days the -Pope himself would hear of her and would send her a certain document. - -All that was done around her and to her at this time, all the attention -devoted to her by so many clever men and expressed in such pleasant, -refined ways, and the state of dove-like purity she was now in (she wore -only white dresses and white ribbons all that time) gave her pleasure, -but her pleasure did not cause her for a moment to forget her aim. And -as it always happens in contests of cunning that a stupid person gets -the better of cleverer ones, Hélène—having realized that the main object -of all these words and all this trouble was, after converting her to -Catholicism, to obtain money from her for Jesuit institutions (as to -which she received indications)—before parting with her money insisted -that the various operations necessary to free her from her husband -should be performed. In her view the aim of every religion was merely -to preserve certain proprieties while affording satisfaction to -human desires. And with this aim, in one of her talks with her Father -Confessor, she insisted on an answer to the question, in how far was she -bound by her marriage? - -They were sitting in the twilight by a window in the drawing room. -The scent of flowers came in at the window. Hélène was wearing a white -dress, transparent over her shoulders and bosom. The abbé, a well-fed -man with a plump, clean-shaven chin, a pleasant firm mouth, and white -hands meekly folded on his knees, sat close to Hélène and, with a -subtle smile on his lips and a peaceful look of delight at her beauty, -occasionally glanced at her face as he explained his opinion on the -subject. Hélène with an uneasy smile looked at his curly hair and his -plump, clean-shaven, blackish cheeks and every moment expected the -conversation to take a fresh turn. But the abbé, though he evidently -enjoyed the beauty of his companion, was absorbed in his mastery of the -matter. - -The course of the Father Confessor’s arguments ran as follows: “Ignorant -of the import of what you were undertaking, you made a vow of conjugal -fidelity to a man who on his part, by entering the married state without -faith in the religious significance of marriage, committed an act of -sacrilege. That marriage lacked the dual significance it should have -had. Yet in spite of this your vow was binding. You swerved from it. -What did you commit by so acting? A venial, or a mortal, sin? A venial -sin, for you acted without evil intention. If now you married again -with the object of bearing children, your sin might be forgiven. But the -question is again a twofold one: firstly...” - -But suddenly Hélène, who was getting bored, said with one of her -bewitching smiles: “But I think that having espoused the true religion I -cannot be bound by what a false religion laid upon me.” - -The director of her conscience was astounded at having the case -presented to him thus with the simplicity of Columbus’ egg. He was -delighted at the unexpected rapidity of his pupil’s progress, but could -not abandon the edifice of argument he had laboriously constructed. - -“Let us understand one another, Countess,” said he with a smile, and -began refuting his spiritual daughter’s arguments. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Hélène understood that the question was very simple and easy from -the ecclesiastical point of view, and that her directors were making -difficulties only because they were apprehensive as to how the matter -would be regarded by the secular authorities. - -So she decided that it was necessary to prepare the opinion of society. -She provoked the jealousy of the elderly magnate and told him what she -had told her other suitor; that is, she put the matter so that the only -way for him to obtain a right over her was to marry her. The elderly -magnate was at first as much taken aback by this suggestion of marriage -with a woman whose husband was alive, as the younger man had been, but -Hélène’s imperturbable conviction that it was as simple and natural as -marrying a maiden had its effect on him too. Had Hélène herself shown -the least sign of hesitation, shame, or secrecy, her cause would -certainly have been lost; but not only did she show no signs of secrecy -or shame, on the contrary, with good-natured naïveté she told her -intimate friends (and these were all Petersburg) that both the prince -and the magnate had proposed to her and that she loved both and was -afraid of grieving either. - -A rumor immediately spread in Petersburg, not that Hélène wanted to -be divorced from her husband (had such a report spread many would have -opposed so illegal an intention) but simply that the unfortunate and -interesting Hélène was in doubt which of the two men she should marry. -The question was no longer whether this was possible, but only which was -the better match and how the matter would be regarded at court. There -were, it is true, some rigid individuals unable to rise to the height of -such a question, who saw in the project a desecration of the sacrament -of marriage, but there were not many such and they remained silent, -while the majority were interested in Hélène’s good fortune and in the -question which match would be the more advantageous. Whether it was -right or wrong to remarry while one had a husband living they did not -discuss, for that question had evidently been settled by people “wiser -than you or me,” as they said, and to doubt the correctness of that -decision would be to risk exposing one’s stupidity and incapacity to -live in society. - -Only Márya Dmítrievna Akhrosímova, who had come to Petersburg that -summer to see one of her sons, allowed herself plainly to express -an opinion contrary to the general one. Meeting Hélène at a ball she -stopped her in the middle of the room and, amid general silence, said -in her gruff voice: “So wives of living men have started marrying -again! Perhaps you think you have invented a novelty? You have been -forestalled, my dear! It was thought of long ago. It is done in all the -brothels,” and with these words Márya Dmítrievna, turning up her wide -sleeves with her usual threatening gesture and glancing sternly round, -moved across the room. - -Though people were afraid of Márya Dmítrievna she was regarded in -Petersburg as a buffoon, and so of what she had said they only noticed, -and repeated in a whisper, the one coarse word she had used, supposing -the whole sting of her remark to lie in that word. - -Prince Vasíli, who of late very often forgot what he had said and -repeated one and the same thing a hundred times, remarked to his -daughter whenever he chanced to see her: - -“Hélène, I have a word to say to you,” and he would lead her -aside, drawing her hand downward. “I have heard of certain projects -concerning... you know. Well my dear child, you know how your father’s -heart rejoices to know that you... You have suffered so much.... But, my -dear child, consult only your own heart. That is all I have to say,” and -concealing his unvarying emotion he would press his cheek against his -daughter’s and move away. - -Bilíbin, who had not lost his reputation of an exceedingly clever man, -and who was one of the disinterested friends so brilliant a woman as -Hélène always has—men friends who can never change into lovers—once gave -her his view of the matter at a small and intimate gathering. - -“Listen, Bilíbin,” said Hélène (she always called friends of that sort -by their surnames), and she touched his coat sleeve with her white, -beringed fingers. “Tell me, as you would a sister, what I ought to do. -Which of the two?” - -Bilíbin wrinkled up the skin over his eyebrows and pondered, with a -smile on his lips. - -“You are not taking me unawares, you know,” said he. “As a true friend, -I have thought and thought again about your affair. You see, if you -marry the prince”—he meant the younger man—and he crooked one finger, -“you forever lose the chance of marrying the other, and you will -displease the court besides. (You know there is some kind of -connection.) But if you marry the old count you will make his last days -happy, and as widow of the Grand... the prince would no longer be making -a mésalliance by marrying you,” and Bilíbin smoothed out his forehead. - -“That’s a true friend!” said Hélène beaming, and again touching -Bilíbin’s sleeve. “But I love them, you know, and don’t want to distress -either of them. I would give my life for the happiness of them both.” - -Bilíbin shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that not even he could -help in that difficulty. - -“Une maîtresse-femme! * That’s what is called putting things squarely. -She would like to be married to all three at the same time,” thought he. - - * A masterly woman. - -“But tell me, how will your husband look at the matter?” Bilíbin asked, -his reputation being so well established that he did not fear to ask so -naïve a question. “Will he agree?” - -“Oh, he loves me so!” said Hélène, who for some reason imagined that -Pierre too loved her. “He will do anything for me.” - -Bilíbin puckered his skin in preparation for something witty. - -“Even divorce you?” said he. - -Hélène laughed. - -Among those who ventured to doubt the justifiability of the proposed -marriage was Hélène’s mother, Princess Kurágina. She was continually -tormented by jealousy of her daughter, and now that jealousy concerned -a subject near to her own heart, she could not reconcile herself to the -idea. She consulted a Russian priest as to the possibility of divorce -and remarriage during a husband’s lifetime, and the priest told her that -it was impossible, and to her delight showed her a text in the Gospel -which (as it seemed to him) plainly forbids remarriage while the husband -is alive. - -Armed with these arguments, which appeared to her unanswerable, she -drove to her daughter’s early one morning so as to find her alone. - -Having listened to her mother’s objections, Hélène smiled blandly and -ironically. - -“But it says plainly: ‘Whosoever shall marry her that is divorced...’” -said the old princess. - -“Ah, Maman, ne dites pas de bêtises. Vous ne comprenez rien. Dans ma -position j’ai des devoirs,” * said Hélène changing from Russian, in -which language she always felt that her case did not sound quite clear, -into French which suited it better. - - * “Oh, Mamma, don’t talk nonsense! You don’t understand - anything. In my position I have obligations.” - - -“But, my dear....” - -“Oh, Mamma, how is it you don’t understand that the Holy Father, who has -the right to grant dispensations...” - -Just then the lady companion who lived with Hélène came in to announce -that His Highness was in the ballroom and wished to see her. - -“Non, dites-lui que je ne veux pas le voir, que je suis furieuse contre -lui, parce qu’il m’a manqué parole.” * - - * “No, tell him I don’t wish to see him, I am furious with - him for not keeping his word to me.” - - -“Comtesse, à tout péché miséricorde,” * said a fair-haired young man -with a long face and nose, as he entered the room. - - * “Countess, there is mercy for every sin.” - - -The old princess rose respectfully and curtsied. The young man who had -entered took no notice of her. The princess nodded to her daughter and -sidled out of the room. - -“Yes, she is right,” thought the old princess, all her convictions -dissipated by the appearance of His Highness. “She is right, but how -is it that we in our irrecoverable youth did not know it? Yet it is so -simple,” she thought as she got into her carriage. - - -By the beginning of August Hélène’s affairs were clearly defined and -she wrote a letter to her husband—who, as she imagined, loved her very -much—informing him of her intention to marry N.N. and of her having -embraced the one true faith, and asking him to carry out all the -formalities necessary for a divorce, which would be explained to him by -the bearer of the letter. - -And so I pray God to have you, my friend, in His holy and powerful -keeping—Your friend Hélène. - -This letter was brought to Pierre’s house when he was on the field of -Borodinó. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Toward the end of the battle of Borodinó, Pierre, having run down -from Raévski’s battery a second time, made his way through a gully to -Knyazkóvo with a crowd of soldiers, reached the dressing station, and -seeing blood and hearing cries and groans hurried on, still entangled in -the crowds of soldiers. - -The one thing he now desired with his whole soul was to get away quickly -from the terrible sensations amid which he had lived that day and return -to ordinary conditions of life and sleep quietly in a room in his own -bed. He felt that only in the ordinary conditions of life would he -be able to understand himself and all he had seen and felt. But such -ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found. - -Though shells and bullets did not whistle over the road along which he -was going, still on all sides there was what there had been on the field -of battle. There were still the same suffering, exhausted, and sometimes -strangely indifferent faces, the same blood, the same soldiers’ -overcoats, the same sounds of firing which, though distant now, still -aroused terror, and besides this there were the foul air and the dust. - -Having gone a couple of miles along the Mozháysk road, Pierre sat down -by the roadside. - -Dusk had fallen, and the roar of guns died away. Pierre lay leaning on -his elbow for a long time, gazing at the shadows that moved past him in -the darkness. He was continually imagining that a cannon ball was flying -toward him with a terrific whizz, and then he shuddered and sat up. He -had no idea how long he had been there. In the middle of the night three -soldiers, having brought some firewood, settled down near him and began -lighting a fire. - -The soldiers, who threw sidelong glances at Pierre, got the fire to burn -and placed an iron pot on it into which they broke some dried bread and -put a little dripping. The pleasant odor of greasy viands mingled with -the smell of smoke. Pierre sat up and sighed. The three soldiers were -eating and talking among themselves, taking no notice of him. - -“And who may you be?” one of them suddenly asked Pierre, evidently -meaning what Pierre himself had in mind, namely: “If you want to eat -we’ll give you some food, only let us know whether you are an honest -man.” - -“I, I...” said Pierre, feeling it necessary to minimize his social -position as much as possible so as to be nearer to the soldiers and -better understood by them. “By rights I am a militia officer, but my men -are not here. I came to the battle and have lost them.” - -“There now!” said one of the soldiers. - -Another shook his head. - -“Would you like a little mash?” the first soldier asked, and handed -Pierre a wooden spoon after licking it clean. - -Pierre sat down by the fire and began eating the mash, as they called -the food in the cauldron, and he thought it more delicious than any food -he had ever tasted. As he sat bending greedily over it, helping himself -to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another, his face was lit up by -the fire and the soldiers looked at him in silence. - -“Where have you to go to? Tell us!” said one of them. - -“To Mozháysk.” - -“You’re a gentleman, aren’t you?” - -“Yes.” - -“And what’s your name?” - -“Peter Kirílych.” - -“Well then, Peter Kirílych, come along with us, we’ll take you there.” - -In the total darkness the soldiers walked with Pierre to Mozháysk. - -By the time they got near Mozháysk and began ascending the steep hill -into the town, the cocks were already crowing. Pierre went on with the -soldiers, quite forgetting that his inn was at the bottom of the hill -and that he had already passed it. He would not soon have remembered -this, such was his state of forgetfulness, had he not halfway up the -hill stumbled upon his groom, who had been to look for him in the -town and was returning to the inn. The groom recognized Pierre in the -darkness by his white hat. - -“Your excellency!” he said. “Why, we were beginning to despair! How is -it you are on foot? And where are you going, please?” - -“Oh, yes!” said Pierre. - -The soldiers stopped. - -“So you’ve found your folk?” said one of them. “Well, good-by, Peter -Kirílych—isn’t it?” - -“Good-by, Peter Kirílych!” Pierre heard the other voices repeat. - -“Good-by!” he said and turned with his groom toward the inn. - -“I ought to give them something!” he thought, and felt in his pocket. -“No, better not!” said another, inner voice. - -There was not a room to be had at the inn, they were all occupied. -Pierre went out into the yard and, covering himself up head and all, lay -down in his carriage. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Scarcely had Pierre laid his head on the pillow before he felt himself -falling asleep, but suddenly, almost with the distinctness of reality, -he heard the boom, boom, boom of firing, the thud of projectiles, groans -and cries, and smelled blood and powder, and a feeling of horror and -dread of death seized him. Filled with fright he opened his eyes and -lifted his head from under his cloak. All was tranquil in the yard. Only -someone’s orderly passed through the gateway, splashing through the mud, -and talked to the innkeeper. Above Pierre’s head some pigeons, disturbed -by the movement he had made in sitting up, fluttered under the dark roof -of the penthouse. The whole courtyard was permeated by a strong peaceful -smell of stable yards, delightful to Pierre at that moment. He could see -the clear starry sky between the dark roofs of two penthouses. - -“Thank God, there is no more of that!” he thought, covering up his head -again. “Oh, what a terrible thing is fear, and how shamefully I yielded -to it! But they... they were steady and calm all the time, to the -end...” thought he. - -They, in Pierre’s mind, were the soldiers, those who had been at the -battery, those who had given him food, and those who had prayed before -the icon. They, those strange men he had not previously known, stood out -clearly and sharply from everyone else. - -“To be a soldier, just a soldier!” thought Pierre as he fell asleep, -“to enter communal life completely, to be imbued by what makes them what -they are. But how cast off all the superfluous, devilish burden of my -outer man? There was a time when I could have done it. I could have run -away from my father, as I wanted to. Or I might have been sent to serve -as a soldier after the duel with Dólokhov.” And the memory of the dinner -at the English Club when he had challenged Dólokhov flashed through -Pierre’s mind, and then he remembered his benefactor at Torzhók. And now -a picture of a solemn meeting of the lodge presented itself to his mind. -It was taking place at the English Club and someone near and dear to him -sat at the end of the table. “Yes, that is he! It is my benefactor. -But he died!” thought Pierre. “Yes, he died, and I did not know he was -alive. How sorry I am that he died, and how glad I am that he is alive -again!” On one side of the table sat Anatole, Dólokhov, Nesvítski, -Denísov, and others like them (in his dream the category to which these -men belonged was as clearly defined in his mind as the category of -those he termed they), and he heard those people, Anatole and Dólokhov, -shouting and singing loudly; yet through their shouting the voice of his -benefactor was heard speaking all the time and the sound of his words -was as weighty and uninterrupted as the booming on the battlefield, but -pleasant and comforting. Pierre did not understand what his benefactor -was saying, but he knew (the categories of thoughts were also quite -distinct in his dream) that he was talking of goodness and the -possibility of being what they were. And they with their simple, kind, -firm faces surrounded his benefactor on all sides. But though they were -kindly they did not look at Pierre and did not know him. Wishing to -speak and to attract their attention, he got up, but at that moment his -legs grew cold and bare. - -He felt ashamed, and with one arm covered his legs from which his cloak -had in fact slipped. For a moment as he was rearranging his cloak Pierre -opened his eyes and saw the same penthouse roofs, posts, and yard, but -now they were all bluish, lit up, and glittering with frost or dew. - -“It is dawn,” thought Pierre. “But that’s not what I want. I want to -hear and understand my benefactor’s words.” Again he covered himself up -with his cloak, but now neither the lodge nor his benefactor was there. -There were only thoughts clearly expressed in words, thoughts that -someone was uttering or that he himself was formulating. - -Afterwards when he recalled those thoughts Pierre was convinced that -someone outside himself had spoken them, though the impressions of that -day had evoked them. He had never, it seemed to him, been able to think -and express his thoughts like that when awake. - -“To endure war is the most difficult subordination of man’s freedom to -the law of God,” the voice had said. “Simplicity is submission to the -will of God; you cannot escape from Him. And they are simple. They do -not talk, but act. The spoken word is silver but the unspoken is golden. -Man can be master of nothing while he fears death, but he who does not -fear it possesses all. If there were no suffering, man would not know -his limitations, would not know himself. The hardest thing (Pierre went -on thinking, or hearing, in his dream) is to be able in your soul to -unite the meaning of all. To unite all?” he asked himself. “No, not -to unite. Thoughts cannot be united, but to harness all these thoughts -together is what we need! Yes, one must harness them, must harness -them!” he repeated to himself with inward rapture, feeling that these -words and they alone expressed what he wanted to say and solved the -question that tormented him. - -“Yes, one must harness, it is time to harness.” - -“Time to harness, time to harness, your excellency! Your excellency!” -some voice was repeating. “We must harness, it is time to harness....” - -It was the voice of the groom, trying to wake him. The sun shone -straight into Pierre’s face. He glanced at the dirty innyard in the -middle of which soldiers were watering their lean horses at the pump -while carts were passing out of the gate. Pierre turned away with -repugnance, and closing his eyes quickly fell back on the carriage seat. -“No, I don’t want that, I don’t want to see and understand that. I want -to understand what was revealing itself to me in my dream. One second -more and I should have understood it all! But what am I to do? Harness, -but how can I harness everything?” and Pierre felt with horror that the -meaning of all he had seen and thought in the dream had been destroyed. - -The groom, the coachman, and the innkeeper told Pierre that an officer -had come with news that the French were already near Mozháysk and that -our men were leaving it. - -Pierre got up and, having told them to harness and overtake him, went on -foot through the town. - -The troops were moving on, leaving about ten thousand wounded behind -them. There were wounded in the yards, at the windows of the houses, and -the streets were crowded with them. In the streets, around carts that -were to take some of the wounded away, shouts, curses, and blows could -be heard. Pierre offered the use of his carriage, which had overtaken -him, to a wounded general he knew, and drove with him to Moscow. On the -way Pierre was told of the death of his brother-in-law Anatole and of -that of Prince Andrew. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -On the thirtieth of August Pierre reached Moscow. Close to the gates of -the city he was met by Count Rostopchín’s adjutant. - -“We have been looking for you everywhere,” said the adjutant. “The count -wants to see you particularly. He asks you to come to him at once on a -very important matter.” - -Without going home, Pierre took a cab and drove to see the Moscow -commander in chief. - -Count Rostopchín had only that morning returned to town from his summer -villa at Sokólniki. The anteroom and reception room of his house -were full of officials who had been summoned or had come for orders. -Vasílchikov and Plátov had already seen the count and explained to him -that it was impossible to defend Moscow and that it would have to be -surrendered. Though this news was being concealed from the inhabitants, -the officials—the heads of the various government departments—knew that -Moscow would soon be in the enemy’s hands, just as Count Rostopchín -himself knew it, and to escape personal responsibility they had all -come to the governor to ask how they were to deal with their various -departments. - -As Pierre was entering the reception room a courier from the army came -out of Rostopchín’s private room. - -In answer to questions with which he was greeted, the courier made a -despairing gesture with his hand and passed through the room. - -While waiting in the reception room Pierre with weary eyes watched the -various officials, old and young, military and civilian, who were there. -They all seemed dissatisfied and uneasy. Pierre went up to a group of -men, one of whom he knew. After greeting Pierre they continued their -conversation. - -“If they’re sent out and brought back again later on it will do no harm, -but as things are now one can’t answer for anything.” - -“But you see what he writes...” said another, pointing to a printed -sheet he held in his hand. - -“That’s another matter. That’s necessary for the people,” said the -first. - -“What is it?” asked Pierre. - -“Oh, it’s a fresh broadsheet.” - -Pierre took it and began reading. - -His Serene Highness has passed through Mozháysk in order to join up with -the troops moving toward him and has taken up a strong position where -the enemy will not soon attack him. Forty-eight guns with ammunition -have been sent him from here, and his Serene Highness says he will -defend Moscow to the last drop of blood and is even ready to fight in -the streets. Do not be upset, brothers, that the law courts are closed; -things have to be put in order, and we will deal with villains in our -own way! When the time comes I shall want both town and peasant lads and -will raise the cry a day or two beforehand, but they are not wanted yet -so I hold my peace. An ax will be useful, a hunting spear not bad, but a -three-pronged fork will be best of all: a Frenchman is no heavier than a -sheaf of rye. Tomorrow after dinner I shall take the Iberian icon of -the Mother of God to the wounded in the Catherine Hospital where we will -have some water blessed. That will help them to get well quicker. I, -too, am well now: one of my eyes was sore but now I am on the lookout -with both. - -“But military men have told me that it is impossible to fight in the -town,” said Pierre, “and that the position...” - -“Well, of course! That’s what we were saying,” replied the first -speaker. - -“And what does he mean by ‘One of my eyes was sore but now I am on the -lookout with both’?” asked Pierre. - -“The count had a sty,” replied the adjutant smiling, “and was very much -upset when I told him people had come to ask what was the matter with -him. By the by, Count,” he added suddenly, addressing Pierre with a -smile, “we heard that you have family troubles and that the countess, -your wife...” - -“I have heard nothing,” Pierre replied unconcernedly. “But what have you -heard?” - -“Oh, well, you know people often invent things. I only say what I -heard.” - -“But what did you hear?” - -“Well, they say,” continued the adjutant with the same smile, “that -the countess, your wife, is preparing to go abroad. I expect it’s -nonsense....” - -“Possibly,” remarked Pierre, looking about him absent-mindedly. “And who -is that?” he asked, indicating a short old man in a clean blue peasant -overcoat, with a big snow-white beard and eyebrows and a ruddy face. - -“He? That’s a tradesman, that is to say, he’s the restaurant -keeper, Vereshchágin. Perhaps you have heard of that affair with the -proclamation.” - -“Oh, so that is Vereshchágin!” said Pierre, looking at the firm, calm -face of the old man and seeking any indication of his being a traitor. - -“That’s not he himself, that’s the father of the fellow who wrote the -proclamation,” said the adjutant. “The young man is in prison and I -expect it will go hard with him.” - -An old gentleman wearing a star and another official, a German wearing a -cross round his neck, approached the speaker. - -“It’s a complicated story, you know,” said the adjutant. “That -proclamation appeared about two months ago. The count was informed of -it. He gave orders to investigate the matter. Gabriel Ivánovich -here made the inquiries. The proclamation had passed through exactly -sixty-three hands. He asked one, ‘From whom did you get it?’ ‘From -so-and-so.’ He went to the next one. ‘From whom did you get it?’ and so -on till he reached Vereshchágin, a half educated tradesman, you know, ‘a -pet of a trader,’” said the adjutant smiling. “They asked him, ‘Who gave -it you?’ And the point is that we knew whom he had it from. He could -only have had it from the Postmaster. But evidently they had come to -some understanding. He replied: ‘From no one; I made it up myself.’ -They threatened and questioned him, but he stuck to that: ‘I made it -up myself.’ And so it was reported to the count, who sent for the man. -‘From whom did you get the proclamation?’ ‘I wrote it myself.’ Well, you -know the count,” said the adjutant cheerfully, with a smile of pride, -“he flared up dreadfully—and just think of the fellow’s audacity, lying, -and obstinacy!” - -“And the count wanted him to say it was from Klyucharëv? I understand!” -said Pierre. - -“Not at all,” rejoined the adjutant in dismay. “Klyucharëv had his own -sins to answer for without that and that is why he has been banished. -But the point is that the count was much annoyed. ‘How could you have -written it yourself?’ said he, and he took up the Hamburg Gazette that -was lying on the table. ‘Here it is! You did not write it yourself but -translated it, and translated it abominably, because you don’t even know -French, you fool.’ And what do you think? ‘No,’ said he, ‘I have not -read any papers, I made it up myself.’ ‘If that’s so, you’re a traitor -and I’ll have you tried, and you’ll be hanged! Say from whom you had -it.’ ‘I have seen no papers, I made it up myself.’ And that was the end -of it. The count had the father fetched, but the fellow stuck to it. -He was sent for trial and condemned to hard labor, I believe. Now the -father has come to intercede for him. But he’s a good-for-nothing lad! -You know that sort of tradesman’s son, a dandy and lady-killer. He -attended some lectures somewhere and imagines that the devil is no match -for him. That’s the sort of fellow he is. His father keeps a cookshop -here by the Stone Bridge, and you know there was a large icon of God -Almighty painted with a scepter in one hand and an orb in the other. -Well, he took that icon home with him for a few days and what did he do? -He found some scoundrel of a painter...” - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -In the middle of this fresh tale Pierre was summoned to the commander in -chief. - -When he entered the private room Count Rostopchín, puckering his face, -was rubbing his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short man was saying -something, but when Pierre entered he stopped speaking and went out. - -“Ah, how do you do, great warrior?” said Rostopchín as soon as the short -man had left the room. “We have heard of your prowess. But that’s not -the point. Between ourselves, mon cher, do you belong to the Masons?” he -went on severely, as though there were something wrong about it which -he nevertheless intended to pardon. Pierre remained silent. “I am well -informed, my friend, but I am aware that there are Masons and I hope -that you are not one of those who on pretense of saving mankind wish to -ruin Russia.” - -“Yes, I am a Mason,” Pierre replied. - -“There, you see, mon cher! I expect you know that Messrs. Speránski and -Magnítski have been deported to their proper place. Mr. Klyucharëv has -been treated in the same way, and so have others who on the plea of -building up the temple of Solomon have tried to destroy the temple of -their fatherland. You can understand that there are reasons for this and -that I could not have exiled the Postmaster had he not been a harmful -person. It has now come to my knowledge that you lent him your carriage -for his removal from town, and that you have even accepted papers from -him for safe custody. I like you and don’t wish you any harm and—as -you are only half my age—I advise you, as a father would, to cease -all communication with men of that stamp and to leave here as soon as -possible.” - -“But what did Klyucharëv do wrong, Count?” asked Pierre. - -“That is for me to know, but not for you to ask,” shouted Rostopchín. - -“If he is accused of circulating Napoleon’s proclamation it is not -proved that he did so,” said Pierre without looking at Rostopchín, “and -Vereshchágin...” - -“There we are!” Rostopchín shouted at Pierre louder than before, -frowning suddenly. “Vereshchágin is a renegade and a traitor who will -be punished as he deserves,” said he with the vindictive heat with which -people speak when recalling an insult. “But I did not summon you to -discuss my actions, but to give you advice—or an order if you prefer it. -I beg you to leave the town and break off all communication with such -men as Klyucharëv. And I will knock the nonsense out of anybody”—but -probably realizing that he was shouting at Bezúkhov who so far was not -guilty of anything, he added, taking Pierre’s hand in a friendly manner, -“We are on the eve of a public disaster and I haven’t time to be polite -to everybody who has business with me. My head is sometimes in a whirl. -Well, mon cher, what are you doing personally?” - -“Why, nothing,” answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changing the -thoughtful expression of his face. - -The count frowned. - -“A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off as soon as you can, that’s -all I have to tell you. Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by, my dear -fellow. Oh, by the by!” he shouted through the doorway after Pierre, -“is it true that the countess has fallen into the clutches of the holy -fathers of the Society of Jesus?” - -Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchín’s room more sullen and angry -than he had ever before shown himself. - -When he reached home it was already getting dark. Some eight people had -come to see him that evening: the secretary of a committee, the colonel -of his battalion, his steward, his major-domo, and various petitioners. -They all had business with Pierre and wanted decisions from him. Pierre -did not understand and was not interested in any of these questions and -only answered them in order to get rid of these people. When left alone -at last he opened and read his wife’s letter. - -“They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed... that old -man... Simplicity is submission to God. Suffering is necessary... the -meaning of all... one must harness... my wife is getting married... One -must forget and understand...” And going to his bed he threw himself on -it without undressing and immediately fell asleep. - -When he awoke next morning the major-domo came to inform him that a -special messenger, a police officer, had come from Count Rostopchín to -know whether Count Bezúkhov had left or was leaving the town. - -A dozen persons who had business with Pierre were awaiting him in the -drawing room. Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going to see -them, went to the back porch and out through the gate. - -From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one of -Bezúkhov’s household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierre again -or knew where he was. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -The Rostóvs remained in Moscow till the first of September, that is, -till the eve of the enemy’s entry into the city. - -After Pétya had joined Obolénski’s regiment of Cossacks and left for -Bélaya Tsérkov where that regiment was forming, the countess was seized -with terror. The thought that both her sons were at the war, had both -gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow either or both of them -might be killed like the three sons of one of her acquaintances, struck -her that summer for the first time with cruel clearness. She tried to -get Nicholas back and wished to go herself to join Pétya, or to get -him an appointment somewhere in Petersburg, but neither of these proved -possible. Pétya could not return unless his regiment did so or unless -he was transferred to another regiment on active service. Nicholas was -somewhere with the army and had not sent a word since his last letter, -in which he had given a detailed account of his meeting with Princess -Mary. The countess did not sleep at night, or when she did fall asleep -dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead. After many consultations and -conversations, the count at last devised means to tranquillize her. He -got Pétya transferred from Obolénski’s regiment to Bezúkhov’s, which was -in training near Moscow. Though Pétya would remain in the service, this -transfer would give the countess the consolation of seeing at least one -of her sons under her wing, and she hoped to arrange matters for her -Pétya so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed to -places where he could not possibly take part in a battle. As long as -Nicholas alone was in danger the countess imagined that she loved her -first-born more than all her other children and even reproached herself -for it; but when her youngest: the scapegrace who had been bad at -lessons, was always breaking things in the house and making himself a -nuisance to everybody, that snub-nosed Pétya with his merry black eyes -and fresh rosy cheeks where soft down was just beginning to show—when -he was thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel men who were fighting -somewhere about something and apparently finding pleasure in it—then -his mother thought she loved him more, much more, than all her other -children. The nearer the time came for Pétya to return, the more uneasy -grew the countess. She began to think she would never live to see such -happiness. The presence of Sónya, of her beloved Natásha, or even of -her husband irritated her. “What do I want with them? I want no one but -Pétya,” she thought. - -At the end of August the Rostóvs received another letter from Nicholas. -He wrote from the province of Vorónezh where he had been sent to procure -remounts, but that letter did not set the countess at ease. Knowing that -one son was out of danger she became the more anxious about Pétya. - -Though by the twentieth of August nearly all the Rostóvs’ acquaintances -had left Moscow, and though everybody tried to persuade the countess to -get away as quickly as possible, she would not hear of leaving before -her treasure, her adored Pétya, returned. On the twenty-eighth of August -he arrived. The passionate tenderness with which his mother received him -did not please the sixteen-year-old officer. Though she concealed from -him her intention of keeping him under her wing, Pétya guessed her -designs, and instinctively fearing that he might give way to emotion -when with her—might “become womanish” as he termed it to himself—he -treated her coldly, avoided her, and during his stay in Moscow attached -himself exclusively to Natásha for whom he had always had a particularly -brotherly tenderness, almost lover-like. - -Owing to the count’s customary carelessness nothing was ready for their -departure by the twenty-eighth of August and the carts that were to -come from their Ryazán and Moscow estates to remove their household -belongings did not arrive till the thirtieth. - -From the twenty-eighth till the thirty-first all Moscow was in a bustle -and commotion. Every day thousands of men wounded at Borodinó were -brought in by the Dorogomílov gate and taken to various parts of Moscow, -and thousands of carts conveyed the inhabitants and their possessions -out by the other gates. In spite of Rostopchín’s broadsheets, or because -of them or independently of them, the strangest and most contradictory -rumors were current in the town. Some said that no one was to be allowed -to leave the city, others on the contrary said that all the icons had -been taken out of the churches and everybody was to be ordered to leave. -Some said there had been another battle after Borodinó at which the -French had been routed, while others on the contrary reported that the -Russian army had been destroyed. Some talked about the Moscow militia -which, preceded by the clergy, would go to the Three Hills; others -whispered that Augustin had been forbidden to leave, that traitors had -been seized, that the peasants were rioting and robbing people on their -way from Moscow, and so on. But all this was only talk; in reality -(though the Council of Filí, at which it was decided to abandon Moscow, -had not yet been held) both those who went away and those who remained -behind felt, though they did not show it, that Moscow would certainly -be abandoned, and that they ought to get away as quickly as possible and -save their belongings. It was felt that everything would suddenly break -up and change, but up to the first of September nothing had done so. -As a criminal who is being led to execution knows that he must die -immediately, but yet looks about him and straightens the cap that is -awry on his head, so Moscow involuntarily continued its wonted life, -though it knew that the time of its destruction was near when the -conditions of life to which its people were accustomed to submit would -be completely upset. - -During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow the whole -Rostóv family was absorbed in various activities. The head of the -family, Count Ilyá Rostóv, continually drove about the city collecting -the current rumors from all sides and gave superficial and hasty orders -at home about the preparations for their departure. - -The countess watched the things being packed, was dissatisfied with -everything, was constantly in pursuit of Pétya who was always running -away from her, and was jealous of Natásha with whom he spent all his -time. Sónya alone directed the practical side of matters by getting -things packed. But of late Sónya had been particularly sad and silent. -Nicholas’ letter in which he mentioned Princess Mary had elicited, in -her presence, joyous comments from the countess, who saw an intervention -of Providence in this meeting of the princess and Nicholas. - -“I was never pleased at Bolkónski’s engagement to Natásha,” said the -countess, “but I always wanted Nicholas to marry the princess, and had a -presentiment that it would happen. What a good thing it would be!” - -Sónya felt that this was true: that the only possibility of retrieving -the Rostóvs’ affairs was by Nicholas marrying a rich woman, and that the -princess was a good match. It was very bitter for her. But despite -her grief, or perhaps just because of it, she took on herself all the -difficult work of directing the storing and packing of their things and -was busy for whole days. The count and countess turned to her when they -had any orders to give. Pétya and Natásha on the contrary, far from -helping their parents, were generally a nuisance and a hindrance to -everyone. Almost all day long the house resounded with their running -feet, their cries, and their spontaneous laughter. They laughed and were -gay not because there was any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and -mirth were in their hearts and so everything that happened was a cause -for gaiety and laughter to them. Pétya was in high spirits because -having left home a boy he had returned (as everybody told him) a fine -young man, because he was at home, because he had left Bélaya Tsérkov -where there was no hope of soon taking part in a battle and had come to -Moscow where there was to be fighting in a few days, and chiefly because -Natásha, whose lead he always followed, was in high spirits. Natásha was -gay because she had been sad too long and now nothing reminded her of -the cause of her sadness, and because she was feeling well. She was also -happy because she had someone to adore her: the adoration of others was -a lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to make them run freely—and -Pétya adored her. Above all, they were gay because there was a war near -Moscow, there would be fighting at the town gates, arms were being -given out, everybody was escaping—going away somewhere, and in general -something extraordinary was happening, and that is always exciting, -especially to the young. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -On Saturday, the thirty-first of August, everything in the Rostóvs’ -house seemed topsy-turvy. All the doors were open, all the furniture was -being carried out or moved about, and the mirrors and pictures had been -taken down. There were trunks in the rooms, and hay, wrapping paper, and -ropes were scattered about. The peasants and house serfs carrying out -the things were treading heavily on the parquet floors. The yard was -crowded with peasant carts, some loaded high and already corded up, -others still empty. - -The voices and footsteps of the many servants and of the peasants who -had come with the carts resounded as they shouted to one another in -the yard and in the house. The count had been out since morning. The -countess had a headache brought on by all the noise and turmoil and was -lying down in the new sitting room with a vinegar compress on her head. -Pétya was not at home, he had gone to visit a friend with whom he meant -to obtain a transfer from the militia to the active army. Sónya was in -the ballroom looking after the packing of the glass and china. Natásha -was sitting on the floor of her dismantled room with dresses, ribbons, -and scarves strewn all about her, gazing fixedly at the floor and -holding in her hands the old ball dress (already out of fashion) which -she had worn at her first Petersburg ball. - -Natásha was ashamed of doing nothing when everyone else was so busy, and -several times that morning had tried to set to work, but her heart was -not in it, and she could not and did not know how to do anything except -with all her heart and all her might. For a while she had stood beside -Sónya while the china was being packed and tried to help, but soon gave -it up and went to her room to pack her own things. At first she found it -amusing to give away dresses and ribbons to the maids, but when that was -done and what was left had still to be packed, she found it dull. - -“Dunyásha, you pack! You will, won’t you, dear?” And when Dunyásha -willingly promised to do it all for her, Natásha sat down on the floor, -took her old ball dress, and fell into a reverie quite unrelated to what -ought to have occupied her thoughts now. She was roused from her reverie -by the talk of the maids in the next room (which was theirs) and by the -sound of their hurried footsteps going to the back porch. Natásha got -up and looked out of the window. An enormously long row of carts full of -wounded men had stopped in the street. - -The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, coachmen, maids, footmen, -postilions, and scullions stood at the gate, staring at the wounded. - -Natásha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair and holding -an end of it in each hand, went out into the street. - -The former housekeeper, old Mávra Kuzmínichna, had stepped out of the -crowd by the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood constructed of bast -mats, and was speaking to a pale young officer who lay inside. -Natásha moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly, still holding her -handkerchief, and listened to what the housekeeper was saying. - -“Then you have nobody in Moscow?” she was saying. “You would be more -comfortable somewhere in a house... in ours, for instance... the family -are leaving.” - -“I don’t know if it would be allowed,” replied the officer in a weak -voice. “Here is our commanding officer... ask him,” and he pointed to a -stout major who was walking back along the street past the row of carts. - -Natásha glanced with frightened eyes at the face of the wounded officer -and at once went to meet the major. - -“May the wounded men stay in our house?” she asked. - -The major raised his hand to his cap with a smile. - -“Which one do you want, Ma’am’selle?” said he, screwing up his eyes and -smiling. - -Natásha quietly repeated her question, and her face and whole -manner were so serious, though she was still holding the ends of her -handkerchief, that the major ceased smiling and after some reflection—as -if considering in how far the thing was possible—replied in the -affirmative. - -“Oh yes, why not? They may,” he said. - -With a slight inclination of her head, Natásha stepped back quickly to -Mávra Kuzmínichna, who stood talking compassionately to the officer. - -“They may. He says they may!” whispered Natásha. - -The cart in which the officer lay was turned into the Rostóvs’ yard, -and dozens of carts with wounded men began at the invitation of the -townsfolk to turn into the yards and to draw up at the entrances of the -houses in Povarskáya Street. Natásha was evidently pleased to be dealing -with new people outside the ordinary routine of her life. She and Mávra -Kuzmínichna tried to get as many of the wounded as possible into their -yard. - -“Your Papa must be told, though,” said Mávra Kuzmínichna. - -“Never mind, never mind, what does it matter? For one day we can move -into the drawing room. They can have all our half of the house.” - -“There now, young lady, you do take things into your head! Even if we -put them into the wing, the men’s room, or the nurse’s room, we must ask -permission.” - -“Well, I’ll ask.” - -Natásha ran into the house and went on tiptoe through the half-open door -into the sitting room, where there was a smell of vinegar and Hoffman’s -drops. - -“Are you asleep, Mamma?” - -“Oh, what sleep—?” said the countess, waking up just as she was dropping -into a doze. - -“Mamma darling!” said Natásha, kneeling by her mother and bringing her -face close to her mother’s, “I am sorry, forgive me, I’ll never do it -again; I woke you up! Mávra Kuzmínichna has sent me: they have brought -some wounded here—officers. Will you let them come? They have nowhere to -go. I knew you’d let them come!” she said quickly all in one breath. - -“What officers? Whom have they brought? I don’t understand anything -about it,” said the countess. - -Natásha laughed, and the countess too smiled slightly. - -“I knew you’d give permission... so I’ll tell them,” and, having kissed -her mother, Natásha got up and went to the door. - -In the hall she met her father, who had returned with bad news. - -“We’ve stayed too long!” said the count with involuntary vexation. “The -Club is closed and the police are leaving.” - -“Papa, is it all right—I’ve invited some of the wounded into the house?” -said Natásha. - -“Of course it is,” he answered absently. “That’s not the point. I beg -you not to indulge in trifles now, but to help to pack, and tomorrow we -must go, go, go!...” - -And the count gave a similar order to the major-domo and the servants. - -At dinner Pétya having returned home told them the news he had heard. -He said the people had been getting arms in the Krémlin, and that though -Rostopchín’s broadsheet had said that he would sound a call two or three -days in advance, the order had certainly already been given for everyone -to go armed to the Three Hills tomorrow, and that there would be a big -battle there. - -The countess looked with timid horror at her son’s eager, excited face -as he said this. She realized that if she said a word about his not -going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the thought of the impending -engagement) he would say something about men, honor, and the -fatherland—something senseless, masculine, and obstinate which there -would be no contradicting, and her plans would be spoiled; and so, -hoping to arrange to leave before then and take Pétya with her as their -protector and defender, she did not answer him, but after dinner called -the count aside and implored him with tears to take her away quickly, -that very night if possible. With a woman’s involuntary loving cunning -she, who till then had not shown any alarm, said that she would die of -fright if they did not leave that very night. Without any pretense she -was now afraid of everything. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -Madame Schoss, who had been out to visit her daughter, increased the -countess’ fears still more by telling what she had seen at a spirit -dealer’s in Myasnítski Street. When returning by that street she had -been unable to pass because of a drunken crowd rioting in front of -the shop. She had taken a cab and driven home by a side street and the -cabman had told her that the people were breaking open the barrels at -the drink store, having received orders to do so. - -After dinner the whole Rostóv household set to work with enthusiastic -haste packing their belongings and preparing for their departure. The -old count, suddenly setting to work, kept passing from the yard to the -house and back again, shouting confused instructions to the hurrying -people, and flurrying them still more. Pétya directed things in the -yard. Sónya, owing to the count’s contradictory orders, lost her head -and did not know what to do. The servants ran noisily about the house -and yard, shouting and disputing. Natásha, with the ardor characteristic -of all she did suddenly set to work too. At first her intervention in -the business of packing was received skeptically. Everybody expected -some prank from her and did not wish to obey her; but she resolutely -and passionately demanded obedience, grew angry and nearly cried because -they did not heed her, and at last succeeded in making them believe her. -Her first exploit, which cost her immense effort and established her -authority, was the packing of the carpets. The count had valuable -Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets in the house. When Natásha set -to work two cases were standing open in the ballroom, one almost full -up with crockery, the other with carpets. There was also much china -standing on the tables, and still more was being brought in from the -storeroom. A third case was needed and servants had gone to fetch it. - -“Sónya, wait a bit—we’ll pack everything into these,” said Natásha. - -“You can’t, Miss, we have tried to,” said the butler’s assistant. - -“No, wait a minute, please.” - -And Natásha began rapidly taking out of the case dishes and plates -wrapped in paper. - -“The dishes must go in here among the carpets,” said she. - -“Why, it’s a mercy if we can get the carpets alone into three cases,” -said the butler’s assistant. - -“Oh, wait, please!” And Natásha began rapidly and deftly sorting out the -things. “These aren’t needed,” said she, putting aside some plates -of Kiev ware. “These—yes, these must go among the carpets,” she said, -referring to the Saxony china dishes. - -“Don’t, Natásha! Leave it alone! We’ll get it all packed,” urged Sónya -reproachfully. - -“What a young lady she is!” remarked the major-domo. - -But Natásha would not give in. She turned everything out and began -quickly repacking, deciding that the inferior Russian carpets and -unnecessary crockery should not be taken at all. When everything had -been taken out of the cases, they recommenced packing, and it turned -out that when the cheaper things not worth taking had nearly all been -rejected, the valuable ones really did all go into the two cases. Only -the lid of the case containing the carpets would not shut down. A few -more things might have been taken out, but Natásha insisted on having -her own way. She packed, repacked, pressed, made the butler’s assistant -and Pétya—whom she had drawn into the business of packing—press on the -lid, and made desperate efforts herself. - -“That’s enough, Natásha,” said Sónya. “I see you were right, but just -take out the top one.” - -“I won’t!” cried Natásha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung -over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the -carpets. “Now press, Pétya! Press, Vasílich, press hard!” she cried. - -The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Natásha, clapping her hands, -screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes. But this only -lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh and they now trusted her -completely. The count was not angry even when they told him that Natásha -had countermanded an order of his, and the servants now came to her -to ask whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and whether it might -be corded up. Thanks to Natásha’s directions the work now went on -expeditiously, unnecessary things were left, and the most valuable -packed as compactly as possible. - -But hard as they all worked till quite late that night, they could not -get everything packed. The countess had fallen asleep and the count, -having put off their departure till next morning, went to bed. - -Sónya and Natásha slept in the sitting room without undressing. - -That night another wounded man was driven down the Povarskáya, and Mávra -Kuzmínichna, who was standing at the gate, had him brought into the -Rostóvs’ yard. Mávra Kuzmínichna concluded that he was a very important -man. He was being conveyed in a calèche with a raised hood, and was -quite covered by an apron. On the box beside the driver sat a venerable -old attendant. A doctor and two soldiers followed the carriage in a -cart. - -“Please come in here. The masters are going away and the whole house -will be empty,” said the old woman to the old attendant. - -“Well, perhaps,” said he with a sigh. “We don’t expect to get him home -alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but it’s a long way from -here, and there’s nobody living in it.” - -“Do us the honor to come in, there’s plenty of everything in the -master’s house. Come in,” said Mávra Kuzmínichna. “Is he very ill?” she -asked. - -The attendant made a hopeless gesture. - -“We don’t expect to get him home! We must ask the doctor.” - -And the old servant got down from the box and went up to the cart. - -“All right!” said the doctor. - -The old servant returned to the calèche, looked into it, shook his -head disconsolately, told the driver to turn into the yard, and stopped -beside Mávra Kuzmínichna. - -“O, Lord Jesus Christ!” she murmured. - -She invited them to take the wounded man into the house. - -“The masters won’t object...” she said. - -But they had to avoid carrying the man upstairs, and so they took him -into the wing and put him in the room that had been Madame Schoss’. - -This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bolkónski. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -Moscow’s last day had come. It was a clear bright autumn day, a Sunday. -The church bells everywhere were ringing for service, just as usual on -Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to realize what awaited the city. - -Only two things indicated the social condition of Moscow—the rabble, -that is the poor people, and the price of commodities. An enormous crowd -of factory hands, house serfs, and peasants, with whom some officials, -seminarists, and gentry were mingled, had gone early that morning to -the Three Hills. Having waited there for Rostopchín who did not turn -up, they became convinced that Moscow would be surrendered, and then -dispersed all about the town to the public houses and cookshops. Prices -too that day indicated the state of affairs. The price of weapons, of -gold, of carts and horses, kept rising, but the value of paper money and -city articles kept falling, so that by midday there were instances of -carters removing valuable goods, such as cloth, and receiving in payment -a half of what they carted, while peasant horses were fetching five -hundred rubles each, and furniture, mirrors, and bronzes were being -given away for nothing. - -In the Rostóvs’ staid old-fashioned house the dissolution of former -conditions of life was but little noticeable. As to the serfs the only -indication was that three out of their huge retinue disappeared -during the night, but nothing was stolen; and as to the value of their -possessions, the thirty peasant carts that had come in from their -estates and which many people envied proved to be extremely valuable and -they were offered enormous sums of money for them. Not only were huge -sums offered for the horses and carts, but on the previous evening and -early in the morning of the first of September, orderlies and servants -sent by wounded officers came to the Rostóvs’ and wounded men dragged -themselves there from the Rostóvs’ and from neighboring houses where -they were accommodated, entreating the servants to try to get them -a lift out of Moscow. The major-domo to whom these entreaties were -addressed, though he was sorry for the wounded, resolutely refused, -saying that he dare not even mention the matter to the count. Pity these -wounded men as one might, it was evident that if they were given one -cart there would be no reason to refuse another, or all the carts and -one’s own carriages as well. Thirty carts could not save all the wounded -and in the general catastrophe one could not disregard oneself and one’s -own family. So thought the major-domo on his master’s behalf. - -On waking up that morning Count Ilyá Rostóv left his bedroom softly, so -as not to wake the countess who had fallen asleep only toward morning, -and came out to the porch in his lilac silk dressing gown. In the yard -stood the carts ready corded. The carriages were at the front porch. -The major-domo stood at the porch talking to an elderly orderly and to -a pale young officer with a bandaged arm. On seeing the count the -major-domo made a significant and stern gesture to them both to go away. - -“Well, Vasílich, is everything ready?” asked the count, and stroking his -bald head he looked good-naturedly at the officer and the orderly and -nodded to them. (He liked to see new faces.) - -“We can harness at once, your excellency.” - -“Well, that’s right. As soon as the countess wakes we’ll be off, God -willing! What is it, gentlemen?” he added, turning to the officer. “Are -you staying in my house?” - -The officer came nearer and suddenly his face flushed crimson. - -“Count, be so good as to allow me... for God’s sake, to get into some -corner of one of your carts! I have nothing here with me.... I shall be -all right on a loaded cart....” - -Before the officer had finished speaking the orderly made the same -request on behalf of his master. - -“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” said the count hastily. “I shall be very pleased, -very pleased. Vasílich, you’ll see to it. Just unload one or two carts. -Well, what of it... do what’s necessary...” said the count, muttering -some indefinite order. - -But at the same moment an expression of warm gratitude on the officer’s -face had already sealed the order. The count looked around him. In the -yard, at the gates, at the window of the wings, wounded officers and -their orderlies were to be seen. They were all looking at the count and -moving toward the porch. - -“Please step into the gallery, your excellency,” said the major-domo. -“What are your orders about the pictures?” - -The count went into the house with him, repeating his order not to -refuse the wounded who asked for a lift. - -“Well, never mind, some of the things can be unloaded,” he added in a -soft, confidential voice, as though afraid of being overheard. - -At nine o’clock the countess woke up, and Matrëna Timoféevna, who had -been her lady’s maid before her marriage and now performed a sort of -chief gendarme’s duty for her, came to say that Madame Schoss was much -offended and the young ladies’ summer dresses could not be left behind. -On inquiry, the countess learned that Madame Schoss was offended because -her trunk had been taken down from its cart, and all the loads were -being uncorded and the luggage taken out of the carts to make room for -wounded men whom the count in the simplicity of his heart had ordered -that they should take with them. The countess sent for her husband. - -“What is this, my dear? I hear that the luggage is being unloaded.” - -“You know, love, I wanted to tell you... Countess dear... an officer -came to me to ask for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours are -things that can be bought but think what being left behind means to -them!... Really now, in our own yard—we asked them in ourselves and -there are officers among them.... You know, I think, my dear... let them -be taken... where’s the hurry?” - -The count spoke timidly, as he always did when talking of money matters. -The countess was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of news of -something detrimental to the children’s interests, such as the building -of a new gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a private theater -or an orchestra. She was accustomed always to oppose anything announced -in that timid tone and considered it her duty to do so. - -She assumed her dolefully submissive manner and said to her husband: -“Listen to me, Count, you have managed matters so that we are getting -nothing for the house, and now you wish to throw away all our—all the -children’s property! You said yourself that we have a hundred thousand -rubles’ worth of things in the house. I don’t consent, my dear, I don’t! -Do as you please! It’s the government’s business to look after the -wounded; they know that. Look at the Lopukhíns opposite, they cleared -out everything two days ago. That’s what other people do. It’s only -we who are such fools. If you have no pity on me, have some for the -children.” - -Flourishing his arms in despair the count left the room without -replying. - -“Papa, what are you doing that for?” asked Natásha, who had followed him -into her mother’s room. - -“Nothing! What business is it of yours?” muttered the count angrily. - -“But I heard,” said Natásha. “Why does Mamma object?” - -“What business is it of yours?” cried the count. - -Natásha stepped up to the window and pondered. - -“Papa! Here’s Berg coming to see us,” said she, looking out of the -window. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Berg, the Rostóvs’ son-in-law, was already a colonel wearing the orders -of Vladímir and Anna, and he still filled the quiet and agreeable post -of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant commander of the -first division of the Second Army. - -On the first of September he had come to Moscow from the army. - -He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had noticed that everyone in the -army was asking for leave to visit Moscow and had something to do there. -So he considered it necessary to ask for leave of absence for family and -domestic reasons. - -Berg drove up to his father-in-law’s house in his spruce little trap -with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He -looked attentively at the carts in the yard and while going up to the -porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it. - -From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps into the -drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the hands of Natásha -and Sónya, and hastened to inquire after “Mamma’s” health. - -“Health, at a time like this?” said the count. “Come, tell us the news! -Is the army retreating or will there be another battle?” - -“God Almighty alone can decide the fate of our fatherland, Papa,” said -Berg. “The army is burning with a spirit of heroism and the leaders, so -to say, have now assembled in council. No one knows what is coming. But -in general I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic spirit, the truly -antique valor of the Russian army, which they—which it” (he corrected -himself) “has shown or displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixth—there -are no words worthy to do it justice! I tell you, Papa” (he smote -himself on the breast as a general he had heard speaking had done, but -Berg did it a trifle late for he should have struck his breast at the -words “Russian army”), “I tell you frankly that we, the commanders, far -from having to urge the men on or anything of that kind, could hardly -restrain those... those... yes, those exploits of antique valor,” he -went on rapidly. “General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere at -the head of the troops, I can assure you. Our corps was stationed on a -hillside. You can imagine!” - -And Berg related all that he remembered of the various tales he had -heard those days. Natásha watched him with an intent gaze that confused -him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answer to some -question. - -“Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian warriors -cannot be imagined or adequately praised!” said Berg, glancing round -at Natásha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, replying to her intent -look with a smile. “‘Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of -her sons!’ Isn’t it so, Papa?” said he. - -Just then the countess came in from the sitting room with a weary and -dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed her hand, -asked about her health, and, swaying his head from side to side to -express sympathy, remained standing beside her. - -“Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these are hard and sad times for -every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You have still time to get -away....” - -“I can’t think what the servants are about,” said the countess, turning -to her husband. “I have just been told that nothing is ready yet. -Somebody after all must see to things. One misses Mítenka at such times. -There won’t be any end to it.” - -The count was about to say something, but evidently restrained himself. -He got up from his chair and went to the door. - -At that moment Berg drew out his handkerchief as if to blow his nose -and, seeing the knot in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly and -significantly. - -“And I have a great favor to ask of you, Papa,” said he. - -“Hm...” said the count, and stopped. - -“I was driving past Yusúpov’s house just now,” said Berg with a laugh, -“when the steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldn’t -buy something. I went in out of curiosity, you know, and there is a -small chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how dear Véra wanted a -chiffonier like that and how we had a dispute about it.” (At the mention -of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg involuntarily changed his tone -to one of pleasure at his admirable domestic arrangements.) “And it’s -such a beauty! It pulls out and has a secret English drawer, you know! -And dear Véra has long wanted one. I wish to give her a surprise, you -see. I saw so many of those peasant carts in your yard. Please let me -have one, I will pay the man well, and...” - -The count frowned and coughed. - -“Ask the countess, I don’t give orders.” - -“If it’s inconvenient, please don’t,” said Berg. “Only I so wanted it, -for dear Véra’s sake.” - -“Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil, the devil, the devil...” -cried the old count. “My head’s in a whirl!” - -And he left the room. The countess began to cry. - -“Yes, Mamma! Yes, these are very hard times!” said Berg. - -Natásha left the room with her father and, as if finding it difficult to -reach some decision, first followed him and then ran downstairs. - -Pétya was in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants -who were to leave Moscow. The loaded carts were still standing in the -yard. Two of them had been uncorded and a wounded officer was climbing -into one of them helped by an orderly. - -“Do you know what it’s about?” Pétya asked Natásha. - -She understood that he meant what were their parents quarreling about. -She did not answer. - -“It’s because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to the wounded,” said -Pétya. “Vasílich told me. I consider...” - -“I consider,” Natásha suddenly almost shouted, turning her angry face to -Pétya, “I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so... I don’t know what. -Are we despicable Germans?” - -Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakening and -letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turned and rushed -headlong up the stairs. - -Berg was sitting beside the countess consoling her with the respectful -attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up and down -the room, when Natásha, her face distorted by anger, burst in like a -tempest and approached her mother with rapid steps. - -“It’s horrid! It’s abominable!” she screamed. “You can’t possibly have -ordered it!” - -Berg and the countess looked at her, perplexed and frightened. The count -stood still at the window and listened. - -“Mamma, it’s impossible: see what is going on in the yard!” she cried. -“They will be left!...” - -“What’s the matter with you? Who are ‘they’? What do you want?” - -“Why, the wounded! It’s impossible, Mamma. It’s monstrous!... No, Mamma -darling, it’s not the thing. Please forgive me, darling.... Mamma, what -does it matter what we take away? Only look what is going on in the -yard... Mamma!... It’s impossible!” - -The count stood by the window and listened without turning round. -Suddenly he sniffed and put his face closer to the window. - -The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her -mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her husband did not turn -to look at her now, and she glanced round quite disconcerted. - -“Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering anyone?” she said, not surrendering -at once. - -“Mamma, darling, forgive me!” - -But the countess pushed her daughter away and went up to her husband. - -“My dear, you order what is right.... You know I don’t understand about -it,” said she, dropping her eyes shamefacedly. - -“The eggs... the eggs are teaching the hen,” muttered the count through -tears of joy, and he embraced his wife who was glad to hide her look of -shame on his breast. - -“Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?...” asked Natásha. “We will still -take all the most necessary things.” - -The count nodded affirmatively, and Natásha, at the rapid pace at which -she used to run when playing at tag, ran through the ballroom to the -anteroom and downstairs into the yard. - -The servants gathered round Natásha, but could not believe the strange -order she brought them until the count himself, in his wife’s name, -confirmed the order to give up all the carts to the wounded and take the -trunks to the storerooms. When they understood that order the servants -set to work at this new task with pleasure and zeal. It no longer seemed -strange to them but on the contrary it seemed the only thing that could -be done, just as a quarter of an hour before it had not seemed strange -to anyone that the wounded should be left behind and the goods carted -away but that had seemed the only thing to do. - -The whole household, as if to atone for not having done it sooner, set -eagerly to work at the new task of placing the wounded in the carts. The -wounded dragged themselves out of their rooms and stood with pale but -happy faces round the carts. The news that carts were to be had spread -to the neighboring houses, from which wounded men began to come into the -Rostóvs’ yard. Many of the wounded asked them not to unload the carts -but only to let them sit on the top of the things. But the work of -unloading, once started, could not be arrested. It seemed not to matter -whether all or only half the things were left behind. Cases full of -china, bronzes, pictures, and mirrors that had been so carefully -packed the night before now lay about the yard, and still they went on -searching for and finding possibilities of unloading this or that and -letting the wounded have another and yet another cart. - -“We can take four more men,” said the steward. “They can have my trap, -or else what is to become of them?” - -“Let them have my wardrobe cart,” said the countess. “Dunyásha can go -with me in the carriage.” - -They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent it to take wounded men from a -house two doors off. The whole household, servants included, was bright -and animated. Natásha was in a state of rapturous excitement such as she -had not known for a long time. - -“What could we fasten this onto?” asked the servants, trying to fix a -trunk on the narrow footboard behind a carriage. “We must keep at least -one cart.” - -“What’s in it?” asked Natásha. - -“The count’s books.” - -“Leave it, Vasílich will put it away. It’s not wanted.” - -The phaeton was full of people and there was a doubt as to where Count -Peter could sit. - -“On the box. You’ll sit on the box, won’t you, Pétya?” cried Natásha. - -Sónya too was busy all this time, but the aim of her efforts was quite -different from Natásha’s. She was putting away the things that had to -be left behind and making a list of them as the countess wished, and she -tried to get as much taken away with them as possible. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -Before two o’clock in the afternoon the Rostóvs’ four carriages, packed -full and with the horses harnessed, stood at the front door. One by one -the carts with the wounded had moved out of the yard. - -The calèche in which Prince Andrew was being taken attracted Sónya’s -attention as it passed the front porch. With the help of a maid she was -arranging a seat for the countess in the huge high coach that stood at -the entrance. - -“Whose calèche is that?” she inquired, leaning out of the carriage -window. - -“Why, didn’t you know, Miss?” replied the maid. “The wounded prince: he -spent the night in our house and is going with us.” - -“But who is it? What’s his name?” - -“It’s our intended that was—Prince Bolkónski himself! They say he is -dying,” replied the maid with a sigh. - -Sónya jumped out of the coach and ran to the countess. The countess, -tired out and already dressed in shawl and bonnet for her journey, -was pacing up and down the drawing room, waiting for the household to -assemble for the usual silent prayer with closed doors before starting. -Natásha was not in the room. - -“Mamma,” said Sónya, “Prince Andrew is here, mortally wounded. He is -going with us.” - -The countess opened her eyes in dismay and, seizing Sónya’s arm, glanced -around. - -“Natásha?” she murmured. - -At that moment this news had only one significance for both of them. -They knew their Natásha, and alarm as to what would happen if she heard -this news stifled all sympathy for the man they both liked. - -“Natásha does not know yet, but he is going with us,” said Sónya. - -“You say he is dying?” - -Sónya nodded. - -The countess put her arms around Sónya and began to cry. - -“The ways of God are past finding out!” she thought, feeling that the -Almighty Hand, hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in all that was -now taking place. - -“Well, Mamma? Everything is ready. What’s the matter?” asked Natásha, as -with animated face she ran into the room. - -“Nothing,” answered the countess. “If everything is ready let us start.” - -And the countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face. Sónya -embraced Natásha and kissed her. - -Natásha looked at her inquiringly. - -“What is it? What has happened?” - -“Nothing... No...” - -“Is it something very bad for me? What is it?” persisted Natásha with -her quick intuition. - -Sónya sighed and made no reply. The count, Pétya, Madame Schoss, Mávra -Kuzmínichna, and Vasílich came into the drawing room and, having closed -the doors, they all sat down and remained for some moments silently -seated without looking at one another. - -The count was the first to rise, and with a loud sigh crossed himself -before the icon. All the others did the same. Then the count embraced -Mávra Kuzmínichna and Vasílich, who were to remain in Moscow, and while -they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he patted their backs -lightly with some vaguely affectionate and comforting words. The -countess went into the oratory and there Sónya found her on her knees -before the icons that had been left here and there hanging on the wall. -(The most precious ones, with which some family tradition was connected, -were being taken with them.) - -In the porch and in the yard the men whom Pétya had armed with swords -and daggers, with trousers tucked inside their high boots and with belts -and girdles tightened, were taking leave of those remaining behind. - -As is always the case at a departure, much had been forgotten or put in -the wrong place, and for a long time two menservants stood one on -each side of the open door and the carriage steps waiting to help the -countess in, while maids rushed with cushions and bundles from the house -to the carriages, the calèche, the phaeton, and back again. - -“They always will forget everything!” said the countess. “Don’t you know -I can’t sit like that?” - -And Dunyásha, with clenched teeth, without replying but with an -aggrieved look on her face, hastily got into the coach to rearrange the -seat. - -“Oh, those servants!” said the count, swaying his head. - -Efím, the old coachman, who was the only one the countess trusted to -drive her, sat perched up high on the box and did not so much as glance -round at what was going on behind him. From thirty years’ experience -he knew it would be some time yet before the order, “Be off, in God’s -name!” would be given him: and he knew that even when it was said -he would be stopped once or twice more while they sent back to fetch -something that had been forgotten, and even after that he would again -be stopped and the countess herself would lean out of the window and beg -him for the love of heaven to drive carefully down the hill. He knew -all this and therefore waited calmly for what would happen, with more -patience than the horses, especially the near one, the chestnut Falcon, -who was pawing the ground and champing his bit. At last all were -seated, the carriage steps were folded and pulled up, the door was shut, -somebody was sent for a traveling case, and the countess leaned out -and said what she had to say. Then Efím deliberately doffed his hat and -began crossing himself. The postilion and all the other servants did the -same. “Off, in God’s name!” said Efím, putting on his hat. “Start!” The -postilion started the horses, the off pole horse tugged at his collar, -the high springs creaked, and the body of the coach swayed. The footman -sprang onto the box of the moving coach which jolted as it passed out -of the yard onto the uneven roadway; the other vehicles jolted in -their turn, and the procession of carriages moved up the street. In the -carriages, the calèche, and the phaeton, all crossed themselves as they -passed the church opposite the house. Those who were to remain in Moscow -walked on either side of the vehicles seeing the travelers off. - -Rarely had Natásha experienced so joyful a feeling as now, sitting in -the carriage beside the countess and gazing at the slowly receding -walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Occasionally she leaned out of the -carriage window and looked back and then forward at the long train of -wounded in front of them. Almost at the head of the line she could see -the raised hood of Prince Andrew’s calèche. She did not know who was -in it, but each time she looked at the procession her eyes sought that -calèche. She knew it was right in front. - -In Kúdrino, from the Nikítski, Présnya, and Podnovínsk Streets came -several other trains of vehicles similar to the Rostóvs’, and as they -passed along the Sadóvaya Street the carriages and carts formed two rows -abreast. - -As they were going round the Súkharev water tower Natásha, who was -inquisitively and alertly scrutinizing the people driving or walking -past, suddenly cried out in joyful surprise: - -“Dear me! Mamma, Sónya, look, it’s he!” - -“Who? Who?” - -“Look! Yes, on my word, it’s Bezúkhov!” said Natásha, putting her head -out of the carriage and staring at a tall, stout man in a coachman’s -long coat, who from his manner of walking and moving was evidently -a gentleman in disguise, and who was passing under the arch of the -Súkharev tower accompanied by a small, sallow-faced, beardless old man -in a frieze coat. - -“Yes, it really is Bezúkhov in a coachman’s coat, with a queer-looking -old boy. Really,” said Natásha, “look, look!” - -“No, it’s not he. How can you talk such nonsense?” - -“Mamma,” screamed Natásha, “I’ll stake my head it’s he! I assure you! -Stop, stop!” she cried to the coachman. - -But the coachman could not stop, for from the Meshchánski Street came -more carts and carriages, and the Rostóvs were being shouted at to move -on and not block the way. - -In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, the Rostóvs -all saw Pierre—or someone extraordinarily like him—in a coachman’s coat, -going down the street with head bent and a serious face beside a small, -beardless old man who looked like a footman. That old man noticed a -face thrust out of the carriage window gazing at them, and respectfully -touching Pierre’s elbow said something to him and pointed to the -carriage. Pierre, evidently engrossed in thought, could not at first -understand him. At length when he had understood and looked in the -direction the old man indicated, he recognized Natásha, and following -his first impulse stepped instantly and rapidly toward the coach. But -having taken a dozen steps he seemed to remember something and stopped. - -Natásha’s face, leaning out of the window, beamed with quizzical -kindliness. - -“Peter Kirílovich, come here! We have recognized you! This is -wonderful!” she cried, holding out her hand to him. “What are you doing? -Why are you like this?” - -Pierre took her outstretched hand and kissed it awkwardly as he walked -along beside her while the coach still moved on. - -“What is the matter, Count?” asked the countess in a surprised and -commiserating tone. - -“What? What? Why? Don’t ask me,” said Pierre, and looked round at -Natásha whose radiant, happy expression—of which he was conscious -without looking at her—filled him with enchantment. - -“Are you remaining in Moscow, then?” - -Pierre hesitated. - -“In Moscow?” he said in a questioning tone. “Yes, in Moscow. Good-by!” - -“Ah, if only I were a man! I’d certainly stay with you. How splendid!” -said Natásha. “Mamma, if you’ll let me, I’ll stay!” - -Pierre glanced absently at Natásha and was about to say something, but -the countess interrupted him. - -“You were at the battle, we heard.” - -“Yes, I was,” Pierre answered. “There will be another battle -tomorrow...” he began, but Natásha interrupted him. - -“But what is the matter with you, Count? You are not like yourself....” - -“Oh, don’t ask me, don’t ask me! I don’t know myself. Tomorrow... But -no! Good-by, good-by!” he muttered. “It’s an awful time!” and dropping -behind the carriage he stepped onto the pavement. - -Natásha continued to lean out of the window for a long time, beaming at -him with her kindly, slightly quizzical, happy smile. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -For the last two days, ever since leaving home, Pierre had been living -in the empty house of his deceased benefactor, Bazdéev. This is how it -happened. - -When he woke up on the morning after his return to Moscow and his -interview with Count Rostopchín, he could not for some time make out -where he was and what was expected of him. When he was informed that -among others awaiting him in his reception room there was a Frenchman -who had brought a letter from his wife, the Countess Hélène, he felt -suddenly overcome by that sense of confusion and hopelessness to which -he was apt to succumb. He felt that everything was now at an end, all -was in confusion and crumbling to pieces, that nobody was right or -wrong, the future held nothing, and there was no escape from this -position. Smiling unnaturally and muttering to himself, he first sat -down on the sofa in an attitude of despair, then rose, went to the door -of the reception room and peeped through the crack, returned flourishing -his arms, and took up a book. His major-domo came in a second time to -say that the Frenchman who had brought the letter from the countess -was very anxious to see him if only for a minute, and that someone from -Bazdéev’s widow had called to ask Pierre to take charge of her husband’s -books, as she herself was leaving for the country. - -“Oh, yes, in a minute; wait... or no! No, of course... go and say I will -come directly,” Pierre replied to the major-domo. - -But as soon as the man had left the room Pierre took up his hat which -was lying on the table and went out of his study by the other door. -There was no one in the passage. He went along the whole length of this -passage to the stairs and, frowning and rubbing his forehead with -both hands, went down as far as the first landing. The hall porter was -standing at the front door. From the landing where Pierre stood there -was a second staircase leading to the back entrance. He went down that -staircase and out into the yard. No one had seen him. But there were -some carriages waiting, and as soon as Pierre stepped out of the gate -the coachmen and the yard porter noticed him and raised their caps to -him. When he felt he was being looked at he behaved like an ostrich -which hides its head in a bush in order not to be seen: he hung his head -and quickening his pace went down the street. - -Of all the affairs awaiting Pierre that day the sorting of Joseph -Bazdéev’s books and papers appeared to him the most necessary. - -He hired the first cab he met and told the driver to go to the -Patriarch’s Ponds, where the widow Bazdéev’s house was. - -Continually turning round to look at the rows of loaded carts that were -making their way from all sides out of Moscow, and balancing his bulky -body so as not to slip out of the ramshackle old vehicle, Pierre, -experiencing the joyful feeling of a boy escaping from school, began to -talk to his driver. - -The man told him that arms were being distributed today at the Krémlin -and that tomorrow everyone would be sent out beyond the Three Hills -gates and a great battle would be fought there. - -Having reached the Patriarch’s Ponds Pierre found the Bazdéevs’ house, -where he had not been for a long time past. He went up to the gate. -Gerásim, that sallow beardless old man Pierre had seen at Torzhók five -years before with Joseph Bazdéev, came out in answer to his knock. - -“At home?” asked Pierre. - -“Owing to the present state of things Sophia Danílovna has gone to the -Torzhók estate with the children, your excellency.” - -“I will come in all the same, I have to look through the books,” said -Pierre. - -“Be so good as to step in. Makár Alexéevich, the brother of my late -master—may the kingdom of heaven be his—has remained here, but he is in -a weak state as you know,” said the old servant. - -Pierre knew that Makár Alexéevich was Joseph Bazdéev’s half-insane -brother and a hard drinker. - -“Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in...” said Pierre and entered the house. - -A tall, bald-headed old man with a red nose, wearing a dressing gown and -with galoshes on his bare feet, stood in the anteroom. On seeing Pierre -he muttered something angrily and went away along the passage. - -“He was a very clever man but has now grown quite feeble, as your honor -sees,” said Gerásim. “Will you step into the study?” Pierre nodded. “As -it was sealed up so it has remained, but Sophia Danílovna gave orders -that if anyone should come from you they were to have the books.” - -Pierre went into that gloomy study which he had entered with such -trepidation in his benefactor’s lifetime. The room, dusty and untouched -since the death of Joseph Bazdéev was now even gloomier. - -Gerásim opened one of the shutters and left the room on tiptoe. Pierre -went round the study, approached the cupboard in which the manuscripts -were kept, and took out what had once been one of the most important, -the holy of holies of the order. This was the authentic Scotch Acts -with Bazdéev’s notes and explanations. He sat down at the dusty writing -table, and, having laid the manuscripts before him, opened them out, -closed them, finally pushed them away, and resting his head on his hand -sank into meditation. - -Gerásim looked cautiously into the study several times and saw Pierre -always sitting in the same attitude. - -More than two hours passed and Gerásim took the liberty of making a -slight noise at the door to attract his attention, but Pierre did not -hear him. - -“Is the cabman to be discharged, your honor?” - -“Oh yes!” said Pierre, rousing himself and rising hurriedly. “Look -here,” he added, taking Gerásim by a button of his coat and looking down -at the old man with moist, shining, and ecstatic eyes, “I say, do you -know that there is going to be a battle tomorrow?” - -“We heard so,” replied the man. - -“I beg you not to tell anyone who I am, and to do what I ask you.” - -“Yes, your excellency,” replied Gerásim. “Will you have something to -eat?” - -“No, but I want something else. I want peasant clothes and a pistol,” -said Pierre, unexpectedly blushing. - -“Yes, your excellency,” said Gerásim after thinking for a moment. - -All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in his benefactor’s study, -and Gerásim heard him pacing restlessly from one corner to another and -talking to himself. And he spent the night on a bed made up for him -there. - -Gerásim, being a servant who in his time had seen many strange things, -accepted Pierre’s taking up his residence in the house without surprise, -and seemed pleased to have someone to wait on. That same evening—without -even asking himself what they were wanted for—he procured a coachman’s -coat and cap for Pierre, and promised to get him the pistol next day. -Makár Alexéevich came twice that evening shuffling along in his galoshes -as far as the door and stopped and looked ingratiatingly at Pierre. But -as soon as Pierre turned toward him he wrapped his dressing gown around -him with a shamefaced and angry look and hurried away. It was when -Pierre (wearing the coachman’s coat which Gerásim had procured for him -and had disinfected by steam) was on his way with the old man to buy the -pistol at the Súkharev market that he met the Rostóvs. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -Kutúzov’s order to retreat through Moscow to the Ryazán road was issued -at night on the first of September. - -The first troops started at once, and during the night they marched -slowly and steadily without hurry. At daybreak, however, those nearing -the town at the Dorogomílov bridge saw ahead of them masses of soldiers -crowding and hurrying across the bridge, ascending on the opposite side -and blocking the streets and alleys, while endless masses of troops were -bearing down on them from behind, and an unreasoning hurry and alarm -overcame them. They all rushed forward to the bridge, onto it, and -to the fords and the boats. Kutúzov himself had driven round by side -streets to the other side of Moscow. - -By ten o’clock in the morning of the second of September, only the rear -guard remained in the Dorogomílov suburb, where they had ample room. The -main army was on the other side of Moscow or beyond it. - -At that very time, at ten in the morning of the second of September, -Napoleon was standing among his troops on the Poklónny Hill looking at -the panorama spread out before him. From the twenty-sixth of August -to the second of September, that is from the battle of Borodinó to the -entry of the French into Moscow, during the whole of that agitating, -memorable week, there had been the extraordinary autumn weather that -always comes as a surprise, when the sun hangs low and gives more heat -than in spring, when everything shines so brightly in the rare clear -atmosphere that the eyes smart, when the lungs are strengthened and -refreshed by inhaling the aromatic autumn air, when even the nights -are warm, and when in those dark warm nights, golden stars startle and -delight us continually by falling from the sky. - -At ten in the morning of the second of September this weather still -held. - -The brightness of the morning was magical. Moscow seen from the Poklónny -Hill lay spaciously spread out with her river, her gardens, and her -churches, and she seemed to be living her usual life, her cupolas -glittering like stars in the sunlight. - -The view of the strange city with its peculiar architecture, such as -he had never seen before, filled Napoleon with the rather envious and -uneasy curiosity men feel when they see an alien form of life that has -no knowledge of them. This city was evidently living with the full force -of its own life. By the indefinite signs which, even at a distance, -distinguish a living body from a dead one, Napoleon from the Poklónny -Hill perceived the throb of life in the town and felt, as it were, the -breathing of that great and beautiful body. - -Every Russian looking at Moscow feels her to be a mother; every -foreigner who sees her, even if ignorant of her significance as the -mother city, must feel her feminine character, and Napoleon felt it. - -“Cette ville asiatique aux innombrables églises, Moscou la sainte. La -voilà donc enfin, cette fameuse ville! Il était temps,” * said he, and -dismounting he ordered a plan of Moscow to be spread out before him, and -summoned Lelorgne d’Ideville, the interpreter. - - * “That Asiatic city of the innumerable churches, holy - Moscow! Here it is then at last, that famous city. It was - high time.” - - -“A town captured by the enemy is like a maid who has lost her honor,” -thought he (he had said so to Túchkov at Smolénsk). From that point of -view he gazed at the Oriental beauty he had not seen before. It seemed -strange to him that his long-felt wish, which had seemed unattainable, -had at last been realized. In the clear morning light he gazed now at -the city and now at the plan, considering its details, and the assurance -of possessing it agitated and awed him. - -“But could it be otherwise?” he thought. “Here is this capital at my -feet. Where is Alexander now, and of what is he thinking? A strange, -beautiful, and majestic city; and a strange and majestic moment! In what -light must I appear to them!” thought he, thinking of his troops. -“Here she is, the reward for all those fainthearted men,” he reflected, -glancing at those near him and at the troops who were approaching and -forming up. “One word from me, one movement of my hand, and that ancient -capital of the Tsars would perish. But my clemency is always ready to -descend upon the vanquished. I must be magnanimous and truly great. But -no, it can’t be true that I am in Moscow,” he suddenly thought. -“Yet here she is lying at my feet, with her golden domes and crosses -scintillating and twinkling in the sunshine. But I shall spare her. On -the ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism I will inscribe great -words of justice and mercy.... It is just this which Alexander will -feel most painfully, I know him.” (It seemed to Napoleon that the chief -import of what was taking place lay in the personal struggle between -himself and Alexander.) “From the height of the Krémlin—yes, there -is the Krémlin, yes—I will give them just laws; I will teach them the -meaning of true civilization, I will make generations of boyars remember -their conqueror with love. I will tell the deputation that I did not, -and do not, desire war, that I have waged war only against the false -policy of their court; that I love and respect Alexander and that in -Moscow I will accept terms of peace worthy of myself and of my people. -I do not wish to utilize the fortunes of war to humiliate an honored -monarch. ‘Boyars,’ I will say to them, ‘I do not desire war, I desire -the peace and welfare of all my subjects.’ However, I know their -presence will inspire me, and I shall speak to them as I always do: -clearly, impressively, and majestically. But can it be true that I am in -Moscow? Yes, there she lies.” - -“Qu’on m’amène les boyars,” * said he to his suite. - - * “Bring the boyars to me.” - - -A general with a brilliant suite galloped off at once to fetch the -boyars. - -Two hours passed. Napoleon had lunched and was again standing in the -same place on the Poklónny Hill awaiting the deputation. His speech to -the boyars had already taken definite shape in his imagination. That -speech was full of dignity and greatness as Napoleon understood it. - -He was himself carried away by the tone of magnanimity he intended to -adopt toward Moscow. In his imagination he appointed days for assemblies -at the palace of the Tsars, at which Russian notables and his own would -mingle. He mentally appointed a governor, one who would win the -hearts of the people. Having learned that there were many charitable -institutions in Moscow he mentally decided that he would shower favors -on them all. He thought that, as in Africa he had to put on a burnoose -and sit in a mosque, so in Moscow he must be beneficent like the Tsars. -And in order finally to touch the hearts of the Russians—and being like -all Frenchmen unable to imagine anything sentimental without a reference -to ma chère, ma tendre, ma pauvre mère * —he decided that he would -place an inscription on all these establishments in large letters: -“This establishment is dedicated to my dear mother.” Or no, it should -be simply: Maison de ma Mère, *(2) he concluded. “But am I really in -Moscow? Yes, here it lies before me, but why is the deputation from the -city so long in appearing?” he wondered. - - * “My dear, my tender, my poor mother.” - - * (2) “House of my Mother.” - - -Meanwhile an agitated consultation was being carried on in whispers -among his generals and marshals at the rear of his suite. Those sent to -fetch the deputation had returned with the news that Moscow was empty, -that everyone had left it. The faces of those who were not conferring -together were pale and perturbed. They were not alarmed by the fact -that Moscow had been abandoned by its inhabitants (grave as that fact -seemed), but by the question how to tell the Emperor—without putting -him in the terrible position of appearing ridiculous—that he had been -awaiting the boyars so long in vain: that there were drunken mobs left -in Moscow but no one else. Some said that a deputation of some sort must -be scraped together, others disputed that opinion and maintained that -the Emperor should first be carefully and skillfully prepared, and then -told the truth. - -“He will have to be told, all the same,” said some gentlemen of the -suite. “But, gentlemen...” - -The position was the more awkward because the Emperor, meditating upon -his magnanimous plans, was pacing patiently up and down before the -outspread map, occasionally glancing along the road to Moscow from under -his lifted hand with a bright and proud smile. - -“But it’s impossible...” declared the gentlemen of the suite, shrugging -their shoulders but not venturing to utter the implied word—le -ridicule.... - -At last the Emperor, tired of futile expectation, his actor’s instinct -suggesting to him that the sublime moment having been too long drawn out -was beginning to lose its sublimity, gave a sign with his hand. A single -report of a signaling gun followed, and the troops, who were already -spread out on different sides of Moscow, moved into the city through the -Tver, Kalúga, and Dorogomílov gates. Faster and faster, vying with -one another, they moved at the double or at a trot, vanishing amid the -clouds of dust they raised and making the air ring with a deafening roar -of mingling shouts. - -Drawn on by the movement of his troops Napoleon rode with them as far as -the Dorogomílov gate, but there again stopped and, dismounting from his -horse, paced for a long time by the Kámmer-Kollézski rampart, awaiting -the deputation. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -Meanwhile Moscow was empty. There were still people in it, perhaps a -fiftieth part of its former inhabitants had remained, but it was empty. -It was empty in the sense that a dying queenless hive is empty. - -In a queenless hive no life is left though to a superficial glance it -seems as much alive as other hives. - -The bees circle round a queenless hive in the hot beams of the midday -sun as gaily as around the living hives; from a distance it smells of -honey like the others, and bees fly in and out in the same way. But one -has only to observe that hive to realize that there is no longer any -life in it. The bees do not fly in the same way, the smell and the sound -that meet the beekeeper are not the same. To the beekeeper’s tap on the -wall of the sick hive, instead of the former instant unanimous -humming of tens of thousands of bees with their abdomens threateningly -compressed, and producing by the rapid vibration of their wings an -aerial living sound, the only reply is a disconnected buzzing from -different parts of the deserted hive. From the alighting board, instead -of the former spirituous fragrant smell of honey and venom, and the warm -whiffs of crowded life, comes an odor of emptiness and decay mingling -with the smell of honey. There are no longer sentinels sounding the -alarm with their abdomens raised, and ready to die in defense of the -hive. There is no longer the measured quiet sound of throbbing activity, -like the sound of boiling water, but diverse discordant sounds of -disorder. In and out of the hive long black robber bees smeared with -honey fly timidly and shiftily. They do not sting, but crawl away from -danger. Formerly only bees laden with honey flew into the hive, and they -flew out empty; now they fly out laden. The beekeeper opens the lower -part of the hive and peers in. Instead of black, glossy bees—tamed by -toil, clinging to one another’s legs and drawing out the wax, with a -ceaseless hum of labor—that used to hang in long clusters down to the -floor of the hive, drowsy shriveled bees crawl about separately in -various directions on the floor and walls of the hive. Instead of a -neatly glued floor, swept by the bees with the fanning of their wings, -there is a floor littered with bits of wax, excrement, dying bees -scarcely moving their legs, and dead ones that have not been cleared -away. - -The beekeeper opens the upper part of the hive and examines the super. -Instead of serried rows of bees sealing up every gap in the combs and -keeping the brood warm, he sees the skillful complex structures of the -combs, but no longer in their former state of purity. All is neglected -and foul. Black robber bees are swiftly and stealthily prowling about -the combs, and the short home bees, shriveled and listless as if they -were old, creep slowly about without trying to hinder the robbers, -having lost all motive and all sense of life. Drones, bumblebees, wasps, -and butterflies knock awkwardly against the walls of the hive in their -flight. Here and there among the cells containing dead brood and honey -an angry buzzing can sometimes be heard. Here and there a couple of -bees, by force of habit and custom cleaning out the brood cells, with -efforts beyond their strength laboriously drag away a dead bee or -bumblebee without knowing why they do it. In another corner two old bees -are languidly fighting, or cleaning themselves, or feeding one another, -without themselves knowing whether they do it with friendly or hostile -intent. In a third place a crowd of bees, crushing one another, attack -some victim and fight and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or -killed, drops from above slowly and lightly as a feather, among the heap -of corpses. The keeper opens the two center partitions to examine -the brood cells. In place of the former close dark circles formed by -thousands of bees sitting back to back and guarding the high mystery -of generation, he sees hundreds of dull, listless, and sleepy shells of -bees. They have almost all died unawares, sitting in the sanctuary they -had guarded and which is now no more. They reek of decay and death. Only -a few of them still move, rise, and feebly fly to settle on the enemy’s -hand, lacking the spirit to die stinging him; the rest are dead and fall -as lightly as fish scales. The beekeeper closes the hive, chalks a mark -on it, and when he has time tears out its contents and burns it clean. - -So in the same way Moscow was empty when Napoleon, weary, uneasy, and -morose, paced up and down in front of the Kámmer-Kollézski rampart, -awaiting what to his mind was a necessary, if but formal, observance of -the proprieties—a deputation. - -In various corners of Moscow there still remained a few people aimlessly -moving about, following their old habits and hardly aware of what they -were doing. - -When with due circumspection Napoleon was informed that Moscow was -empty, he looked angrily at his informant, turned away, and silently -continued to walk to and fro. - -“My carriage!” he said. - -He took his seat beside the aide-de-camp on duty and drove into the -suburb. “Moscow deserted!” he said to himself. “What an incredible -event!” - -He did not drive into the town, but put up at an inn in the Dorogomílov -suburb. - -The coup de théâtre had not come off. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -The Russian troops were passing through Moscow from two o’clock at night -till two in the afternoon and bore away with them the wounded and the -last of the inhabitants who were leaving. - -The greatest crush during the movement of the troops took place at the -Stone, Moskvá, and Yaúza bridges. - -While the troops, dividing into two parts when passing around the -Krémlin, were thronging the Moskvá and the Stone bridges, a great many -soldiers, taking advantage of the stoppage and congestion, turned back -from the bridges and slipped stealthily and silently past the church of -Vasíli the Beatified and under the Borovítski gate, back up the hill -to the Red Square where some instinct told them they could easily take -things not belonging to them. Crowds of the kind seen at cheap sales -filled all the passages and alleys of the Bazaar. But there were no -dealers with voices of ingratiating affability inviting customers to -enter; there were no hawkers, nor the usual motley crowd of female -purchasers—but only soldiers, in uniforms and overcoats though without -muskets, entering the Bazaar empty-handed and silently making their way -out through its passages with bundles. Tradesmen and their assistants -(of whom there were but few) moved about among the soldiers quite -bewildered. They unlocked their shops and locked them up again, and -themselves carried goods away with the help of their assistants. On the -square in front of the Bazaar were drummers beating the muster call. -But the roll of the drums did not make the looting soldiers run in the -direction of the drum as formerly, but made them, on the contrary, run -farther away. Among the soldiers in the shops and passages some men were -to be seen in gray coats, with closely shaven heads. Two officers, one -with a scarf over his uniform and mounted on a lean, dark-gray horse, -the other in an overcoat and on foot, stood at the corner of Ilyínka -Street, talking. A third officer galloped up to them. - -“The general orders them all to be driven out at once, without fail. -This is outrageous! Half the men have dispersed.” - -“Where are you off to?... Where?...” he shouted to three infantrymen -without muskets who, holding up the skirts of their overcoats, were -slipping past him into the Bazaar passage. “Stop, you rascals!” - -“But how are you going to stop them?” replied another officer. “There is -no getting them together. The army should push on before the rest bolt, -that’s all!” - -“How can one push on? They are stuck there, wedged on the bridge, and -don’t move. Shouldn’t we put a cordon round to prevent the rest from -running away?” - -“Come, go in there and drive them out!” shouted the senior officer. - -The officer in the scarf dismounted, called up a drummer, and went with -him into the arcade. Some soldiers started running away in a group. A -shopkeeper with red pimples on his cheeks near the nose, and a calm, -persistent, calculating expression on his plump face, hurriedly and -ostentatiously approached the officer, swinging his arms. - -“Your honor!” said he. “Be so good as to protect us! We won’t grudge -trifles, you are welcome to anything—we shall be delighted! Pray!... -I’ll fetch a piece of cloth at once for such an honorable gentleman, -or even two pieces with pleasure. For we feel how it is; but what’s all -this—sheer robbery! If you please, could not guards be placed if only to -let us close the shop....” - -Several shopkeepers crowded round the officer. - -“Eh, what twaddle!” said one of them, a thin, stern-looking man. “When -one’s head is gone one doesn’t weep for one’s hair! Take what any of you -like!” And flourishing his arm energetically he turned sideways to the -officer. - -“It’s all very well for you, Iván Sidórych, to talk,” said the first -tradesman angrily. “Please step inside, your honor!” - -“Talk indeed!” cried the thin one. “In my three shops here I have a -hundred thousand rubles’ worth of goods. Can they be saved when the army -has gone? Eh, what people! ‘Against God’s might our hands can’t fight.’” - -“Come inside, your honor!” repeated the tradesman, bowing. - -The officer stood perplexed and his face showed indecision. - -“It’s not my business!” he exclaimed, and strode on quickly down one of -the passages. - -From one open shop came the sound of blows and vituperation, and just -as the officer came up to it a man in a gray coat with a shaven head was -flung out violently. - -This man, bent double, rushed past the tradesman and the officer. The -officer pounced on the soldiers who were in the shops, but at that -moment fearful screams reached them from the huge crowd on the Moskvá -bridge and the officer ran out into the square. - -“What is it? What is it?” he asked, but his comrade was already -galloping off past Vasíli the Beatified in the direction from which the -screams came. - -The officer mounted his horse and rode after him. When he reached the -bridge he saw two unlimbered guns, the infantry crossing the bridge, -several overturned carts, and frightened and laughing faces among the -troops. Beside the cannon a cart was standing to which two horses were -harnessed. Four borzois with collars were pressing close to the wheels. -The cart was loaded high, and at the very top, beside a child’s chair -with its legs in the air, sat a peasant woman uttering piercing and -desperate shrieks. He was told by his fellow officers that the screams -of the crowd and the shrieks of the woman were due to the fact that -General Ermólov, coming up to the crowd and learning that soldiers were -dispersing among the shops while crowds of civilians blocked the bridge, -had ordered two guns to be unlimbered and made a show of firing at the -bridge. The crowd, crushing one another, upsetting carts, and shouting -and squeezing desperately, had cleared off the bridge and the troops -were now moving forward. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -Meanwhile, the city itself was deserted. There was hardly anyone in the -streets. The gates and shops were all closed, only here and there round -the taverns solitary shouts or drunken songs could be heard. Nobody -drove through the streets and footsteps were rarely heard. The -Povarskáya was quite still and deserted. The huge courtyard of the -Rostóvs’ house was littered with wisps of hay and with dung from the -horses, and not a soul was to be seen there. In the great drawing -room of the house, which had been left with all it contained, were -two people. They were the yard porter Ignát, and the page boy Míshka, -Vasílich’s grandson who had stayed in Moscow with his grandfather. -Míshka had opened the clavichord and was strumming on it with -one finger. The yard porter, his arms akimbo, stood smiling with -satisfaction before the large mirror. - -“Isn’t it fine, eh, Uncle Ignát?” said the boy, suddenly beginning to -strike the keyboard with both hands. - -“Only fancy!” answered Ignát, surprised at the broadening grin on his -face in the mirror. - -“Impudence! Impudence!” they heard behind them the voice of Mávra -Kuzmínichna who had entered silently. “How he’s grinning, the fat mug! -Is that what you’re here for? Nothing’s cleared away down there and -Vasílich is worn out. Just you wait a bit!” - -Ignát left off smiling, adjusted his belt, and went out of the room with -meekly downcast eyes. - -“Aunt, I did it gently,” said the boy. - -“I’ll give you something gently, you monkey you!” cried Mávra -Kuzmínichna, raising her arm threateningly. “Go and get the samovar to -boil for your grandfather.” - -Mávra Kuzmínichna flicked the dust off the clavichord and closed it, and -with a deep sigh left the drawing room and locked its main door. - -Going out into the yard she paused to consider where she should go -next—to drink tea in the servants’ wing with Vasílich, or into the -storeroom to put away what still lay about. - -She heard the sound of quick footsteps in the quiet street. Someone -stopped at the gate, and the latch rattled as someone tried to open it. -Mávra Kuzmínichna went to the gate. - -“Who do you want?” - -“The count—Count Ilyá Andréevich Rostóv.” - -“And who are you?” - -“An officer, I have to see him,” came the reply in a pleasant, well-bred -Russian voice. - -Mávra Kuzmínichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, with the -round face of a Rostóv, entered the yard. - -“They have gone away, sir. Went away yesterday at vespertime,” said -Mávra Kuzmínichna cordially. - -The young officer standing in the gateway, as if hesitating whether to -enter or not, clicked his tongue. - -“Ah, how annoying!” he muttered. “I should have come yesterday.... Ah, -what a pity.” - -Meanwhile, Mávra Kuzmínichna was attentively and sympathetically -examining the familiar Rostóv features of the young man’s face, his -tattered coat and trodden-down boots. - -“What did you want to see the count for?” she asked. - -“Oh well... it can’t be helped!” said he in a tone of vexation and -placed his hand on the gate as if to leave. - -He again paused in indecision. - -“You see,” he suddenly said, “I am a kinsman of the count’s and he has -been very kind to me. As you see” (he glanced with an amused air and -good-natured smile at his coat and boots) “my things are worn out and I -have no money, so I was going to ask the count...” - -Mávra Kuzmínichna did not let him finish. - -“Just wait a minute, sir. One little moment,” said she. - -And as soon as the officer let go of the gate handle she turned and, -hurrying away on her old legs, went through the back yard to the -servants’ quarters. - -While Mávra Kuzmínichna was running to her room the officer walked about -the yard gazing at his worn-out boots with lowered head and a faint -smile on his lips. “What a pity I’ve missed Uncle! What a nice old -woman! Where has she run off to? And how am I to find the nearest way -to overtake my regiment, which must by now be getting near the Rogózhski -gate?” thought he. Just then Mávra Kuzmínichna appeared from behind -the corner of the house with a frightened yet resolute look, carrying a -rolled-up check kerchief in her hand. While still a few steps from -the officer she unfolded the kerchief and took out of it a white -twenty-five-ruble assignat and hastily handed it to him. - -“If his excellency had been at home, as a kinsman he would of course... -but as it is...” - -Mávra Kuzmínichna grew abashed and confused. The officer did not -decline, but took the note quietly and thanked her. - -“If the count had been at home...” Mávra Kuzmínichna went on -apologetically. “Christ be with you, sir! May God preserve you!” said -she, bowing as she saw him out. - -Swaying his head and smiling as if amused at himself, the officer ran -almost at a trot through the deserted streets toward the Yaúza bridge to -overtake his regiment. - -But Mávra Kuzmínichna stood at the closed gate for some time with moist -eyes, pensively swaying her head and feeling an unexpected flow of -motherly tenderness and pity for the unknown young officer. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -From an unfinished house on the Varvárka, the ground floor of which was -a dramshop, came drunken shouts and songs. On benches round the tables -in a dirty little room sat some ten factory hands. Tipsy and perspiring, -with dim eyes and wide-open mouths, they were all laboriously singing -some song or other. They were singing discordantly, arduously, and with -great effort, evidently not because they wished to sing, but because -they wanted to show they were drunk and on a spree. One, a tall, -fair-haired lad in a clean blue coat, was standing over the others. His -face with its fine straight nose would have been handsome had it not -been for his thin, compressed, twitching lips and dull, gloomy, fixed -eyes. Evidently possessed by some idea, he stood over those who were -singing, and solemnly and jerkily flourished above their heads his white -arm with the sleeve turned up to the elbow, trying unnaturally to spread -out his dirty fingers. The sleeve of his coat kept slipping down and he -always carefully rolled it up again with his left hand, as if it were -most important that the sinewy white arm he was flourishing should be -bare. In the midst of the song cries were heard, and fighting and blows -in the passage and porch. The tall lad waved his arm. - -“Stop it!” he exclaimed peremptorily. “There’s a fight, lads!” And, -still rolling up his sleeve, he went out to the porch. - -The factory hands followed him. These men, who under the leadership of -the tall lad were drinking in the dramshop that morning, had brought the -publican some skins from the factory and for this had had drink served -them. The blacksmiths from a neighboring smithy, hearing the sounds of -revelry in the tavern and supposing it to have been broken into, wished -to force their way in too and a fight in the porch had resulted. - -The publican was fighting one of the smiths at the door, and when the -workmen came out the smith, wrenching himself free from the tavern -keeper, fell face downward on the pavement. - -Another smith tried to enter the doorway, pressing against the publican -with his chest. - -The lad with the turned-up sleeve gave the smith a blow in the face and -cried wildly: “They’re fighting us, lads!” - -At that moment the first smith got up and, scratching his bruised -face to make it bleed, shouted in a tearful voice: “Police! Murder!... -They’ve killed a man, lads!” - -“Oh, gracious me, a man beaten to death—killed!...” screamed a woman -coming out of a gate close by. - -A crowd gathered round the bloodstained smith. - -“Haven’t you robbed people enough—taking their last shirts?” said a -voice addressing the publican. “What have you killed a man for, you -thief?” - -The tall lad, standing in the porch, turned his bleared eyes from the -publican to the smith and back again as if considering whom he ought to -fight now. - -“Murderer!” he shouted suddenly to the publican. “Bind him, lads!” - -“I daresay you would like to bind me!” shouted the publican, pushing -away the men advancing on him, and snatching his cap from his head he -flung it on the ground. - -As if this action had some mysterious and menacing significance, the -workmen surrounding the publican paused in indecision. - -“I know the law very well, mates! I’ll take the matter to the captain -of police. You think I won’t get to him? Robbery is not permitted to -anybody nowadays!” shouted the publican, picking up his cap. - -“Come along then! Come along then!” the publican and the tall young -fellow repeated one after the other, and they moved up the street -together. - -The bloodstained smith went beside them. The factory hands and others -followed behind, talking and shouting. - -At the corner of the Moroséyka, opposite a large house with closed -shutters and bearing a bootmaker’s signboard, stood a score of thin, -worn-out, gloomy-faced bootmakers, wearing overalls and long tattered -coats. - -“He should pay folks off properly,” a thin workingman, with frowning -brows and a straggly beard, was saying. - -“But he’s sucked our blood and now he thinks he’s quit of us. He’s been -misleading us all the week and now that he’s brought us to this pass -he’s made off.” - -On seeing the crowd and the bloodstained man the workman ceased -speaking, and with eager curiosity all the bootmakers joined the moving -crowd. - -“Where are all the folks going?” - -“Why, to the police, of course!” - -“I say, is it true that we have been beaten?” “And what did you think? -Look what folks are saying.” - -Questions and answers were heard. The publican, taking advantage of the -increased crowd, dropped behind and returned to his tavern. - -The tall youth, not noticing the disappearance of his foe, waved his -bare arm and went on talking incessantly, attracting general attention -to himself. It was around him that the people chiefly crowded, expecting -answers from him to the questions that occupied all their minds. - -“He must keep order, keep the law, that’s what the government is there -for. Am I not right, good Christians?” said the tall youth, with a -scarcely perceptible smile. “He thinks there’s no government! How can -one do without government? Or else there would be plenty who’d rob us.” - -“Why talk nonsense?” rejoined voices in the crowd. “Will they give -up Moscow like this? They told you that for fun, and you believed it! -Aren’t there plenty of troops on the march? Let him in, indeed! That’s -what the government is for. You’d better listen to what people are -saying,” said some of the mob pointing to the tall youth. - -By the wall of China-Town a smaller group of people were gathered round -a man in a frieze coat who held a paper in his hand. - -“An ukáse, they are reading an ukáse! Reading an ukáse!” cried voices in -the crowd, and the people rushed toward the reader. - -The man in the frieze coat was reading the broadsheet of August 31. When -the crowd collected round him he seemed confused, but at the demand -of the tall lad who had pushed his way up to him, he began in a rather -tremulous voice to read the sheet from the beginning. - -“Early tomorrow I shall go to his Serene Highness,” he read (“Sirin -Highness,” said the tall fellow with a triumphant smile on his lips and -a frown on his brow), “to consult with him to act, and to aid the army -to exterminate these scoundrels. We too will take part...” the reader -went on, and then paused (“Do you see,” shouted the youth victoriously, -“he’s going to clear up the whole affair for you....”), “in destroying -them, and will send these visitors to the devil. I will come back to -dinner, and we’ll set to work. We will do, completely do, and undo these -scoundrels.” - -The last words were read out in the midst of complete silence. The tall -lad hung his head gloomily. It was evident that no one had understood -the last part. In particular, the words “I will come back to dinner,” -evidently displeased both reader and audience. The people’s minds -were tuned to a high pitch and this was too simple and needlessly -comprehensible—it was what anyone of them might have said and therefore -was what an ukáse emanating from the highest authority should not say. - -They all stood despondent and silent. The tall youth moved his lips and -swayed from side to side. - -“We should ask him... that’s he himself?”... “Yes, ask him indeed!... -Why not? He’ll explain”... voices in the rear of the crowd were -suddenly heard saying, and the general attention turned to the police -superintendent’s trap which drove into the square attended by two -mounted dragoons. - -The superintendent of police, who had gone that morning by Count -Rostopchín’s orders to burn the barges and had in connection with that -matter acquired a large sum of money which was at that moment in his -pocket, on seeing a crowd bearing down upon him told his coachman to -stop. - -“What people are these?” he shouted to the men, who were moving singly -and timidly in the direction of his trap. - -“What people are these?” he shouted again, receiving no answer. - -“Your honor...” replied the shopman in the frieze coat, “your honor, in -accord with the proclamation of his highest excellency the count, they -desire to serve, not sparing their lives, and it is not any kind of -riot, but as his highest excellence said...” - -“The count has not left, he is here, and an order will be issued -concerning you,” said the superintendent of police. “Go on!” he ordered -his coachman. - -The crowd halted, pressing around those who had heard what the -superintendent had said, and looking at the departing trap. - -The superintendent of police turned round at that moment with a scared -look, said something to his coachman, and his horses increased their -speed. - -“It’s a fraud, lads! Lead the way to him, himself!” shouted the tall -youth. “Don’t let him go, lads! Let him answer us! Keep him!” shouted -different people and the people dashed in pursuit of the trap. - -Following the superintendent of police and talking loudly the crowd went -in the direction of the Lubyánka Street. - -“There now, the gentry and merchants have gone away and left us to -perish. Do they think we’re dogs?” voices in the crowd were heard saying -more and more frequently. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -On the evening of the first of September, after his interview with -Kutúzov, Count Rostopchín had returned to Moscow mortified and offended -because he had not been invited to attend the council of war, and -because Kutúzov had paid no attention to his offer to take part in the -defense of the city; amazed also at the novel outlook revealed to him -at the camp, which treated the tranquillity of the capital and its -patriotic fervor as not merely secondary but quite irrelevant and -unimportant matters. Distressed, offended, and surprised by all this, -Rostopchín had returned to Moscow. After supper he lay down on a sofa -without undressing, and was awakened soon after midnight by a courier -bringing him a letter from Kutúzov. This letter requested the count to -send police officers to guide the troops through the town, as the army -was retreating to the Ryazán road beyond Moscow. This was not news to -Rostopchín. He had known that Moscow would be abandoned not merely since -his interview the previous day with Kutúzov on the Poklónny Hill but -ever since the battle of Borodinó, for all the generals who came to -Moscow after that battle had said unanimously that it was impossible to -fight another battle, and since then the government property had been -removed every night, and half the inhabitants had left the city -with Rostopchín’s own permission. Yet all the same this information -astonished and irritated the count, coming as it did in the form of a -simple note with an order from Kutúzov, and received at night, breaking -in on his beauty sleep. - -When later on in his memoirs Count Rostopchín explained his actions at -this time, he repeatedly says that he was then actuated by two important -considerations: to maintain tranquillity in Moscow and expedite the -departure of the inhabitants. If one accepts this twofold aim all -Rostopchín’s actions appear irreproachable. “Why were the holy relics, -the arms, ammunition, gunpowder, and stores of corn not removed? Why -were thousands of inhabitants deceived into believing that Moscow would -not be given up—and thereby ruined?” “To preserve the tranquillity -of the city,” explains Count Rostopchín. “Why were bundles of useless -papers from the government offices, and Leppich’s balloon and other -articles removed?” “To leave the town empty,” explains Count Rostopchín. -One need only admit that public tranquillity is in danger and any action -finds a justification. - -All the horrors of the reign of terror were based only on solicitude for -public tranquillity. - -On what, then, was Count Rostopchín’s fear for the tranquillity of -Moscow based in 1812? What reason was there for assuming any probability -of an uprising in the city? The inhabitants were leaving it and the -retreating troops were filling it. Why should that cause the masses to -riot? - -Neither in Moscow nor anywhere in Russia did anything resembling an -insurrection ever occur when the enemy entered a town. More than -ten thousand people were still in Moscow on the first and second of -September, and except for a mob in the governor’s courtyard, assembled -there at his bidding, nothing happened. It is obvious that there would -have been even less reason to expect a disturbance among the people -if after the battle of Borodinó, when the surrender of Moscow became -certain or at least probable, Rostopchín instead of exciting the people -by distributing arms and broadsheets had taken steps to remove all -the holy relics, the gunpowder, munitions, and money, and had told the -population plainly that the town would be abandoned. - -Rostopchín, though he had patriotic sentiments, was a sanguine and -impulsive man who had always moved in the highest administrative circles -and had no understanding at all of the people he supposed himself to -be guiding. Ever since the enemy’s entry into Smolénsk he had in -imagination been playing the role of director of the popular feeling -of “the heart of Russia.” Not only did it seem to him (as to all -administrators) that he controlled the external actions of Moscow’s -inhabitants, but he also thought he controlled their mental attitude by -means of his broadsheets and posters, written in a coarse tone which the -people despise in their own class and do not understand from those in -authority. Rostopchín was so pleased with the fine role of leader of -popular feeling, and had grown so used to it, that the necessity of -relinquishing that role and abandoning Moscow without any heroic display -took him unawares and he suddenly felt the ground slip away from under -his feet, so that he positively did not know what to do. Though he knew -it was coming, he did not till the last moment wholeheartedly believe -that Moscow would be abandoned, and did not prepare for it. The -inhabitants left against his wishes. If the government offices were -removed, this was only done on the demand of officials to whom the count -yielded reluctantly. He was absorbed in the role he had created -for himself. As is often the case with those gifted with an ardent -imagination, though he had long known that Moscow would be abandoned he -knew it only with his intellect, he did not believe it in his heart and -did not adapt himself mentally to this new position of affairs. - -All his painstaking and energetic activity (in how far it was useful -and had any effect on the people is another question) had been simply -directed toward arousing in the masses his own feeling of patriotic -hatred of the French. - -But when events assumed their true historical character, when expressing -hatred for the French in words proved insufficient, when it was not -even possible to express that hatred by fighting a battle, when -self-confidence was of no avail in relation to the one question before -Moscow, when the whole population streamed out of Moscow as one man, -abandoning their belongings and proving by that negative action all -the depth of their national feeling, then the role chosen by Rostopchín -suddenly appeared senseless. He unexpectedly felt himself ridiculous, -weak, and alone, with no ground to stand on. - -When, awakened from his sleep, he received that cold, peremptory note -from Kutúzov, he felt the more irritated the more he felt himself -to blame. All that he had been specially put in charge of, the state -property which he should have removed, was still in Moscow and it was no -longer possible to take the whole of it away. - -“Who is to blame for it? Who has let things come to such a pass?” he -ruminated. “Not I, of course. I had everything ready. I had Moscow -firmly in hand. And this is what they have let it come to! Villains! -Traitors!” he thought, without clearly defining who the villains and -traitors were, but feeling it necessary to hate those traitors whoever -they might be who were to blame for the false and ridiculous position in -which he found himself. - -All that night Count Rostopchín issued orders, for which people came to -him from all parts of Moscow. Those about him had never seen the count -so morose and irritable. - -“Your excellency, the Director of the Registrar’s Department has sent -for instructions.... From the Consistory, from the Senate, from the -University, from the Foundling Hospital, the Suffragan has sent... -asking for information.... What are your orders about the Fire Brigade? -From the governor of the prison... from the superintendent of the -lunatic asylum...” All night long such announcements were continually -being received by the count. - -To all these inquiries he gave brief and angry replies indicating that -orders from him were not now needed, that the whole affair, carefully -prepared by him, had now been ruined by somebody, and that that somebody -would have to bear the whole responsibility for all that might happen. - -“Oh, tell that blockhead,” he said in reply to the question from the -Registrar’s Department, “that he should remain to guard his documents. -Now why are you asking silly questions about the Fire Brigade? They have -horses, let them be off to Vladímir, and not leave them to the French.” - -“Your excellency, the superintendent of the lunatic asylum has come: -what are your commands?” - -“My commands? Let them go away, that’s all.... And let the lunatics -out into the town. When lunatics command our armies God evidently means -these other madmen to be free.” - -In reply to an inquiry about the convicts in the prison, Count -Rostopchín shouted angrily at the governor: - -“Do you expect me to give you two battalions—which we have not got—for a -convoy? Release them, that’s all about it!” - -“Your excellency, there are some political prisoners, Meshkóv, -Vereshchágin...” - -“Vereshchágin! Hasn’t he been hanged yet?” shouted Rostopchín. “Bring -him to me!” - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -Toward nine o’clock in the morning, when the troops were already moving -through Moscow, nobody came to the count any more for instructions. -Those who were able to get away were going of their own accord, those -who remained behind decided for themselves what they must do. - -The count ordered his carriage that he might drive to Sokólniki, and sat -in his study with folded hands, morose, sallow, and taciturn. - -In quiet and untroubled times it seems to every administrator that it -is only by his efforts that the whole population under his rule is -kept going, and in this consciousness of being indispensable every -administrator finds the chief reward of his labor and efforts. While the -sea of history remains calm the ruler-administrator in his frail bark, -holding on with a boat hook to the ship of the people and himself -moving, naturally imagines that his efforts move the ship he is holding -on to. But as soon as a storm arises and the sea begins to heave and -the ship to move, such a delusion is no longer possible. The ship moves -independently with its own enormous motion, the boat hook no longer -reaches the moving vessel, and suddenly the administrator, instead -of appearing a ruler and a source of power, becomes an insignificant, -useless, feeble man. - -Rostopchín felt this, and it was this which exasperated him. - -The superintendent of police, whom the crowd had stopped, went in to -see him at the same time as an adjutant who informed the count that the -horses were harnessed. They were both pale, and the superintendent of -police, after reporting that he had executed the instructions he had -received, informed the count that an immense crowd had collected in the -courtyard and wished to see him. - -Without saying a word Rostopchín rose and walked hastily to his light, -luxurious drawing room, went to the balcony door, took hold of the -handle, let it go again, and went to the window from which he had a -better view of the whole crowd. The tall lad was standing in front, -flourishing his arm and saying something with a stern look. The -blood-stained smith stood beside him with a gloomy face. A drone of -voices was audible through the closed window. - -“Is my carriage ready?” asked Rostopchín, stepping back from the window. - -“It is, your excellency,” replied the adjutant. - -Rostopchín went again to the balcony door. - -“But what do they want?” he asked the superintendent of police. - -“Your excellency, they say they have got ready, according to your -orders, to go against the French, and they shouted something about -treachery. But it is a turbulent crowd, your excellency—I hardly managed -to get away from it. Your excellency, I venture to suggest...” - -“You may go. I don’t need you to tell me what to do!” exclaimed -Rostopchín angrily. - -He stood by the balcony door looking at the crowd. - -“This is what they have done with Russia! This is what they have done -with me!” thought he, full of an irrepressible fury that welled up -within him against the someone to whom what was happening might be -attributed. As often happens with passionate people, he was mastered by -anger but was still seeking an object on which to vent it. “Here is -that mob, the dregs of the people,” he thought as he gazed at the crowd: -“this rabble they have roused by their folly! They want a victim,” -he thought as he looked at the tall lad flourishing his arm. And this -thought occurred to him just because he himself desired a victim, -something on which to vent his rage. - -“Is the carriage ready?” he asked again. - -“Yes, your excellency. What are your orders about Vereshchágin? He is -waiting at the porch,” said the adjutant. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Rostopchín, as if struck by an unexpected recollection. - -And rapidly opening the door he went resolutely out onto the balcony. -The talking instantly ceased, hats and caps were doffed, and all eyes -were raised to the count. - -“Good morning, lads!” said the count briskly and loudly. “Thank you for -coming. I’ll come out to you in a moment, but we must first settle -with the villain. We must punish the villain who has caused the ruin of -Moscow. Wait for me!” - -And the count stepped as briskly back into the room and slammed the door -behind him. - -A murmur of approbation and satisfaction ran through the crowd. “He’ll -settle with all the villains, you’ll see! And you said the French... -He’ll show you what law is!” the mob were saying as if reproving one -another for their lack of confidence. - -A few minutes later an officer came hurriedly out of the front door, -gave an order, and the dragoons formed up in line. The crowd moved -eagerly from the balcony toward the porch. Rostopchín, coming out there -with quick angry steps, looked hastily around as if seeking someone. - -“Where is he?” he inquired. And as he spoke he saw a young man coming -round the corner of the house between two dragoons. He had a long thin -neck, and his head, that had been half shaved, was again covered by -short hair. This young man was dressed in a threadbare blue cloth coat -lined with fox fur, that had once been smart, and dirty hempen convict -trousers, over which were pulled his thin, dirty, trodden-down boots. -On his thin, weak legs were heavy chains which hampered his irresolute -movements. - -“Ah!” said Rostopchín, hurriedly turning away his eyes from the young -man in the fur-lined coat and pointing to the bottom step of the porch. -“Put him there.” - -The young man in his clattering chains stepped clumsily to the spot -indicated, holding away with one finger the coat collar which chafed -his neck, turned his long neck twice this way and that, sighed, and -submissively folded before him his thin hands, unused to work. - -For several seconds while the young man was taking his place on the step -the silence continued. Only among the back rows of the people, who were -all pressing toward the one spot, could sighs, groans, and the shuffling -of feet be heard. - -While waiting for the young man to take his place on the step Rostopchín -stood frowning and rubbing his face with his hand. - -“Lads!” said he, with a metallic ring in his voice. “This man, -Vereshchágin, is the scoundrel by whose doing Moscow is perishing.” - -The young man in the fur-lined coat, stooping a little, stood in a -submissive attitude, his fingers clasped before him. His emaciated young -face, disfigured by the half-shaven head, hung down hopelessly. At -the count’s first words he raised it slowly and looked up at him as if -wishing to say something or at least to meet his eye. But Rostopchín did -not look at him. A vein in the young man’s long thin neck swelled like a -cord and went blue behind the ear, and suddenly his face flushed. - -All eyes were fixed on him. He looked at the crowd, and rendered more -hopeful by the expression he read on the faces there, he smiled sadly -and timidly, and lowering his head shifted his feet on the step. - -“He has betrayed his Tsar and his country, he has gone over to -Bonaparte. He alone of all the Russians has disgraced the Russian name, -he has caused Moscow to perish,” said Rostopchín in a sharp, even voice, -but suddenly he glanced down at Vereshchágin who continued to stand in -the same submissive attitude. As if inflamed by the sight, he raised his -arm and addressed the people, almost shouting: - -“Deal with him as you think fit! I hand him over to you.” - -The crowd remained silent and only pressed closer and closer to -one another. To keep one another back, to breathe in that stifling -atmosphere, to be unable to stir, and to await something unknown, -uncomprehended, and terrible, was becoming unbearable. Those standing -in front, who had seen and heard what had taken place before them, all -stood with wide-open eyes and mouths, straining with all their strength, -and held back the crowd that was pushing behind them. - -“Beat him!... Let the traitor perish and not disgrace the Russian name!” -shouted Rostopchín. “Cut him down. I command it.” - -Hearing not so much the words as the angry tone of Rostopchín’s voice, -the crowd moaned and heaved forward, but again paused. - -“Count!” exclaimed the timid yet theatrical voice of Vereshchágin in the -midst of the momentary silence that ensued, “Count! One God is above us -both....” He lifted his head and again the thick vein in his thin neck -filled with blood and the color rapidly came and went in his face. - -He did not finish what he wished to say. - -“Cut him down! I command it...” shouted Rostopchín, suddenly growing -pale like Vereshchágin. - -“Draw sabers!” cried the dragoon officer, drawing his own. - -Another still stronger wave flowed through the crowd and reaching the -front ranks carried it swaying to the very steps of the porch. The tall -youth, with a stony look on his face, and rigid and uplifted arm, stood -beside Vereshchágin. - -“Saber him!” the dragoon officer almost whispered. - -And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury, -struck Vereshchágin on the head with the blunt side of his saber. - -“Ah!” cried Vereshchágin in meek surprise, looking round with a -frightened glance as if not understanding why this was done to him. A -similar moan of surprise and horror ran through the crowd. “O Lord!” -exclaimed a sorrowful voice. - -But after the exclamation of surprise that had escaped from Vereshchágin -he uttered a plaintive cry of pain, and that cry was fatal. The barrier -of human feeling, strained to the utmost, that had held the crowd in -check suddenly broke. The crime had begun and must now be completed. The -plaintive moan of reproach was drowned by the threatening and angry roar -of the crowd. Like the seventh and last wave that shatters a ship, that -last irresistible wave burst from the rear and reached the front ranks, -carrying them off their feet and engulfing them all. The dragoon was -about to repeat his blow. Vereshchágin with a cry of horror, covering -his head with his hands, rushed toward the crowd. The tall youth, -against whom he stumbled, seized his thin neck with his hands and, -yelling wildly, fell with him under the feet of the pressing, struggling -crowd. - -Some beat and tore at Vereshchágin, others at the tall youth. And the -screams of those that were being trampled on and of those who tried to -rescue the tall lad only increased the fury of the crowd. It was a long -time before the dragoons could extricate the bleeding youth, beaten -almost to death. And for a long time, despite the feverish haste with -which the mob tried to end the work that had been begun, those who were -hitting, throttling, and tearing at Vereshchágin were unable to kill -him, for the crowd pressed from all sides, swaying as one mass with them -in the center and rendering it impossible for them either to kill him or -let him go. - -“Hit him with an ax, eh!... Crushed?... Traitor, he sold Christ.... -Still alive... tenacious... serves him right! Torture serves a thief -right. Use the hatchet!... What—still alive?” - -Only when the victim ceased to struggle and his cries changed to a -long-drawn, measured death rattle did the crowd around his prostrate, -bleeding corpse begin rapidly to change places. Each one came -up, glanced at what had been done, and with horror, reproach, and -astonishment pushed back again. - -“O Lord! The people are like wild beasts! How could he be alive?” voices -in the crowd could be heard saying. “Quite a young fellow too... must -have been a merchant’s son. What men!... and they say he’s not the right -one.... How not the right one?... O Lord! And there’s another has been -beaten too—they say he’s nearly done for.... Oh, the people... Aren’t -they afraid of sinning?...” said the same mob now, looking with pained -distress at the dead body with its long, thin, half-severed neck and its -livid face stained with blood and dust. - -A painstaking police officer, considering the presence of a corpse in -his excellency’s courtyard unseemly, told the dragoons to take it away. -Two dragoons took it by its distorted legs and dragged it along the -ground. The gory, dust-stained, half-shaven head with its long neck -trailed twisting along the ground. The crowd shrank back from it. - -At the moment when Vereshchágin fell and the crowd closed in with savage -yells and swayed about him, Rostopchín suddenly turned pale and, instead -of going to the back entrance where his carriage awaited him, went -with hurried steps and bent head, not knowing where and why, along the -passage leading to the rooms on the ground floor. The count’s face was -white and he could not control the feverish twitching of his lower jaw. - -“This way, your excellency... Where are you going?... This way, -please...” said a trembling, frightened voice behind him. - -Count Rostopchín was unable to reply and, turning obediently, went in -the direction indicated. At the back entrance stood his calèche. The -distant roar of the yelling crowd was audible even there. He hastily -took his seat and told the coachman to drive him to his country house in -Sokólniki. - -When they reached the Myasnítski Street and could no longer hear -the shouts of the mob, the count began to repent. He remembered with -dissatisfaction the agitation and fear he had betrayed before his -subordinates. “The mob is terrible—disgusting,” he said to himself -in French. “They are like wolves whom nothing but flesh can appease.” -“Count! One God is above us both!”—Vereshchágin’s words suddenly -recurred to him, and a disagreeable shiver ran down his back. But this -was only a momentary feeling and Count Rostopchín smiled disdainfully -at himself. “I had other duties,” thought he. “The people had to be -appeased. Many other victims have perished and are perishing for the -public good”—and he began thinking of his social duties to his family -and to the city entrusted to him, and of himself—not himself as Theodore -Vasílyevich Rostopchín (he fancied that Theodore Vasílyevich Rostopchín -was sacrificing himself for the public good) but himself as governor, -the representative of authority and of the Tsar. “Had I been simply -Theodore Vasílyevich my course of action would have been quite -different, but it was my duty to safeguard my life and dignity as -commander in chief.” - -Lightly swaying on the flexible springs of his carriage and no longer -hearing the terrible sounds of the crowd, Rostopchín grew physically -calm and, as always happens, as soon as he became physically tranquil -his mind devised reasons why he should be mentally tranquil too. The -thought which tranquillized Rostopchín was not a new one. Since the -world began and men have killed one another no one has ever committed -such a crime against his fellow man without comforting himself with -this same idea. This idea is le bien public, the hypothetical welfare of -other people. - -To a man not swayed by passion that welfare is never certain, but he -who commits such a crime always knows just where that welfare lies. And -Rostopchín now knew it. - -Not only did his reason not reproach him for what he had done, but -he even found cause for self-satisfaction in having so successfully -contrived to avail himself of a convenient opportunity to punish a -criminal and at the same time pacify the mob. - -“Vereshchágin was tried and condemned to death,” thought Rostopchín -(though the Senate had only condemned Vereshchágin to hard labor), “he -was a traitor and a spy. I could not let him go unpunished and so I have -killed two birds with one stone: to appease the mob I gave them a victim -and at the same time punished a miscreant.” - -Having reached his country house and begun to give orders about domestic -arrangements, the count grew quite tranquil. - -Half an hour later he was driving with his fast horses across the -Sokólniki field, no longer thinking of what had occurred but considering -what was to come. He was driving to the Yaúza bridge where he had heard -that Kutúzov was. Count Rostopchín was mentally preparing the angry and -stinging reproaches he meant to address to Kutúzov for his deception. He -would make that foxy old courtier feel that the responsibility for all -the calamities that would follow the abandonment of the city and the -ruin of Russia (as Rostopchín regarded it) would fall upon his doting -old head. Planning beforehand what he would say to Kutúzov, Rostopchín -turned angrily in his calèche and gazed sternly from side to side. - -The Sokólniki field was deserted. Only at the end of it, in front of the -almshouse and the lunatic asylum, could be seen some people in white -and others like them walking singly across the field shouting and -gesticulating. - -One of these was running to cross the path of Count Rostopchín’s -carriage, and the count himself, his coachman, and his dragoons -looked with vague horror and curiosity at these released lunatics and -especially at the one running toward them. - -Swaying from side to side on his long, thin legs in his fluttering -dressing gown, this lunatic was running impetuously, his gaze fixed on -Rostopchín, shouting something in a hoarse voice and making signs to him -to stop. The lunatic’s solemn, gloomy face was thin and yellow, with -its beard growing in uneven tufts. His black, agate pupils with -saffron-yellow whites moved restlessly near the lower eyelids. - -“Stop! Pull up, I tell you!” he cried in a piercing voice, and again -shouted something breathlessly with emphatic intonations and gestures. - -Coming abreast of the calèche he ran beside it. - -“Thrice have they slain me, thrice have I risen from the dead. They -stoned me, crucified me... I shall rise... shall rise... shall rise. -They have torn my body. The kingdom of God will be overthrown... Thrice -will I overthrow it and thrice re-establish it!” he cried, raising his -voice higher and higher. - -Count Rostopchín suddenly grew pale as he had done when the crowd closed -in on Vereshchágin. He turned away. “Go fas... faster!” he cried in a -trembling voice to his coachman. The calèche flew over the ground as -fast as the horses could draw it, but for a long time Count Rostopchín -still heard the insane despairing screams growing fainter in the -distance, while his eyes saw nothing but the astonished, frightened, -bloodstained face of “the traitor” in the fur-lined coat. - -Recent as that mental picture was, Rostopchín already felt that it had -cut deep into his heart and drawn blood. Even now he felt clearly that -the gory trace of that recollection would not pass with time, but that -the terrible memory would, on the contrary, dwell in his heart ever more -cruelly and painfully to the end of his life. He seemed still to hear -the sound of his own words: “Cut him down! I command it....” - -“Why did I utter those words? It was by some accident I said them.... -I need not have said them,” he thought. “And then nothing would have -happened.” He saw the frightened and then infuriated face of the dragoon -who dealt the blow, the look of silent, timid reproach that boy in the -fur-lined coat had turned upon him. “But I did not do it for my own -sake. I was bound to act that way.... The mob, the traitor... the public -welfare,” thought he. - -Troops were still crowding at the Yaúza bridge. It was hot. Kutúzov, -dejected and frowning, sat on a bench by the bridge toying with his -whip in the sand when a calèche dashed up noisily. A man in a general’s -uniform with plumes in his hat went up to Kutúzov and said something -in French. It was Count Rostopchín. He told Kutúzov that he had come -because Moscow, the capital, was no more and only the army remained. - -“Things would have been different if your Serene Highness had not told -me that you would not abandon Moscow without another battle; all this -would not have happened,” he said. - -Kutúzov looked at Rostopchín as if, not grasping what was said to him, -he was trying to read something peculiar written at that moment on the -face of the man addressing him. Rostopchín grew confused and became -silent. Kutúzov slightly shook his head and not taking his penetrating -gaze from Rostopchín’s face muttered softly: - -“No! I shall not give up Moscow without a battle!” - -Whether Kutúzov was thinking of something entirely different when -he spoke those words, or uttered them purposely, knowing them to be -meaningless, at any rate Rostopchín made no reply and hastily left him. -And strange to say, the Governor of Moscow, the proud Count Rostopchín, -took up a Cossack whip and went to the bridge where he began with shouts -to drive on the carts that blocked the way. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -Toward four o’clock in the afternoon Murat’s troops were entering -Moscow. In front rode a detachment of Württemberg hussars and behind -them rode the King of Naples himself accompanied by a numerous suite. - -About the middle of the Arbát Street, near the Church of the Miraculous -Icon of St. Nicholas, Murat halted to await news from the advanced -detachment as to the condition in which they had found the citadel, le -Kremlin. - -Around Murat gathered a group of those who had remained in Moscow. They -all stared in timid bewilderment at the strange, long-haired commander -dressed up in feathers and gold. - -“Is that their Tsar himself? He’s not bad!” low voices could be heard -saying. - -An interpreter rode up to the group. - -“Take off your cap... your caps!” These words went from one to another -in the crowd. The interpreter addressed an old porter and asked if -it was far to the Krémlin. The porter, listening in perplexity to the -unfamiliar Polish accent and not realizing that the interpreter was -speaking Russian, did not understand what was being said to him and -slipped behind the others. - -Murat approached the interpreter and told him to ask where the Russian -army was. One of the Russians understood what was asked and several -voices at once began answering the interpreter. A French officer, -returning from the advanced detachment, rode up to Murat and reported -that the gates of the citadel had been barricaded and that there was -probably an ambuscade there. - -“Good!” said Murat and, turning to one of the gentlemen in his suite, -ordered four light guns to be moved forward to fire at the gates. - -The guns emerged at a trot from the column following Murat and advanced -up the Arbát. When they reached the end of the Vozdvízhenka Street they -halted and drew in the Square. Several French officers superintended the -placing of the guns and looked at the Krémlin through field glasses. - -The bells in the Krémlin were ringing for vespers, and this sound -troubled the French. They imagined it to be a call to arms. A few -infantrymen ran to the Kutáfyev Gate. Beams and wooden screens had been -put there, and two musket shots rang out from under the gate as soon as -an officer and men began to run toward it. A general who was standing -by the guns shouted some words of command to the officer, and the latter -ran back again with his men. - -The sound of three more shots came from the gate. - -One shot struck a French soldier’s foot, and from behind the screens -came the strange sound of a few voices shouting. Instantly as at a -word of command the expression of cheerful serenity on the faces of -the French general, officers, and men changed to one of determined -concentrated readiness for strife and suffering. To all of them from -the marshal to the least soldier, that place was not the Vozdvízhenka, -Mokhaváya, or Kutáfyev Street, nor the Tróitsa Gate (places familiar in -Moscow), but a new battlefield which would probably prove sanguinary. -And all made ready for that battle. The cries from the gates ceased. The -guns were advanced, the artillerymen blew the ash off their linstocks, -and an officer gave the word “Fire!” This was followed by two whistling -sounds of canister shot, one after another. The shot rattled against -the stone of the gate and upon the wooden beams and screens, and two -wavering clouds of smoke rose over the Square. - -A few instants after the echo of the reports resounding over the -stone-built Krémlin had died away the French heard a strange sound above -their head. Thousands of crows rose above the walls and circled in the -air, cawing and noisily flapping their wings. Together with that sound -came a solitary human cry from the gateway and amid the smoke appeared -the figure of a bareheaded man in a peasant’s coat. He grasped a musket -and took aim at the French. “Fire!” repeated the officer once more, -and the reports of a musket and of two cannon shots were heard -simultaneously. The gate was again hidden by smoke. - -Nothing more stirred behind the screens and the French infantry soldiers -and officers advanced to the gate. In the gateway lay three wounded and -four dead. Two men in peasant coats ran away at the foot of the wall, -toward the Známenka. - -“Clear that away!” said the officer, pointing to the beams and the -corpses, and the French soldiers, after dispatching the wounded, threw -the corpses over the parapet. - -Who these men were nobody knew. “Clear that away!” was all that was said -of them, and they were thrown over the parapet and removed later on that -they might not stink. Thiers alone dedicates a few eloquent lines to -their memory: “These wretches had occupied the sacred citadel, having -supplied themselves with guns from the arsenal, and fired” (the -wretches) “at the French. Some of them were sabered and the Krémlin was -purged of their presence.” - -Murat was informed that the way had been cleared. The French entered -the gates and began pitching their camp in the Senate Square. Out of the -windows of the Senate House the soldiers threw chairs into the Square -for fuel and kindled fires there. - -Other detachments passed through the Krémlin and encamped along -the Moroséyka, the Lubyánka, and Pokróvka Streets. Others quartered -themselves along the Vozdvízhenka, the Nikólski, and the Tverskóy -Streets. No masters of the houses being found anywhere, the French were -not billeted on the inhabitants as is usual in towns but lived in it as -in a camp. - -Though tattered, hungry, worn out, and reduced to a third of their -original number, the French entered Moscow in good marching order. It -was a weary and famished, but still a fighting and menacing army. But -it remained an army only until its soldiers had dispersed into their -different lodgings. As soon as the men of the various regiments began -to disperse among the wealthy and deserted houses, the army was lost -forever and there came into being something nondescript, neither -citizens nor soldiers but what are known as marauders. When five weeks -later these same men left Moscow, they no longer formed an army. They -were a mob of marauders, each carrying a quantity of articles which -seemed to him valuable or useful. The aim of each man when he left -Moscow was no longer, as it had been, to conquer, but merely to keep -what he had acquired. Like a monkey which puts its paw into the narrow -neck of a jug, and having seized a handful of nuts will not open its -fist for fear of losing what it holds, and therefore perishes, the -French when they left Moscow had inevitably to perish because they -carried their loot with them, yet to abandon what they had stolen was as -impossible for them as it is for the monkey to open its paw and let -go of its nuts. Ten minutes after each regiment had entered a Moscow -district, not a soldier or officer was left. Men in military uniforms -and Hessian boots could be seen through the windows, laughing and -walking through the rooms. In cellars and storerooms similar men were -busy among the provisions, and in the yards unlocking or breaking open -coach house and stable doors, lighting fires in kitchens and kneading -and baking bread with rolled-up sleeves, and cooking; or frightening, -amusing, or caressing women and children. There were many such men both -in the shops and houses—but there was no army. - -Order after order was issued by the French commanders that day -forbidding the men to disperse about the town, sternly forbidding any -violence to the inhabitants or any looting, and announcing a roll call -for that very evening. But despite all these measures the men, who had -till then constituted an army, flowed all over the wealthy, deserted -city with its comforts and plentiful supplies. As a hungry herd of -cattle keeps well together when crossing a barren field, but gets out -of hand and at once disperses uncontrollably as soon as it reaches rich -pastures, so did the army disperse all over the wealthy city. - -No residents were left in Moscow, and the soldiers—like water -percolating through sand—spread irresistibly through the city in all -directions from the Krémlin into which they had first marched. The -cavalry, on entering a merchant’s house that had been abandoned and -finding there stabling more than sufficient for their horses, went on, -all the same, to the next house which seemed to them better. Many of -them appropriated several houses, chalked their names on them, and -quarreled and even fought with other companies for them. Before they had -had time to secure quarters the soldiers ran out into the streets to -see the city and, hearing that everything had been abandoned, rushed -to places where valuables were to be had for the taking. The officers -followed to check the soldiers and were involuntarily drawn into doing -the same. In Carriage Row carriages had been left in the shops, and -generals flocked there to select calèches and coaches for themselves. -The few inhabitants who had remained invited commanding officers to -their houses, hoping thereby to secure themselves from being plundered. -There were masses of wealth and there seemed no end to it. All around -the quarters occupied by the French were other regions still unexplored -and unoccupied where, they thought, yet greater riches might be found. -And Moscow engulfed the army ever deeper and deeper. When water is -spilled on dry ground both the dry ground and the water disappear and -mud results; and in the same way the entry of the famished army into the -rich and deserted city resulted in fires and looting and the destruction -of both the army and the wealthy city. - - -The French attributed the Fire of Moscow au patriotisme féroce de -Rostopchíne, * the Russians to the barbarity of the French. In reality, -however, it was not, and could not be, possible to explain the burning -of Moscow by making any individual, or any group of people, responsible -for it. Moscow was burned because it found itself in a position in which -any town built of wood was bound to burn, quite apart from whether it -had, or had not, a hundred and thirty inferior fire engines. Deserted -Moscow had to burn as inevitably as a heap of shavings has to burn on -which sparks continually fall for several days. A town built of wood, -where scarcely a day passes without conflagrations when the house owners -are in residence and a police force is present, cannot help burning when -its inhabitants have left it and it is occupied by soldiers who smoke -pipes, make campfires of the Senate chairs in the Senate Square, and -cook themselves meals twice a day. In peacetime it is only necessary to -billet troops in the villages of any district and the number of fires in -that district immediately increases. How much then must the probability -of fire be increased in an abandoned, wooden town where foreign troops -are quartered. “Le patriotisme féroce de Rostopchíne” and the barbarity -of the French were not to blame in the matter. Moscow was set on fire by -the soldiers’ pipes, kitchens, and campfires, and by the carelessness of -enemy soldiers occupying houses they did not own. Even if there was any -arson (which is very doubtful, for no one had any reason to burn the -houses—in any case a troublesome and dangerous thing to do), arson -cannot be regarded as the cause, for the same thing would have happened -without any incendiarism. - - * To Rostopchín’s ferocious patriotism. - -However tempting it might be for the French to blame Rostopchín’s -ferocity and for Russians to blame the scoundrel Bonaparte, or later -on to place an heroic torch in the hands of their own people, it is -impossible not to see that there could be no such direct cause of the -fire, for Moscow had to burn as every village, factory, or house must -burn which is left by its owners and in which strangers are allowed to -live and cook their porridge. Moscow was burned by its inhabitants, it -is true, but by those who had abandoned it and not by those who remained -in it. Moscow when occupied by the enemy did not remain intact like -Berlin, Vienna, and other towns, simply because its inhabitants -abandoned it and did not welcome the French with bread and salt, nor -bring them the keys of the city. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -The absorption of the French by Moscow, radiating starwise as it did, -only reached the quarter where Pierre was staying by the evening of the -second of September. - -After the last two days spent in solitude and unusual circumstances, -Pierre was in a state bordering on insanity. He was completely obsessed -by one persistent thought. He did not know how or when this thought had -taken such possession of him, but he remembered nothing of the past, -understood nothing of the present, and all he saw and heard appeared to -him like a dream. - -He had left home only to escape the intricate tangle of life’s demands -that enmeshed him, and which in his present condition he was unable -to unravel. He had gone to Joseph Alexéevich’s house, on the plea of -sorting the deceased’s books and papers, only in search of rest from -life’s turmoil, for in his mind the memory of Joseph Alexéevich was -connected with a world of eternal, solemn, and calm thoughts, quite -contrary to the restless confusion into which he felt himself being -drawn. He sought a quiet refuge, and in Joseph Alexéevich’s study he -really found it. When he sat with his elbows on the dusty writing table -in the deathlike stillness of the study, calm and significant memories -of the last few days rose one after another in his imagination, -particularly of the battle of Borodinó and of that vague sense of his -own insignificance and insincerity compared with the truth, simplicity, -and strength of the class of men he mentally classed as they. When -Gerásim roused him from his reverie the idea occurred to him of taking -part in the popular defense of Moscow which he knew was projected. And -with that object he had asked Gerásim to get him a peasant’s coat and -a pistol, confiding to him his intentions of remaining in Joseph -Alexéevich’s house and keeping his name secret. Then during the first -day spent in inaction and solitude (he tried several times to fix his -attention on the Masonic manuscripts, but was unable to do so) the idea -that had previously occurred to him of the cabalistic significance of -his name in connection with Bonaparte’s more than once vaguely presented -itself. But the idea that he, L’russe Besuhof, was destined to set a -limit to the power of the Beast was as yet only one of the fancies that -often passed through his mind and left no trace behind. - -When, having bought the coat merely with the object of taking part among -the people in the defense of Moscow, Pierre had met the Rostóvs and -Natásha had said to him: “Are you remaining in Moscow?... How splendid!” -the thought flashed into his mind that it really would be a good thing, -even if Moscow were taken, for him to remain there and do what he was -predestined to do. - -Next day, with the sole idea of not sparing himself and not lagging in -any way behind them, Pierre went to the Three Hills gate. But when he -returned to the house convinced that Moscow would not be defended, he -suddenly felt that what before had seemed to him merely a possibility -had now become absolutely necessary and inevitable. He must remain in -Moscow, concealing his name, and must meet Napoleon and kill him, and -either perish or put an end to the misery of all Europe—which it seemed -to him was solely due to Napoleon. - -Pierre knew all the details of the attempt on Bonaparte’s life in 1809 -by a German student in Vienna, and knew that the student had been shot. -And the risk to which he would expose his life by carrying out his -design excited him still more. - -Two equally strong feelings drew Pierre irresistibly to this purpose. -The first was a feeling of the necessity of sacrifice and suffering in -view of the common calamity, the same feeling that had caused him to go -to Mozháysk on the twenty-fifth and to make his way to the very thick -of the battle and had now caused him to run away from his home and, in -place of the luxury and comfort to which he was accustomed, to sleep -on a hard sofa without undressing and eat the same food as Gerásim. -The other was that vague and quite Russian feeling of contempt for -everything conventional, artificial, and human—for everything the -majority of men regard as the greatest good in the world. Pierre had -first experienced this strange and fascinating feeling at the Slobóda -Palace, when he had suddenly felt that wealth, power, and life—all that -men so painstakingly acquire and guard—if it has any worth has so only -by reason of the joy with which it can all be renounced. - -It was the feeling that induces a volunteer recruit to spend his last -penny on drink, and a drunken man to smash mirrors or glasses for no -apparent reason and knowing that it will cost him all the money he -possesses: the feeling which causes a man to perform actions which from -an ordinary point of view are insane, to test, as it were, his personal -power and strength, affirming the existence of a higher, nonhuman -criterion of life. - -From the very day Pierre had experienced this feeling for the first time -at the Slobóda Palace he had been continuously under its influence, but -only now found full satisfaction for it. Moreover, at this moment Pierre -was supported in his design and prevented from renouncing it by what he -had already done in that direction. If he were now to leave Moscow like -everyone else, his flight from home, the peasant coat, the pistol, and -his announcement to the Rostóvs that he would remain in Moscow would all -become not merely meaningless but contemptible and ridiculous, and to -this Pierre was very sensitive. - -Pierre’s physical condition, as is always the case, corresponded to his -mental state. The unaccustomed coarse food, the vodka he drank during -those days, the absence of wine and cigars, his dirty unchanged linen, -two almost sleepless nights passed on a short sofa without bedding—all -this kept him in a state of excitement bordering on insanity. - -It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The French had already entered -Moscow. Pierre knew this, but instead of acting he only thought about -his undertaking, going over its minutest details in his mind. In his -fancy he did not clearly picture to himself either the striking of the -blow or the death of Napoleon, but with extraordinary vividness and -melancholy enjoyment imagined his own destruction and heroic endurance. - -“Yes, alone, for the sake of all, I must do it or perish!” he thought. -“Yes, I will approach... and then suddenly... with pistol or dagger? -But that is all the same! ‘It is not I but the hand of Providence that -punishes thee,’ I shall say,” thought he, imagining what he would say -when killing Napoleon. “Well then, take me and execute me!” he went on, -speaking to himself and bowing his head with a sad but firm expression. - -While Pierre, standing in the middle of the room, was talking to himself -in this way, the study door opened and on the threshold appeared -the figure of Makár Alexéevich, always so timid before but now quite -transformed. - -His dressing gown was unfastened, his face red and distorted. He -was obviously drunk. On seeing Pierre he grew confused at first, but -noticing embarrassment on Pierre’s face immediately grew bold and, -staggering on his thin legs, advanced into the middle of the room. - -“They’re frightened,” he said confidentially in a hoarse voice. “I say I -won’t surrender, I say... Am I not right, sir?” - -He paused and then suddenly seeing the pistol on the table seized it -with unexpected rapidity and ran out into the corridor. - -Gerásim and the porter, who had followed Makár Alexéevich, stopped him -in the vestibule and tried to take the pistol from him. Pierre, coming -out into the corridor, looked with pity and repulsion at the half-crazy -old man. Makár Alexéevich, frowning with exertion, held on to the pistol -and screamed hoarsely, evidently with some heroic fancy in his head. - -“To arms! Board them! No, you shan’t get it,” he yelled. - -“That will do, please, that will do. Have the goodness—please, sir, to -let go! Please, sir...” pleaded Gerásim, trying carefully to steer Makár -Alexéevich by the elbows back to the door. - -“Who are you? Bonaparte!...” shouted Makár Alexéevich. - -“That’s not right, sir. Come to your room, please, and rest. Allow me to -have the pistol.” - -“Be off, thou base slave! Touch me not! See this?” shouted Makár -Alexéevich, brandishing the pistol. “Board them!” - -“Catch hold!” whispered Gerásim to the porter. - -They seized Makár Alexéevich by the arms and dragged him to the door. - -The vestibule was filled with the discordant sounds of a struggle and of -a tipsy, hoarse voice. - -Suddenly a fresh sound, a piercing feminine scream, reverberated from -the porch and the cook came running into the vestibule. - -“It’s them! Gracious heavens! O Lord, four of them, horsemen!” she -cried. - -Gerásim and the porter let Makár Alexéevich go, and in the now silent -corridor the sound of several hands knocking at the front door could be -heard. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -Pierre, having decided that until he had carried out his design he would -disclose neither his identity nor his knowledge of French, stood at the -half-open door of the corridor, intending to conceal himself as soon -as the French entered. But the French entered and still Pierre did not -retire—an irresistible curiosity kept him there. - -There were two of them. One was an officer—a tall, soldierly, handsome -man—the other evidently a private or an orderly, sunburned, short, and -thin, with sunken cheeks and a dull expression. The officer walked in -front, leaning on a stick and slightly limping. When he had advanced -a few steps he stopped, having apparently decided that these were good -quarters, turned round to the soldiers standing at the entrance, and in -a loud voice of command ordered them to put up the horses. Having done -that, the officer, lifting his elbow with a smart gesture, stroked his -mustache and lightly touched his hat. - -“Bonjour, la compagnie!” * said he gaily, smiling and looking about him. - - * “Good day, everybody!” - - -No one gave any reply. - -“Vous êtes le bourgeois?” * the officer asked Gerásim. - - * “Are you the master here?” - - -Gerásim gazed at the officer with an alarmed and inquiring look. - -“Quartier, quartier, logement!” said the officer, looking down at the -little man with a condescending and good-natured smile. “Les français -sont de bons enfants. Que diable! Voyons! Ne nous fâchons pas, mon -vieux!” * added he, clapping the scared and silent Gerásim on the -shoulder. “Well, does no one speak French in this establishment?” he -asked again in French, looking around and meeting Pierre’s eyes. Pierre -moved away from the door. - - * “Quarters, quarters, lodgings! The French are good - fellows. What the devil! There, don’t let us be cross, old - fellow!” - - -Again the officer turned to Gerásim and asked him to show him the rooms -in the house. - -“Master, not here—don’t understand... me, you...” said Gerásim, trying -to render his words more comprehensible by contorting them. - -Still smiling, the French officer spread out his hands before Gerásim’s -nose, intimating that he did not understand him either, and moved, -limping, to the door at which Pierre was standing. Pierre wished to go -away and conceal himself, but at that moment he saw Makár Alexéevich -appearing at the open kitchen door with the pistol in his hand. With -a madman’s cunning, Makár Alexéevich eyed the Frenchman, raised his -pistol, and took aim. - -“Board them!” yelled the tipsy man, trying to press the trigger. Hearing -the yell the officer turned round, and at the same moment Pierre threw -himself on the drunkard. Just when Pierre snatched at and struck up the -pistol Makár Alexéevich at last got his fingers on the trigger, there -was a deafening report, and all were enveloped in a cloud of smoke. The -Frenchman turned pale and rushed to the door. - -Forgetting his intention of concealing his knowledge of French, Pierre, -snatching away the pistol and throwing it down, ran up to the officer -and addressed him in French. - -“You are not wounded?” he asked. - -“I think not,” answered the Frenchman, feeling himself over. “But I have -had a lucky escape this time,” he added, pointing to the damaged plaster -of the wall. “Who is that man?” said he, looking sternly at Pierre. - -“Oh, I am really in despair at what has occurred,” said Pierre rapidly, -quite forgetting the part he had intended to play. “He is an unfortunate -madman who did not know what he was doing.” - -The officer went up to Makár Alexéevich and took him by the collar. - -Makár Alexéevich was standing with parted lips, swaying, as if about to -fall asleep, as he leaned against the wall. - -“Brigand! You shall pay for this,” said the Frenchman, letting go -of him. “We French are merciful after victory, but we do not pardon -traitors,” he added, with a look of gloomy dignity and a fine energetic -gesture. - -Pierre continued, in French, to persuade the officer not to hold that -drunken imbecile to account. The Frenchman listened in silence with the -same gloomy expression, but suddenly turned to Pierre with a smile. For -a few seconds he looked at him in silence. His handsome face assumed a -melodramatically gentle expression and he held out his hand. - -“You have saved my life. You are French,” said he. - -For a Frenchman that deduction was indubitable. Only a Frenchman could -perform a great deed, and to save his life—the life of M. Ramballe, -captain of the 13th Light Regiment—was undoubtedly a very great deed. - -But however indubitable that conclusion and the officer’s conviction -based upon it, Pierre felt it necessary to disillusion him. - -“I am Russian,” he said quickly. - -“Tut, tut, tut! Tell that to others,” said the officer, waving his -finger before his nose and smiling. “You shall tell me all about that -presently. I am delighted to meet a compatriot. Well, and what are we -to do with this man?” he added, addressing himself to Pierre as to a -brother. - -Even if Pierre were not a Frenchman, having once received that loftiest -of human appellations he could not renounce it, said the officer’s look -and tone. In reply to his last question Pierre again explained who Makár -Alexéevich was and how just before their arrival that drunken imbecile -had seized the loaded pistol which they had not had time to recover from -him, and begged the officer to let the deed go unpunished. - -The Frenchman expanded his chest and made a majestic gesture with his -arm. - -“You have saved my life! You are French. You ask his pardon? I grant it -you. Lead that man away!” said he quickly and energetically, and taking -the arm of Pierre whom he had promoted to be a Frenchman for saving his -life, he went with him into the room. - -The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, came into the passage asking -what had happened, and expressed their readiness to punish the culprits, -but the officer sternly checked them. - -“You will be called in when you are wanted,” he said. - -The soldiers went out again, and the orderly, who had meanwhile had time -to visit the kitchen, came up to his officer. - -“Captain, there is soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen,” said he. -“Shall I serve them up?” - -“Yes, and some wine,” answered the captain. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -When the French officer went into the room with Pierre the latter again -thought it his duty to assure him that he was not French and wished to -go away, but the officer would not hear of it. He was so very polite, -amiable, good-natured, and genuinely grateful to Pierre for saving his -life that Pierre had not the heart to refuse, and sat down with him in -the parlor—the first room they entered. To Pierre’s assurances that he -was not a Frenchman, the captain, evidently not understanding how anyone -could decline so flattering an appellation, shrugged his shoulders and -said that if Pierre absolutely insisted on passing for a Russian let it -be so, but for all that he would be forever bound to Pierre by gratitude -for saving his life. - -Had this man been endowed with the slightest capacity for perceiving the -feelings of others, and had he at all understood what Pierre’s feelings -were, the latter would probably have left him, but the man’s animated -obtuseness to everything other than himself disarmed Pierre. - -“A Frenchman or a Russian prince incognito,” said the officer, looking -at Pierre’s fine though dirty linen and at the ring on his finger. -“I owe my life to you and offer you my friendship. A Frenchman never -forgets either an insult or a service. I offer you my friendship. That -is all I can say.” - -There was so much good nature and nobility (in the French sense of the -word) in the officer’s voice, in the expression of his face and in -his gestures, that Pierre, unconsciously smiling in response to the -Frenchman’s smile, pressed the hand held out to him. - -“Captain Ramballe, of the 13th Light Regiment, Chevalier of the Legion -of Honor for the affair on the seventh of September,” he introduced -himself, a self-satisfied irrepressible smile puckering his lips under -his mustache. “Will you now be so good as to tell me with whom I have -the honor of conversing so pleasantly, instead of being in the ambulance -with that maniac’s bullet in my body?” - -Pierre replied that he could not tell him his name and, blushing, -began to try to invent a name and to say something about his reason for -concealing it, but the Frenchman hastily interrupted him. - -“Oh, please!” said he. “I understand your reasons. You are an officer... -a superior officer perhaps. You have borne arms against us. That’s not -my business. I owe you my life. That is enough for me. I am quite at -your service. You belong to the gentry?” he concluded with a shade of -inquiry in his tone. Pierre bent his head. “Your baptismal name, if you -please. That is all I ask. Monsieur Pierre, you say.... That’s all I -want to know.” - -When the mutton and an omelet had been served and a samovar and vodka -brought, with some wine which the French had taken from a Russian cellar -and brought with them, Ramballe invited Pierre to share his dinner, and -himself began to eat greedily and quickly like a healthy and hungry man, -munching his food rapidly with his strong teeth, continually smacking -his lips, and repeating—“Excellent! Delicious!” His face grew red and -was covered with perspiration. Pierre was hungry and shared the dinner -with pleasure. Morel, the orderly, brought some hot water in a saucepan -and placed a bottle of claret in it. He also brought a bottle of kvass, -taken from the kitchen for them to try. That beverage was already known -to the French and had been given a special name. They called it limonade -de cochon (pig’s lemonade), and Morel spoke well of the limonade de -cochon he had found in the kitchen. But as the captain had the wine they -had taken while passing through Moscow, he left the kvass to Morel and -applied himself to the bottle of Bordeaux. He wrapped the bottle up -to its neck in a table napkin and poured out wine for himself and for -Pierre. The satisfaction of his hunger and the wine rendered the captain -still more lively and he chatted incessantly all through dinner. - -“Yes, my dear Monsieur Pierre, I owe you a fine votive candle for -saving me from that maniac.... You see, I have bullets enough in my -body already. Here is one I got at Wagram” (he touched his side) “and a -second at Smolénsk”—he showed a scar on his cheek—“and this leg which as -you see does not want to march, I got that on the seventh at the great -battle of la Moskowa. Sacré Dieu! It was splendid! That deluge of fire -was worth seeing. It was a tough job you set us there, my word! You may -be proud of it! And on my honor, in spite of the cough I caught there, I -should be ready to begin again. I pity those who did not see it.” - -“I was there,” said Pierre. - -“Bah, really? So much the better! You are certainly brave foes. The -great redoubt held out well, by my pipe!” continued the Frenchman. “And -you made us pay dear for it. I was at it three times—sure as I sit here. -Three times we reached the guns and three times we were thrown back -like cardboard figures. Oh, it was beautiful, Monsieur Pierre! Your -grenadiers were splendid, by heaven! I saw them close up their ranks six -times in succession and march as if on parade. Fine fellows! Our King of -Naples, who knows what’s what, cried ‘Bravo!’ Ha, ha! So you are one of -us soldiers!” he added, smiling, after a momentary pause. “So much -the better, so much the better, Monsieur Pierre! Terrible in battle... -gallant... with the fair” (he winked and smiled), “that’s what the -French are, Monsieur Pierre, aren’t they?” - -The captain was so naïvely and good-humoredly gay, so real, and so -pleased with himself that Pierre almost winked back as he looked merrily -at him. Probably the word “gallant” turned the captain’s thoughts to the -state of Moscow. - -“Apropos, tell me please, is it true that the women have all left -Moscow? What a queer idea! What had they to be afraid of?” - -“Would not the French ladies leave Paris if the Russians entered it?” -asked Pierre. - -“Ha, ha, ha!” The Frenchman emitted a merry, sanguine chuckle, patting -Pierre on the shoulder. “What a thing to say!” he exclaimed. “Paris?... -But Paris, Paris...” - -“Paris—the capital of the world,” Pierre finished his remark for him. - -The captain looked at Pierre. He had a habit of stopping short in the -middle of his talk and gazing intently with his laughing, kindly eyes. - -“Well, if you hadn’t told me you were Russian, I should have wagered -that you were Parisian! You have that... I don’t know what, that...” and -having uttered this compliment, he again gazed at him in silence. - -“I have been in Paris. I spent years there,” said Pierre. - -“Oh yes, one sees that plainly. Paris!... A man who doesn’t know Paris -is a savage. You can tell a Parisian two leagues off. Paris is Talma, la -Duchénois, Potier, the Sorbonne, the boulevards,” and noticing that -his conclusion was weaker than what had gone before, he added quickly: -“There is only one Paris in the world. You have been to Paris and have -remained Russian. Well, I don’t esteem you the less for it.” - -Under the influence of the wine he had drunk, and after the days he had -spent alone with his depressing thoughts, Pierre involuntarily enjoyed -talking with this cheerful and good-natured man. - -“To return to your ladies—I hear they are lovely. What a wretched idea -to go and bury themselves in the steppes when the French army is in -Moscow. What a chance those girls have missed! Your peasants, now—that’s -another thing; but you civilized people, you ought to know us better -than that. We took Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome, Warsaw, all -the world’s capitals.... We are feared, but we are loved. We are nice to -know. And then the Emperor...” he began, but Pierre interrupted him. - -“The Emperor,” Pierre repeated, and his face suddenly became sad and -embarrassed, “is the Emperor...?” - -“The Emperor? He is generosity, mercy, justice, order, genius—that’s -what the Emperor is! It is I, Ramballe, who tell you so.... I assure you -I was his enemy eight years ago. My father was an emigrant count.... But -that man has vanquished me. He has taken hold of me. I could not resist -the sight of the grandeur and glory with which he has covered France. -When I understood what he wanted—when I saw that he was preparing a bed -of laurels for us, you know, I said to myself: ‘That is a monarch,’ and -I devoted myself to him! So there! Oh yes, mon cher, he is the greatest -man of the ages past or future.” - -“Is he in Moscow?” Pierre stammered with a guilty look. - -The Frenchman looked at his guilty face and smiled. - -“No, he will make his entry tomorrow,” he replied, and continued his -talk. - -Their conversation was interrupted by the cries of several voices at -the gate and by Morel, who came to say that some Württemberg hussars had -come and wanted to put up their horses in the yard where the captain’s -horses were. This difficulty had arisen chiefly because the hussars did -not understand what was said to them in French. - -The captain had their senior sergeant called in, and in a stern voice -asked him to what regiment he belonged, who was his commanding officer, -and by what right he allowed himself to claim quarters that were already -occupied. The German who knew little French, answered the two first -questions by giving the names of his regiment and of his commanding -officer, but in reply to the third question which he did not understand -said, introducing broken French into his own German, that he was the -quartermaster of the regiment and his commander had ordered him to -occupy all the houses one after another. Pierre, who knew German, -translated what the German said to the captain and gave the captain’s -reply to the Württemberg hussar in German. When he had understood what -was said to him, the German submitted and took his men elsewhere. The -captain went out into the porch and gave some orders in a loud voice. - -When he returned to the room Pierre was sitting in the same place as -before, with his head in his hands. His face expressed suffering. He -really was suffering at that moment. When the captain went out and he -was left alone, suddenly he came to himself and realized the position -he was in. It was not that Moscow had been taken or that the happy -conquerors were masters in it and were patronizing him. Painful as -that was it was not that which tormented Pierre at the moment. He was -tormented by the consciousness of his own weakness. The few glasses of -wine he had drunk and the conversation with this good-natured man had -destroyed the mood of concentrated gloom in which he had spent the last -few days and which was essential for the execution of his design. The -pistol, dagger, and peasant coat were ready. Napoleon was to enter the -town next day. Pierre still considered that it would be a useful and -worthy action to slay the evildoer, but now he felt that he would not -do it. He did not know why, but he felt a foreboding that he would not -carry out his intention. He struggled against the confession of his -weakness but dimly felt that he could not overcome it and that his -former gloomy frame of mind, concerning vengeance, killing, and -self-sacrifice, had been dispersed like dust by contact with the first -man he met. - -The captain returned to the room, limping slightly and whistling a tune. - -The Frenchman’s chatter which had previously amused Pierre now repelled -him. The tune he was whistling, his gait, and the gesture with which -he twirled his mustache, all now seemed offensive. “I will go away -immediately. I won’t say another word to him,” thought Pierre. He -thought this, but still sat in the same place. A strange feeling of -weakness tied him to the spot; he wished to get up and go away, but -could not do so. - -The captain, on the other hand, seemed very cheerful. He paced up and -down the room twice. His eyes shone and his mustache twitched as if he -were smiling to himself at some amusing thought. - -“The colonel of those Württembergers is delightful,” he suddenly said. -“He’s a German, but a nice fellow all the same.... But he’s a German.” -He sat down facing Pierre. “By the way, you know German, then?” - -Pierre looked at him in silence. - -“What is the German for ‘shelter’?” - -“Shelter?” Pierre repeated. “The German for shelter is Unterkunft.” - -“How do you say it?” the captain asked quickly and doubtfully. - -“Unterkunft,” Pierre repeated. - -“Onterkoff,” said the captain and looked at Pierre for some seconds with -laughing eyes. “These Germans are first-rate fools, don’t you think so, -Monsieur Pierre?” he concluded. - -“Well, let’s have another bottle of this Moscow Bordeaux, shall we? -Morel will warm us up another little bottle. Morel!” he called out -gaily. - -Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine. The captain looked at Pierre -by the candlelight and was evidently struck by the troubled expression -on his companion’s face. Ramballe, with genuine distress and sympathy in -his face, went up to Pierre and bent over him. - -“There now, we’re sad,” said he, touching Pierre’s hand. “Have I -upset you? No, really, have you anything against me?” he asked Pierre. -“Perhaps it’s the state of affairs?” - -Pierre did not answer, but looked cordially into the Frenchman’s eyes -whose expression of sympathy was pleasing to him. - -“Honestly, without speaking of what I owe you, I feel friendship for -you. Can I do anything for you? Dispose of me. It is for life and death. -I say it with my hand on my heart!” said he, striking his chest. - -“Thank you,” said Pierre. - -The captain gazed intently at him as he had done when he learned that -“shelter” was Unterkunft in German, and his face suddenly brightened. - -“Well, in that case, I drink to our friendship!” he cried gaily, filling -two glasses with wine. - -Pierre took one of the glasses and emptied it. Ramballe emptied his too, -again pressed Pierre’s hand, and leaned his elbows on the table in a -pensive attitude. - -“Yes, my dear friend,” he began, “such is fortune’s caprice. Who would -have said that I should be a soldier and a captain of dragoons in the -service of Bonaparte, as we used to call him? Yet here I am in Moscow -with him. I must tell you, mon cher,” he continued in the sad and -measured tones of a man who intends to tell a long story, “that our name -is one of the most ancient in France.” - -And with a Frenchman’s easy and naïve frankness the captain told Pierre -the story of his ancestors, his childhood, youth, and manhood, and all -about his relations and his financial and family affairs, “ma pauvre -mère” playing of course an important part in the story. - -“But all that is only life’s setting, the real thing is love—love! Am I -not right, Monsieur Pierre?” said he, growing animated. “Another glass?” - -Pierre again emptied his glass and poured himself out a third. - -“Oh, women, women!” and the captain, looking with glistening eyes at -Pierre, began talking of love and of his love affairs. - -There were very many of these, as one could easily believe, looking -at the officer’s handsome, self-satisfied face, and noting the eager -enthusiasm with which he spoke of women. Though all Ramballe’s love -stories had the sensual character which Frenchmen regard as the special -charm and poetry of love, yet he told his story with such sincere -conviction that he alone had experienced and known all the charm of love -and he described women so alluringly that Pierre listened to him with -curiosity. - -It was plain that l’amour which the Frenchman was so fond of was not -that low and simple kind that Pierre had once felt for his wife, nor -was it the romantic love stimulated by himself that he experienced for -Natásha. (Ramballe despised both these kinds of love equally: the one -he considered the “love of clodhoppers” and the other the “love -of simpletons.”) L’amour which the Frenchman worshiped consisted -principally in the unnaturalness of his relation to the woman and in a -combination of incongruities giving the chief charm to the feeling. - -Thus the captain touchingly recounted the story of his love for a -fascinating marquise of thirty-five and at the same time for a charming, -innocent child of seventeen, daughter of the bewitching marquise. The -conflict of magnanimity between the mother and the daughter, ending in -the mother’s sacrificing herself and offering her daughter in marriage -to her lover, even now agitated the captain, though it was the memory of -a distant past. Then he recounted an episode in which the husband played -the part of the lover, and he—the lover—assumed the role of the husband, -as well as several droll incidents from his recollections of Germany, -where “shelter” is called Unterkunft and where the husbands eat -sauerkraut and the young girls are “too blonde.” - -Finally, the latest episode in Poland still fresh in the captain’s -memory, and which he narrated with rapid gestures and glowing face, was -of how he had saved the life of a Pole (in general, the saving of -life continually occurred in the captain’s stories) and the Pole had -entrusted to him his enchanting wife (parisienne de cœur) while himself -entering the French service. The captain was happy, the enchanting -Polish lady wished to elope with him, but, prompted by magnanimity, the -captain restored the wife to the husband, saying as he did so: “I have -saved your life, and I save your honor!” Having repeated these words the -captain wiped his eyes and gave himself a shake, as if driving away the -weakness which assailed him at this touching recollection. - -Listening to the captain’s tales, Pierre—as often happens late in the -evening and under the influence of wine—followed all that was told him, -understood it all, and at the same time followed a train of personal -memories which, he knew not why, suddenly arose in his mind. While -listening to these love stories his own love for Natásha unexpectedly -rose to his mind, and going over the pictures of that love in his -imagination he mentally compared them with Ramballe’s tales. Listening -to the story of the struggle between love and duty, Pierre saw before -his eyes every minutest detail of his last meeting with the object of -his love at the Súkharev water tower. At the time of that meeting it had -not produced an effect upon him—he had not even once recalled it. But -now it seemed to him that that meeting had had in it something very -important and poetic. - -“Peter Kirílovich, come here! We have recognized you,” he now seemed -to hear the words she had uttered and to see before him her eyes, her -smile, her traveling hood, and a stray lock of her hair... and there -seemed to him something pathetic and touching in all this. - -Having finished his tale about the enchanting Polish lady, the captain -asked Pierre if he had ever experienced a similar impulse to sacrifice -himself for love and a feeling of envy of the legitimate husband. - -Challenged by this question Pierre raised his head and felt a need to -express the thoughts that filled his mind. He began to explain that he -understood love for a woman somewhat differently. He said that in all -his life he had loved and still loved only one woman, and that she could -never be his. - -“Tiens!” said the captain. - -Pierre then explained that he had loved this woman from his earliest -years, but that he had not dared to think of her because she was too -young, and because he had been an illegitimate son without a name. -Afterwards when he had received a name and wealth he dared not think of -her because he loved her too well, placing her far above everything in -the world, and especially therefore above himself. - -When he had reached this point, Pierre asked the captain whether he -understood that. - -The captain made a gesture signifying that even if he did not understand -it he begged Pierre to continue. - -“Platónic love, clouds...” he muttered. - -Whether it was the wine he had drunk, or an impulse of frankness, or the -thought that this man did not, and never would, know any of those who -played a part in his story, or whether it was all these things together, -something loosened Pierre’s tongue. Speaking thickly and with a faraway -look in his shining eyes, he told the whole story of his life: his -marriage, Natásha’s love for his best friend, her betrayal of him, and -all his own simple relations with her. Urged on by Ramballe’s questions -he also told what he had at first concealed—his own position and even -his name. - -More than anything else in Pierre’s story the captain was impressed by -the fact that Pierre was very rich, had two mansions in Moscow, and that -he had abandoned everything and not left the city, but remained there -concealing his name and station. - -When it was late at night they went out together into the street. The -night was warm and light. To the left of the house on the Pokróvka a -fire glowed—the first of those that were beginning in Moscow. To the -right and high up in the sky was the sickle of the waning moon and -opposite to it hung that bright comet which was connected in Pierre’s -heart with his love. At the gate stood Gerásim, the cook, and two -Frenchmen. Their laughter and their mutually incomprehensible remarks in -two languages could be heard. They were looking at the glow seen in the -town. - -There was nothing terrible in the one small, distant fire in the immense -city. - -Gazing at the high starry sky, at the moon, at the comet, and at the -glow from the fire, Pierre experienced a joyful emotion. “There now, -how good it is, what more does one need?” thought he. And suddenly -remembering his intention he grew dizzy and felt so faint that he leaned -against the fence to save himself from falling. - -Without taking leave of his new friend, Pierre left the gate with -unsteady steps and returning to his room lay down on the sofa and -immediately fell asleep. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -The glow of the first fire that began on the second of September was -watched from the various roads by the fugitive Muscovites and by the -retreating troops, with many different feelings. - -The Rostóv party spent the night at Mytíshchi, fourteen miles from -Moscow. They had started so late on the first of September, the road -had been so blocked by vehicles and troops, so many things had been -forgotten for which servants were sent back, that they had decided to -spend that night at a place three miles out of Moscow. The next morning -they woke late and were again delayed so often that they only got as far -as Great Mytíshchi. At ten o’clock that evening the Rostóv family and -the wounded traveling with them were all distributed in the yards and -huts of that large village. The Rostóvs’ servants and coachmen and the -orderlies of the wounded officers, after attending to their masters, had -supper, fed the horses, and came out into the porches. - -In a neighboring hut lay Raévski’s adjutant with a fractured wrist. The -awful pain he suffered made him moan incessantly and piteously, and his -moaning sounded terrible in the darkness of the autumn night. He had -spent the first night in the same yard as the Rostóvs. The countess said -she had been unable to close her eyes on account of his moaning, and at -Mytíshchi she moved into a worse hut simply to be farther away from the -wounded man. - -In the darkness of the night one of the servants noticed, above the high -body of a coach standing before the porch, the small glow of another -fire. One glow had long been visible and everybody knew that it was -Little Mytíshchi burning—set on fire by Mamónov’s Cossacks. - -“But look here, brothers, there’s another fire!” remarked an orderly. - -All turned their attention to the glow. - -“But they told us Little Mytíshchi had been set on fire by Mamónov’s -Cossacks.” - -“But that’s not Mytíshchi, it’s farther away.” - -“Look, it must be in Moscow!” - -Two of the gazers went round to the other side of the coach and sat down -on its steps. - -“It’s more to the left, why, Little Mytíshchi is over there, and this is -right on the other side.” - -Several men joined the first two. - -“See how it’s flaring,” said one. “That’s a fire in Moscow: either in -the Sushchévski or the Rogózhski quarter.” - -No one replied to this remark and for some time they all gazed silently -at the spreading flames of the second fire in the distance. - -Old Daniel Teréntich, the count’s valet (as he was called), came up to -the group and shouted at Míshka. - -“What are you staring at, you good-for-nothing?... The count will be -calling and there’s nobody there; go and gather the clothes together.” - -“I only ran out to get some water,” said Míshka. - -“But what do you think, Daniel Teréntich? Doesn’t it look as if that -glow were in Moscow?” remarked one of the footmen. - -Daniel Teréntich made no reply, and again for a long time they were all -silent. The glow spread, rising and falling, farther and farther still. - -“God have mercy.... It’s windy and dry...” said another voice. - -“Just look! See what it’s doing now. O Lord! You can even see the crows -flying. Lord have mercy on us sinners!” - -“They’ll put it out, no fear!” - -“Who’s to put it out?” Daniel Teréntich, who had hitherto been silent, -was heard to say. His voice was calm and deliberate. “Moscow it is, -brothers,” said he. “Mother Moscow, the white...” his voice faltered, -and he gave way to an old man’s sob. - -And it was as if they had all only waited for this to realize the -significance for them of the glow they were watching. Sighs were heard, -words of prayer, and the sobbing of the count’s old valet. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -The valet, returning to the cottage, informed the count that Moscow was -burning. The count donned his dressing gown and went out to look. Sónya -and Madame Schoss, who had not yet undressed, went out with him. Only -Natásha and the countess remained in the room. Pétya was no longer -with the family, he had gone on with his regiment which was making for -Tróitsa. - -The countess, on hearing that Moscow was on fire, began to cry. Natásha, -pale, with a fixed look, was sitting on the bench under the icons just -where she had sat down on arriving and paid no attention to her father’s -words. She was listening to the ceaseless moaning of the adjutant, three -houses off. - -“Oh, how terrible,” said Sónya returning from the yard chilled and -frightened. “I believe the whole of Moscow will burn, there’s an awful -glow! Natásha, do look! You can see it from the window,” she said to her -cousin, evidently wishing to distract her mind. - -But Natásha looked at her as if not understanding what was said to her -and again fixed her eyes on the corner of the stove. She had been in -this condition of stupor since the morning, when Sónya, to the surprise -and annoyance of the countess, had for some unaccountable reason found -it necessary to tell Natásha of Prince Andrew’s wound and of his being -with their party. The countess had seldom been so angry with anyone as -she was with Sónya. Sónya had cried and begged to be forgiven and now, -as if trying to atone for her fault, paid unceasing attention to her -cousin. - -“Look, Natásha, how dreadfully it is burning!” said she. - -“What’s burning?” asked Natásha. “Oh, yes, Moscow.” - -And as if in order not to offend Sónya and to get rid of her, she turned -her face to the window, looked out in such a way that it was evident -that she could not see anything, and again settled down in her former -attitude. - -“But you didn’t see it!” - -“Yes, really I did,” Natásha replied in a voice that pleaded to be left -in peace. - -Both the countess and Sónya understood that, naturally, neither Moscow -nor the burning of Moscow nor anything else could seem of importance to -Natásha. - -The count returned and lay down behind the partition. The countess went -up to her daughter and touched her head with the back of her hand as she -was wont to do when Natásha was ill, then touched her forehead with her -lips as if to feel whether she was feverish, and finally kissed her. - -“You are cold. You are trembling all over. You’d better lie down,” said -the countess. - -“Lie down? All right, I will. I’ll lie down at once,” said Natásha. - -When Natásha had been told that morning that Prince Andrew was seriously -wounded and was traveling with their party, she had at first asked many -questions: Where was he going? How was he wounded? Was it serious? And -could she see him? But after she had been told that she could not see -him, that he was seriously wounded but that his life was not in danger, -she ceased to ask questions or to speak at all, evidently disbelieving -what they told her, and convinced that say what she might she would -still be told the same. All the way she had sat motionless in a corner -of the coach with wide open eyes, and the expression in them which the -countess knew so well and feared so much, and now she sat in the same -way on the bench where she had seated herself on arriving. She was -planning something and either deciding or had already decided something -in her mind. The countess knew this, but what it might be she did not -know, and this alarmed and tormented her. - -“Natásha, undress, darling; lie down on my bed.” - -A bed had been made on a bedstead for the countess only. Madame Schoss -and the two girls were to sleep on some hay on the floor. - -“No, Mamma, I will lie down here on the floor,” Natásha replied -irritably and she went to the window and opened it. Through the open -window the moans of the adjutant could be heard more distinctly. She put -her head out into the damp night air, and the countess saw her slim neck -shaking with sobs and throbbing against the window frame. Natásha knew -it was not Prince Andrew who was moaning. She knew Prince Andrew was in -the same yard as themselves and in a part of the hut across the passage; -but this dreadful incessant moaning made her sob. The countess exchanged -a look with Sónya. - -“Lie down, darling; lie down, my pet,” said the countess, softly -touching Natásha’s shoulders. “Come, lie down.” - -“Oh, yes... I’ll lie down at once,” said Natásha, and began hurriedly -undressing, tugging at the tapes of her petticoat. - -When she had thrown off her dress and put on a dressing jacket, she sat -down with her foot under her on the bed that had been made up on the -floor, jerked her thin and rather short plait of hair to the front, -and began replaiting it. Her long, thin, practiced fingers rapidly -unplaited, replaited, and tied up her plait. Her head moved from side -to side from habit, but her eyes, feverishly wide, looked fixedly before -her. When her toilet for the night was finished she sank gently onto the -sheet spread over the hay on the side nearest the door. - -“Natásha, you’d better lie in the middle,” said Sónya. - -“I’ll stay here,” muttered Natásha. “Do lie down,” she added crossly, -and buried her face in the pillow. - -The countess, Madame Schoss, and Sónya undressed hastily and lay down. -The small lamp in front of the icons was the only light left in -the room. But in the yard there was a light from the fire at Little -Mytíshchi a mile and a half away, and through the night came the noise -of people shouting at a tavern Mamónov’s Cossacks had set up across the -street, and the adjutant’s unceasing moans could still be heard. - -For a long time Natásha listened attentively to the sounds that reached -her from inside and outside the room and did not move. First she heard -her mother praying and sighing and the creaking of her bed under -her, then Madame Schoss’ familiar whistling snore and Sónya’s gentle -breathing. Then the countess called to Natásha. Natásha did not answer. - -“I think she’s asleep, Mamma,” said Sónya softly. - -After a short silence the countess spoke again but this time no one -replied. - -Soon after that Natásha heard her mother’s even breathing. Natásha did -not move, though her little bare foot, thrust out from under the quilt, -was growing cold on the bare floor. - -As if to celebrate a victory over everybody, a cricket chirped in a -crack in the wall. A cock crowed far off and another replied near -by. The shouting in the tavern had died down; only the moaning of the -adjutant was heard. Natásha sat up. - -“Sónya, are you asleep? Mamma?” she whispered. - -No one replied. Natásha rose slowly and carefully, crossed herself, and -stepped cautiously on the cold and dirty floor with her slim, supple, -bare feet. The boards of the floor creaked. Stepping cautiously from one -foot to the other she ran like a kitten the few steps to the door and -grasped the cold door handle. - -It seemed to her that something heavy was beating rhythmically against -all the walls of the room: it was her own heart, sinking with alarm and -terror and overflowing with love. - -She opened the door and stepped across the threshold and onto the cold, -damp earthen floor of the passage. The cold she felt refreshed her. With -her bare feet she touched a sleeping man, stepped over him, and opened -the door into the part of the hut where Prince Andrew lay. It was dark -in there. In the farthest corner, on a bench beside a bed on which -something was lying, stood a tallow candle with a long, thick, and -smoldering wick. - -From the moment she had been told that morning of Prince Andrew’s wound -and his presence there, Natásha had resolved to see him. She did not -know why she had to, she knew the meeting would be painful, but felt the -more convinced that it was necessary. - -All day she had lived only in hope of seeing him that night. But now -that the moment had come she was filled with dread of what she might -see. How was he maimed? What was left of him? Was he like that incessant -moaning of the adjutant’s? Yes, he was altogether like that. In her -imagination he was that terrible moaning personified. When she saw an -indistinct shape in the corner, and mistook his knees raised under the -quilt for his shoulders, she imagined a horrible body there, and stood -still in terror. But an irresistible impulse drew her forward. She -cautiously took one step and then another, and found herself in the -middle of a small room containing baggage. Another man—Timókhin—was -lying in a corner on the benches beneath the icons, and two others—the -doctor and a valet—lay on the floor. - -The valet sat up and whispered something. Timókhin, kept awake by the -pain in his wounded leg, gazed with wide-open eyes at this strange -apparition of a girl in a white chemise, dressing jacket, and nightcap. -The valet’s sleepy, frightened exclamation, “What do you want? What’s -the matter?” made Natásha approach more swiftly to what was lying in the -corner. Horribly unlike a man as that body looked, she must see him. -She passed the valet, the snuff fell from the candle wick, and she saw -Prince Andrew clearly with his arms outside the quilt, and such as she -had always seen him. - -He was the same as ever, but the feverish color of his face, his -glittering eyes rapturously turned toward her, and especially his neck, -delicate as a child’s, revealed by the turn-down collar of his shirt, -gave him a peculiarly innocent, childlike look, such as she had never -seen on him before. She went up to him and with a swift, flexible, -youthful movement dropped on her knees. - -He smiled and held out his hand to her. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -Seven days had passed since Prince Andrew found himself in the -ambulance station on the field of Borodinó. His feverish state and the -inflammation of his bowels, which were injured, were in the doctor’s -opinion sure to carry him off. But on the seventh day he ate with -pleasure a piece of bread with some tea, and the doctor noticed that his -temperature was lower. He had regained consciousness that morning. -The first night after they left Moscow had been fairly warm and he had -remained in the calèche, but at Mytíshchi the wounded man himself asked -to be taken out and given some tea. The pain caused by his removal into -the hut had made him groan aloud and again lose consciousness. When he -had been placed on his camp bed he lay for a long time motionless with -closed eyes. Then he opened them and whispered softly: “And the tea?” -His remembering such a small detail of everyday life astonished -the doctor. He felt Prince Andrew’s pulse, and to his surprise and -dissatisfaction found it had improved. He was dissatisfied because he -knew by experience that if his patient did not die now, he would do so -a little later with greater suffering. Timókhin, the red-nosed major of -Prince Andrew’s regiment, had joined him in Moscow and was being -taken along with him, having been wounded in the leg at the battle of -Borodinó. They were accompanied by a doctor, Prince Andrew’s valet, his -coachman, and two orderlies. - -They gave Prince Andrew some tea. He drank it eagerly, looking with -feverish eyes at the door in front of him as if trying to understand and -remember something. - -“I don’t want any more. Is Timókhin here?” he asked. - -Timókhin crept along the bench to him. - -“I am here, your excellency.” - -“How’s your wound?” - -“Mine, sir? All right. But how about you?” - -Prince Andrew again pondered as if trying to remember something. - -“Couldn’t one get a book?” he asked. - -“What book?” - -“The Gospels. I haven’t one.” - -The doctor promised to procure it for him and began to ask how he -was feeling. Prince Andrew answered all his questions reluctantly but -reasonably, and then said he wanted a bolster placed under him as he was -uncomfortable and in great pain. The doctor and valet lifted the cloak -with which he was covered and, making wry faces at the noisome smell of -mortifying flesh that came from the wound, began examining that dreadful -place. The doctor was very much displeased about something and made a -change in the dressings, turning the wounded man over so that he groaned -again and grew unconscious and delirious from the agony. He kept asking -them to get him the book and put it under him. - -“What trouble would it be to you?” he said. “I have not got one. Please -get it for me and put it under for a moment,” he pleaded in a piteous -voice. - -The doctor went into the passage to wash his hands. - -“You fellows have no conscience,” said he to the valet who was pouring -water over his hands. “For just one moment I didn’t look after you... -It’s such pain, you know, that I wonder how he can bear it.” - -“By the Lord Jesus Christ, I thought we had put something under him!” -said the valet. - -The first time Prince Andrew understood where he was and what was the -matter with him and remembered being wounded and how was when he asked -to be carried into the hut after his calèche had stopped at Mytíshchi. -After growing confused from pain while being carried into the hut he -again regained consciousness, and while drinking tea once more recalled -all that had happened to him, and above all vividly remembered the -moment at the ambulance station when, at the sight of the sufferings of -a man he disliked, those new thoughts had come to him which promised him -happiness. And those thoughts, though now vague and indefinite, again -possessed his soul. He remembered that he had now a new source of -happiness and that this happiness had something to do with the Gospels. -That was why he asked for a copy of them. The uncomfortable position in -which they had put him and turned him over again confused his thoughts, -and when he came to himself a third time it was in the complete -stillness of the night. Everybody near him was sleeping. A cricket -chirped from across the passage; someone was shouting and singing in -the street; cockroaches rustled on the table, on the icons, and on -the walls, and a big fly flopped at the head of the bed and around the -candle beside him, the wick of which was charred and had shaped itself -like a mushroom. - -His mind was not in a normal state. A healthy man usually thinks of, -feels, and remembers innumerable things simultaneously, but has the -power and will to select one sequence of thoughts or events on which to -fix his whole attention. A healthy man can tear himself away from the -deepest reflections to say a civil word to someone who comes in and can -then return again to his own thoughts. But Prince Andrew’s mind was not -in a normal state in that respect. All the powers of his mind were more -active and clearer than ever, but they acted apart from his will. Most -diverse thoughts and images occupied him simultaneously. At times his -brain suddenly began to work with a vigor, clearness, and depth it had -never reached when he was in health, but suddenly in the midst of its -work it would turn to some unexpected idea and he had not the strength -to turn it back again. - -“Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me of which man cannot be -deprived,” he thought as he lay in the semidarkness of the quiet hut, -gazing fixedly before him with feverish wide open eyes. “A happiness -lying beyond material forces, outside the material influences that act -on man—a happiness of the soul alone, the happiness of loving. Every man -can understand it, but to conceive it and enjoin it was possible only -for God. But how did God enjoin that law? And why was the Son...?” - -And suddenly the sequence of these thoughts broke off, and Prince Andrew -heard (without knowing whether it was a delusion or reality) a -soft whispering voice incessantly and rhythmically repeating -“piti-piti-piti,” and then “titi,” and then again “piti-piti-piti,” and -“ti-ti” once more. At the same time he felt that above his face, above -the very middle of it, some strange airy structure was being erected out -of slender needles or splinters, to the sound of this whispered music. -He felt that he had to balance carefully (though it was difficult) so -that this airy structure should not collapse; but nevertheless it kept -collapsing and again slowly rising to the sound of whispered rhythmic -music—“it stretches, stretches, spreading out and stretching,” said -Prince Andrew to himself. While listening to this whispering and feeling -the sensation of this drawing out and the construction of this edifice -of needles, he also saw by glimpses a red halo round the candle, and -heard the rustle of the cockroaches and the buzzing of the fly that -flopped against his pillow and his face. Each time the fly touched his -face it gave him a burning sensation and yet to his surprise it did not -destroy the structure, though it knocked against the very region of his -face where it was rising. But besides this there was something else of -importance. It was something white by the door—the statue of a sphinx, -which also oppressed him. - -“But perhaps that’s my shirt on the table,” he thought, “and that’s my -legs, and that is the door, but why is it always stretching and drawing -itself out, and ‘piti-piti-piti’ and ‘ti-ti’ and ‘piti-piti-piti’...? -That’s enough, please leave off!” Prince Andrew painfully entreated -someone. And suddenly thoughts and feelings again swam to the surface of -his mind with peculiar clearness and force. - -“Yes—love,” he thought again quite clearly. “But not love which loves -for something, for some quality, for some purpose, or for some reason, -but the love which I—while dying—first experienced when I saw my enemy -and yet loved him. I experienced that feeling of love which is the very -essence of the soul and does not require an object. Now again I feel -that bliss. To love one’s neighbors, to love one’s enemies, to love -everything, to love God in all His manifestations. It is possible to -love someone dear to you with human love, but an enemy can only be loved -by divine love. That is why I experienced such joy when I felt that I -loved that man. What has become of him? Is he alive?... - -“When loving with human love one may pass from love to hatred, but -divine love cannot change. No, neither death nor anything else can -destroy it. It is the very essence of the soul. Yet how many people have -I hated in my life? And of them all, I loved and hated none as I did -her.” And he vividly pictured to himself Natásha, not as he had done in -the past with nothing but her charms which gave him delight, but for -the first time picturing to himself her soul. And he understood her -feelings, her sufferings, shame, and remorse. He now understood for the -first time all the cruelty of his rejection of her, the cruelty of his -rupture with her. “If only it were possible for me to see her once more! -Just once, looking into those eyes to say...” - -“Piti-piti-piti and ti-ti and piti-piti-piti boom!” flopped the fly.... -And his attention was suddenly carried into another world, a world of -reality and delirium in which something particular was happening. In -that world some structure was still being erected and did not fall, -something was still stretching out, and the candle with its red halo -was still burning, and the same shirtlike sphinx lay near the door; but -besides all this something creaked, there was a whiff of fresh air, and -a new white sphinx appeared, standing at the door. And that sphinx had -the pale face and shining eyes of the very Natásha of whom he had just -been thinking. - -“Oh, how oppressive this continual delirium is,” thought Prince Andrew, -trying to drive that face from his imagination. But the face remained -before him with the force of reality and drew nearer. Prince Andrew -wished to return to that former world of pure thought, but he could not, -and delirium drew him back into its domain. The soft whispering voice -continued its rhythmic murmur, something oppressed him and stretched -out, and the strange face was before him. Prince Andrew collected all -his strength in an effort to recover his senses, he moved a little, and -suddenly there was a ringing in his ears, a dimness in his eyes, and -like a man plunged into water he lost consciousness. When he came to -himself, Natásha, that same living Natásha whom of all people he most -longed to love with this new pure divine love that had been revealed to -him, was kneeling before him. He realized that it was the real living -Natásha, and he was not surprised but quietly happy. Natásha, motionless -on her knees (she was unable to stir), with frightened eyes riveted on -him, was restraining her sobs. Her face was pale and rigid. Only in the -lower part of it something quivered. - -Prince Andrew sighed with relief, smiled, and held out his hand. - -“You?” he said. “How fortunate!” - -With a rapid but careful movement Natásha drew nearer to him on her -knees and, taking his hand carefully, bent her face over it and began -kissing it, just touching it lightly with her lips. - -“Forgive me!” she whispered, raising her head and glancing at him. -“Forgive me!” - -“I love you,” said Prince Andrew. - -“Forgive...!” - -“Forgive what?” he asked. - -“Forgive me for what I ha-ve do-ne!” faltered Natásha in a scarcely -audible, broken whisper, and began kissing his hand more rapidly, just -touching it with her lips. - -“I love you more, better than before,” said Prince Andrew, lifting her -face with his hand so as to look into her eyes. - -Those eyes, filled with happy tears, gazed at him timidly, -compassionately, and with joyous love. Natásha’s thin pale face, with -its swollen lips, was more than plain—it was dreadful. But Prince Andrew -did not see that, he saw her shining eyes which were beautiful. They -heard the sound of voices behind them. - -Peter the valet, who was now wide awake, had roused the doctor. -Timókhin, who had not slept at all because of the pain in his leg, had -long been watching all that was going on, carefully covering his bare -body with the sheet as he huddled up on his bench. - -“What’s this?” said the doctor, rising from his bed. “Please go away, -madam!” - -At that moment a maid sent by the countess, who had noticed her -daughter’s absence, knocked at the door. - -Like a somnambulist aroused from her sleep Natásha went out of the room -and, returning to her hut, fell sobbing on her bed. - -From that time, during all the rest of the Rostóvs’ journey, at every -halting place and wherever they spent a night, Natásha never left the -wounded Bolkónski, and the doctor had to admit that he had not expected -from a young girl either such firmness or such skill in nursing a -wounded man. - -Dreadful as the countess imagined it would be should Prince Andrew die -in her daughter’s arms during the journey—as, judging by what the doctor -said, it seemed might easily happen—she could not oppose Natásha. Though -with the intimacy now established between the wounded man and Natásha -the thought occurred that should he recover their former engagement -would be renewed, no one—least of all Natásha and Prince Andrew—spoke of -this: the unsettled question of life and death, which hung not only over -Bolkónski but over all Russia, shut out all other considerations. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -On the third of September Pierre awoke late. His head was aching, the -clothes in which he had slept without undressing felt uncomfortable on -his body, and his mind had a dim consciousness of something shameful -he had done the day before. That something shameful was his yesterday’s -conversation with Captain Ramballe. - -It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed peculiarly dark out of doors. -Pierre rose, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with an engraved -stock which Gerásim had replaced on the writing table, he remembered -where he was and what lay before him that very day. - -“Am I not too late?” he thought. “No, probably he won’t make his entry -into Moscow before noon.” - -Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him, but -hastened to act. - -After arranging his clothes, he took the pistol and was about to go out. -But it then occurred to him for the first time that he certainly could -not carry the weapon in his hand through the streets. It was difficult -to hide such a big pistol even under his wide coat. He could not -carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his arm. Besides, it had been -discharged, and he had not had time to reload it. “No matter, the dagger -will do,” he said to himself, though when planning his design he had -more than once come to the conclusion that the chief mistake made by the -student in 1809 had been to try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as -his chief aim consisted not in carrying out his design, but in proving -to himself that he would not abandon his intention and was doing all he -could to achieve it, Pierre hastily took the blunt jagged dagger in a -green sheath which he had bought at the Súkharev market with the pistol, -and hid it under his waistcoat. - -Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on his head, -Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or meeting -the captain, and passed out into the street. - -The conflagration, at which he had looked with so much indifference the -evening before, had greatly increased during the night. Moscow was on -fire in several places. The buildings in Carriage Row, across the river, -in the Bazaar and the Povarskóy, as well as the barges on the Moskvá -River and the timber yards by the Dorogomílov Bridge, were all ablaze. - -Pierre’s way led through side streets to the Povarskóy and from there -to the church of St. Nicholas on the Arbát, where he had long before -decided that the deed should be done. The gates of most of the houses -were locked and the shutters up. The streets and lanes were deserted. -The air was full of smoke and the smell of burning. Now and then he met -Russians with anxious and timid faces, and Frenchmen with an air not of -the city but of the camp, walking in the middle of the streets. Both -the Russians and the French looked at Pierre with surprise. Besides his -height and stoutness, and the strange morose look of suffering in his -face and whole figure, the Russians stared at Pierre because they could -not make out to what class he could belong. The French followed him with -astonishment in their eyes chiefly because Pierre, unlike all the -other Russians who gazed at the French with fear and curiosity, paid no -attention to them. At the gate of one house three Frenchmen, who were -explaining something to some Russians who did not understand them, -stopped Pierre asking if he did not know French. - -Pierre shook his head and went on. In another side street a sentinel -standing beside a green caisson shouted at him, but only when the shout -was threateningly repeated and he heard the click of the man’s musket as -he raised it did Pierre understand that he had to pass on the other side -of the street. He heard nothing and saw nothing of what went on around -him. He carried his resolution within himself in terror and haste, like -something dreadful and alien to him, for, after the previous night’s -experience, he was afraid of losing it. But he was not destined to bring -his mood safely to his destination. And even had he not been hindered by -anything on the way, his intention could not now have been carried out, -for Napoleon had passed the Arbát more than four hours previously on his -way from the Dorogomílov suburb to the Krémlin, and was now sitting in -a very gloomy frame of mind in a royal study in the Krémlin, giving -detailed and exact orders as to measures to be taken immediately -to extinguish the fire, to prevent looting, and to reassure the -inhabitants. But Pierre did not know this; he was entirely absorbed -in what lay before him, and was tortured—as those are who obstinately -undertake a task that is impossible for them not because of its -difficulty but because of its incompatibility with their natures—by the -fear of weakening at the decisive moment and so losing his self-esteem. - -Though he heard and saw nothing around him he found his way by instinct -and did not go wrong in the side streets that led to the Povarskóy. - -As Pierre approached that street the smoke became denser and denser—he -even felt the heat of the fire. Occasionally curly tongues of flame rose -from under the roofs of the houses. He met more people in the streets -and they were more excited. But Pierre, though he felt that something -unusual was happening around him, did not realize that he was -approaching the fire. As he was going along a footpath across a -wide-open space adjoining the Povarskóy on one side and the gardens -of Prince Gruzínski’s house on the other, Pierre suddenly heard the -desperate weeping of a woman close to him. He stopped as if awakening -from a dream and lifted his head. - -By the side of the path, on the dusty dry grass, all sorts of household -goods lay in a heap: featherbeds, a samovar, icons, and trunks. On the -ground, beside the trunks, sat a thin woman no longer young, with long, -prominent upper teeth, and wearing a black cloak and cap. This woman, -swaying to and fro and muttering something, was choking with sobs. Two -girls of about ten and twelve, dressed in dirty short frocks and cloaks, -were staring at their mother with a look of stupefaction on their pale -frightened faces. The youngest child, a boy of about seven, who wore an -overcoat and an immense cap evidently not his own, was crying in his -old nurse’s arms. A dirty, barefooted maid was sitting on a trunk, -and, having undone her pale-colored plait, was pulling it straight -and sniffing at her singed hair. The woman’s husband, a short, -round-shouldered man in the undress uniform of a civilian official, with -sausage-shaped whiskers and showing under his square-set cap the hair -smoothly brushed forward over his temples, with expressionless face was -moving the trunks, which were placed one on another, and was dragging -some garments from under them. - -As soon as she saw Pierre, the woman almost threw herself at his feet. - -“Dear people, good Christians, save me, help me, dear friends... help -us, somebody,” she muttered between her sobs. “My girl... My daughter! -My youngest daughter is left behind. She’s burned! Ooh! Was it for this -I nursed you.... Ooh!” - -“Don’t, Mary Nikoláevna!” said her husband to her in a low voice, -evidently only to justify himself before the stranger. “Sister must have -taken her, or else where can she be?” he added. - -“Monster! Villain!” shouted the woman angrily, suddenly ceasing to weep. -“You have no heart, you don’t feel for your own child! Another man would -have rescued her from the fire. But this is a monster and neither a -man nor a father! You, honored sir, are a noble man,” she went on, -addressing Pierre rapidly between her sobs. “The fire broke out -alongside, and blew our way, the maid called out ‘Fire!’ and we rushed -to collect our things. We ran out just as we were.... This is what we -have brought away.... The icons, and my dowry bed, all the rest is lost. -We seized the children. But not Katie! Ooh! O Lord!...” and again she -began to sob. “My child, my dear one! Burned, burned!” - -“But where was she left?” asked Pierre. - -From the expression of his animated face the woman saw that this man -might help her. - -“Oh, dear sir!” she cried, seizing him by the legs. “My benefactor, set -my heart at ease.... Aníska, go, you horrid girl, show him the way!” she -cried to the maid, angrily opening her mouth and still farther exposing -her long teeth. - -“Show me the way, show me, I... I’ll do it,” gasped Pierre rapidly. - -The dirty maidservant stepped from behind the trunk, put up her plait, -sighed, and went on her short, bare feet along the path. Pierre felt -as if he had come back to life after a heavy swoon. He held his head -higher, his eyes shone with the light of life, and with swift steps -he followed the maid, overtook her, and came out on the Povarskóy. The -whole street was full of clouds of black smoke. Tongues of flame here -and there broke through that cloud. A great number of people crowded in -front of the conflagration. In the middle of the street stood a French -general saying something to those around him. Pierre, accompanied by the -maid, was advancing to the spot where the general stood, but the French -soldiers stopped him. - -“On ne passe pas!” * cried a voice. - - * “You can’t pass!” - - -“This way, uncle,” cried the girl. “We’ll pass through the side street, -by the Nikúlins’!” - -Pierre turned back, giving a spring now and then to keep up with her. -She ran across the street, turned down a side street to the left, and, -passing three houses, turned into a yard on the right. - -“It’s here, close by,” said she and, running across the yard, opened a -gate in a wooden fence and, stopping, pointed out to him a small wooden -wing of the house, which was burning brightly and fiercely. One of its -sides had fallen in, another was on fire, and bright flames issued from -the openings of the windows and from under the roof. - -As Pierre passed through the fence gate, he was enveloped by hot air and -involuntarily stopped. - -“Which is it? Which is your house?” he asked. - -“Ooh!” wailed the girl, pointing to the wing. “That’s it, that was our -lodging. You’ve burned to death, our treasure, Katie, my precious little -missy! Ooh!” lamented Aníska, who at the sight of the fire felt that she -too must give expression to her feelings. - -Pierre rushed to the wing, but the heat was so great that he -involuntarily passed round in a curve and came upon the large house -that was as yet burning only at one end, just below the roof, and around -which swarmed a crowd of Frenchmen. At first Pierre did not realize -what these men, who were dragging something out, were about; but seeing -before him a Frenchman hitting a peasant with a blunt saber and trying -to take from him a fox-fur coat, he vaguely understood that looting was -going on there, but he had no time to dwell on that idea. - -The sounds of crackling and the din of falling walls and ceilings, the -whistle and hiss of the flames, the excited shouts of the people, and -the sight of the swaying smoke, now gathering into thick black clouds -and now soaring up with glittering sparks, with here and there dense -sheaves of flame (now red and now like golden fish scales creeping along -the walls), and the heat and smoke and rapidity of motion, produced -on Pierre the usual animating effects of a conflagration. It had a -peculiarly strong effect on him because at the sight of the fire he felt -himself suddenly freed from the ideas that had weighed him down. He felt -young, bright, adroit, and resolute. He ran round to the other side of -the lodge and was about to dash into that part of it which was still -standing, when just above his head he heard several voices shouting -and then a cracking sound and the ring of something heavy falling close -beside him. - -Pierre looked up and saw at a window of the large house some Frenchmen -who had just thrown out the drawer of a chest, filled with metal -articles. Other French soldiers standing below went up to the drawer. - -“What does this fellow want?” shouted one of them referring to Pierre. - -“There’s a child in that house. Haven’t you seen a child?” cried Pierre. - -“What’s he talking about? Get along!” said several voices, and one of -the soldiers, evidently afraid that Pierre might want to take from -them some of the plate and bronzes that were in the drawer, moved -threateningly toward him. - -“A child?” shouted a Frenchman from above. “I did hear something -squealing in the garden. Perhaps it’s his brat that the fellow is -looking for. After all, one must be human, you know....” - -“Where is it? Where?” said Pierre. - -“There! There!” shouted the Frenchman at the window, pointing to the -garden at the back of the house. “Wait a bit—I’m coming down.” - -And a minute or two later the Frenchman, a black-eyed fellow with a spot -on his cheek, in shirt sleeves, really did jump out of a window on the -ground floor, and clapping Pierre on the shoulder ran with him into the -garden. - -“Hurry up, you others!” he called out to his comrades. “It’s getting -hot.” - -When they reached a gravel path behind the house the Frenchman pulled -Pierre by the arm and pointed to a round, graveled space where a -three-year-old girl in a pink dress was lying under a seat. - -“There is your child! Oh, a girl, so much the better!” said the -Frenchman. “Good-by, Fatty. We must be human, we are all mortal you -know!” and the Frenchman with the spot on his cheek ran back to his -comrades. - -Breathless with joy, Pierre ran to the little girl and was going to take -her in his arms. But seeing a stranger the sickly, scrofulous-looking -child, unattractively like her mother, began to yell and run away. -Pierre, however, seized her and lifted her in his arms. She screamed -desperately and angrily and tried with her little hands to pull Pierre’s -hands away and to bite them with her slobbering mouth. Pierre was seized -by a sense of horror and repulsion such as he had experienced when -touching some nasty little animal. But he made an effort not to throw -the child down and ran with her to the large house. It was now, however, -impossible to get back the way he had come; the maid, Aníska, was no -longer there, and Pierre with a feeling of pity and disgust pressed the -wet, painfully sobbing child to himself as tenderly as he could and ran -with her through the garden seeking another way out. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -Having run through different yards and side streets, Pierre got back -with his little burden to the Gruzínski garden at the corner of the -Povarskóy. He did not at first recognize the place from which he had set -out to look for the child, so crowded was it now with people and goods -that had been dragged out of the houses. Besides Russian families who -had taken refuge here from the fire with their belongings, there were -several French soldiers in a variety of clothing. Pierre took no notice -of them. He hurried to find the family of that civil servant in order to -restore the daughter to her mother and go to save someone else. Pierre -felt that he had still much to do and to do quickly. Glowing with the -heat and from running, he felt at that moment more strongly than ever -the sense of youth, animation, and determination that had come on him -when he ran to save the child. She had now become quiet and, clinging -with her little hands to Pierre’s coat, sat on his arm gazing about -her like some little wild animal. He glanced at her occasionally with a -slight smile. He fancied he saw something pathetically innocent in that -frightened, sickly little face. - -He did not find the civil servant or his wife where he had left them. He -walked among the crowd with rapid steps, scanning the various faces he -met. Involuntarily he noticed a Georgian or Armenian family -consisting of a very handsome old man of Oriental type, wearing a new, -cloth-covered, sheepskin coat and new boots, an old woman of similar -type, and a young woman. That very young woman seemed to Pierre the -perfection of Oriental beauty, with her sharply outlined, arched, -black eyebrows and the extraordinarily soft, bright color of her long, -beautiful, expressionless face. Amid the scattered property and the -crowd on the open space, she, in her rich satin cloak with a bright -lilac shawl on her head, suggested a delicate exotic plant thrown out -onto the snow. She was sitting on some bundles a little behind the old -woman, and looked from under her long lashes with motionless, large, -almond-shaped eyes at the ground before her. Evidently she was aware -of her beauty and fearful because of it. Her face struck Pierre and, -hurrying along by the fence, he turned several times to look at her. -When he had reached the fence, still without finding those he sought, he -stopped and looked about him. - -With the child in his arms his figure was now more conspicuous than -before, and a group of Russians, both men and women, gathered about him. - -“Have you lost anyone, my dear fellow? You’re of the gentry yourself, -aren’t you? Whose child is it?” they asked him. - -Pierre replied that the child belonged to a woman in a black coat who -had been sitting there with her other children, and he asked whether -anyone knew where she had gone. - -“Why, that must be the Anférovs,” said an old deacon, addressing a -pockmarked peasant woman. “Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy!” he added -in his customary bass. - -“The Anférovs? No,” said the woman. “They left in the morning. That must -be either Mary Nikoláevna’s or the Ivánovs’!” - -“He says ‘a woman,’ and Mary Nikoláevna is a lady,” remarked a house -serf. - -“Do you know her? She’s thin, with long teeth,” said Pierre. - -“That’s Mary Nikoláevna! They went inside the garden when these wolves -swooped down,” said the woman, pointing to the French soldiers. - -“O Lord, have mercy!” added the deacon. - -“Go over that way, they’re there. It’s she! She kept on lamenting and -crying,” continued the woman. “It’s she. Here, this way!” - -But Pierre was not listening to the woman. He had for some seconds been -intently watching what was going on a few steps away. He was looking at -the Armenian family and at two French soldiers who had gone up to them. -One of these, a nimble little man, was wearing a blue coat tied round -the waist with a rope. He had a nightcap on his head and his feet were -bare. The other, whose appearance particularly struck Pierre, was a -long, lank, round-shouldered, fair-haired man, slow in his movements -and with an idiotic expression of face. He wore a woman’s loose gown -of frieze, blue trousers, and large torn Hessian boots. The little -barefooted Frenchman in the blue coat went up to the Armenians and, -saying something, immediately seized the old man by his legs and the old -man at once began pulling off his boots. The other in the frieze gown -stopped in front of the beautiful Armenian girl and with his hands in -his pockets stood staring at her, motionless and silent. - -“Here, take the child!” said Pierre peremptorily and hurriedly to the -woman, handing the little girl to her. “Give her back to them, give her -back!” he almost shouted, putting the child, who began screaming, on the -ground, and again looking at the Frenchman and the Armenian family. - -The old man was already sitting barefoot. The little Frenchman had -secured his second boot and was slapping one boot against the other. -The old man was saying something in a voice broken by sobs, but Pierre -caught but a glimpse of this, his whole attention was directed to the -Frenchman in the frieze gown who meanwhile, swaying slowly from side to -side, had drawn nearer to the young woman and taking his hands from his -pockets had seized her by the neck. - -The beautiful Armenian still sat motionless and in the same attitude, -with her long lashes drooping as if she did not see or feel what the -soldier was doing to her. - -While Pierre was running the few steps that separated him from the -Frenchman, the tall marauder in the frieze gown was already tearing -from her neck the necklace the young Armenian was wearing, and the young -woman, clutching at her neck, screamed piercingly. - -“Let that woman alone!” exclaimed Pierre hoarsely in a furious voice, -seizing the soldier by his round shoulders and throwing him aside. - -The soldier fell, got up, and ran away. But his comrade, throwing down -the boots and drawing his sword, moved threateningly toward Pierre. - -“Voyons, pas de bêtises!” * he cried. - - * “Look here, no nonsense!” - - -Pierre was in such a transport of rage that he remembered nothing and -his strength increased tenfold. He rushed at the barefooted Frenchman -and, before the latter had time to draw his sword, knocked him off his -feet and hammered him with his fists. Shouts of approval were heard -from the crowd around, and at the same moment a mounted patrol of French -Uhlans appeared from round the corner. The Uhlans came up at a trot to -Pierre and the Frenchman and surrounded them. Pierre remembered nothing -of what happened after that. He only remembered beating someone and -being beaten and finally feeling that his hands were bound and that a -crowd of French soldiers stood around him and were searching him. - -“Lieutenant, he has a dagger,” were the first words Pierre understood. - -“Ah, a weapon?” said the officer and turned to the barefooted soldier -who had been arrested with Pierre. “All right, you can tell all about it -at the court-martial.” Then he turned to Pierre. “Do you speak French?” - -Pierre looked around him with bloodshot eyes and did not reply. His -face probably looked very terrible, for the officer said something in -a whisper and four more Uhlans left the ranks and placed themselves on -both sides of Pierre. - -“Do you speak French?” the officer asked again, keeping at a distance -from Pierre. “Call the interpreter.” - -A little man in Russian civilian clothes rode out from the ranks, and -by his clothes and manner of speaking Pierre at once knew him to be a -French salesman from one of the Moscow shops. - -“He does not look like a common man,” said the interpreter, after a -searching look at Pierre. - -“Ah, he looks very much like an incendiary,” remarked the officer. “And -ask him who he is,” he added. - -“Who are you?” asked the interpreter in poor Russian. “You must answer -the chief.” - -“I will not tell you who I am. I am your prisoner—take me!” Pierre -suddenly replied in French. - -“Ah, ah!” muttered the officer with a frown. “Well then, march!” - -A crowd had collected round the Uhlans. Nearest to Pierre stood the -pockmarked peasant woman with the little girl, and when the patrol -started she moved forward. - -“Where are they taking you to, you poor dear?” said she. “And the little -girl, the little girl, what am I to do with her if she’s not theirs?” -said the woman. - -“What does that woman want?” asked the officer. - -Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation increased at the sight of the -little girl he had saved. - -“What does she want?” he murmured. “She is bringing me my daughter whom -I have just saved from the flames,” said he. “Good-by!” And without -knowing how this aimless lie had escaped him, he went along with -resolute and triumphant steps between the French soldiers. - -The French patrol was one of those sent out through the various -streets of Moscow by Durosnel’s order to put a stop to the pillage, -and especially to catch the incendiaries who, according to the general -opinion which had that day originated among the higher French officers, -were the cause of the conflagrations. After marching through a number -of streets the patrol arrested five more Russian suspects: a small -shopkeeper, two seminary students, a peasant, and a house serf, besides -several looters. But of all these various suspected characters, Pierre -was considered to be the most suspicious of all. When they had all been -brought for the night to a large house on the Zúbov Rampart that was -being used as a guardhouse, Pierre was placed apart under strict guard. - - - - - -BOOK TWELVE: 1812 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -In Petersburg at that time a complicated struggle was being carried on -with greater heat than ever in the highest circles, between the parties -of Rumyántsev, the French, Márya Fëdorovna, the Tsarévich, and others, -drowned as usual by the buzzing of the court drones. But the calm, -luxurious life of Petersburg, concerned only about phantoms and -reflections of real life, went on in its old way and made it hard, -except by a great effort, to realize the danger and the difficult -position of the Russian people. There were the same receptions and -balls, the same French theater, the same court interests and service -interests and intrigues as usual. Only in the very highest circles were -attempts made to keep in mind the difficulties of the actual position. -Stories were whispered of how differently the two Empresses behaved -in these difficult circumstances. The Empress Márya, concerned for -the welfare of the charitable and educational institutions under her -patronage, had given directions that they should all be removed to -Kazán, and the things belonging to these institutions had already been -packed up. The Empress Elisabeth, however, when asked what instructions -she would be pleased to give—with her characteristic Russian patriotism -had replied that she could give no directions about state institutions -for that was the affair of the sovereign, but as far as she personally -was concerned she would be the last to quit Petersburg. - -At Anna Pávlovna’s on the twenty-sixth of August, the very day of the -battle of Borodinó, there was a soiree, the chief feature of which was -to be the reading of a letter from His Lordship the Bishop when sending -the Emperor an icon of the Venerable Sergius. It was regarded as a model -of ecclesiastical, patriotic eloquence. Prince Vasíli himself, famed for -his elocution, was to read it. (He used to read at the Empress’.) The -art of his reading was supposed to lie in rolling out the words, quite -independently of their meaning, in a loud and singsong voice alternating -between a despairing wail and a tender murmur, so that the wail fell -quite at random on one word and the murmur on another. This reading, -as was always the case at Anna Pávlovna’s soirees, had a political -significance. That evening she expected several important personages who -had to be made ashamed of their visits to the French theater and aroused -to a patriotic temper. A good many people had already arrived, but Anna -Pávlovna, not yet seeing all those whom she wanted in her drawing room, -did not let the reading begin but wound up the springs of a general -conversation. - -The news of the day in Petersburg was the illness of Countess Bezúkhova. -She had fallen ill unexpectedly a few days previously, had missed -several gatherings of which she was usually the ornament, and was said -to be receiving no one, and instead of the celebrated Petersburg doctors -who usually attended her had entrusted herself to some Italian doctor -who was treating her in some new and unusual way. - -They all knew very well that the enchanting countess’ illness arose from -an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands at the same time, -and that the Italian’s cure consisted in removing such inconvenience; -but in Anna Pávlovna’s presence no one dared to think of this or even -appear to know it. - -“They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it is angina -pectoris.” - -“Angina? Oh, that’s a terrible illness!” - -“They say that the rivals are reconciled, thanks to the angina...” and -the word angina was repeated with great satisfaction. - -“The count is pathetic, they say. He cried like a child when the doctor -told him the case was dangerous.” - -“Oh, it would be a terrible loss, she is an enchanting woman.” - -“You are speaking of the poor countess?” said Anna Pávlovna, coming -up just then. “I sent to ask for news, and hear that she is a little -better. Oh, she is certainly the most charming woman in the world,” she -went on, with a smile at her own enthusiasm. “We belong to different -camps, but that does not prevent my esteeming her as she deserves. She -is very unfortunate!” added Anna Pávlovna. - -Supposing that by these words Anna Pávlovna was somewhat lifting the -veil from the secret of the countess’ malady, an unwary young man -ventured to express surprise that well-known doctors had not been called -in and that the countess was being attended by a charlatan who might -employ dangerous remedies. - -“Your information may be better than mine,” Anna Pávlovna suddenly and -venomously retorted on the inexperienced young man, “but I know on good -authority that this doctor is a very learned and able man. He is private -physician to the Queen of Spain.” - -And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pávlovna turned to -another group where Bilíbin was talking about the Austrians: having -wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out again -and utter one of his mots. - -“I think it is delightful,” he said, referring to a diplomatic note that -had been sent to Vienna with some Austrian banners captured from the -French by Wittgenstein, “the hero of Petropol” as he was then called in -Petersburg. - -“What? What’s that?” asked Anna Pávlovna, securing silence for the mot, -which she had heard before. - -And Bilíbin repeated the actual words of the diplomatic dispatch, which -he had himself composed. - -“The Emperor returns these Austrian banners,” said Bilíbin, “friendly -banners gone astray and found on a wrong path,” and his brow became -smooth again. - -“Charming, charming!” observed Prince Vasíli. - -“The path to Warsaw, perhaps,” Prince Hippolyte remarked loudly and -unexpectedly. Everybody looked at him, understanding what he meant. -Prince Hippolyte himself glanced around with amused surprise. He knew no -more than the others what his words meant. During his diplomatic career -he had more than once noticed that such utterances were received as very -witty, and at every opportunity he uttered in that way the first words -that entered his head. “It may turn out very well,” he thought, “but -if not, they’ll know how to arrange matters.” And really, during the -awkward silence that ensued, that insufficiently patriotic person -entered whom Anna Pávlovna had been waiting for and wished to convert, -and she, smiling and shaking a finger at Hippolyte, invited Prince -Vasíli to the table and bringing him two candles and the manuscript -begged him to begin. Everyone became silent. - -“Most Gracious Sovereign and Emperor!” Prince Vasíli sternly declaimed, -looking round at his audience as if to inquire whether anyone had -anything to say to the contrary. But no one said anything. “Moscow, our -ancient capital, the New Jerusalem, receives her Christ”—he placed a -sudden emphasis on the word her—“as a mother receives her zealous sons -into her arms, and through the gathering mists, foreseeing the brilliant -glory of thy rule, sings in exultation, ‘Hosanna, blessed is he that -cometh!’” - -Prince Vasíli pronounced these last words in a tearful voice. - -Bilíbin attentively examined his nails, and many of those present -appeared intimidated, as if asking in what they were to blame. Anna -Pávlovna whispered the next words in advance, like an old woman -muttering the prayer at Communion: “Let the bold and insolent -Goliath...” she whispered. - -Prince Vasíli continued. - -“Let the bold and insolent Goliath from the borders of France encompass -the realms of Russia with death-bearing terrors; humble Faith, the sling -of the Russian David, shall suddenly smite his head in his bloodthirsty -pride. This icon of the Venerable Sergius, the servant of God and -zealous champion of old of our country’s weal, is offered to Your -Imperial Majesty. I grieve that my waning strength prevents rejoicing -in the sight of your most gracious presence. I raise fervent prayers to -Heaven that the Almighty may exalt the race of the just, and mercifully -fulfill the desires of Your Majesty.” - -“What force! What a style!” was uttered in approval both of reader and -of author. - -Animated by that address Anna Pávlovna’s guests talked for a long time -of the state of the fatherland and offered various conjectures as to the -result of the battle to be fought in a few days. - -“You will see,” said Anna Pávlovna, “that tomorrow, on the Emperor’s -birthday, we shall receive news. I have a favorable presentiment!” - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -Anna Pávlovna’s presentiment was in fact fulfilled. Next day during the -service at the palace church in honor of the Emperor’s birthday, Prince -Volkónski was called out of the church and received a dispatch from -Prince Kutúzov. It was Kutúzov’s report, written from Tatárinova on the -day of the battle. Kutúzov wrote that the Russians had not retreated a -step, that the French losses were much heavier than ours, and that he -was writing in haste from the field of battle before collecting full -information. It followed that there must have been a victory. And at -once, without leaving the church, thanks were rendered to the Creator -for His help and for the victory. - -Anna Pávlovna’s presentiment was justified, and all that morning a -joyously festive mood reigned in the city. Everyone believed the victory -to have been complete, and some even spoke of Napoleon’s having been -captured, of his deposition, and of the choice of a new ruler for -France. - -It is very difficult for events to be reflected in their real strength -and completeness amid the conditions of court life and far from the -scene of action. General events involuntarily group themselves around -some particular incident. So now the courtiers’ pleasure was based as -much on the fact that the news had arrived on the Emperor’s birthday as -on the fact of the victory itself. It was like a successfully arranged -surprise. Mention was made in Kutúzov’s report of the Russian losses, -among which figured the names of Túchkov, Bagratión, and Kutáysov. In -the Petersburg world this sad side of the affair again involuntarily -centered round a single incident: Kutáysov’s death. Everybody knew -him, the Emperor liked him, and he was young and interesting. That day -everyone met with the words: - -“What a wonderful coincidence! Just during the service. But what a loss -Kutáysov is! How sorry I am!” - -“What did I tell about Kutúzov?” Prince Vasíli now said with a -prophet’s pride. “I always said he was the only man capable of defeating -Napoleon.” - -But next day no news arrived from the army and the public mood grew -anxious. The courtiers suffered because of the suffering the suspense -occasioned the Emperor. - -“Fancy the Emperor’s position!” said they, and instead of extolling -Kutúzov as they had done the day before, they condemned him as the cause -of the Emperor’s anxiety. That day Prince Vasíli no longer boasted of -his protégé Kutúzov, but remained silent when the commander in chief was -mentioned. Moreover, toward evening, as if everything conspired to make -Petersburg society anxious and uneasy, a terrible piece of news was -added. Countess Hélène Bezúkhova had suddenly died of that terrible -malady it had been so agreeable to mention. Officially, at large -gatherings, everyone said that Countess Bezúkhova had died of a -terrible attack of angina pectoris, but in intimate circles details -were mentioned of how the private physician of the Queen of Spain had -prescribed small doses of a certain drug to produce a certain effect; -but Hélène, tortured by the fact that the old count suspected her and -that her husband to whom she had written (that wretched, profligate -Pierre) had not replied, had suddenly taken a very large dose of the -drug, and had died in agony before assistance could be rendered her. -It was said that Prince Vasíli and the old count had turned upon the -Italian, but the latter had produced such letters from the unfortunate -deceased that they had immediately let the matter drop. - -Talk in general centered round three melancholy facts: the Emperor’s -lack of news, the loss of Kutáysov, and the death of Hélène. - -On the third day after Kutúzov’s report a country gentleman arrived from -Moscow, and news of the surrender of Moscow to the French spread through -the whole town. This was terrible! What a position for the Emperor to -be in! Kutúzov was a traitor, and Prince Vasíli during the visits of -condolence paid to him on the occasion of his daughter’s death said of -Kutúzov, whom he had formerly praised (it was excusable for him in his -grief to forget what he had said), that it was impossible to expect -anything else from a blind and depraved old man. - -“I only wonder that the fate of Russia could have been entrusted to such -a man.” - -As long as this news remained unofficial it was possible to doubt it, -but the next day the following communication was received from Count -Rostopchín: - -Prince Kutúzov’s adjutant has brought me a letter in which he demands -police officers to guide the army to the Ryazán road. He writes that -he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutúzov’s action decides the -fate of the capital and of your empire! Russia will shudder to learn of -the abandonment of the city in which her greatness is centered and in -which lie the ashes of your ancestors! I shall follow the army. I have -had everything removed, and it only remains for me to weep over the fate -of my fatherland. - -On receiving this dispatch the Emperor sent Prince Volkónski to Kutúzov -with the following rescript: - -Prince Michael Ilariónovich! Since the twenty-ninth of August I have -received no communication from you, yet on the first of September I -received from the commander in chief of Moscow, via Yaroslávl, the sad -news that you, with the army, have decided to abandon Moscow. You can -yourself imagine the effect this news has had on me, and your silence -increases my astonishment. I am sending this by Adjutant-General Prince -Volkónski, to hear from you the situation of the army and the reasons -that have induced you to take this melancholy decision. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger from Kutúzov -reached Petersburg with the official announcement of that event. This -messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman who did not know Russian, but who was -quoique étranger, russe de cœur et d’âme, * as he said of himself. - - * Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul. - -The Emperor at once received this messenger in his study at the palace -on Stone Island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow before the campaign -and who did not know Russian, yet felt deeply moved (as he wrote) when -he appeared before notre très gracieux souverain * with the news of the -burning of Moscow, dont les flammes éclairaient sa route. *(2) - - * Our most gracious sovereign. - - * (2) Whose flames illumined his route. - -Though the source of M. Michaud’s chagrin must have been different from -that which caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad face when shown -into the Emperor’s study that the latter at once asked: - -“Have you brought me sad news, Colonel?” - -“Very sad, sire,” replied Michaud, lowering his eyes with a sigh. “The -abandonment of Moscow.” - -“Have they surrendered my ancient capital without a battle?” asked the -Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing. - -Michaud respectfully delivered the message Kutúzov had entrusted to him, -which was that it had been impossible to fight before Moscow, and that -as the only remaining choice was between losing the army as well as -Moscow, or losing Moscow alone, the field marshal had to choose the -latter. - -The Emperor listened in silence, not looking at Michaud. - -“Has the enemy entered the city?” he asked. - -“Yes, sire, and Moscow is now in ashes. I left it all in flames,” -replied Michaud in a decided tone, but glancing at the Emperor he was -frightened by what he had done. - -The Emperor began to breathe heavily and rapidly, his lower lip -trembled, and tears instantly appeared in his fine blue eyes. - -But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly frowned, as if blaming -himself for his weakness, and raising his head addressed Michaud in a -firm voice: - -“I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, that Providence requires -great sacrifices of us... I am ready to submit myself in all things to -His will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave the army when it -saw my ancient capital abandoned without a battle? Did you not notice -discouragement?...” - -Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm once more, Michaud also -grew calm, but was not immediately ready to reply to the Emperor’s -direct and relevant question which required a direct answer. - -“Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly as befits a loyal soldier?” he -asked to gain time. - -“Colonel, I always require it,” replied the Emperor. “Conceal nothing -from me, I wish to know absolutely how things are.” - -“Sire!” said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely perceptible smile on his -lips, having now prepared a well-phrased reply, “sire, I left the -whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest soldier, without exception in -desperate and agonized terror...” - -“How is that?” the Emperor interrupted him, frowning sternly. “Would -misfortune make my Russians lose heart?... Never!” - -Michaud had only waited for this to bring out the phrase he had -prepared. - -“Sire,” he said, with respectful playfulness, “they are only afraid lest -Your Majesty, in the goodness of your heart, should allow yourself to be -persuaded to make peace. They are burning for the combat,” declared this -representative of the Russian nation, “and to prove to Your Majesty by -the sacrifice of their lives how devoted they are....” - -“Ah!” said the Emperor reassured, and with a kindly gleam in his eyes, -he patted Michaud on the shoulder. “You set me at ease, Colonel.” - -He bent his head and was silent for some time. - -“Well, then, go back to the army,” he said, drawing himself up to his -full height and addressing Michaud with a gracious and majestic gesture, -“and tell our brave men and all my good subjects wherever you go that -when I have not a soldier left I shall put myself at the head of my -beloved nobility and my good peasants and so use the last resources of -my empire. It still offers me more than my enemies suppose,” said the -Emperor growing more and more animated; “but should it ever be ordained -by Divine Providence,” he continued, raising to heaven his fine eyes -shining with emotion, “that my dynasty should cease to reign on the -throne of my ancestors, then after exhausting all the means at my -command, I shall let my beard grow to here” (he pointed halfway down his -chest) “and go and eat potatoes with the meanest of my peasants, rather -than sign the disgrace of my country and of my beloved people whose -sacrifices I know how to appreciate.” - -Having uttered these words in an agitated voice the Emperor suddenly -turned away as if to hide from Michaud the tears that rose to his eyes, -and went to the further end of his study. Having stood there a few -moments, he strode back to Michaud and pressed his arm below the elbow -with a vigorous movement. The Emperor’s mild and handsome face was -flushed and his eyes gleamed with resolution and anger. - -“Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say to you here, perhaps we may -recall it with pleasure someday... Napoleon or I,” said the Emperor, -touching his breast. “We can no longer both reign together. I have -learned to know him, and he will not deceive me any more....” - -And the Emperor paused, with a frown. - -When he heard these words and saw the expression of firm resolution in -the Emperor’s eyes, Michaud—quoique étranger, russe de cœur et d’âme,—at -that solemn moment felt himself enraptured by all that he had heard (as -he used afterwards to say), and gave expression to his own feelings and -those of the Russian people whose representative he considered himself -to be, in the following words: - -“Sire!” said he, “Your Majesty is at this moment signing the glory of -the nation and the salvation of Europe!” - -With an inclination of the head the Emperor dismissed him. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -It is natural for us who were not living in those days to imagine that -when half Russia had been conquered and the inhabitants were fleeing to -distant provinces, and one levy after another was being raised for the -defense of the fatherland, all Russians from the greatest to the least -were solely engaged in sacrificing themselves, saving their fatherland, -or weeping over its downfall. The tales and descriptions of that time -without exception speak only of the self-sacrifice, patriotic devotion, -despair, grief, and the heroism of the Russians. But it was not really -so. It appears so to us because we see only the general historic -interest of that time and do not see all the personal human interests -that people had. Yet in reality those personal interests of the moment -so much transcend the general interests that they always prevent the -public interest from being felt or even noticed. Most of the people at -that time paid no attention to the general progress of events but were -guided only by their private interests, and they were the very people -whose activities at that period were most useful. - -Those who tried to understand the general course of events and to take -part in it by self-sacrifice and heroism were the most useless members -of society, they saw everything upside down, and all they did for the -common good turned out to be useless and foolish—like Pierre’s and -Mamónov’s regiments which looted Russian villages, and the lint the -young ladies prepared and that never reached the wounded, and so on. -Even those, fond of intellectual talk and of expressing their feelings, -who discussed Russia’s position at the time involuntarily introduced -into their conversation either a shade of pretense and falsehood or -useless condemnation and anger directed against people accused of -actions no one could possibly be guilty of. In historic events the rule -forbidding us to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge is specially -applicable. Only unconscious action bears fruit, and he who plays a part -in an historic event never understands its significance. If he tries to -realize it his efforts are fruitless. - -The more closely a man was engaged in the events then taking place in -Russia the less did he realize their significance. In Petersburg and -in the provinces at a distance from Moscow, ladies, and gentlemen in -militia uniforms, wept for Russia and its ancient capital and talked of -self-sacrifice and so on; but in the army which retired beyond Moscow -there was little talk or thought of Moscow, and when they caught sight -of its burned ruins no one swore to be avenged on the French, but they -thought about their next pay, their next quarters, of Matrëshka the -vivandière, and like matters. - -As the war had caught him in the service, Nicholas Rostóv took a close -and prolonged part in the defense of his country, but did so casually, -without any aim at self-sacrifice, and he therefore looked at what was -going on in Russia without despair and without dismally racking his -brains over it. Had he been asked what he thought of the state of -Russia, he would have said that it was not his business to think about -it, that Kutúzov and others were there for that purpose, but that he had -heard that the regiments were to be made up to their full strength, that -fighting would probably go on for a long time yet, and that things being -so it was quite likely he might be in command of a regiment in a couple -of years’ time. - -As he looked at the matter in this way, he learned that he was being -sent to Vorónezh to buy remounts for his division, not only without -regret at being prevented from taking part in the coming battle, but -with the greatest pleasure—which he did not conceal and which his -comrades fully understood. - -A few days before the battle of Borodinó, Nicholas received the -necessary money and warrants, and having sent some hussars on in -advance, he set out with post horses for Vorónezh. - -Only a man who has experienced it—that is, has passed some months -continuously in an atmosphere of campaigning and war—can understand the -delight Nicholas felt when he escaped from the region covered by the -army’s foraging operations, provision trains, and hospitals. When—free -from soldiers, wagons, and the filthy traces of a camp—he saw villages -with peasants and peasant women, gentlemen’s country houses, fields -where cattle were grazing, posthouses with stationmasters asleep in -them, he rejoiced as though seeing all this for the first time. What for -a long while specially surprised and delighted him were the women, young -and healthy, without a dozen officers making up to each of them; women, -too, who were pleased and flattered that a passing officer should joke -with them. - -In the highest spirits Nicholas arrived at night at a hotel in Vorónezh, -ordered things he had long been deprived of in camp, and next day, very -clean-shaven and in a full-dress uniform he had not worn for a long -time, went to present himself to the authorities. - -The commander of the militia was a civilian general, an old man who was -evidently pleased with his military designation and rank. He received -Nicholas brusquely (imagining this to be characteristically military) -and questioned him with an important air, as if considering the general -progress of affairs and approving and disapproving with full right to do -so. Nicholas was in such good spirits that this merely amused him. - -From the commander of the militia he drove to the governor. The governor -was a brisk little man, very simple and affable. He indicated the stud -farms at which Nicholas might procure horses, recommended to him a horse -dealer in the town and a landowner fourteen miles out of town who had -the best horses, and promised to assist him in every way. - -“You are Count Ilyá Rostóv’s son? My wife was a great friend of your -mother’s. We are at home on Thursdays—today is Thursday, so please come -and see us quite informally,” said the governor, taking leave of him. - -Immediately on leaving the governor’s, Nicholas hired post horses and, -taking his squadron quartermaster with him, drove at a gallop to the -landowner, fourteen miles away, who had the stud. Everything seemed to -him pleasant and easy during that first part of his stay in Vorónezh -and, as usually happens when a man is in a pleasant state of mind, -everything went well and easily. - -The landowner to whom Nicholas went was a bachelor, an old cavalryman, a -horse fancier, a sportsman, the possessor of some century-old brandy -and some old Hungarian wine, who had a snuggery where he smoked, and who -owned some splendid horses. - -In very few words Nicholas bought seventeen picked stallions for six -thousand rubles—to serve, as he said, as samples of his remounts. After -dining and taking rather too much of the Hungarian wine, Nicholas—having -exchanged kisses with the landowner, with whom he was already on the -friendliest terms—galloped back over abominable roads, in the brightest -frame of mind, continually urging on the driver so as to be in time for -the governor’s party. - -When he had changed, poured water over his head, and scented himself, -Nicholas arrived at the governor’s rather late, but with the phrase -“better late than never” on his lips. - -It was not a ball, nor had dancing been announced, but everyone knew -that Catherine Petróvna would play valses and the écossaise on the -clavichord and that there would be dancing, and so everyone had come as -to a ball. - -Provincial life in 1812 went on very much as usual, but with this -difference, that it was livelier in the towns in consequence of the -arrival of many wealthy families from Moscow, and as in everything that -went on in Russia at that time a special recklessness was noticeable, an -“in for a penny, in for a pound—who cares?” spirit, and the inevitable -small talk, instead of turning on the weather and mutual acquaintances, -now turned on Moscow, the army, and Napoleon. - -The society gathered together at the governor’s was the best in -Vorónezh. - -There were a great many ladies and some of Nicholas’ Moscow -acquaintances, but there were no men who could at all vie with the -cavalier of St. George, the hussar remount officer, the good-natured -and well-bred Count Rostóv. Among the men was an Italian prisoner, an -officer of the French army; and Nicholas felt that the presence of that -prisoner enhanced his own importance as a Russian hero. The Italian -was, as it were, a war trophy. Nicholas felt this, it seemed to him -that everyone regarded the Italian in the same light, and he treated him -cordially though with dignity and restraint. - -As soon as Nicholas entered in his hussar uniform, diffusing around him -a fragrance of perfume and wine, and had uttered the words “better late -than never” and heard them repeated several times by others, people -clustered around him; all eyes turned on him, and he felt at once -that he had entered into his proper position in the province—that of -a universal favorite: a very pleasant position, and intoxicatingly so -after his long privations. At posting stations, at inns, and in the -landowner’s snuggery, maidservants had been flattered by his notice, and -here too at the governor’s party there were (as it seemed to Nicholas) -an inexhaustible number of pretty young women, married and unmarried, -impatiently awaiting his notice. The women and girls flirted with him -and, from the first day, the people concerned themselves to get this -fine young daredevil of an hussar married and settled down. Among these -was the governor’s wife herself, who welcomed Rostóv as a near relative -and called him “Nicholas.” - -Catherine Petróvna did actually play valses and the écossaise, and -dancing began in which Nicholas still further captivated the provincial -society by his agility. His particularly free manner of dancing even -surprised them all. Nicholas was himself rather surprised at the way he -danced that evening. He had never danced like that in Moscow and would -even have considered such a very free and easy manner improper and in -bad form, but here he felt it incumbent on him to astonish them all by -something unusual, something they would have to accept as the regular -thing in the capital though new to them in the provinces. - -All the evening Nicholas paid attention to a blue-eyed, plump and -pleasing little blonde, the wife of one of the provincial officials. -With the naïve conviction of young men in a merry mood that other men’s -wives were created for them, Rostóv did not leave the lady’s side and -treated her husband in a friendly and conspiratorial style, as if, -without speaking of it, they knew how capitally Nicholas and the lady -would get on together. The husband, however, did not seem to share that -conviction and tried to behave morosely with Rostóv. But the -latter’s good-natured naïveté was so boundless that sometimes even he -involuntarily yielded to Nicholas’ good humor. Toward the end of the -evening, however, as the wife’s face grew more flushed and animated, the -husband’s became more and more melancholy and solemn, as though there -were but a given amount of animation between them and as the wife’s -share increased the husband’s diminished. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -Nicholas sat leaning slightly forward in an armchair, bending closely -over the blonde lady and paying her mythological compliments with a -smile that never left his face. Jauntily shifting the position of his -legs in their tight riding breeches, diffusing an odor of perfume, and -admiring his partner, himself, and the fine outlines of his legs in -their well-fitting Hessian boots, Nicholas told the blonde lady that he -wished to run away with a certain lady here in Vorónezh. - -“Which lady?” - -“A charming lady, a divine one. Her eyes” (Nicholas looked at his -partner) “are blue, her mouth coral and ivory; her figure” (he glanced -at her shoulders) “like Diana’s....” - -The husband came up and sullenly asked his wife what she was talking -about. - -“Ah, Nikíta Iványch!” cried Nicholas, rising politely, and as if wishing -Nikíta Iványch to share his joke, he began to tell him of his intention -to elope with a blonde lady. - -The husband smiled gloomily, the wife gaily. The governor’s good-natured -wife came up with a look of disapproval. - -“Anna Ignátyevna wants to see you, Nicholas,” said she, pronouncing the -name so that Nicholas at once understood that Anna Ignátyevna was a very -important person. “Come, Nicholas! You know you let me call you so?” - -“Oh, yes, Aunt. Who is she?” - -“Anna Ignátyevna Malvíntseva. She has heard from her niece how you -rescued her.... Can you guess?” - -“I rescued such a lot of them!” said Nicholas. - -“Her niece, Princess Bolkónskaya. She is here in Vorónezh with her aunt. -Oho! How you blush. Why, are...?” - -“Not a bit! Please don’t, Aunt!” - -“Very well, very well!... Oh, what a fellow you are!” - -The governor’s wife led him up to a tall and very stout old lady with -a blue headdress, who had just finished her game of cards with the most -important personages of the town. This was Malvíntseva, Princess Mary’s -aunt on her mother’s side, a rich, childless widow who always lived in -Vorónezh. When Rostóv approached her she was standing settling up for -the game. She looked at him and, screwing up her eyes sternly, continued -to upbraid the general who had won from her. - -“Very pleased, mon cher,” she then said, holding out her hand to -Nicholas. “Pray come and see me.” - -After a few words about Princess Mary and her late father, whom -Malvíntseva had evidently not liked, and having asked what Nicholas -knew of Prince Andrew, who also was evidently no favorite of hers, the -important old lady dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invitation to -come to see her. - -Nicholas promised to come and blushed again as he bowed. At the mention -of Princess Mary he experienced a feeling of shyness and even of fear, -which he himself did not understand. - -When he had parted from Malvíntseva Nicholas wished to return to the -dancing, but the governor’s little wife placed her plump hand on his -sleeve and, saying that she wanted to have a talk with him, led him to -her sitting room, from which those who were there immediately withdrew -so as not to be in her way. - -“Do you know, dear boy,” began the governor’s wife with a serious -expression on her kind little face, “that really would be the match for -you: would you like me to arrange it?” - -“Whom do you mean, Aunt?” asked Nicholas. - -“I will make a match for you with the princess. Catherine Petróvna -speaks of Lily, but I say, no—the princess! Do you want me to do it? I -am sure your mother will be grateful to me. What a charming girl she is, -really! And she is not at all so plain, either.” - -“Not at all,” replied Nicholas as if offended at the idea. “As befits -a soldier, Aunt, I don’t force myself on anyone or refuse anything,” he -said before he had time to consider what he was saying. - -“Well then, remember, this is not a joke!” - -“Of course not!” - -“Yes, yes,” the governor’s wife said as if talking to herself. “But, -my dear boy, among other things you are too attentive to the other, the -blonde. One is sorry for the husband, really....” - -“Oh no, we are good friends with him,” said Nicholas in the simplicity -of his heart; it did not enter his head that a pastime so pleasant to -himself might not be pleasant to someone else. - -“But what nonsense I have been saying to the governor’s wife!” thought -Nicholas suddenly at supper. “She will really begin to arrange a -match... and Sónya...?” And on taking leave of the governor’s wife, -when she again smilingly said to him, “Well then, remember!” he drew her -aside. - -“But see here, to tell the truth, Aunt...” - -“What is it, my dear? Come, let’s sit down here,” said she. - -Nicholas suddenly felt a desire and need to tell his most intimate -thoughts (which he would not have told to his mother, his sister, or -his friend) to this woman who was almost a stranger. When he afterwards -recalled that impulse to unsolicited and inexplicable frankness which -had very important results for him, it seemed to him—as it seems to -everyone in such cases—that it was merely some silly whim that seized -him: yet that burst of frankness, together with other trifling events, -had immense consequences for him and for all his family. - -“You see, Aunt, Mamma has long wanted me to marry an heiress, but the -very idea of marrying for money is repugnant to me.” - -“Oh yes, I understand,” said the governor’s wife. - -“But Princess Bolkónskaya—that’s another matter. I will tell you the -truth. In the first place I like her very much, I feel drawn to her; and -then, after I met her under such circumstances—so strangely, the idea -often occurred to me: ‘This is fate.’ Especially if you remember that -Mamma had long been thinking of it; but I had never happened to meet her -before, somehow it had always happened that we did not meet. And as long -as my sister Natásha was engaged to her brother it was of course out of -the question for me to think of marrying her. And it must needs happen -that I should meet her just when Natásha’s engagement had been broken -off... and then everything... So you see... I never told this to anyone -and never will, only to you.” - -The governor’s wife pressed his elbow gratefully. - -“You know Sónya, my cousin? I love her, and promised to marry her, and -will do so.... So you see there can be no question about—” said Nicholas -incoherently and blushing. - -“My dear boy, what a way to look at it! You know Sónya has nothing and -you yourself say your Papa’s affairs are in a very bad way. And what -about your mother? It would kill her, that’s one thing. And what sort of -life would it be for Sónya—if she’s a girl with a heart? Your mother -in despair, and you all ruined.... No, my dear, you and Sónya ought to -understand that.” - -Nicholas remained silent. It comforted him to hear these arguments. - -“All the same, Aunt, it is impossible,” he rejoined with a sigh, after -a short pause. “Besides, would the princess have me? And besides, she is -now in mourning. How can one think of it!” - -“But you don’t suppose I’m going to get you married at once? There is -always a right way of doing things,” replied the governor’s wife. - -“What a matchmaker you are, Aunt...” said Nicholas, kissing her plump -little hand. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostóv, Princess Mary had -found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrew -giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvíntseva at Vorónezh. -That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented her during her -father’s illness, since his death, and especially since her meeting with -Rostóv was smothered by arrangements for the journey, anxiety about her -brother, settling in a new house, meeting new people, and attending to -her nephew’s education. She was sad. Now, after a month passed in quiet -surroundings, she felt more and more deeply the loss of her father which -was associated in her mind with the ruin of Russia. She was agitated and -incessantly tortured by the thought of the dangers to which her brother, -the only intimate person now remaining to her, was exposed. She was -worried too about her nephew’s education for which she had always felt -herself incompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt at peace—a -peace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personal dreams -and hopes that had been on the point of awakening within her and were -related to her meeting with Rostóv. - -The day after her party the governor’s wife came to see Malvíntseva -and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked that though -under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of course, not to be -thought of, all the same the young people might be brought together and -could get to know one another. Malvíntseva expressed approval, and the -governor’s wife began to speak of Rostóv in Mary’s presence, praising -him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Mary’s name was -mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a painful rather than a joyful -feeling—her mental tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts, -self-reproach, and hopes reawoke. - -During the two days that elapsed before Rostóv called, Princess Mary -continually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First she decided -not to come to the drawing room when he called to see her aunt—that it -would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, to receive visitors; -then she thought this would be rude after what he had done for her; then -it occurred to her that her aunt and the governor’s wife had intentions -concerning herself and Rostóv—their looks and words at times seemed to -confirm this supposition—then she told herself that only she, with her -sinful nature, could think this of them: they could not forget that -situated as she was, while still wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking -would be an insult to her and to her father’s memory. Assuming that she -did go down to see him, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say -to her and what she would say to him, and these words sometimes seemed -undeservedly cold and then to mean too much. More than anything she -feared lest the confusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as -soon as she saw him. - -But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing -room that Count Rostóv had called, the princess showed no confusion, -only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new -and radiant light. - -“You have met him, Aunt?” said she in a calm voice, unable herself to -understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural. - -When Rostóv entered the room, the princess dropped her eyes for an -instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then -just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look with -shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace she half rose -with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender, delicate hand to him, -and began to speak in a voice in which for the first time new deep -womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in the drawing -room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise. Herself a -consummate coquette, she could not have maneuvered better on meeting a -man she wished to attract. - -“Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has greatly -improved without my having noticed it. And above all, what tact and -grace!” thought Mademoiselle Bourienne. - -Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, she would -have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that -had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognized that dear, -loved face, a new life force took possession of her and compelled her to -speak and act apart from her own will. From the time Rostóv entered, her -face became suddenly transformed. It was as if a light had been kindled -in a carved and painted lantern and the intricate, skillful, artistic -work on its sides, that previously seemed dark, coarse, and meaningless, -was suddenly shown up in unexpected and striking beauty. For the first -time all that pure, spiritual, inward travail through which she had -lived appeared on the surface. All her inward labor, her dissatisfaction -with herself, her sufferings, her strivings after goodness, her -meekness, love, and self-sacrifice—all this now shone in those radiant -eyes, in her delicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face. - -Rostóv saw all this as clearly as if he had known her whole life. He -felt that the being before him was quite different from, and better -than, anyone he had met before, and above all better than himself. - -Their conversation was very simple and unimportant. They spoke of the -war, and like everyone else unconsciously exaggerated their sorrow -about it; they spoke of their last meeting—Nicholas trying to change the -subject—they talked of the governor’s kind wife, of Nicholas’ relations, -and of Princess Mary’s. - -She did not talk about her brother, diverting the conversation as soon -as her aunt mentioned Andrew. Evidently she could speak of Russia’s -misfortunes with a certain artificiality, but her brother was too near -her heart and she neither could nor would speak lightly of him. Nicholas -noticed this, as he noticed every shade of Princess Mary’s character -with an observation unusual to him, and everything confirmed his -conviction that she was a quite unusual and extraordinary being. -Nicholas blushed and was confused when people spoke to him about the -princess (as she did when he was mentioned) and even when he thought of -her, but in her presence he felt quite at ease, and said not at all what -he had prepared, but what, quite appropriately, occurred to him at the -moment. - -When a pause occurred during his short visit, Nicholas, as is usual when -there are children, turned to Prince Andrew’s little son, caressing him -and asking whether he would like to be an hussar. He took the boy on -his knee, played with him, and looked round at Princess Mary. With a -softened, happy, timid look she watched the boy she loved in the arms -of the man she loved. Nicholas also noticed that look and, as if -understanding it, flushed with pleasure and began to kiss the boy with -good natured playfulness. - -As she was in mourning Princess Mary did not go out into society, and -Nicholas did not think it the proper thing to visit her again; but all -the same the governor’s wife went on with her matchmaking, passing on to -Nicholas the flattering things Princess Mary said of him and vice -versa, and insisting on his declaring himself to Princess Mary. For this -purpose she arranged a meeting between the young people at the bishop’s -house before Mass. - -Though Rostóv told the governor’s wife that he would not make any -declaration to Princess Mary, he promised to go. - -As at Tilsit Rostóv had not allowed himself to doubt that what everybody -considered right was right, so now, after a short but sincere struggle -between his effort to arrange his life by his own sense of justice, and -in obedient submission to circumstances, he chose the latter and yielded -to the power he felt irresistibly carrying him he knew not where. He -knew that after his promise to Sónya it would be what he deemed base to -declare his feelings to Princess Mary. And he knew that he would never -act basely. But he also knew (or rather felt at the bottom of his heart) -that by resigning himself now to the force of circumstances and to those -who were guiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doing -something very important—more important than anything he had ever done -in his life. - -After meeting Princess Mary, though the course of his life went on -externally as before, all his former amusements lost their charm for him -and he often thought about her. But he never thought about her as he -had thought of all the young ladies without exception whom he had met -in society, nor as he had for a long time, and at one time rapturously, -thought about Sónya. He had pictured each of those young ladies as -almost all honest-hearted young men do, that is, as a possible wife, -adapting her in his imagination to all the conditions of married life: -a white dressing gown, his wife at the tea table, his wife’s carriage, -little ones, Mamma and Papa, their relations to her, and so on—and these -pictures of the future had given him pleasure. But with Princess Mary, -to whom they were trying to get him engaged, he could never picture -anything of future married life. If he tried, his pictures seemed -incongruous and false. It made him afraid. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -The dreadful news of the battle of Borodinó, of our losses in killed and -wounded, and the still more terrible news of the loss of Moscow reached -Vorónezh in the middle of September. Princess Mary, having learned of -her brother’s wound only from the Gazette and having no definite news of -him, prepared (so Nicholas heard, he had not seen her again himself) to -set off in search of Prince Andrew. - -When he received the news of the battle of Borodinó and the abandonment -of Moscow, Rostóv was not seized with despair, anger, the desire for -vengeance, or any feeling of that kind, but everything in Vorónezh -suddenly seemed to him dull and tiresome, and he experienced an -indefinite feeling of shame and awkwardness. The conversations he heard -seemed to him insincere; he did not know how to judge all these affairs -and felt that only in the regiment would everything again become clear -to him. He made haste to finish buying the horses, and often became -unreasonably angry with his servant and squadron quartermaster. - -A few days before his departure a special thanksgiving, at which -Nicholas was present, was held in the cathedral for the Russian victory. -He stood a little behind the governor and held himself with military -decorum through the service, meditating on a great variety of subjects. -When the service was over the governor’s wife beckoned him to her. - -“Have you seen the princess?” she asked, indicating with a movement of -her head a lady standing on the opposite side, beyond the choir. - -Nicholas immediately recognized Princess Mary not so much by the profile -he saw under her bonnet as by the feeling of solicitude, timidity, and -pity that immediately overcame him. Princess Mary, evidently engrossed -by her thoughts, was crossing herself for the last time before leaving -the church. - -Nicholas looked at her face with surprise. It was the same face he had -seen before, there was the same general expression of refined, inner, -spiritual labor, but now it was quite differently lit up. There was a -pathetic expression of sorrow, prayer, and hope in it. As had occurred -before when she was present, Nicholas went up to her without waiting to -be prompted by the governor’s wife and not asking himself whether or not -it was right and proper to address her here in church, and told her he -had heard of her trouble and sympathized with his whole soul. As soon as -she heard his voice a vivid glow kindled in her face, lighting up both -her sorrow and her joy. - -“There is one thing I wanted to tell you, Princess,” said Rostóv. “It -is that if your brother, Prince Andrew Nikoláevich, were not living, it -would have been at once announced in the Gazette, as he is a colonel.” - -The princess looked at him, not grasping what he was saying, but cheered -by the expression of regretful sympathy on his face. - -“And I have known so many cases of a splinter wound” (the Gazette said -it was a shell) “either proving fatal at once or being very slight,” -continued Nicholas. “We must hope for the best, and I am sure...” - -Princess Mary interrupted him. - -“Oh, that would be so dread...” she began and, prevented by agitation -from finishing, she bent her head with a movement as graceful as -everything she did in his presence and, looking up at him gratefully, -went out, following her aunt. - -That evening Nicholas did not go out, but stayed at home to settle some -accounts with the horse dealers. When he had finished that business it -was already too late to go anywhere but still too early to go to bed, -and for a long time he paced up and down the room, reflecting on his -life, a thing he rarely did. - -Princess Mary had made an agreeable impression on him when he had met -her in Smolénsk province. His having encountered her in such exceptional -circumstances, and his mother having at one time mentioned her to him as -a good match, had drawn his particular attention to her. When he met her -again in Vorónezh the impression she made on him was not merely pleasing -but powerful. Nicholas had been struck by the peculiar moral beauty he -observed in her at this time. He was, however, preparing to go away and -it had not entered his head to regret that he was thus depriving himself -of chances of meeting her. But that day’s encounter in church had, he -felt, sunk deeper than was desirable for his peace of mind. That pale, -sad, refined face, that radiant look, those gentle graceful gestures, -and especially the deep and tender sorrow expressed in all her features -agitated him and evoked his sympathy. In men Rostóv could not bear to -see the expression of a higher spiritual life (that was why he did not -like Prince Andrew) and he referred to it contemptuously as philosophy -and dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very sorrow which revealed -the depth of a whole spiritual world foreign to him was an irresistible -attraction. - -“She must be a wonderful woman. A real angel!” he said to himself. -“Why am I not free? Why was I in such a hurry with Sónya?” And he -involuntarily compared the two: the lack of spirituality in the one and -the abundance of it in the other—a spirituality he himself lacked and -therefore valued most highly. He tried to picture what would happen were -he free. How he would propose to her and how she would become his wife. -But no, he could not imagine that. He felt awed, and no clear picture -presented itself to his mind. He had long ago pictured to himself a -future with Sónya, and that was all clear and simple just because it -had all been thought out and he knew all there was in Sónya, but it was -impossible to picture a future with Princess Mary, because he did not -understand her but simply loved her. - -Reveries about Sónya had had something merry and playful in them, but to -dream of Princess Mary was always difficult and a little frightening. - -“How she prayed!” he thought. “It was plain that her whole soul was in -her prayer. Yes, that was the prayer that moves mountains, and I am -sure her prayer will be answered. Why don’t I pray for what I want?” he -suddenly thought. “What do I want? To be free, released from Sónya... -She was right,” he thought, remembering what the governor’s wife had -said: “Nothing but misfortune can come of marrying Sónya. Muddles, -grief for Mamma... business difficulties... muddles, terrible muddles! -Besides, I don’t love her—not as I should. O, God! release me from -this dreadful, inextricable position!” he suddenly began to pray. “Yes, -prayer can move mountains, but one must have faith and not pray as -Natásha and I used to as children, that the snow might turn into -sugar—and then run out into the yard to see whether it had done so. No, -but I am not praying for trifles now,” he thought as he put his pipe -down in a corner, and folding his hands placed himself before the icon. -Softened by memories of Princess Mary he began to pray as he had not -done for a long time. Tears were in his eyes and in his throat when the -door opened and Lavrúshka came in with some papers. - -“Blockhead! Why do you come in without being called?” cried Nicholas, -quickly changing his attitude. - -“From the governor,” said Lavrúshka in a sleepy voice. “A courier has -arrived and there’s a letter for you.” - -“Well, all right, thanks. You can go!” - -Nicholas took the two letters, one of which was from his mother and -the other from Sónya. He recognized them by the handwriting and opened -Sónya’s first. He had read only a few lines when he turned pale and his -eyes opened wide with fear and joy. - -“No, it’s not possible!” he cried aloud. - -Unable to sit still he paced up and down the room holding the letter and -reading it. He glanced through it, then read it again, and then again, -and standing still in the middle of the room he raised his shoulders, -stretching out his hands, with his mouth wide open and his eyes fixed. -What he had just been praying for with confidence that God would hear -him had come to pass; but Nicholas was as much astonished as if it were -something extraordinary and unexpected, and as if the very fact that it -had happened so quickly proved that it had not come from God to whom he -had prayed, but by some ordinary coincidence. - -This unexpected and, as it seemed to Nicholas, quite voluntary letter -from Sónya freed him from the knot that fettered him and from which -there had seemed no escape. She wrote that the last unfortunate -events—the loss of almost the whole of the Rostóvs’ Moscow property—and -the countess’ repeatedly expressed wish that Nicholas should marry -Princess Bolkónskaya, together with his silence and coldness of late, -had all combined to make her decide to release him from his promise and -set him completely free. - -It would be too painful to me to think that I might be a cause of sorrow -or discord in the family that has been so good to me (she wrote), and my -love has no aim but the happiness of those I love; so, Nicholas, I -beg you to consider yourself free, and to be assured that, in spite of -everything, no one can love you more than does - -Your Sónya - -Both letters were written from Tróitsa. The other, from the countess, -described their last days in Moscow, their departure, the fire, and -the destruction of all their property. In this letter the countess also -mentioned that Prince Andrew was among the wounded traveling with them; -his state was very critical, but the doctor said there was now more -hope. Sónya and Natásha were nursing him. - -Next day Nicholas took his mother’s letter and went to see Princess -Mary. Neither he nor she said a word about what “Natásha nursing him” -might mean, but thanks to this letter Nicholas suddenly became almost as -intimate with the princess as if they were relations. - -The following day he saw Princess Mary off on her journey to Yaroslávl, -and a few days later left to rejoin his regiment. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Sónya’s letter written from Tróitsa, which had come as an answer to -Nicholas’ prayer, was prompted by this: the thought of getting Nicholas -married to an heiress occupied the old countess’ mind more and more. She -knew that Sónya was the chief obstacle to this happening, and Sónya’s -life in the countess’ house had grown harder and harder, especially -after they had received a letter from Nicholas telling of his meeting -with Princess Mary in Boguchárovo. The countess let no occasion slip of -making humiliating or cruel allusions to Sónya. - -But a few days before they left Moscow, moved and excited by all that -was going on, she called Sónya to her and, instead of reproaching and -making demands on her, tearfully implored her to sacrifice herself -and repay all that the family had done for her by breaking off her -engagement with Nicholas. - -“I shall not be at peace till you promise me this.” - -Sónya burst into hysterical tears and replied through her sobs that -she would do anything and was prepared for anything, but gave no actual -promise and could not bring herself to decide to do what was demanded -of her. She must sacrifice herself for the family that had reared and -brought her up. To sacrifice herself for others was Sónya’s habit. Her -position in the house was such that only by sacrifice could she show her -worth, and she was accustomed to this and loved doing it. But in all her -former acts of self-sacrifice she had been happily conscious that they -raised her in her own esteem and in that of others, and so made her more -worthy of Nicholas whom she loved more than anything in the world. But -now they wanted her to sacrifice the very thing that constituted the -whole reward for her self-sacrifice and the whole meaning of her life. -And for the first time she felt bitterness against those who had been -her benefactors only to torture her the more painfully; she felt jealous -of Natásha who had never experienced anything of this sort, had never -needed to sacrifice herself, but made others sacrifice themselves for -her and yet was beloved by everybody. And for the first time Sónya felt -that out of her pure, quiet love for Nicholas a passionate feeling -was beginning to grow up which was stronger than principle, virtue, -or religion. Under the influence of this feeling Sónya, whose life of -dependence had taught her involuntarily to be secretive, having answered -the countess in vague general terms, avoided talking with her and -resolved to wait till she should see Nicholas, not in order to set him -free but on the contrary at that meeting to bind him to her forever. - -The bustle and terror of the Rostóvs’ last days in Moscow stifled the -gloomy thoughts that oppressed Sónya. She was glad to find escape -from them in practical activity. But when she heard of Prince Andrew’s -presence in their house, despite her sincere pity for him and for -Natásha, she was seized by a joyful and superstitious feeling that God -did not intend her to be separated from Nicholas. She knew that Natásha -loved no one but Prince Andrew and had never ceased to love him. She -knew that being thrown together again under such terrible circumstances -they would again fall in love with one another, and that Nicholas would -then not be able to marry Princess Mary as they would be within the -prohibited degrees of affinity. Despite all the terror of what had -happened during those last days and during the first days of their -journey, this feeling that Providence was intervening in her personal -affairs cheered Sónya. - -At the Tróitsa monastery the Rostóvs first broke their journey for a -whole day. - -Three large rooms were assigned to them in the monastery hostelry, one -of which was occupied by Prince Andrew. The wounded man was much better -that day and Natásha was sitting with him. In the next room sat the -count and countess respectfully conversing with the prior, who was -calling on them as old acquaintances and benefactors of the monastery. -Sónya was there too, tormented by curiosity as to what Prince Andrew and -Natásha were talking about. She heard the sound of their voices through -the door. That door opened and Natásha came out, looking excited. Not -noticing the monk, who had risen to greet her and was drawing back the -wide sleeve on his right arm, she went up to Sónya and took her hand. - -“Natásha, what are you about? Come here!” said the countess. - -Natásha went up to the monk for his blessing, and he advised her to pray -for aid to God and His saint. - -As soon as the prior withdrew, Natásha took her friend by the hand and -went with her into the unoccupied room. - -“Sónya, will he live?” she asked. “Sónya, how happy I am, and how -unhappy!... Sónya, dovey, everything is as it used to be. If only he -lives! He cannot... because... because... of...” and Natásha burst into -tears. - -“Yes! I knew it! Thank God!” murmured Sónya. “He will live.” - -Sónya was not less agitated than her friend by the latter’s fear and -grief and by her own personal feelings which she shared with no one. -Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natásha. “If only he lives!” she -thought. Having wept, talked, and wiped away their tears, the two -friends went together to Prince Andrew’s door. Natásha opened it -cautiously and glanced into the room, Sónya standing beside her at the -half-open door. - -Prince Andrew was lying raised high on three pillows. His pale face was -calm, his eyes closed, and they could see his regular breathing. - -“O, Natásha!” Sónya suddenly almost screamed, catching her companion’s -arm and stepping back from the door. - -“What? What is it?” asked Natásha. - -“It’s that, that...” said Sónya, with a white face and trembling lips. - -Natásha softly closed the door and went with Sónya to the window, not -yet understanding what the latter was telling her. - -“You remember,” said Sónya with a solemn and frightened expression. -“You remember when I looked in the mirror for you... at Otrádnoe at -Christmas? Do you remember what I saw?” - -“Yes, yes!” cried Natásha opening her eyes wide, and vaguely recalling -that Sónya had told her something about Prince Andrew whom she had seen -lying down. - -“You remember?” Sónya went on. “I saw it then and told everybody, you -and Dunyásha. I saw him lying on a bed,” said she, making a gesture with -her hand and a lifted finger at each detail, “and that he had his eyes -closed and was covered just with a pink quilt, and that his hands were -folded,” she concluded, convincing herself that the details she had just -seen were exactly what she had seen in the mirror. - -She had in fact seen nothing then but had mentioned the first thing that -came into her head, but what she had invented then seemed to her now -as real as any other recollection. She not only remembered what she had -then said—that he turned to look at her and smiled and was covered with -something red—but was firmly convinced that she had then seen and said -that he was covered with a pink quilt and that his eyes were closed. - -“Yes, yes, it really was pink!” cried Natásha, who now thought she -too remembered the word pink being used, and saw in this the most -extraordinary and mysterious part of the prediction. - -“But what does it mean?” she added meditatively. - -“Oh, I don’t know, it is all so strange,” replied Sónya, clutching at -her head. - -A few minutes later Prince Andrew rang and Natásha went to him, but -Sónya, feeling unusually excited and touched, remained at the window -thinking about the strangeness of what had occurred. - - -They had an opportunity that day to send letters to the army, and the -countess was writing to her son. - -“Sónya!” said the countess, raising her eyes from her letter as her -niece passed, “Sónya, won’t you write to Nicholas?” She spoke in a soft, -tremulous voice, and in the weary eyes that looked over her spectacles -Sónya read all that the countess meant to convey with these words. Those -eyes expressed entreaty, shame at having to ask, fear of a refusal, and -readiness for relentless hatred in case of such refusal. - -Sónya went up to the countess and, kneeling down, kissed her hand. - -“Yes, Mamma, I will write,” said she. - -Sónya was softened, excited, and touched by all that had occurred that -day, especially by the mysterious fulfillment she had just seen of her -vision. Now that she knew that the renewal of Natásha’s relations with -Prince Andrew would prevent Nicholas from marrying Princess Mary, she -was joyfully conscious of a return of that self-sacrificing spirit in -which she was accustomed to live and loved to live. So with a joyful -consciousness of performing a magnanimous deed—interrupted several times -by the tears that dimmed her velvety black eyes—she wrote that touching -letter the arrival of which had so amazed Nicholas. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -The officer and soldiers who had arrested Pierre treated him with -hostility but yet with respect, in the guardhouse to which he was taken. -In their attitude toward him could still be felt both uncertainty as -to who he might be—perhaps a very important person—and hostility as a -result of their recent personal conflict with him. - -But when the guard was relieved next morning, Pierre felt that for the -new guard—both officers and men—he was not as interesting as he had -been to his captors; and in fact the guard of the second day did not -recognize in this big, stout man in a peasant coat the vigorous person -who had fought so desperately with the marauder and the convoy and had -uttered those solemn words about saving a child; they saw in him only -No. 17 of the captured Russians, arrested and detained for some reason -by order of the Higher Command. If they noticed anything remarkable -about Pierre, it was only his unabashed, meditative concentration -and thoughtfulness, and the way he spoke French, which struck them as -surprisingly good. In spite of this he was placed that day with the -other arrested suspects, as the separate room he had occupied was -required by an officer. - -All the Russians confined with Pierre were men of the lowest class and, -recognizing him as a gentleman, they all avoided him, more especially as -he spoke French. Pierre felt sad at hearing them making fun of him. - -That evening he learned that all these prisoners (he, probably, among -them) were to be tried for incendiarism. On the third day he was taken -with the others to a house where a French general with a white mustache -sat with two colonels and other Frenchmen with scarves on their arms. -With the precision and definiteness customary in addressing prisoners, -and which is supposed to preclude human frailty, Pierre like the others -was questioned as to who he was, where he had been, with what object, -and so on. - -These questions, like questions put at trials generally, left the -essence of the matter aside, shut out the possibility of that essence’s -being revealed, and were designed only to form a channel through which -the judges wished the answers of the accused to flow so as to lead to -the desired result, namely a conviction. As soon as Pierre began to say -anything that did not fit in with that aim, the channel was removed and -the water could flow to waste. Pierre felt, moreover, what the accused -always feel at their trial, perplexity as to why these questions were -put to him. He had a feeling that it was only out of condescension or a -kind of civility that this device of placing a channel was employed. He -knew he was in these men’s power, that only by force had they brought -him there, that force alone gave them the right to demand answers -to their questions, and that the sole object of that assembly was to -inculpate him. And so, as they had the power and wish to inculpate -him, this expedient of an inquiry and trial seemed unnecessary. It was -evident that any answer would lead to conviction. When asked what he -was doing when he was arrested, Pierre replied in a rather tragic manner -that he was restoring to its parents a child he had saved from the -flames. Why had he fought the marauder? Pierre answered that he “was -protecting a woman,” and that “to protect a woman who was being insulted -was the duty of every man; that...” They interrupted him, for this -was not to the point. Why was he in the yard of a burning house where -witnesses had seen him? He replied that he had gone out to see what -was happening in Moscow. Again they interrupted him: they had not asked -where he was going, but why he was found near the fire? Who was he? they -asked, repeating their first question, which he had declined to answer. -Again he replied that he could not answer it. - -“Put that down, that’s bad... very bad,” sternly remarked the general -with the white mustache and red flushed face. - - -On the fourth day fires broke out on the Zúbovski rampart. - -Pierre and thirteen others were moved to the coach house of a merchant’s -house near the Crimean bridge. On his way through the streets Pierre -felt stifled by the smoke which seemed to hang over the whole -city. Fires were visible on all sides. He did not then realize the -significance of the burning of Moscow, and looked at the fires with -horror. - -He passed four days in the coach house near the Crimean bridge and -during that time learned, from the talk of the French soldiers, that all -those confined there were awaiting a decision which might come any day -from the marshal. What marshal this was, Pierre could not learn from the -soldiers. Evidently for them “the marshal” represented a very high and -rather mysterious power. - -These first days, before the eighth of September when the prisoners were -had up for a second examination, were the hardest of all for Pierre. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -On the eighth of September an officer—a very important one judging by -the respect the guards showed him—entered the coach house where the -prisoners were. This officer, probably someone on the staff, was holding -a paper in his hand, and called over all the Russians there, naming -Pierre as “the man who does not give his name.” Glancing indolently and -indifferently at all the prisoners, he ordered the officer in charge -to have them decently dressed and tidied up before taking them to the -marshal. An hour later a squad of soldiers arrived and Pierre with -thirteen others was led to the Virgin’s Field. It was a fine day, sunny -after rain, and the air was unusually pure. The smoke did not hang low -as on the day when Pierre had been taken from the guardhouse on the -Zúbovski rampart, but rose through the pure air in columns. No flames -were seen, but columns of smoke rose on all sides, and all Moscow as far -as Pierre could see was one vast charred ruin. On all sides there were -waste spaces with only stoves and chimney stacks still standing, and -here and there the blackened walls of some brick houses. Pierre gazed -at the ruins and did not recognize districts he had known well. Here and -there he could see churches that had not been burned. The Krémlin, which -was not destroyed, gleamed white in the distance with its towers and -the belfry of Iván the Great. The domes of the New Convent of the Virgin -glittered brightly and its bells were ringing particularly clearly. -These bells reminded Pierre that it was Sunday and the feast of the -Nativity of the Virgin. But there seemed to be no one to celebrate this -holiday: everywhere were blackened ruins, and the few Russians to be -seen were tattered and frightened people who tried to hide when they saw -the French. - -It was plain that the Russian nest was ruined and destroyed, but in -place of the Russian order of life that had been destroyed, Pierre -unconsciously felt that a quite different, firm, French order had been -established over this ruined nest. He felt this in the looks of -the soldiers who, marching in regular ranks briskly and gaily, were -escorting him and the other criminals; he felt it in the looks of an -important French official in a carriage and pair driven by a soldier, -whom they met on the way. He felt it in the merry sounds of regimental -music he heard from the left side of the field, and felt and realized -it especially from the list of prisoners the French officer had read out -when he came that morning. Pierre had been taken by one set of soldiers -and led first to one and then to another place with dozens of other men, -and it seemed that they might have forgotten him, or confused him with -the others. But no: the answers he had given when questioned had come -back to him in his designation as “the man who does not give his name,” -and under that appellation, which to Pierre seemed terrible, they were -now leading him somewhere with unhesitating assurance on their faces -that he and all the other prisoners were exactly the ones they wanted -and that they were being taken to the proper place. Pierre felt himself -to be an insignificant chip fallen among the wheels of a machine whose -action he did not understand but which was working well. - -He and the other prisoners were taken to the right side of the Virgin’s -Field, to a large white house with an immense garden not far from the -convent. This was Prince Shcherbátov’s house, where Pierre had often -been in other days, and which, as he learned from the talk of the -soldiers, was now occupied by the marshal, the Duke of Eckmühl (Davout). - -They were taken to the entrance and led into the house one by one. -Pierre was the sixth to enter. He was conducted through a glass gallery, -an anteroom, and a hall, which were familiar to him, into a long low -study at the door of which stood an adjutant. - -Davout, spectacles on nose, sat bent over a table at the further end of -the room. Pierre went close up to him, but Davout, evidently consulting -a paper that lay before him, did not look up. Without raising his eyes, -he said in a low voice: - -“Who are you?” - -Pierre was silent because he was incapable of uttering a word. To him -Davout was not merely a French general, but a man notorious for his -cruelty. Looking at his cold face, as he sat like a stern schoolmaster -who was prepared to wait awhile for an answer, Pierre felt that every -instant of delay might cost him his life; but he did not know what -to say. He did not venture to repeat what he had said at his first -examination, yet to disclose his rank and position was dangerous and -embarrassing. So he was silent. But before he had decided what to do, -Davout raised his head, pushed his spectacles back on his forehead, -screwed up his eyes, and looked intently at him. - -“I know that man,” he said in a cold, measured tone, evidently -calculated to frighten Pierre. - -The chill that had been running down Pierre’s back now seized his head -as in a vise. - -“You cannot know me, General, I have never seen you...” - -“He is a Russian spy,” Davout interrupted, addressing another general -who was present, but whom Pierre had not noticed. - -Davout turned away. With an unexpected reverberation in his voice Pierre -rapidly began: - -“No, monseigneur,” he said, suddenly remembering that Davout was a duke. -“No, monseigneur, you cannot have known me. I am a militia officer and -have not quitted Moscow.” - -“Your name?” asked Davout. - -“Bezúkhov.” - -“What proof have I that you are not lying?” - -“Monseigneur!” exclaimed Pierre, not in an offended but in a pleading -voice. - -Davout looked up and gazed intently at him. For some seconds they looked -at one another, and that look saved Pierre. Apart from conditions of war -and law, that look established human relations between the two men. At -that moment an immense number of things passed dimly through both their -minds, and they realized that they were both children of humanity and -were brothers. - -At the first glance, when Davout had only raised his head from the -papers where human affairs and lives were indicated by numbers, Pierre -was merely a circumstance, and Davout could have shot him without -burdening his conscience with an evil deed, but now he saw in him a -human being. He reflected for a moment. - -“How can you show me that you are telling the truth?” said Davout -coldly. - -Pierre remembered Ramballe, and named him and his regiment and the -street where the house was. - -“You are not what you say,” returned Davout. - -In a trembling, faltering voice Pierre began adducing proofs of the -truth of his statements. - -But at that moment an adjutant entered and reported something to Davout. - -Davout brightened up at the news the adjutant brought, and began -buttoning up his uniform. It seemed that he had quite forgotten Pierre. - -When the adjutant reminded him of the prisoner, he jerked his head in -Pierre’s direction with a frown and ordered him to be led away. But -where they were to take him Pierre did not know: back to the coach house -or to the place of execution his companions had pointed out to him as -they crossed the Virgin’s Field. - -He turned his head and saw that the adjutant was putting another -question to Davout. - -“Yes, of course!” replied Davout, but what this “yes” meant, Pierre did -not know. - -Pierre could not afterwards remember how he went, whether it was far, or -in which direction. His faculties were quite numbed, he was stupefied, -and noticing nothing around him went on moving his legs as the others -did till they all stopped and he stopped too. The only thought in his -mind at that time was: who was it that had really sentenced him to -death? Not the men on the commission that had first examined him—not one -of them wished to or, evidently, could have done it. It was not Davout, -who had looked at him in so human a way. In another moment Davout would -have realized that he was doing wrong, but just then the adjutant had -come in and interrupted him. The adjutant, also, had evidently had no -evil intent though he might have refrained from coming in. Then who was -executing him, killing him, depriving him of life—him, Pierre, with all -his memories, aspirations, hopes, and thoughts? Who was doing this? And -Pierre felt that it was no one. - -It was a system—a concurrence of circumstances. - -A system of some sort was killing him—Pierre—depriving him of life, of -everything, annihilating him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -From Prince Shcherbátov’s house the prisoners were led straight down the -Virgin’s Field, to the left of the nunnery, as far as a kitchen garden -in which a post had been set up. Beyond that post a fresh pit had been -dug in the ground, and near the post and the pit a large crowd stood -in a semicircle. The crowd consisted of a few Russians and many -of Napoleon’s soldiers who were not on duty—Germans, Italians, and -Frenchmen, in a variety of uniforms. To the right and left of the post -stood rows of French troops in blue uniforms with red epaulets and high -boots and shakos. - -The prisoners were placed in a certain order, according to the list -(Pierre was sixth), and were led to the post. Several drums suddenly -began to beat on both sides of them, and at that sound Pierre felt as -if part of his soul had been torn away. He lost the power of thinking or -understanding. He could only hear and see. And he had only one wish—that -the frightful thing that had to happen should happen quickly. Pierre -looked round at his fellow prisoners and scrutinized them. - -The two first were convicts with shaven heads. One was tall and thin, -the other dark, shaggy, and sinewy, with a flat nose. The third was -a domestic serf, about forty-five years old, with grizzled hair and a -plump, well-nourished body. The fourth was a peasant, a very handsome -man with a broad, light-brown beard and black eyes. The fifth was a -factory hand, a thin, sallow-faced lad of eighteen in a loose coat. - -Pierre heard the French consulting whether to shoot them separately or -two at a time. “In couples,” replied the officer in command in a calm -voice. There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiers and it was evident -that they were all hurrying—not as men hurry to do something they -understand, but as people hurry to finish a necessary but unpleasant and -incomprehensible task. - -A French official wearing a scarf came up to the right of the row of -prisoners and read out the sentence in Russian and in French. - -Then two pairs of Frenchmen approached the criminals and at the -officer’s command took the two convicts who stood first in the row. The -convicts stopped when they reached the post and, while sacks were being -brought, looked dumbly around as a wounded beast looks at an approaching -huntsman. One crossed himself continually, the other scratched his back -and made a movement of the lips resembling a smile. With hurried hands -the soldiers blindfolded them, drawing the sacks over their heads, and -bound them to the post. - -Twelve sharpshooters with muskets stepped out of the ranks with a firm -regular tread and halted eight paces from the post. Pierre turned away -to avoid seeing what was going to happen. Suddenly a crackling, rolling -noise was heard which seemed to him louder than the most terrific -thunder, and he looked round. There was some smoke, and the Frenchmen -were doing something near the pit, with pale faces and trembling hands. -Two more prisoners were led up. In the same way and with similar looks, -these two glanced vainly at the onlookers with only a silent appeal for -protection in their eyes, evidently unable to understand or believe -what was going to happen to them. They could not believe it because they -alone knew what their life meant to them, and so they neither understood -nor believed that it could be taken from them. - -Again Pierre did not wish to look and again turned away; but again the -sound as of a frightful explosion struck his ear, and at the same moment -he saw smoke, blood, and the pale, scared faces of the Frenchmen who -were again doing something by the post, their trembling hands impeding -one another. Pierre, breathing heavily, looked around as if asking what -it meant. The same question was expressed in all the looks that met his. - -On the faces of all the Russians and of the French soldiers and officers -without exception, he read the same dismay, horror, and conflict that -were in his own heart. “But who, after all, is doing this? They are all -suffering as I am. Who then is it? Who?” flashed for an instant through -his mind. - -“Sharpshooters of the 86th, forward!” shouted someone. The fifth -prisoner, the one next to Pierre, was led away—alone. Pierre did not -understand that he was saved, that he and the rest had been brought -there only to witness the execution. With ever-growing horror, and no -sense of joy or relief, he gazed at what was taking place. The fifth man -was the factory lad in the loose cloak. The moment they laid hands on -him he sprang aside in terror and clutched at Pierre. (Pierre shuddered -and shook himself free.) The lad was unable to walk. They dragged him -along, holding him up under the arms, and he screamed. When they got -him to the post he grew quiet, as if he suddenly understood something. -Whether he understood that screaming was useless or whether he thought -it incredible that men should kill him, at any rate he took his stand at -the post, waiting to be blindfolded like the others, and like a wounded -animal looked around him with glittering eyes. - -Pierre was no longer able to turn away and close his eyes. His curiosity -and agitation, like that of the whole crowd, reached the highest pitch -at this fifth murder. Like the others this fifth man seemed calm; he -wrapped his loose cloak closer and rubbed one bare foot with the other. - -When they began to blindfold him he himself adjusted the knot which -hurt the back of his head; then when they propped him against the -bloodstained post, he leaned back and, not being comfortable in that -position, straightened himself, adjusted his feet, and leaned back again -more comfortably. Pierre did not take his eyes from him and did not miss -his slightest movement. - -Probably a word of command was given and was followed by the reports of -eight muskets; but try as he would Pierre could not afterwards remember -having heard the slightest sound of the shots. He only saw how the -workman suddenly sank down on the cords that held him, how blood showed -itself in two places, how the ropes slackened under the weight of the -hanging body, and how the workman sat down, his head hanging unnaturally -and one leg bent under him. Pierre ran up to the post. No one hindered -him. Pale, frightened people were doing something around the workman. -The lower jaw of an old Frenchman with a thick mustache trembled as he -untied the ropes. The body collapsed. The soldiers dragged it awkwardly -from the post and began pushing it into the pit. - -They all plainly and certainly knew that they were criminals who must -hide the traces of their guilt as quickly as possible. - -Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the factory lad was lying with -his knees close up to his head and one shoulder higher than the other. -That shoulder rose and fell rhythmically and convulsively, but spadefuls -of earth were already being thrown over the whole body. One of the -soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted gruffly and angrily at Pierre to -go back. But Pierre did not understand him and remained near the post, -and no one drove him away. - -When the pit had been filled up a command was given. Pierre was taken -back to his place, and the rows of troops on both sides of the post -made a half turn and went past it at a measured pace. The twenty-four -sharpshooters with discharged muskets, standing in the center of the -circle, ran back to their places as the companies passed by. - -Pierre gazed now with dazed eyes at these sharpshooters who ran in -couples out of the circle. All but one rejoined their companies. This -one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushed back, and -his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pit at the spot -from which he had fired. He swayed like a drunken man, taking some steps -forward and back to save himself from falling. An old, noncommissioned -officer ran out of the ranks and taking him by the elbow dragged him to -his company. The crowd of Russians and Frenchmen began to disperse. They -all went away silently and with drooping heads. - -“That will teach them to start fires,” said one of the Frenchmen. - -Pierre glanced round at the speaker and saw that it was a soldier who -was trying to find some relief after what had been done, but was not -able to do so. Without finishing what he had begun to say he made a -hopeless movement with his arm and went away. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -After the execution Pierre was separated from the rest of the prisoners -and placed alone in a small, ruined, and befouled church. - -Toward evening a noncommissioned officer entered with two soldiers and -told him that he had been pardoned and would now go to the barracks for -the prisoners of war. Without understanding what was said to him, Pierre -got up and went with the soldiers. They took him to the upper end of the -field, where there were some sheds built of charred planks, beams, -and battens, and led him into one of them. In the darkness some twenty -different men surrounded Pierre. He looked at them without understanding -who they were, why they were there, or what they wanted of him. He heard -what they said, but did not understand the meaning of the words and -made no kind of deduction from or application of them. He replied to -questions they put to him, but did not consider who was listening to his -replies, nor how they would understand them. He looked at their faces -and figures, but they all seemed to him equally meaningless. - -From the moment Pierre had witnessed those terrible murders committed by -men who did not wish to commit them, it was as if the mainspring of -his life, on which everything depended and which made everything appear -alive, had suddenly been wrenched out and everything had collapsed -into a heap of meaningless rubbish. Though he did not acknowledge it to -himself, his faith in the right ordering of the universe, in humanity, -in his own soul, and in God, had been destroyed. He had experienced this -before, but never so strongly as now. When similar doubts had assailed -him before, they had been the result of his own wrongdoing, and at the -bottom of his heart he had felt that relief from his despair and from -those doubts was to be found within himself. But now he felt that -the universe had crumbled before his eyes and only meaningless ruins -remained, and this not by any fault of his own. He felt that it was not -in his power to regain faith in the meaning of life. - -Around him in the darkness men were standing and evidently something -about him interested them greatly. They were telling him something and -asking him something. Then they led him away somewhere, and at last he -found himself in a corner of the shed among men who were laughing and -talking on all sides. - -“Well, then, mates... that very prince who...” some voice at the other -end of the shed was saying, with a strong emphasis on the word who. - -Sitting silent and motionless on a heap of straw against the wall, -Pierre sometimes opened and sometimes closed his eyes. But as soon as -he closed them he saw before him the dreadful face of the factory -lad—especially dreadful because of its simplicity—and the faces of the -murderers, even more dreadful because of their disquiet. And he opened -his eyes again and stared vacantly into the darkness around him. - -Beside him in a stooping position sat a small man of whose presence he -was first made aware by a strong smell of perspiration which came from -him every time he moved. This man was doing something to his legs in the -darkness, and though Pierre could not see his face he felt that the man -continually glanced at him. On growing used to the darkness Pierre saw -that the man was taking off his leg bands, and the way he did it aroused -Pierre’s interest. - -Having unwound the string that tied the band on one leg, he carefully -coiled it up and immediately set to work on the other leg, glancing up -at Pierre. While one hand hung up the first string the other was already -unwinding the band on the second leg. In this way, having carefully -removed the leg bands by deft circular motions of his arm following -one another uninterruptedly, the man hung the leg bands up on some pegs -fixed above his head. Then he took out a knife, cut something, closed -the knife, placed it under the head of his bed, and, seating himself -comfortably, clasped his arms round his lifted knees and fixed his eyes -on Pierre. The latter was conscious of something pleasant, comforting, -and well-rounded in these deft movements, in the man’s well-ordered -arrangements in his corner, and even in his very smell, and he looked at -the man without taking his eyes from him. - -“You’ve seen a lot of trouble, sir, eh?” the little man suddenly said. - -And there was so much kindliness and simplicity in his singsong voice -that Pierre tried to reply, but his jaw trembled and he felt tears -rising to his eyes. The little fellow, giving Pierre no time to betray -his confusion, instantly continued in the same pleasant tones: - -“Eh, lad, don’t fret!” said he, in the tender singsong caressing voice -old Russian peasant women employ. “Don’t fret, friend—‘suffer an hour, -live for an age!’ that’s how it is, my dear fellow. And here we live, -thank heaven, without offense. Among these folk, too, there are good -men as well as bad,” said he, and still speaking, he turned on his knees -with a supple movement, got up, coughed, and went off to another part of -the shed. - -“Eh, you rascal!” Pierre heard the same kind voice saying at the other -end of the shed. “So you’ve come, you rascal? She remembers... Now, now, -that’ll do!” - -And the soldier, pushing away a little dog that was jumping up at -him, returned to his place and sat down. In his hands he had something -wrapped in a rag. - -“Here, eat a bit, sir,” said he, resuming his former respectful tone as -he unwrapped and offered Pierre some baked potatoes. “We had soup for -dinner and the potatoes are grand!” - -Pierre had not eaten all day and the smell of the potatoes seemed -extremely pleasant to him. He thanked the soldier and began to eat. - -“Well, are they all right?” said the soldier with a smile. “You should -do like this.” - -He took a potato, drew out his clasp knife, cut the potato into two -equal halves on the palm of his hand, sprinkled some salt on it from the -rag, and handed it to Pierre. - -“The potatoes are grand!” he said once more. “Eat some like that!” - -Pierre thought he had never eaten anything that tasted better. - -“Oh, I’m all right,” said he, “but why did they shoot those poor -fellows? The last one was hardly twenty.” - -“Tss, tt...!” said the little man. “Ah, what a sin... what a sin!” he -added quickly, and as if his words were always waiting ready in his -mouth and flew out involuntarily he went on: “How was it, sir, that you -stayed in Moscow?” - -“I didn’t think they would come so soon. I stayed accidentally,” replied -Pierre. - -“And how did they arrest you, dear lad? At your house?” - -“No, I went to look at the fire, and they arrested me there, and tried -me as an incendiary.” - -“Where there’s law there’s injustice,” put in the little man. - -“And have you been here long?” Pierre asked as he munched the last of -the potato. - -“I? It was last Sunday they took me, out of a hospital in Moscow.” - -“Why, are you a soldier then?” - -“Yes, we are soldiers of the Ápsheron regiment. I was dying of fever. We -weren’t told anything. There were some twenty of us lying there. We had -no idea, never guessed at all.” - -“And do you feel sad here?” Pierre inquired. - -“How can one help it, lad? My name is Platón, and the surname is -Karatáev,” he added, evidently wishing to make it easier for Pierre to -address him. “They call me ‘little falcon’ in the regiment. How is one -to help feeling sad? Moscow—she’s the mother of cities. How can one see -all this and not feel sad? But ‘the maggot gnaws the cabbage, yet dies -first’; that’s what the old folks used to tell us,” he added rapidly. - -“What? What did you say?” asked Pierre. - -“Who? I?” said Karatáev. “I say things happen not as we plan but as God -judges,” he replied, thinking that he was repeating what he had said -before, and immediately continued: - -“Well, and you, have you a family estate, sir? And a house? So you have -abundance, then? And a housewife? And your old parents, are they still -living?” he asked. - -And though it was too dark for Pierre to see, he felt that a suppressed -smile of kindliness puckered the soldier’s lips as he put these -questions. He seemed grieved that Pierre had no parents, especially that -he had no mother. - -“A wife for counsel, a mother-in-law for welcome, but there’s none as -dear as one’s own mother!” said he. “Well, and have you little ones?” he -went on asking. - -Again Pierre’s negative answer seemed to distress him, and he hastened -to add: - -“Never mind! You’re young folks yet, and please God may still have some. -The great thing is to live in harmony....” - -“But it’s all the same now,” Pierre could not help saying. - -“Ah, my dear fellow!” rejoined Karatáev, “never decline a prison or a -beggar’s sack!” - -He seated himself more comfortably and coughed, evidently preparing to -tell a long story. - -“Well, my dear fellow, I was still living at home,” he began. “We had -a well-to-do homestead, plenty of land, we peasants lived well and our -house was one to thank God for. When Father and we went out mowing -there were seven of us. We lived well. We were real peasants. It so -happened...” - -And Platón Karatáev told a long story of how he had gone into someone’s -copse to take wood, how he had been caught by the keeper, had been -tried, flogged, and sent to serve as a soldier. - -“Well, lad,” and a smile changed the tone of his voice “we thought it -was a misfortune but it turned out a blessing! If it had not been for -my sin, my brother would have had to go as a soldier. But he, my younger -brother, had five little ones, while I, you see, only left a wife -behind. We had a little girl, but God took her before I went as a -soldier. I come home on leave and I’ll tell you how it was, I look and -see that they are living better than before. The yard full of cattle, -the women at home, two brothers away earning wages, and only Michael the -youngest, at home. Father, he says, ‘All my children are the same to -me: it hurts the same whichever finger gets bitten. But if Platón hadn’t -been shaved for a soldier, Michael would have had to go.’ called us -all to him and, will you believe it, placed us in front of the icons. -‘Michael,’ he says, ‘come here and bow down to his feet; and you, young -woman, you bow down too; and you, grandchildren, also bow down before -him! Do you understand?’ he says. That’s how it is, dear fellow. Fate -looks for a head. But we are always judging, ‘that’s not well—that’s -not right!’ Our luck is like water in a dragnet: you pull at it and it -bulges, but when you’ve drawn it out it’s empty! That’s how it is.” - -And Platón shifted his seat on the straw. - -After a short silence he rose. - -“Well, I think you must be sleepy,” said he, and began rapidly crossing -himself and repeating: - -“Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus -Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus Christ, have -mercy on us and save us!” he concluded, then bowed to the ground, got -up, sighed, and sat down again on his heap of straw. “That’s the way. -Lay me down like a stone, O God, and raise me up like a loaf,” he -muttered as he lay down, pulling his coat over him. - -“What prayer was that you were saying?” asked Pierre. - -“Eh?” murmured Platón, who had almost fallen asleep. “What was I saying? -I was praying. Don’t you pray?” - -“Yes, I do,” said Pierre. “But what was that you said: Frola and Lavra?” - -“Well, of course,” replied Platón quickly, “the horses’ saints. One must -pity the animals too. Eh, the rascal! Now you’ve curled up and got warm, -you daughter of a bitch!” said Karatáev, touching the dog that lay at -his feet, and again turning over he fell asleep immediately. - -Sounds of crying and screaming came from somewhere in the distance -outside, and flames were visible through the cracks of the shed, but -inside it was quiet and dark. For a long time Pierre did not sleep, but -lay with eyes open in the darkness, listening to the regular snoring -of Platón who lay beside him, and he felt that the world that had been -shattered was once more stirring in his soul with a new beauty and on -new and unshakable foundations. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -Twenty-three soldiers, three officers, and two officials were confined -in the shed in which Pierre had been placed and where he remained for -four weeks. - -When Pierre remembered them afterwards they all seemed misty figures to -him except Platón Karatáev, who always remained in his mind a most -vivid and precious memory and the personification of everything Russian, -kindly, and round. When Pierre saw his neighbor next morning at dawn -the first impression of him, as of something round, was fully confirmed: -Platón’s whole figure—in a French overcoat girdled with a cord, a -soldier’s cap, and bast shoes—was round. His head was quite round, his -back, chest, shoulders, and even his arms, which he held as if ever -ready to embrace something, were rounded, his pleasant smile and his -large, gentle brown eyes were also round. - -Platón Karatáev must have been fifty, judging by his stories of -campaigns he had been in, told as by an old soldier. He did not himself -know his age and was quite unable to determine it. But his brilliantly -white, strong teeth which showed in two unbroken semicircles when he -laughed—as he often did—were all sound and good, there was not a gray -hair in his beard or on his head, and his whole body gave an impression -of suppleness and especially of firmness and endurance. - -His face, despite its fine, rounded wrinkles, had an expression of -innocence and youth, his voice was pleasant and musical. But the chief -peculiarity of his speech was its directness and appositeness. It was -evident that he never considered what he had said or was going to say, -and consequently the rapidity and justice of his intonation had an -irresistible persuasiveness. - -His physical strength and agility during the first days of his -imprisonment were such that he seemed not to know what fatigue and -sickness meant. Every night before lying down, he said: “Lord, lay me -down as a stone and raise me up as a loaf!” and every morning on getting -up, he said: “I lay down and curled up, I get up and shake myself.” And -indeed he only had to lie down, to fall asleep like a stone, and he -only had to shake himself, to be ready without a moment’s delay for some -work, just as children are ready to play directly they awake. He could -do everything, not very well but not badly. He baked, cooked, sewed, -planed, and mended boots. He was always busy, and only at night allowed -himself conversation—of which he was fond—and songs. He did not sing -like a trained singer who knows he is listened to, but like the birds, -evidently giving vent to the sounds in the same way that one stretches -oneself or walks about to get rid of stiffness, and the sounds were -always high-pitched, mournful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his -face at such times was very serious. - -Having been taken prisoner and allowed his beard to grow, he seemed to -have thrown off all that had been forced upon him—everything military -and alien to himself—and had returned to his former peasant habits. - -“A soldier on leave—a shirt outside breeches,” he would say. - -He did not like talking about his life as a soldier, though he did not -complain, and often mentioned that he had not been flogged once during -the whole of his army service. When he related anything it was generally -some old and evidently precious memory of his “Christian” life, as he -called his peasant existence. The proverbs, of which his talk was full, -were for the most part not the coarse and indecent saws soldiers -employ, but those folk sayings which taken without a context seem so -insignificant, but when used appositely suddenly acquire a significance -of profound wisdom. - -He would often say the exact opposite of what he had said on a previous -occasion, yet both would be right. He liked to talk and he talked well, -adorning his speech with terms of endearment and with folk sayings which -Pierre thought he invented himself, but the chief charm of his talk lay -in the fact that the commonest events—sometimes just such as Pierre -had witnessed without taking notice of them—assumed in Karatáev’s a -character of solemn fitness. He liked to hear the folk tales one of the -soldiers used to tell of an evening (they were always the same), but -most of all he liked to hear stories of real life. He would smile -joyfully when listening to such stories, now and then putting in a word -or asking a question to make the moral beauty of what he was told clear -to himself. Karatáev had no attachments, friendships, or love, as Pierre -understood them, but loved and lived affectionately with everything life -brought him in contact with, particularly with man—not any particular -man, but those with whom he happened to be. He loved his dog, his -comrades, the French, and Pierre who was his neighbor, but Pierre felt -that in spite of Karatáev’s affectionate tenderness for him (by which -he unconsciously gave Pierre’s spiritual life its due) he would not have -grieved for a moment at parting from him. And Pierre began to feel in -the same way toward Karatáev. - -To all the other prisoners Platón Karatáev seemed a most ordinary -soldier. They called him “little falcon” or “Platósha,” chaffed him -good-naturedly, and sent him on errands. But to Pierre he always -remained what he had seemed that first night: an unfathomable, rounded, -eternal personification of the spirit of simplicity and truth. - -Platón Karatáev knew nothing by heart except his prayers. When he began -to speak he seemed not to know how he would conclude. - -Sometimes Pierre, struck by the meaning of his words, would ask him to -repeat them, but Platón could never recall what he had said a moment -before, just as he never could repeat to Pierre the words of his -favorite song: native and birch tree and my heart is sick occurred in -it, but when spoken and not sung, no meaning could be got out of it. He -did not, and could not, understand the meaning of words apart from -their context. Every word and action of his was the manifestation of -an activity unknown to him, which was his life. But his life, as he -regarded it, had no meaning as a separate thing. It had meaning only as -part of a whole of which he was always conscious. His words and actions -flowed from him as evenly, inevitably, and spontaneously as fragrance -exhales from a flower. He could not understand the value or significance -of any word or deed taken separately. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -When Princess Mary heard from Nicholas that her brother was with the -Rostóvs at Yaroslávl she at once prepared to go there, in spite of her -aunt’s efforts to dissuade her—and not merely to go herself but to take -her nephew with her. Whether it were difficult or easy, possible or -impossible, she did not ask and did not want to know: it was her duty, -not only to herself, to be near her brother who was perhaps dying, but -to do everything possible to take his son to him, and so she prepared -to set off. That she had not heard from Prince Andrew himself, Princess -Mary attributed to his being too weak to write or to his considering the -long journey too hard and too dangerous for her and his son. - -In a few days Princess Mary was ready to start. Her equipages were the -huge family coach in which she had traveled to Vorónezh, a semiopen -trap, and a baggage cart. With her traveled Mademoiselle Bourienne, -little Nicholas and his tutor, her old nurse, three maids, Tíkhon, and a -young footman and courier her aunt had sent to accompany her. - -The usual route through Moscow could not be thought of, and the -roundabout way Princess Mary was obliged to take through Lípetsk, -Ryazán, Vladímir, and Shúya was very long and, as post horses were not -everywhere obtainable, very difficult, and near Ryazán where the French -were said to have shown themselves was even dangerous. - -During this difficult journey Mademoiselle Bourienne, Dessalles, and -Princess Mary’s servants were astonished at her energy and firmness of -spirit. She went to bed later and rose earlier than any of them, and -no difficulties daunted her. Thanks to her activity and energy, which -infected her fellow travelers, they approached Yaroslávl by the end of -the second week. - -The last days of her stay in Vorónezh had been the happiest of her life. -Her love for Rostóv no longer tormented or agitated her. It filled her -whole soul, had become an integral part of herself, and she no longer -struggled against it. Latterly she had become convinced that she loved -and was beloved, though she never said this definitely to herself -in words. She had become convinced of it at her last interview with -Nicholas, when he had come to tell her that her brother was with the -Rostóvs. Not by a single word had Nicholas alluded to the fact that -Prince Andrew’s relations with Natásha might, if he recovered, be -renewed, but Princess Mary saw by his face that he knew and thought of -this. - -Yet in spite of that, his relation to her—considerate, delicate, and -loving—not only remained unchanged, but it sometimes seemed to Princess -Mary that he was even glad that the family connection between them -allowed him to express his friendship more freely. She knew that she -loved for the first and only time in her life and felt that she was -beloved, and was happy in regard to it. - -But this happiness on one side of her spiritual nature did not prevent -her feeling grief for her brother with full force; on the contrary, that -spiritual tranquility on the one side made it the more possible for her -to give full play to her feeling for her brother. That feeling was so -strong at the moment of leaving Vorónezh that those who saw her off, as -they looked at her careworn, despairing face, felt sure she would fall -ill on the journey. But the very difficulties and preoccupations of the -journey, which she took so actively in hand, saved her for a while from -her grief and gave her strength. - -As always happens when traveling, Princess Mary thought only of the -journey itself, forgetting its object. But as she approached Yaroslávl -the thought of what might await her there—not after many days, but that -very evening—again presented itself to her and her agitation increased -to its utmost limit. - -The courier who had been sent on in advance to find out where the -Rostóvs were staying in Yaroslávl, and in what condition Prince Andrew -was, when he met the big coach just entering the town gates was appalled -by the terrible pallor of the princess’ face that looked out at him from -the window. - -“I have found out everything, your excellency: the Rostóvs are staying -at the merchant Brónnikov’s house, in the Square not far from here, -right above the Vólga,” said the courier. - -Princess Mary looked at him with frightened inquiry, not understanding -why he did not reply to what she chiefly wanted to know: how was her -brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put that question for her. - -“How is the prince?” she asked. - -“His excellency is staying in the same house with them.” - -“Then he is alive,” thought Princess Mary, and asked in a low voice: -“How is he?” - -“The servants say he is still the same.” - -What “still the same” might mean Princess Mary did not ask, but with an -unnoticed glance at little seven-year-old Nicholas, who was sitting in -front of her looking with pleasure at the town, she bowed her head -and did not raise it again till the heavy coach, rumbling, shaking and -swaying, came to a stop. The carriage steps clattered as they were let -down. - -The carriage door was opened. On the left there was water—a great -river—and on the right a porch. There were people at the entrance: -servants, and a rosy girl with a large plait of black hair, smiling as -it seemed to Princess Mary in an unpleasantly affected way. (This was -Sónya.) Princess Mary ran up the steps. “This way, this way!” said the -girl, with the same artificial smile, and the princess found herself in -the hall facing an elderly woman of Oriental type, who came rapidly to -meet her with a look of emotion. This was the countess. She embraced -Princess Mary and kissed her. - -“Mon enfant!” she muttered, “je vous aime et vous connais depuis -longtemps.” * - - * “My child! I love you and have known you a long time.” - - -Despite her excitement, Princess Mary realized that this was the -countess and that it was necessary to say something to her. Hardly -knowing how she did it, she contrived to utter a few polite phrases in -French in the same tone as those that had been addressed to her, and -asked: “How is he?” - -“The doctor says that he is not in danger,” said the countess, but as -she spoke she raised her eyes with a sigh, and her gesture conveyed a -contradiction of her words. - -“Where is he? Can I see him—can I?” asked the princess. - -“One moment, Princess, one moment, my dear! Is this his son?” said the -countess, turning to little Nicholas who was coming in with Dessalles. -“There will be room for everybody, this is a big house. Oh, what a -lovely boy!” - -The countess took Princess Mary into the drawing room, where Sónya was -talking to Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess caressed the boy, and -the old count came in and welcomed the princess. He had changed very -much since Princess Mary had last seen him. Then he had been a brisk, -cheerful, self-assured old man; now he seemed a pitiful, bewildered -person. While talking to Princess Mary he continually looked round as -if asking everyone whether he was doing the right thing. After the -destruction of Moscow and of his property, thrown out of his accustomed -groove he seemed to have lost the sense of his own significance and to -feel that there was no longer a place for him in life. - -In spite of her one desire to see her brother as soon as possible, and -her vexation that at the moment when all she wanted was to see him they -should be trying to entertain her and pretending to admire her nephew, -the princess noticed all that was going on around her and felt the -necessity of submitting, for a time, to this new order of things which -she had entered. She knew it to be necessary, and though it was hard for -her she was not vexed with these people. - -“This is my niece,” said the count, introducing Sónya—“You don’t know -her, Princess?” - -Princess Mary turned to Sónya and, trying to stifle the hostile -feeling that arose in her toward the girl, she kissed her. But she felt -oppressed by the fact that the mood of everyone around her was so far -from what was in her own heart. - -“Where is he?” she asked again, addressing them all. - -“He is downstairs. Natásha is with him,” answered Sónya, flushing. “We -have sent to ask. I think you must be tired, Princess.” - -Tears of vexation showed themselves in Princess Mary’s eyes. She turned -away and was about to ask the countess again how to go to him, when -light, impetuous, and seemingly buoyant steps were heard at the door. -The princess looked round and saw Natásha coming in, almost running—that -Natásha whom she had liked so little at their meeting in Moscow long -since. - -But hardly had the princess looked at Natásha’s face before she realized -that here was a real comrade in her grief, and consequently a friend. -She ran to meet her, embraced her, and began to cry on her shoulder. - -As soon as Natásha, sitting at the head of Prince Andrew’s bed, heard -of Princess Mary’s arrival, she softly left his room and hastened to her -with those swift steps that had sounded buoyant to Princess Mary. - -There was only one expression on her agitated face when she ran into the -drawing room—that of love—boundless love for him, for her, and for all -that was near to the man she loved; and of pity, suffering for others, -and passionate desire to give herself entirely to helping them. It was -plain that at that moment there was in Natásha’s heart no thought of -herself or of her own relations with Prince Andrew. - -Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, understood all this at the -first glance at Natásha’s face, and wept on her shoulder with sorrowful -pleasure. - -“Come, come to him, Mary,” said Natásha, leading her into the other -room. - -Princess Mary raised her head, dried her eyes, and turned to Natásha. -She felt that from her she would be able to understand and learn -everything. - -“How...” she began her question but stopped short. - -She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in words. -Natásha’s face and eyes would have to tell her all more clearly and -profoundly. - -Natásha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether to say -all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before those luminous eyes -which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it was impossible -not to tell the whole truth which she saw. And suddenly, Natásha’s lips -twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, and covering her face -with her hands she burst into sobs. - -Princess Mary understood. - -But she still hoped, and asked, in words she herself did not trust: - -“But how is his wound? What is his general condition?” - -“You, you... will see,” was all Natásha could say. - -They sat a little while downstairs near his room till they had left off -crying and were able to go to him with calm faces. - -“How has his whole illness gone? Is it long since he grew worse? When -did this happen?” Princess Mary inquired. - -Natásha told her that at first there had been danger from his feverish -condition and the pain he suffered, but at Tróitsa that had passed -and the doctor had only been afraid of gangrene. That danger had also -passed. When they reached Yaroslávl the wound had begun to fester -(Natásha knew all about such things as festering) and the doctor had -said that the festering might take a normal course. Then fever set in, -but the doctor had said the fever was not very serious. - -“But two days ago this suddenly happened,” said Natásha, struggling with -her sobs. “I don’t know why, but you will see what he is like.” - -“Is he weaker? Thinner?” asked the princess. - -“No, it’s not that, but worse. You will see. O, Mary, he is too good, he -cannot, cannot live, because...” - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -When Natásha opened Prince Andrew’s door with a familiar movement and -let Princess Mary pass into the room before her, the princess felt the -sobs in her throat. Hard as she had tried to prepare herself, and now -tried to remain tranquil, she knew that she would be unable to look at -him without tears. - -The princess understood what Natásha had meant by the words: “two days -ago this suddenly happened.” She understood those words to mean that he -had suddenly softened and that this softening and gentleness were signs -of approaching death. As she stepped to the door she already saw in -imagination Andrew’s face as she remembered it in childhood, a gentle, -mild, sympathetic face which he had rarely shown, and which therefore -affected her very strongly. She was sure he would speak soft, tender -words to her such as her father had uttered before his death, and -that she would not be able to bear it and would burst into sobs in his -presence. Yet sooner or later it had to be, and she went in. The sobs -rose higher and higher in her throat as she more and more clearly -distinguished his form and her shortsighted eyes tried to make out his -features, and then she saw his face and met his gaze. - -He was lying in a squirrel-fur dressing gown on a divan, surrounded by -pillows. He was thin and pale. In one thin, translucently white hand -he held a handkerchief, while with the other he stroked the delicate -mustache he had grown, moving his fingers slowly. His eyes gazed at them -as they entered. - -On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Princess Mary’s pace suddenly -slackened, she felt her tears dry up and her sobs ceased. She suddenly -felt guilty and grew timid on catching the expression of his face and -eyes. - -“But in what am I to blame?” she asked herself. And his cold, stern look -replied: “Because you are alive and thinking of the living, while I...” - -In the deep gaze that seemed to look not outwards but inwards there -was an almost hostile expression as he slowly regarded his sister and -Natásha. - -He kissed his sister, holding her hand in his as was their wont. - -“How are you, Mary? How did you manage to get here?” said he in a voice -as calm and aloof as his look. - -Had he screamed in agony, that scream would not have struck such horror -into Princess Mary’s heart as the tone of his voice. - -“And have you brought little Nicholas?” he asked in the same slow, quiet -manner and with an obvious effort to remember. - -“How are you now?” said Princess Mary, herself surprised at what she was -saying. - -“That, my dear, you must ask the doctor,” he replied, and again making -an evident effort to be affectionate, he said with his lips only (his -words clearly did not correspond to his thoughts): - -“Merci, chère amie, d’être venue.” * - - * “Thank you for coming, my dear.” - - -Princess Mary pressed his hand. The pressure made him wince just -perceptibly. He was silent, and she did not know what to say. She now -understood what had happened to him two days before. In his words, his -tone, and especially in that calm, almost antagonistic look could be -felt an estrangement from everything belonging to this world, terrible -in one who is alive. Evidently only with an effort did he understand -anything living; but it was obvious that he failed to understand, not -because he lacked the power to do so but because he understood something -else—something the living did not and could not understand—and which -wholly occupied his mind. - -“There, you see how strangely fate has brought us together,” said he, -breaking the silence and pointing to Natásha. “She looks after me all -the time.” - -Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how he could say such a -thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how could he say that, -before her whom he loved and who loved him? Had he expected to live he -could not have said those words in that offensively cold tone. If he had -not known that he was dying, how could he have failed to pity her and -how could he speak like that in her presence? The only explanation was -that he was indifferent, because something else, much more important, -had been revealed to him. - -The conversation was cold and disconnected and continually broke off. - -“Mary came by way of Ryazán,” said Natásha. - -Prince Andrew did not notice that she called his sister Mary, and only -after calling her so in his presence did Natásha notice it herself. - -“Really?” he asked. - -“They told her that all Moscow has been burned down, and that...” - -Natásha stopped. It was impossible to talk. It was plain that he was -making an effort to listen, but could not do so. - -“Yes, they say it’s burned,” he said. “It’s a great pity,” and he gazed -straight before him, absently stroking his mustache with his fingers. - -“And so you have met Count Nicholas, Mary?” Prince Andrew suddenly said, -evidently wishing to speak pleasantly to them. “He wrote here that he -took a great liking to you,” he went on simply and calmly, evidently -unable to understand all the complex significance his words had for -living people. “If you liked him too, it would be a good thing for you -to get married,” he added rather more quickly, as if pleased at having -found words he had long been seeking. - -Princess Mary heard his words but they had no meaning for her, except as -a proof of how far away he now was from everything living. - -“Why talk of me?” she said quietly and glanced at Natásha. - -Natásha, who felt her glance, did not look at her. All three were again -silent. - -“Andrew, would you like...” Princess Mary suddenly said in a trembling -voice, “would you like to see little Nicholas? He is always talking -about you!” - -Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and for the first time, but -Princess Mary, who knew his face so well, saw with horror that he did -not smile with pleasure or affection for his son, but with quiet, gentle -irony because he thought she was trying what she believed to be the last -means of arousing him. - -“Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Is he quite well?” - -When little Nicholas was brought into Prince Andrew’s room he looked at -his father with frightened eyes, but did not cry, because no one else -was crying. Prince Andrew kissed him and evidently did not know what to -say to him. - -When Nicholas had been led away, Princess Mary again went up to her -brother, kissed him, and unable to restrain her tears any longer began -to cry. - -He looked at her attentively. - -“Is it about Nicholas?” he asked. - -Princess Mary nodded her head, weeping. - -“Mary, you know the Gosp...” but he broke off. - -“What did you say?” - -“Nothing. You mustn’t cry here,” he said, looking at her with the same -cold expression. - - -When Princess Mary began to cry, he understood that she was crying at -the thought that little Nicholas would be left without a father. With -a great effort he tried to return to life and to see things from their -point of view. - -“Yes, to them it must seem sad!” he thought. “But how simple it is. - -“The fowls of the air sow not, neither do they reap, yet your Father -feedeth them,” he said to himself and wished to say to Princess Mary; -“but no, they will take it their own way, they won’t understand! They -can’t understand that all those feelings they prize so—all our feelings, -all those ideas that seem so important to us, are unnecessary. We cannot -understand one another,” and he remained silent. - - -Prince Andrew’s little son was seven. He could scarcely read, and knew -nothing. After that day he lived through many things, gaining knowledge, -observation, and experience, but had he possessed all the faculties he -afterwards acquired, he could not have had a better or more profound -understanding of the meaning of the scene he had witnessed between -his father, Mary, and Natásha, than he had then. He understood it -completely, and, leaving the room without crying, went silently up -to Natásha who had come out with him and looked shyly at her with his -beautiful, thoughtful eyes, then his uplifted, rosy upper lip trembled -and leaning his head against her he began to cry. - -After that he avoided Dessalles and the countess who caressed him and -either sat alone or came timidly to Princess Mary, or to Natásha of whom -he seemed even fonder than of his aunt, and clung to them quietly and -shyly. - -When Princess Mary had left Prince Andrew she fully understood what -Natásha’s face had told her. She did not speak any more to Natásha of -hopes of saving his life. She took turns with her beside his sofa, and -did not cry any more, but prayed continually, turning in soul to that -Eternal and Unfathomable, whose presence above the dying man was now so -evident. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Not only did Prince Andrew know he would die, but he felt that he was -dying and was already half dead. He was conscious of an aloofness from -everything earthly and a strange and joyous lightness of existence. -Without haste or agitation he awaited what was coming. That inexorable, -eternal, distant, and unknown the presence of which he had felt -continually all his life—was now near to him and, by the strange -lightness he experienced, almost comprehensible and palpable.... - - -Formerly he had feared the end. He had twice experienced that terribly -tormenting fear of death—the end—but now he no longer understood that -fear. - -He had felt it for the first time when the shell spun like a top before -him, and he looked at the fallow field, the bushes, and the sky, and -knew that he was face to face with death. When he came to himself after -being wounded and the flower of eternal, unfettered love had instantly -unfolded itself in his soul as if freed from the bondage of life that -had restrained it, he no longer feared death and ceased to think about -it. - -During the hours of solitude, suffering, and partial delirium he -spent after he was wounded, the more deeply he penetrated into the new -principle of eternal love revealed to him, the more he unconsciously -detached himself from earthly life. To love everything and everybody and -always to sacrifice oneself for love meant not to love anyone, not -to live this earthly life. And the more imbued he became with that -principle of love, the more he renounced life and the more completely he -destroyed that dreadful barrier which—in the absence of such love—stands -between life and death. When during those first days he remembered that -he would have to die, he said to himself: “Well, what of it? So much the -better!” - -But after the night in Mytíshchi when, half delirious, he had seen her -for whom he longed appear before him and, having pressed her hand to his -lips, had shed gentle, happy tears, love for a particular woman again -crept unobserved into his heart and once more bound him to life. And -joyful and agitating thoughts began to occupy his mind. Recalling the -moment at the ambulance station when he had seen Kurágin, he could not -now regain the feeling he then had, but was tormented by the question -whether Kurágin was alive. And he dared not inquire. - -His illness pursued its normal physical course, but what Natásha -referred to when she said: “This suddenly happened,” had occurred two -days before Princess Mary arrived. It was the last spiritual struggle -between life and death, in which death gained the victory. It was -the unexpected realization of the fact that he still valued life as -presented to him in the form of his love for Natásha, and a last, though -ultimately vanquished, attack of terror before the unknown. - -It was evening. As usual after dinner he was slightly feverish, and his -thoughts were preternaturally clear. Sónya was sitting by the table. He -began to doze. Suddenly a feeling of happiness seized him. - -“Ah, she has come!” thought he. - -And so it was: in Sónya’s place sat Natásha who had just come in -noiselessly. - -Since she had begun looking after him, he had always experienced this -physical consciousness of her nearness. She was sitting in an armchair -placed sideways, screening the light of the candle from him, and was -knitting a stocking. She had learned to knit stockings since Prince -Andrew had casually mentioned that no one nursed the sick so well as old -nurses who knit stockings, and that there is something soothing in -the knitting of stockings. The needles clicked lightly in her slender, -rapidly moving hands, and he could clearly see the thoughtful profile -of her drooping face. She moved, and the ball rolled off her knees. She -started, glanced round at him, and screening the candle with her hand -stooped carefully with a supple and exact movement, picked up the ball, -and regained her former position. - -He looked at her without moving and saw that she wanted to draw a -deep breath after stooping, but refrained from doing so and breathed -cautiously. - -At the Tróitsa monastery they had spoken of the past, and he had told -her that if he lived he would always thank God for his wound which had -brought them together again, but after that they never spoke of the -future. - -“Can it or can it not be?” he now thought as he looked at her and -listened to the light click of the steel needles. “Can fate have brought -me to her so strangely only for me to die?... Is it possible that the -truth of life has been revealed to me only to show me that I have spent -my life in falsity? I love her more than anything in the world! But what -am I to do if I love her?” he thought, and he involuntarily groaned, -from a habit acquired during his sufferings. - -On hearing that sound Natásha put down the stocking, leaned nearer to -him, and suddenly, noticing his shining eyes, stepped lightly up to him -and bent over him. - -“You are not asleep?” - -“No, I have been looking at you a long time. I felt you come in. No one -else gives me that sense of soft tranquillity that you do... that light. -I want to weep for joy.” - -Natásha drew closer to him. Her face shone with rapturous joy. - -“Natásha, I love you too much! More than anything in the world.” - -“And I!”—She turned away for an instant. “Why too much?” she asked. - -“Why too much?... Well, what do you, what do you feel in your soul, your -whole soul—shall I live? What do you think?” - -“I am sure of it, sure!” Natásha almost shouted, taking hold of both his -hands with a passionate movement. - -He remained silent awhile. - -“How good it would be!” and taking her hand he kissed it. - -Natásha felt happy and agitated, but at once remembered that this would -not do and that he had to be quiet. - -“But you have not slept,” she said, repressing her joy. “Try to sleep... -please!” - -He pressed her hand and released it, and she went back to the candle and -sat down again in her former position. Twice she turned and looked at -him, and her eyes met his beaming at her. She set herself a task on her -stocking and resolved not to turn round till it was finished. - -Soon he really shut his eyes and fell asleep. He did not sleep long and -suddenly awoke with a start and in a cold perspiration. - -As he fell asleep he had still been thinking of the subject that now -always occupied his mind—about life and death, and chiefly about death. -He felt himself nearer to it. - -“Love? What is love?” he thought. - -“Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I -understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only -because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to -die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and -eternal source.” These thoughts seemed to him comforting. But they were -only thoughts. Something was lacking in them, they were not clear, they -were too one-sidedly personal and brain-spun. And there was the former -agitation and obscurity. He fell asleep. - -He dreamed that he was lying in the room he really was in, but that -he was quite well and unwounded. Many various, indifferent, and -insignificant people appeared before him. He talked to them and -discussed something trivial. They were preparing to go away somewhere. -Prince Andrew dimly realized that all this was trivial and that he had -more important cares, but he continued to speak, surprising them by -empty witticisms. Gradually, unnoticed, all these persons began to -disappear and a single question, that of the closed door, superseded -all else. He rose and went to the door to bolt and lock it. Everything -depended on whether he was, or was not, in time to lock it. He went, and -tried to hurry, but his legs refused to move and he knew he would not be -in time to lock the door though he painfully strained all his powers. He -was seized by an agonizing fear. And that fear was the fear of death. It -stood behind the door. But just when he was clumsily creeping toward -the door, that dreadful something on the other side was already pressing -against it and forcing its way in. Something not human—death—was -breaking in through that door, and had to be kept out. He seized the -door, making a final effort to hold it back—to lock it was no longer -possible—but his efforts were weak and clumsy and the door, pushed from -behind by that terror, opened and closed again. - -Once again it pushed from outside. His last superhuman efforts were vain -and both halves of the door noiselessly opened. It entered, and it was -death, and Prince Andrew died. - -But at the instant he died, Prince Andrew remembered that he was asleep, -and at the very instant he died, having made an effort, he awoke. - -“Yes, it was death! I died—and woke up. Yes, death is an awakening!” And -all at once it grew light in his soul and the veil that had till then -concealed the unknown was lifted from his spiritual vision. He felt as -if powers till then confined within him had been liberated, and that -strange lightness did not again leave him. - -When, waking in a cold perspiration, he moved on the divan, Natásha went -up and asked him what was the matter. He did not answer and looked at -her strangely, not understanding. - -That was what had happened to him two days before Princess Mary’s -arrival. From that day, as the doctor expressed it, the wasting fever -assumed a malignant character, but what the doctor said did not interest -Natásha, she saw the terrible moral symptoms which to her were more -convincing. - -From that day an awakening from life came to Prince Andrew together with -his awakening from sleep. And compared to the duration of life it did -not seem to him slower than an awakening from sleep compared to the -duration of a dream. - -There was nothing terrible or violent in this comparatively slow -awakening. - -His last days and hours passed in an ordinary and simple way. Both -Princess Mary and Natásha, who did not leave him, felt this. They did -not weep or shudder and during these last days they themselves felt -that they were not attending on him (he was no longer there, he had left -them) but on what reminded them most closely of him—his body. Both felt -this so strongly that the outward and terrible side of death did not -affect them and they did not feel it necessary to foment their grief. -Neither in his presence nor out of it did they weep, nor did they ever -talk to one another about him. They felt that they could not express in -words what they understood. - -They both saw that he was sinking slowly and quietly, deeper and deeper, -away from them, and they both knew that this had to be so and that it -was right. - -He confessed, and received communion: everyone came to take leave of -him. When they brought his son to him, he pressed his lips to the boy’s -and turned away, not because he felt it hard and sad (Princess Mary and -Natásha understood that) but simply because he thought it was all that -was required of him, but when they told him to bless the boy, he did -what was demanded and looked round as if asking whether there was -anything else he should do. - -When the last convulsions of the body, which the spirit was leaving, -occurred, Princess Mary and Natásha were present. - -“Is it over?” said Princess Mary when his body had for a few minutes -lain motionless, growing cold before them. Natásha went up, looked at -the dead eyes, and hastened to close them. She closed them but did not -kiss them, but clung to that which reminded her most nearly of him—his -body. - -“Where has he gone? Where is he now?...” - -When the body, washed and dressed, lay in the coffin on a table, -everyone came to take leave of him and they all wept. - -Little Nicholas cried because his heart was rent by painful perplexity. -The countess and Sónya cried from pity for Natásha and because he was -no more. The old count cried because he felt that before long, he, too, -must take the same terrible step. - -Natásha and Princess Mary also wept now, but not because of their own -personal grief; they wept with a reverent and softening emotion which -had taken possession of their souls at the consciousness of the -simple and solemn mystery of death that had been accomplished in their -presence. - - - - - -BOOK THIRTEEN: 1812 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Man’s mind cannot grasp the causes of events in their completeness, but -the desire to find those causes is implanted in man’s soul. And without -considering the multiplicity and complexity of the conditions any one -of which taken separately may seem to be the cause, he snatches at the -first approximation to a cause that seems to him intelligible and says: -“This is the cause!” In historical events (where the actions of men are -the subject of observation) the first and most primitive approximation -to present itself was the will of the gods and, after that, the will of -those who stood in the most prominent position—the heroes of history. -But we need only penetrate to the essence of any historic event—which -lies in the activity of the general mass of men who take part in it—to -be convinced that the will of the historic hero does not control the -actions of the mass but is itself continually controlled. It may seem -to be a matter of indifference whether we understand the meaning of -historical events this way or that; yet there is the same difference -between a man who says that the people of the West moved on the East -because Napoleon wished it and a man who says that this happened because -it had to happen, as there is between those who declared that the -earth was stationary and that the planets moved round it and those who -admitted that they did not know what upheld the earth, but knew there -were laws directing its movement and that of the other planets. There -is, and can be, no cause of an historical event except the one cause of -all causes. But there are laws directing events, and some of these laws -are known to us while we are conscious of others we cannot comprehend. -The discovery of these laws is only possible when we have quite -abandoned the attempt to find the cause in the will of some one man, -just as the discovery of the laws of the motion of the planets was -possible only when men abandoned the conception of the fixity of the -earth. - -The historians consider that, next to the battle of Borodinó and the -occupation of Moscow by the enemy and its destruction by fire, the most -important episode of the war of 1812 was the movement of the Russian -army from the Ryazána to the Kalúga road and to the Tarútino camp—the -so-called flank march across the Krásnaya Pakhrá River. They ascribe the -glory of that achievement of genius to different men and dispute as to -whom the honor is due. Even foreign historians, including the French, -acknowledge the genius of the Russian commanders when they speak of -that flank march. But it is hard to understand why military writers, -and following them others, consider this flank march to be the profound -conception of some one man who saved Russia and destroyed Napoleon. In -the first place it is hard to understand where the profundity and genius -of this movement lay, for not much mental effort was needed to see that -the best position for an army when it is not being attacked is where -there are most provisions; and even a dull boy of thirteen could have -guessed that the best position for an army after its retreat from Moscow -in 1812 was on the Kalúga road. So it is impossible to understand by -what reasoning the historians reach the conclusion that this maneuver -was a profound one. And it is even more difficult to understand just why -they think that this maneuver was calculated to save Russia and destroy -the French; for this flank march, had it been preceded, accompanied, -or followed by other circumstances, might have proved ruinous to the -Russians and salutary for the French. If the position of the Russian -army really began to improve from the time of that march, it does not at -all follow that the march was the cause of it. - -That flank march might not only have failed to give any advantage to -the Russian army, but might in other circumstances have led to its -destruction. What would have happened had Moscow not burned down? If -Murat had not lost sight of the Russians? If Napoleon had not remained -inactive? If the Russian army at Krásnaya Pakhrá had given battle as -Bennigsen and Barclay advised? What would have happened had the French -attacked the Russians while they were marching beyond the Pakhrá? What -would have happened if on approaching Tarútino, Napoleon had attacked -the Russians with but a tenth of the energy he had shown when he -attacked them at Smolénsk? What would have happened had the French moved -on Petersburg?... In any of these eventualities the flank march that -brought salvation might have proved disastrous. - -The third and most incomprehensible thing is that people studying -history deliberately avoid seeing that this flank march cannot be -attributed to any one man, that no one ever foresaw it, and that in -reality, like the retreat from Filí, it did not suggest itself to anyone -in its entirety, but resulted—moment by moment, step by step, event by -event—from an endless number of most diverse circumstances and was only -seen in its entirety when it had been accomplished and belonged to the -past. - -At the council at Filí the prevailing thought in the minds of the -Russian commanders was the one naturally suggesting itself, namely, a -direct retreat by the Nízhni road. In proof of this there is the fact -that the majority of the council voted for such a retreat, and above -all there is the well-known conversation after the council, between the -commander in chief and Lanskóy, who was in charge of the commissariat -department. Lanskóy informed the commander in chief that the army -supplies were for the most part stored along the Oká in the Túla and -Ryazán provinces, and that if they retreated on Nízhni the army would -be separated from its supplies by the broad river Oká, which cannot be -crossed early in winter. This was the first indication of the necessity -of deviating from what had previously seemed the most natural course—a -direct retreat on Nízhni-Nóvgorod. The army turned more to the south, -along the Ryazán road and nearer to its supplies. Subsequently the -inactivity of the French (who even lost sight of the Russian army), -concern for the safety of the arsenal at Túla, and especially the -advantages of drawing nearer to its supplies caused the army to turn -still further south to the Túla road. Having crossed over, by a forced -march, to the Túla road beyond the Pakhrá, the Russian commanders -intended to remain at Podólsk and had no thought of the Tarútino -position; but innumerable circumstances and the reappearance of French -troops who had for a time lost touch with the Russians, and projects -of giving battle, and above all the abundance of provisions in Kalúga -province, obliged our army to turn still more to the south and to cross -from the Túla to the Kalúga road and go to Tarútino, which was between -the roads along which those supplies lay. Just as it is impossible to -say when it was decided to abandon Moscow, so it is impossible to say -precisely when, or by whom, it was decided to move to Tarútino. Only -when the army had got there, as the result of innumerable and varying -forces, did people begin to assure themselves that they had desired this -movement and long ago foreseen its result. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -The famous flank movement merely consisted in this: after the advance -of the French had ceased, the Russian army, which had been continually -retreating straight back from the invaders, deviated from that direct -course and, not finding itself pursued, was naturally drawn toward the -district where supplies were abundant. - -If instead of imagining to ourselves commanders of genius leading the -Russian army, we picture that army without any leaders, it could not -have done anything but make a return movement toward Moscow, describing -an arc in the direction where most provisions were to be found and where -the country was richest. - -That movement from the Nízhni to the Ryazán, Túla, and Kalúga roads was -so natural that even the Russian marauders moved in that direction, and -demands were sent from Petersburg for Kutúzov to take his army that -way. At Tarútino Kutúzov received what was almost a reprimand from -the Emperor for having moved his army along the Ryazán road, and the -Emperor’s letter indicated to him the very position he had already -occupied near Kalúga. - -Having rolled like a ball in the direction of the impetus given by the -whole campaign and by the battle of Borodinó, the Russian army—when -the strength of that impetus was exhausted and no fresh push was -received—assumed the position natural to it. - -Kutúzov’s merit lay, not in any strategic maneuver of genius, as it is -called, but in the fact that he alone understood the significance of -what had happened. He alone then understood the meaning of the French -army’s inactivity, he alone continued to assert that the battle of -Borodinó had been a victory, he alone—who as commander in chief might -have been expected to be eager to attack—employed his whole strength to -restrain the Russian army from useless engagements. - -The beast wounded at Borodinó was lying where the fleeing hunter had -left him; but whether he was still alive, whether he was strong and -merely lying low, the hunter did not know. Suddenly the beast was heard -to moan. - -The moan of that wounded beast (the French army) which betrayed its -calamitous condition was the sending of Lauriston to Kutúzov’s camp with -overtures for peace. - -Napoleon, with his usual assurance that whatever entered his head was -right, wrote to Kutúzov the first words that occurred to him, though -they were meaningless. - - -MONSIEUR LE PRINCE KOUTOUZOV: I am sending one of my adjutants-general -to discuss several interesting questions with you. I beg your Highness -to credit what he says to you, especially when he expresses the -sentiment of esteem and special regard I have long entertained for your -person. This letter having no other object, I pray God, monsieur le -prince Koutouzov, to keep you in His holy and gracious protection! - -NAPOLEON - -MOSCOW, OCTOBER 30, 1812 - - -Kutúzov replied: “I should be cursed by posterity were I looked on as -the initiator of a settlement of any sort. Such is the present spirit -of my nation.” But he continued to exert all his powers to restrain his -troops from attacking. - -During the month that the French troops were pillaging in Moscow and -the Russian troops were quietly encamped at Tarútino, a change had taken -place in the relative strength of the two armies—both in spirit and in -number—as a result of which the superiority had passed to the Russian -side. Though the condition and numbers of the French army were unknown -to the Russians, as soon as that change occurred the need of attacking -at once showed itself by countless signs. These signs were: Lauriston’s -mission; the abundance of provisions at Tarútino; the reports coming in -from all sides of the inactivity and disorder of the French; the flow of -recruits to our regiments; the fine weather; the long rest the Russian -soldiers had enjoyed, and the impatience to do what they had been -assembled for, which usually shows itself in an army that has been -resting; curiosity as to what the French army, so long lost sight of, -was doing; the boldness with which our outposts now scouted close up to -the French stationed at Tarútino; the news of easy successes gained by -peasants and guerrilla troops over the French, the envy aroused by this; -the desire for revenge that lay in the heart of every Russian as long as -the French were in Moscow, and (above all) a dim consciousness in every -soldier’s mind that the relative strength of the armies had changed and -that the advantage was now on our side. There was a substantial change -in the relative strength, and an advance had become inevitable. And at -once, as a clock begins to strike and chime as soon as the minute hand -has completed a full circle, this change was shown by an increased -activity, whirring, and chiming in the higher spheres. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The Russian army was commanded by Kutúzov and his staff, and also by the -Emperor from Petersburg. Before the news of the abandonment of Moscow -had been received in Petersburg, a detailed plan of the whole campaign -had been drawn up and sent to Kutúzov for his guidance. Though this plan -had been drawn up on the supposition that Moscow was still in our hands, -it was approved by the staff and accepted as a basis for action. -Kutúzov only replied that movements arranged from a distance were always -difficult to execute. So fresh instructions were sent for the solution -of difficulties that might be encountered, as well as fresh people who -were to watch Kutúzov’s actions and report upon them. - -Besides this, the whole staff of the Russian army was now reorganized. -The posts left vacant by Bagratión, who had been killed, and by -Barclay, who had gone away in dudgeon, had to be filled. Very serious -consideration was given to the question whether it would be better to -put A in B’s place and B in D’s, or on the contrary to put D in A’s -place, and so on—as if anything more than A’s or B’s satisfaction -depended on this. - -As a result of the hostility between Kutúzov and Bennigsen, his Chief of -Staff, the presence of confidential representatives of the Emperor, and -these transfers, a more than usually complicated play of parties -was going on among the staff of the army. A was undermining B, D was -undermining C, and so on in all possible combinations and permutations. -In all these plottings the subject of intrigue was generally the conduct -of the war, which all these men believed they were directing; but this -affair of the war went on independently of them, as it had to go: -that is, never in the way people devised, but flowing always from the -essential attitude of the masses. Only in the highest spheres did -all these schemes, crossings, and interminglings appear to be a true -reflection of what had to happen. - - -Prince Michael Ilariónovich! (wrote the Emperor on the second of October -in a letter that reached Kutúzov after the battle at Tarútino) Since -September 2 Moscow has been in the hands of the enemy. Your last reports -were written on the twentieth, and during all this time not only has -no action been taken against the enemy or for the relief of the ancient -capital, but according to your last report you have even retreated -farther. Sérpukhov is already occupied by an enemy detachment and Túla -with its famous arsenal so indispensable to the army, is in danger. -From General Wintzingerode’s reports, I see that an enemy corps of ten -thousand men is moving on the Petersburg road. Another corps of several -thousand men is moving on Dmítrov. A third has advanced along the -Vladímir road, and a fourth, rather considerable detachment is stationed -between Rúza and Mozháysk. Napoleon himself was in Moscow as late as -the twenty-fifth. In view of all this information, when the enemy has -scattered his forces in large detachments, and with Napoleon and his -Guards in Moscow, is it possible that the enemy’s forces confronting you -are so considerable as not to allow of your taking the offensive? On the -contrary, he is probably pursuing you with detachments, or at most with -an army corps much weaker than the army entrusted to you. It would seem -that, availing yourself of these circumstances, you might advantageously -attack a weaker one and annihilate him, or at least oblige him to -retreat, retaining in our hands an important part of the provinces now -occupied by the enemy, and thereby averting danger from Túla and other -towns in the interior. You will be responsible if the enemy is able to -direct a force of any size against Petersburg to threaten this capital -in which it has not been possible to retain many troops; for with the -army entrusted to you, and acting with resolution and energy, you have -ample means to avert this fresh calamity. Remember that you have still -to answer to our offended country for the loss of Moscow. You have -experienced my readiness to reward you. That readiness will not weaken -in me, but I and Russia have a right to expect from you all the zeal, -firmness, and success which your intellect, military talent, and the -courage of the troops you command justify us in expecting. - - -But by the time this letter, which proved that the real relation of -the forces had already made itself felt in Petersburg, was dispatched, -Kutúzov had found himself unable any longer to restrain the army he -commanded from attacking and a battle had taken place. - -On the second of October a Cossack, Shapoválov, who was out scouting, -killed one hare and wounded another. Following the wounded hare he made -his way far into the forest and came upon the left flank of Murat’s -army, encamped there without any precautions. The Cossack laughingly -told his comrades how he had almost fallen into the hands of the French. -A cornet, hearing the story, informed his commander. - -The Cossack was sent for and questioned. The Cossack officers wished -to take advantage of this chance to capture some horses, but one of -the superior officers, who was acquainted with the higher authorities, -reported the incident to a general on the staff. The state of things on -the staff had of late been exceedingly strained. Ermólov had been to -see Bennigsen a few days previously and had entreated him to use -his influence with the commander in chief to induce him to take the -offensive. - -“If I did not know you I should think you did not want what you are -asking for. I need only advise anything and his Highness is sure to do -the opposite,” replied Bennigsen. - -The Cossack’s report, confirmed by horse patrols who were sent out, was -the final proof that events had matured. The tightly coiled spring was -released, the clock began to whirr and the chimes to play. Despite all -his supposed power, his intellect, his experience, and his knowledge -of men, Kutúzov—having taken into consideration the Cossack’s report, a -note from Bennigsen who sent personal reports to the Emperor, the wishes -he supposed the Emperor to hold, and the fact that all the generals -expressed the same wish—could no longer check the inevitable movement, -and gave the order to do what he regarded as useless and harmful—gave -his approval, that is, to the accomplished fact. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Bennigsen’s note and the Cossack’s information that the left flank -of the French was unguarded were merely final indications that it was -necessary to order an attack, and it was fixed for the fifth of October. - -On the morning of the fourth of October Kutúzov signed the dispositions. -Toll read them to Ermólov, asking him to attend to the further -arrangements. - -“All right—all right. I haven’t time just now,” replied Ermólov, and -left the hut. - -The dispositions drawn up by Toll were very good. As in the Austerlitz -dispositions, it was written—though not in German this time: - -“The First Column will march here and here,” “the Second Column will -march there and there,” and so on; and on paper, all these columns -arrived at their places at the appointed time and destroyed the enemy. -Everything had been admirably thought out as is usual in dispositions, -and as is always the case, not a single column reached its place at the -appointed time. - -When the necessary number of copies of the dispositions had been -prepared, an officer was summoned and sent to deliver them to Ermólov -to deal with. A young officer of the Horse Guards, Kutúzov’s orderly, -pleased at the importance of the mission entrusted to him, went to -Ermólov’s quarters. - -“Gone away,” said Ermólov’s orderly. - -The officer of the Horse Guards went to a general with whom Ermólov was -often to be found. - -“No, and the general’s out too.” - -The officer, mounting his horse, rode off to someone else. - -“No, he’s gone out.” - -“If only they don’t make me responsible for this delay! What a nuisance -it is!” thought the officer, and he rode round the whole camp. One man -said he had seen Ermólov ride past with some other generals, others said -he must have returned home. The officer searched till six o’clock in the -evening without even stopping to eat. Ermólov was nowhere to be found -and no one knew where he was. The officer snatched a little food at -a comrade’s, and rode again to the vanguard to find Milorádovich. -Milorádovich too was away, but here he was told that he had gone to a -ball at General Kíkin’s and that Ermólov was probably there too. - -“But where is it?” - -“Why, there, over at Échkino,” said a Cossack officer, pointing to a -country house in the far distance. - -“What, outside our line?” - -“They’ve put two regiments as outposts, and they’re having such a spree -there, it’s awful! Two bands and three sets of singers!” - -The officer rode out beyond our lines to Échkino. While still at a -distance he heard as he rode the merry sounds of a soldier’s dance song -proceeding from the house. - -“In the meadows... in the meadows!” he heard, accompanied by whistling -and the sound of a torban, drowned every now and then by shouts. These -sounds made his spirits rise, but at the same time he was afraid that -he would be blamed for not having executed sooner the important order -entrusted to him. It was already past eight o’clock. He dismounted -and went up into the porch of a large country house which had remained -intact between the Russian and French forces. In the refreshment room -and the hall, footmen were bustling about with wine and viands. Groups -of singers stood outside the windows. The officer was admitted and -immediately saw all the chief generals of the army together, and among -them Ermólov’s big imposing figure. They all had their coats unbuttoned -and were standing in a semicircle with flushed and animated faces, -laughing loudly. In the middle of the room a short handsome general with -a red face was dancing the trepák with much spirit and agility. - -“Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Nicholas Iványch! Ha, ha, ha!” - -The officer felt that by arriving with important orders at such a moment -he was doubly to blame, and he would have preferred to wait; but one of -the generals espied him and, hearing what he had come about, informed -Ermólov. - -Ermólov came forward with a frown on his face and, hearing what the -officer had to say, took the papers from him without a word. - - -“You think he went off just by chance?” said a comrade, who was on the -staff that evening, to the officer of the Horse Guards, referring to -Ermólov. “It was a trick. It was done on purpose to get Konovnítsyn into -trouble. You’ll see what a mess there’ll be tomorrow.” - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -Next day the decrepit Kutúzov, having given orders to be called early, -said his prayers, dressed, and, with an unpleasant consciousness of -having to direct a battle he did not approve of, got into his calèche -and drove from Letashóvka (a village three and a half miles from -Tarútino) to the place where the attacking columns were to meet. He sat -in the calèche, dozing and waking up by turns, and listening for any -sound of firing on the right as an indication that the action had begun. -But all was still quiet. A damp dull autumn morning was just dawning. On -approaching Tarútino Kutúzov noticed cavalrymen leading their horses to -water across the road along which he was driving. Kutúzov looked at -them searchingly, stopped his carriage, and inquired what regiment they -belonged to. They belonged to a column that should have been far in -front and in ambush long before then. “It may be a mistake,” thought -the old commander in chief. But a little further on he saw infantry -regiments with their arms piled and the soldiers, only partly dressed, -eating their rye porridge and carrying fuel. He sent for an officer. The -officer reported that no order to advance had been received. - -“How! Not rec...” Kutúzov began, but checked himself immediately and -sent for a senior officer. Getting out of his calèche, he waited with -drooping head and breathing heavily, pacing silently up and down. When -Eýkhen, the officer of the general staff whom he had summoned, appeared, -Kutúzov went purple in the face, not because that officer was to blame -for the mistake, but because he was an object of sufficient importance -for him to vent his wrath on. Trembling and panting the old man fell -into that state of fury in which he sometimes used to roll on the -ground, and he fell upon Eýkhen, threatening him with his hands, -shouting and loading him with gross abuse. Another man, Captain Brózin, -who happened to turn up and who was not at all to blame, suffered the -same fate. - -“What sort of another blackguard are you? I’ll have you shot! -Scoundrels!” yelled Kutúzov in a hoarse voice, waving his arms and -reeling. - -He was suffering physically. He, the commander in chief, a Serene -Highness who everybody said possessed powers such as no man had ever had -in Russia, to be placed in this position—made the laughingstock of the -whole army! “I needn’t have been in such a hurry to pray about today, -or have kept awake thinking everything over all night,” thought he to -himself. “When I was a chit of an officer no one would have dared to -mock me so... and now!” He was in a state of physical suffering as if -from corporal punishment, and could not avoid expressing it by cries of -anger and distress. But his strength soon began to fail him, and looking -about him, conscious of having said much that was amiss, he again got -into his calèche and drove back in silence. - -His wrath, once expended, did not return, and blinking feebly he -listened to excuses and self-justifications (Ermólov did not come to see -him till the next day) and to the insistence of Bennigsen, Konovnítsyn, -and Toll that the movement that had miscarried should be executed next -day. And once more Kutúzov had to consent. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Next day the troops assembled in their appointed places in the evening -and advanced during the night. It was an autumn night with dark purple -clouds, but no rain. The ground was damp but not muddy, and the troops -advanced noiselessly, only occasionally a jingling of the artillery -could be faintly heard. The men were forbidden to talk out loud, to -smoke their pipes, or to strike a light, and they tried to prevent their -horses neighing. The secrecy of the undertaking heightened its charm -and they marched gaily. Some columns, supposing they had reached their -destination, halted, piled arms, and settled down on the cold ground, -but the majority marched all night and arrived at places where they -evidently should not have been. - -Only Count Orlóv-Denísov with his Cossacks (the least important -detachment of all) got to his appointed place at the right time. This -detachment halted at the outskirts of a forest, on the path leading from -the village of Stromílova to Dmítrovsk. - -Toward dawn, Count Orlóv-Denísov, who had dozed off, was awakened by a -deserter from the French army being brought to him. This was a Polish -sergeant of Poniatowski’s corps, who explained in Polish that he had -come over because he had been slighted in the service: that he ought -long ago to have been made an officer, that he was braver than any of -them, and so he had left them and wished to pay them out. He said that -Murat was spending the night less than a mile from where they were, -and that if they would let him have a convoy of a hundred men he would -capture him alive. Count Orlóv-Denísov consulted his fellow officers. - -The offer was too tempting to be refused. Everyone volunteered to go and -everybody advised making the attempt. After much disputing and arguing, -Major-General Grékov with two Cossack regiments decided to go with the -Polish sergeant. - -“Now, remember,” said Count Orlóv-Denísov to the sergeant at parting, -“if you have been lying I’ll have you hanged like a dog; but if it’s -true you shall have a hundred gold pieces!” - -Without replying, the sergeant, with a resolute air, mounted and rode -away with Grékov whose men had quickly assembled. They disappeared into -the forest, and Count Orlóv-Denísov, having seen Grékov off, returned, -shivering from the freshness of the early dawn and excited by what he -had undertaken on his own responsibility, and began looking at the enemy -camp, now just visible in the deceptive light of dawn and the dying -campfires. Our columns ought to have begun to appear on an open -declivity to his right. He looked in that direction, but though the -columns would have been visible quite far off, they were not to be seen. -It seemed to the count that things were beginning to stir in the French -camp, and his keen-sighted adjutant confirmed this. - -“Oh, it is really too late,” said Count Orlóv, looking at the camp. - -As often happens when someone we have trusted is no longer before -our eyes, it suddenly seemed quite clear and obvious to him that the -sergeant was an impostor, that he had lied, and that the whole Russian -attack would be ruined by the absence of those two regiments, which -he would lead away heaven only knew where. How could one capture a -commander in chief from among such a mass of troops! - -“I am sure that rascal was lying,” said the count. - -“They can still be called back,” said one of his suite, who like Count -Orlóv felt distrustful of the adventure when he looked at the enemy’s -camp. - -“Eh? Really... what do you think? Should we let them go on or not?” - -“Will you have them fetched back?” - -“Fetch them back, fetch them back!” said Count Orlóv with sudden -determination, looking at his watch. “It will be too late. It is quite -light.” - -And the adjutant galloped through the forest after Grékov. When Grékov -returned, Count Orlóv-Denísov, excited both by the abandoned attempt and -by vainly awaiting the infantry columns that still did not appear, as -well as by the proximity of the enemy, resolved to advance. All his men -felt the same excitement. - -“Mount!” he commanded in a whisper. The men took their places and -crossed themselves.... “Forward, with God’s aid!” - -“Hurrah-ah-ah!” reverberated in the forest, and the Cossack companies, -trailing their lances and advancing one after another as if poured out -of a sack, dashed gaily across the brook toward the camp. - -One desperate, frightened yell from the first French soldier who saw the -Cossacks, and all who were in the camp, undressed and only just waking -up, ran off in all directions, abandoning cannons, muskets, and horses. - -Had the Cossacks pursued the French, without heeding what was behind and -around them, they would have captured Murat and everything there. -That was what the officers desired. But it was impossible to make the -Cossacks budge when once they had got booty and prisoners. None of them -listened to orders. Fifteen hundred prisoners and thirty-eight guns were -taken on the spot, besides standards and (what seemed most important to -the Cossacks) horses, saddles, horsecloths, and the like. All this had -to be dealt with, the prisoners and guns secured, the booty divided—not -without some shouting and even a little fighting among themselves—and it -was on this that the Cossacks all busied themselves. - -The French, not being farther pursued, began to recover themselves: they -formed into detachments and began firing. Orlóv-Denísov, still waiting -for the other columns to arrive, advanced no further. - -Meantime, according to the dispositions which said that “the First -Column will march” and so on, the infantry of the belated columns, -commanded by Bennigsen and directed by Toll, had started in due order -and, as always happens, had got somewhere, but not to their appointed -places. As always happens the men, starting cheerfully, began to halt; -murmurs were heard, there was a sense of confusion, and finally a -backward movement. Adjutants and generals galloped about, shouted, grew -angry, quarreled, said they had come quite wrong and were late, gave -vent to a little abuse, and at last gave it all up and went forward, -simply to get somewhere. “We shall get somewhere or other!” And they did -indeed get somewhere, though not to their right places; a few eventually -even got to their right place, but too late to be of any use and only -in time to be fired at. Toll, who in this battle played the part of -Weyrother at Austerlitz, galloped assiduously from place to place, -finding everything upside down everywhere. Thus he stumbled on Bagovút’s -corps in a wood when it was already broad daylight, though the corps -should long before have joined Orlóv-Denísov. Excited and vexed by the -failure and supposing that someone must be responsible for it, Toll -galloped up to the commander of the corps and began upbraiding him -severely, saying that he ought to be shot. General Bagovút, a fighting -old soldier of placid temperament, being also upset by all the delay, -confusion, and cross-purposes, fell into a rage to everybody’s surprise -and quite contrary to his usual character and said disagreeable things -to Toll. - -“I prefer not to take lessons from anyone, but I can die with my men as -well as anybody,” he said, and advanced with a single division. - -Coming out onto a field under the enemy’s fire, this brave general went -straight ahead, leading his men under fire, without considering in his -agitation whether going into action now, with a single division, would -be of any use or no. Danger, cannon balls, and bullets were just what he -needed in his angry mood. One of the first bullets killed him, and other -bullets killed many of his men. And his division remained under fire for -some time quite uselessly. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Meanwhile another column was to have attacked the French from the front, -but Kutúzov accompanied that column. He well knew that nothing but -confusion would come of this battle undertaken against his will, and as -far as was in his power held the troops back. He did not advance. - -He rode silently on his small gray horse, indolently answering -suggestions that they should attack. - -“The word attack is always on your tongue, but you don’t see that we are -unable to execute complicated maneuvers,” said he to Milorádovich who -asked permission to advance. - -“We couldn’t take Murat prisoner this morning or get to the place in -time, and nothing can be done now!” he replied to someone else. - -When Kutúzov was informed that at the French rear—where according to the -reports of the Cossacks there had previously been nobody—there were now -two battalions of Poles, he gave a sidelong glance at Ermólov who was -behind him and to whom he had not spoken since the previous day. - -“You see! They are asking to attack and making plans of all kinds, -but as soon as one gets to business nothing is ready, and the enemy, -forewarned, takes measures accordingly.” - -Ermólov screwed up his eyes and smiled faintly on hearing these words. -He understood that for him the storm had blown over, and that Kutúzov -would content himself with that hint. - -“He’s having a little fun at my expense,” said Ermólov softly, nudging -with his knee Raévski who was at his side. - -Soon after this, Ermólov moved up to Kutúzov and respectfully remarked: - -“It is not too late yet, your Highness—the enemy has not gone away—if -you were to order an attack! If not, the Guards will not so much as see -a little smoke.” - -Kutúzov did not reply, but when they reported to him that Murat’s troops -were in retreat he ordered an advance, though at every hundred paces he -halted for three quarters of an hour. - -The whole battle consisted in what Orlóv-Denísov’s Cossacks had done: -the rest of the army merely lost some hundreds of men uselessly. - -In consequence of this battle Kutúzov received a diamond decoration, -and Bennigsen some diamonds and a hundred thousand rubles, others also -received pleasant recognitions corresponding to their various grades, -and following the battle fresh changes were made in the staff. - -“That’s how everything is done with us, all topsy-turvy!” said the -Russian officers and generals after the Tarútino battle, letting it be -understood that some fool there is doing things all wrong but that -we ourselves should not have done so, just as people speak today. But -people who talk like that either do not know what they are talking about -or deliberately deceive themselves. No battle—Tarútino, Borodinó, or -Austerlitz—takes place as those who planned it anticipated. That is an -essential condition. - -A countless number of free forces (for nowhere is man freer than during -a battle, where it is a question of life and death) influence the course -taken by the fight, and that course never can be known in advance and -never coincides with the direction of any one force. - -If many simultaneously and variously directed forces act on a given -body, the direction of its motion cannot coincide with any one of those -forces, but will always be a mean—what in mechanics is represented by -the diagonal of a parallelogram of forces. - -If in the descriptions given by historians, especially French ones, we -find their wars and battles carried out in accordance with previously -formed plans, the only conclusion to be drawn is that those descriptions -are false. - -The battle of Tarútino obviously did not attain the aim Toll had in -view—to lead the troops into action in the order prescribed by the -dispositions; nor that which Count Orlóv-Denísov may have had in view—to -take Murat prisoner; nor the result of immediately destroying the whole -corps, which Bennigsen and others may have had in view; nor the aim of -the officer who wished to go into action to distinguish himself; nor -that of the Cossack who wanted more booty than he got, and so on. But -if the aim of the battle was what actually resulted and what all the -Russians of that day desired—to drive the French out of Russia and -destroy their army—it is quite clear that the battle of Tarútino, just -because of its incongruities, was exactly what was wanted at that stage -of the campaign. It would be difficult and even impossible to imagine -any result more opportune than the actual outcome of this battle. With -a minimum of effort and insignificant losses, despite the greatest -confusion, the most important results of the whole campaign were -attained: the transition from retreat to advance, an exposure of the -weakness of the French, and the administration of that shock which -Napoleon’s army had only awaited to begin its flight. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Napoleon enters Moscow after the brilliant victory de la Moskowa; there -can be no doubt about the victory for the battlefield remains in the -hands of the French. The Russians retreat and abandon their ancient -capital. Moscow, abounding in provisions, arms, munitions, and -incalculable wealth, is in Napoleon’s hands. The Russian army, only half -the strength of the French, does not make a single attempt to attack for -a whole month. Napoleon’s position is most brilliant. He can either fall -on the Russian army with double its strength and destroy it; negotiate -an advantageous peace, or in case of a refusal make a menacing move on -Petersburg, or even, in the case of a reverse, return to Smolénsk or -Vílna; or remain in Moscow; in short, no special genius would seem to be -required to retain the brilliant position the French held at that time. -For that, only very simple and easy steps were necessary: not to allow -the troops to loot, to prepare winter clothing—of which there was -sufficient in Moscow for the whole army—and methodically to collect the -provisions, of which (according to the French historians) there were -enough in Moscow to supply the whole army for six months. Yet Napoleon, -that greatest of all geniuses, who the historians declare had control of -the army, took none of these steps. - -He not merely did nothing of the kind, but on the contrary he used his -power to select the most foolish and ruinous of all the courses open -to him. Of all that Napoleon might have done: wintering in Moscow, -advancing on Petersburg or on Nízhni-Nóvgorod, or retiring by a more -northerly or more southerly route (say by the road Kutúzov afterwards -took), nothing more stupid or disastrous can be imagined than what he -actually did. He remained in Moscow till October, letting the troops -plunder the city; then, hesitating whether to leave a garrison behind -him, he quitted Moscow, approached Kutúzov without joining battle, -turned to the right and reached Málo-Yaroslávets, again without -attempting to break through and take the road Kutúzov took, but retiring -instead to Mozháysk along the devastated Smolénsk road. Nothing more -stupid than that could have been devised, or more disastrous for the -army, as the sequel showed. Had Napoleon’s aim been to destroy his army, -the most skillful strategist could hardly have devised any series -of actions that would so completely have accomplished that purpose, -independently of anything the Russian army might do. - -Napoleon, the man of genius, did this! But to say that he destroyed his -army because he wished to, or because he was very stupid, would be as -unjust as to say that he had brought his troops to Moscow because he -wished to and because he was very clever and a genius. - -In both cases his personal activity, having no more force than the -personal activity of any soldier, merely coincided with the laws that -guided the event. - -The historians quite falsely represent Napoleon’s faculties as having -weakened in Moscow, and do so only because the results did not justify -his actions. He employed all his ability and strength to do the best he -could for himself and his army, as he had done previously and as he did -subsequently in 1813. His activity at that time was no less astounding -than it was in Egypt, in Italy, in Austria, and in Prussia. We do not -know for certain in how far his genius was genuine in Egypt—where forty -centuries looked down upon his grandeur—for his great exploits there are -all told us by Frenchmen. We cannot accurately estimate his genius in -Austria or Prussia, for we have to draw our information from French -or German sources, and the incomprehensible surrender of whole corps -without fighting and of fortresses without a siege must incline Germans -to recognize his genius as the only explanation of the war carried on -in Germany. But we, thank God, have no need to recognize his genius -in order to hide our shame. We have paid for the right to look at the -matter plainly and simply, and we will not abandon that right. - -His activity in Moscow was as amazing and as full of genius as -elsewhere. Order after order and plan after plan were issued by him -from the time he entered Moscow till the time he left it. The absence -of citizens and of a deputation, and even the burning of Moscow, did not -disconcert him. He did not lose sight either of the welfare of his -army or of the doings of the enemy, or of the welfare of the people -of Russia, or of the direction of affairs in Paris, or of diplomatic -considerations concerning the terms of the anticipated peace. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -With regard to military matters, Napoleon immediately on his entry into -Moscow gave General Sabastiani strict orders to observe the movements -of the Russian army, sent army corps out along the different roads, and -charged Murat to find Kutúzov. Then he gave careful directions about the -fortification of the Krémlin, and drew up a brilliant plan for a future -campaign over the whole map of Russia. - -With regard to diplomatic questions, Napoleon summoned Captain Yákovlev, -who had been robbed and was in rags and did not know how to get out of -Moscow, minutely explained to him his whole policy and his magnanimity, -and having written a letter to the Emperor Alexander in which he -considered it his duty to inform his Friend and Brother that Rostopchín -had managed affairs badly in Moscow, he dispatched Yákovlev to -Petersburg. - -Having similarly explained his views and his magnanimity to Tutólmin, he -dispatched that old man also to Petersburg to negotiate. - -With regard to legal matters, immediately after the fires he gave orders -to find and execute the incendiaries. And the scoundrel Rostopchín was -punished by an order to burn down his houses. - -With regard to administrative matters, Moscow was granted a -constitution. A municipality was established and the following -announcement issued: - - -INHABITANTS OF MOSCOW! - -Your misfortunes are cruel, but His Majesty the Emperor and King -desires to arrest their course. Terrible examples have taught you how he -punishes disobedience and crime. Strict measures have been taken to -put an end to disorder and to re-establish public security. A -paternal administration, chosen from among yourselves, will form your -municipality or city government. It will take care of you, of your -needs, and of your welfare. Its members will be distinguished by a red -ribbon worn across the shoulder, and the mayor of the city will wear -a white belt as well. But when not on duty they will only wear a red -ribbon round the left arm. - -The city police is established on its former footing, and better order -already prevails in consequence of its activity. The government has -appointed two commissaries general, or chiefs of police, and twenty -commissaries or captains of wards have been appointed to the different -wards of the city. You will recognize them by the white ribbon they will -wear on the left arm. Several churches of different denominations are -open, and divine service is performed in them unhindered. Your fellow -citizens are returning every day to their homes and orders have been -given that they should find in them the help and protection due to -their misfortunes. These are the measures the government has adopted to -re-establish order and relieve your condition. But to achieve this -aim it is necessary that you should add your efforts and should, if -possible, forget the misfortunes you have suffered, should entertain -the hope of a less cruel fate, should be certain that inevitable and -ignominious death awaits those who make any attempt on your persons or -on what remains of your property, and finally that you should not doubt -that these will be safeguarded, since such is the will of the greatest -and most just of monarchs. Soldiers and citizens, of whatever nation you -may be, re-establish public confidence, the source of the welfare of -a state, live like brothers, render mutual aid and protection one to -another, unite to defeat the intentions of the evil-minded, obey the -military and civil authorities, and your tears will soon cease to flow! - - -With regard to supplies for the army, Napoleon decreed that all the -troops in turn should enter Moscow à la maraude * to obtain provisions -for themselves, so that the army might have its future provided for. - - * As looters. - -With regard to religion, Napoleon ordered the priests to be brought back -and services to be again performed in the churches. - -With regard to commerce and to provisioning the army, the following was -placarded everywhere: - -PROCLAMATION - -You, peaceful inhabitants of Moscow, artisans and workmen whom -misfortune has driven from the city, and you scattered tillers of -the soil, still kept out in the fields by groundless fear, listen! -Tranquillity is returning to this capital and order is being restored in -it. Your fellow countrymen are emerging boldly from their hiding places -on finding that they are respected. Any violence to them or to their -property is promptly punished. His Majesty the Emperor and King protects -them, and considers no one among you his enemy except those who disobey -his orders. He desires to end your misfortunes and restore you to your -homes and families. Respond, therefore, to his benevolent intentions -and come to us without fear. Inhabitants, return with confidence to your -abodes! You will soon find means of satisfying your needs. Craftsmen -and industrious artisans, return to your work, your houses, your shops, -where the protection of guards awaits you! You shall receive proper pay -for your work. And lastly you too, peasants, come from the forests where -you are hiding in terror, return to your huts without fear, in full -assurance that you will find protection! Markets are established in the -city where peasants can bring their surplus supplies and the products of -the soil. The government has taken the following steps to ensure freedom -of sale for them: (1) From today, peasants, husbandmen, and those -living in the neighborhood of Moscow may without any danger bring their -supplies of all kinds to two appointed markets, of which one is on -the Mokhováya Street and the other at the Provision Market. (2) Such -supplies will be bought from them at such prices as seller and buyer may -agree on, and if a seller is unable to obtain a fair price he will be -free to take his goods back to his village and no one may hinder him -under any pretense. (3) Sunday and Wednesday of each week are appointed -as the chief market days and to that end a sufficient number of troops -will be stationed along the highroads on Tuesdays and Saturdays at such -distances from the town as to protect the carts. (4) Similar measures -will be taken that peasants with their carts and horses may meet with no -hindrance on their return journey. (5) Steps will immediately be taken -to re-establish ordinary trading. - -Inhabitants of the city and villages, and you, workingmen and artisans, -to whatever nation you belong, you are called on to carry out the -paternal intentions of His Majesty the Emperor and King and to -co-operate with him for the public welfare! Lay your respect and -confidence at his feet and do not delay to unite with us! - - -With the object of raising the spirits of the troops and of the people, -reviews were constantly held and rewards distributed. The Emperor -rode through the streets to comfort the inhabitants, and, despite his -preoccupation with state affairs, himself visited the theaters that were -established by his order. - -In regard to philanthropy, the greatest virtue of crowned heads, -Napoleon also did all in his power. He caused the words Maison de ma -Mère to be inscribed on the charitable institutions, thereby combining -tender filial affection with the majestic benevolence of a monarch. He -visited the Foundling Hospital and, allowing the orphans saved by him -to kiss his white hands, graciously conversed with Tutólmin. Then, as -Thiers eloquently recounts, he ordered his soldiers to be paid in forged -Russian money which he had prepared: “Raising the use of these means -by an act worthy of himself and of the French army, he let relief -be distributed to those who had been burned out. But as food was too -precious to be given to foreigners, who were for the most part enemies, -Napoleon preferred to supply them with money with which to purchase food -from outside, and had paper rubles distributed to them.” - -With reference to army discipline, orders were continually being issued -to inflict severe punishment for the nonperformance of military duties -and to suppress robbery. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -But strange to say, all these measures, efforts, and plans—which were -not at all worse than others issued in similar circumstances—did not -affect the essence of the matter but, like the hands of a clock detached -from the mechanism, swung about in an arbitrary and aimless way without -engaging the cogwheels. - -With reference to the military side—the plan of campaign—that work of -genius of which Thiers remarks that, “His genius never devised anything -more profound, more skillful, or more admirable,” and enters into a -polemic with M. Fain to prove that this work of genius must be referred -not to the fourth but to the fifteenth of October—that plan never was or -could be executed, for it was quite out of touch with the facts of the -case. The fortifying of the Krémlin, for which la Mosquée (as Napoleon -termed the church of Basil the Beatified) was to have been razed to -the ground, proved quite useless. The mining of the Krémlin only helped -toward fulfilling Napoleon’s wish that it should be blown up when he -left Moscow—as a child wants the floor on which he has hurt himself to -be beaten. The pursuit of the Russian army, about which Napoleon was so -concerned, produced an unheard-of result. The French generals lost touch -with the Russian army of sixty thousand men, and according to Thiers it -was only eventually found, like a lost pin, by the skill—and apparently -the genius—of Murat. - -With reference to diplomacy, all Napoleon’s arguments as to his -magnanimity and justice, both to Tutólmin and to Yákovlev (whose chief -concern was to obtain a greatcoat and a conveyance), proved useless; -Alexander did not receive these envoys and did not reply to their -embassage. - -With regard to legal matters, after the execution of the supposed -incendiaries the rest of Moscow burned down. - -With regard to administrative matters, the establishment of a -municipality did not stop the robberies and was only of use to certain -people who formed part of that municipality and under pretext of -preserving order looted Moscow or saved their own property from being -looted. - -With regard to religion, as to which in Egypt matters had so easily been -settled by Napoleon’s visit to a mosque, no results were achieved. -Two or three priests who were found in Moscow did try to carry out -Napoleon’s wish, but one of them was slapped in the face by a French -soldier while conducting service, and a French official reported of -another that: “The priest whom I found and invited to say Mass cleaned -and locked up the church. That night the doors were again broken -open, the padlocks smashed, the books mutilated, and other disorders -perpetrated.” - -With reference to commerce, the proclamation to industrious workmen and -to peasants evoked no response. There were no industrious workmen, and -the peasants caught the commissaries who ventured too far out of town -with the proclamation and killed them. - -As to the theaters for the entertainment of the people and the troops, -these did not meet with success either. The theaters set up in the -Krémlin and in Posnyákov’s house were closed again at once because the -actors and actresses were robbed. - -Even philanthropy did not have the desired effect. The genuine as -well as the false paper money which flooded Moscow lost its value. The -French, collecting booty, cared only for gold. Not only was the -paper money valueless which Napoleon so graciously distributed to the -unfortunate, but even silver lost its value in relation to gold. - -But the most amazing example of the ineffectiveness of the orders given -by the authorities at that time was Napoleon’s attempt to stop the -looting and re-establish discipline. - -This is what the army authorities were reporting: - -“Looting continues in the city despite the decrees against it. Order -is not yet restored and not a single merchant is carrying on trade in a -lawful manner. The sutlers alone venture to trade, and they sell stolen -goods.” - -“The neighborhood of my ward continues to be pillaged by soldiers of -the 3rd Corps who, not satisfied with taking from the unfortunate -inhabitants hiding in the cellars the little they have left, even have -the ferocity to wound them with their sabers, as I have repeatedly -witnessed.” - -“Nothing new, except that the soldiers are robbing and pillaging—October -9.” - -“Robbery and pillaging continue. There is a band of thieves in our -district who ought to be arrested by a strong force—October 11.” - -“The Emperor is extremely displeased that despite the strict orders to -stop pillage, parties of marauding Guards are continually seen returning -to the Krémlin. Among the Old Guard disorder and pillage were renewed -more violently than ever yesterday evening, last night, and today. The -Emperor sees with regret that the picked soldiers appointed to guard his -person, who should set an example of discipline, carry disobedience to -such a point that they break into the cellars and stores containing army -supplies. Others have disgraced themselves to the extent of disobeying -sentinels and officers, and have abused and beaten them.” - -“The Grand Marshal of the palace,” wrote the governor, “complains -bitterly that in spite of repeated orders, the soldiers continue to -commit nuisances in all the courtyards and even under the very windows -of the Emperor.” - -That army, like a herd of cattle run wild and trampling underfoot the -provender which might have saved it from starvation, disintegrated and -perished with each additional day it remained in Moscow. But it did not -go away. - -It began to run away only when suddenly seized by a panic caused by the -capture of transport trains on the Smolénsk road, and by the battle of -Tarútino. The news of that battle of Tarútino, unexpectedly received -by Napoleon at a review, evoked in him a desire to punish the Russians -(Thiers says), and he issued the order for departure which the whole -army was demanding. - -Fleeing from Moscow the soldiers took with them everything they had -stolen. Napoleon, too, carried away his own personal trésor, but on -seeing the baggage trains that impeded the army, he was (Thiers says) -horror-struck. And yet with his experience of war he did not order all -the superfluous vehicles to be burned, as he had done with those of a -certain marshal when approaching Moscow. He gazed at the calèches and -carriages in which soldiers were riding and remarked that it was a very -good thing, as those vehicles could be used to carry provisions, the -sick, and the wounded. - -The plight of the whole army resembled that of a wounded animal which -feels it is perishing and does not know what it is doing. To study the -skillful tactics and aims of Napoleon and his army from the time it -entered Moscow till it was destroyed is like studying the dying leaps -and shudders of a mortally wounded animal. Very often a wounded animal, -hearing a rustle, rushes straight at the hunter’s gun, runs forward and -back again, and hastens its own end. Napoleon, under pressure from his -whole army, did the same thing. The rustle of the battle of Tarútino -frightened the beast, and it rushed forward onto the hunter’s gun, -reached him, turned back, and finally—like any wild beast—ran back along -the most disadvantageous and dangerous path, where the old scent was -familiar. - -During the whole of that period Napoleon, who seems to us to have been -the leader of all these movements—as the figurehead of a ship may seem -to a savage to guide the vessel—acted like a child who, holding a couple -of strings inside a carriage, thinks he is driving it. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Early in the morning of the sixth of October Pierre went out of the -shed, and on returning stopped by the door to play with a little -blue-gray dog, with a long body and short bandy legs, that jumped about -him. This little dog lived in their shed, sleeping beside Karatáev at -night; it sometimes made excursions into the town but always returned -again. Probably it had never had an owner, and it still belonged to -nobody and had no name. The French called it Azor; the soldier who -told stories called it Femgálka; Karatáev and others called it Gray, or -sometimes Flabby. Its lack of a master, a name, or even of a breed or -any definite color did not seem to trouble the blue-gray dog in the -least. Its furry tail stood up firm and round as a plume, its bandy legs -served it so well that it would often gracefully lift a hind leg and run -very easily and quickly on three legs, as if disdaining to use all -four. Everything pleased it. Now it would roll on its back, yelping with -delight, now bask in the sun with a thoughtful air of importance, and -now frolic about playing with a chip of wood or a straw. - -Pierre’s attire by now consisted of a dirty torn shirt (the only -remnant of his former clothing), a pair of soldier’s trousers which by -Karatáev’s advice he tied with string round the ankles for warmth, and -a peasant coat and cap. Physically he had changed much during this -time. He no longer seemed stout, though he still had the appearance of -solidity and strength hereditary in his family. A beard and mustache -covered the lower part of his face, and a tangle of hair, infested -with lice, curled round his head like a cap. The look of his eyes -was resolute, calm, and animatedly alert, as never before. The former -slackness which had shown itself even in his eyes was now replaced by an -energetic readiness for action and resistance. His feet were bare. - -Pierre first looked down the field across which vehicles and horsemen -were passing that morning, then into the distance across the river, then -at the dog who was pretending to be in earnest about biting him, -and then at his bare feet which he placed with pleasure in various -positions, moving his dirty thick big toes. Every time he looked at his -bare feet a smile of animated self-satisfaction flitted across his face. -The sight of them reminded him of all he had experienced and learned -during these weeks and this recollection was pleasant to him. - -For some days the weather had been calm and clear with slight frosts in -the mornings—what is called an “old wives’ summer.” - -In the sunshine the air was warm, and that warmth was particularly -pleasant with the invigorating freshness of the morning frost still in -the air. - -On everything—far and near—lay the magic crystal glitter seen only at -that time of autumn. The Sparrow Hills were visible in the distance, -with the village, the church, and the large white house. The bare trees, -the sand, the bricks and roofs of the houses, the green church spire, -and the corners of the white house in the distance, all stood out in the -transparent air in most delicate outline and with unnatural clearness. -Near by could be seen the familiar ruins of a half-burned mansion -occupied by the French, with lilac bushes still showing dark green -beside the fence. And even that ruined and befouled house—which in dull -weather was repulsively ugly—seemed quietly beautiful now, in the clear, -motionless brilliance. - -A French corporal, with coat unbuttoned in a homely way, a skullcap on -his head, and a short pipe in his mouth, came from behind a corner of -the shed and approached Pierre with a friendly wink. - -“What sunshine, Monsieur Kiril!” (Their name for Pierre.) “Eh? Just like -spring!” - -And the corporal leaned against the door and offered Pierre his pipe, -though whenever he offered it Pierre always declined it. - -“To be on the march in such weather...” he began. - -Pierre inquired what was being said about leaving, and the corporal told -him that nearly all the troops were starting and there ought to be an -order about the prisoners that day. Sokolóv, one of the soldiers in the -shed with Pierre, was dying, and Pierre told the corporal that something -should be done about him. The corporal replied that Pierre need not -worry about that as they had an ambulance and a permanent hospital and -arrangements would be made for the sick, and that in general everything -that could happen had been foreseen by the authorities. - -“Besides, Monsieur Kiril, you have only to say a word to the captain, -you know. He is a man who never forgets anything. Speak to the captain -when he makes his round, he will do anything for you.” - -(The captain of whom the corporal spoke often had long chats with Pierre -and showed him all sorts of favors.) - -“‘You see, St. Thomas,’ he said to me the other day. ‘Monsieur Kiril is -a man of education, who speaks French. He is a Russian seigneur who has -had misfortunes, but he is a man. He knows what’s what.... If he wants -anything and asks me, he won’t get a refusal. When one has studied, you -see, one likes education and well-bred people.’ It is for your sake I -mention it, Monsieur Kiril. The other day if it had not been for you -that affair would have ended ill.” - -And after chatting a while longer, the corporal went away. (The affair -he had alluded to had happened a few days before—a fight between the -prisoners and the French soldiers, in which Pierre had succeeded in -pacifying his comrades.) Some of the prisoners who had heard Pierre -talking to the corporal immediately asked what the Frenchman had said. -While Pierre was repeating what he had been told about the army leaving -Moscow, a thin, sallow, tattered French soldier came up to the door of -the shed. Rapidly and timidly raising his fingers to his forehead by way -of greeting, he asked Pierre whether the soldier Platoche to whom he had -given a shirt to sew was in that shed. - -A week before the French had had boot leather and linen issued to them, -which they had given out to the prisoners to make up into boots and -shirts for them. - -“Ready, ready, dear fellow!” said Karatáev, coming out with a neatly -folded shirt. - -Karatáev, on account of the warm weather and for convenience at work, -was wearing only trousers and a tattered shirt as black as soot. His -hair was bound round, workman fashion, with a wisp of lime-tree bast, -and his round face seemed rounder and pleasanter than ever. - -“A promise is own brother to performance! I said Friday and here it is, -ready,” said Platón, smiling and unfolding the shirt he had sewn. - -The Frenchman glanced around uneasily and then, as if overcoming his -hesitation, rapidly threw off his uniform and put on the shirt. He had -a long, greasy, flowered silk waistcoat next to his sallow, thin bare -body, but no shirt. He was evidently afraid the prisoners looking on -would laugh at him, and thrust his head into the shirt hurriedly. None -of the prisoners said a word. - -“See, it fits well!” Platón kept repeating, pulling the shirt straight. - -The Frenchman, having pushed his head and hands through, without raising -his eyes, looked down at the shirt and examined the seams. - -“You see, dear man, this is not a sewing shop, and I had no proper -tools; and, as they say, one needs a tool even to kill a louse,” said -Platón with one of his round smiles, obviously pleased with his work. - -“It’s good, quite good, thank you,” said the Frenchman, in French, “but -there must be some linen left over.” - -“It will fit better still when it sets to your body,” said Karatáev, -still admiring his handiwork. “You’ll be nice and comfortable....” - -“Thanks, thanks, old fellow.... But the bits left over?” said the -Frenchman again and smiled. He took out an assignation ruble note and -gave it to Karatáev. “But give me the pieces that are over.” - -Pierre saw that Platón did not want to understand what the Frenchman -was saying, and he looked on without interfering. Karatáev thanked the -Frenchman for the money and went on admiring his own work. The Frenchman -insisted on having the pieces returned that were left over and asked -Pierre to translate what he said. - -“What does he want the bits for?” said Karatáev. “They’d make fine leg -bands for us. Well, never mind.” - -And Karatáev, with a suddenly changed and saddened expression, took -a small bundle of scraps from inside his shirt and gave it to the -Frenchman without looking at him. “Oh dear!” muttered Karatáev and went -away. The Frenchman looked at the linen, considered for a moment, then -looked inquiringly at Pierre and, as if Pierre’s look had told him -something, suddenly blushed and shouted in a squeaky voice: - -“Platoche! Eh, Platoche! Keep them yourself!” And handing back the odd -bits he turned and went out. - -“There, look at that,” said Karatáev, swaying his head. “People said -they were not Christians, but they too have souls. It’s what the old -folk used to say: ‘A sweating hand’s an open hand, a dry hand’s close.’ -He’s naked, but yet he’s given it back.” - -Karatáev smiled thoughtfully and was silent awhile looking at the -pieces. - -“But they’ll make grand leg bands, dear friend,” he said, and went back -into the shed. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -Four weeks had passed since Pierre had been taken prisoner and though -the French had offered to move him from the men’s to the officers’ shed, -he had stayed in the shed where he was first put. - -In burned and devastated Moscow Pierre experienced almost the extreme -limits of privation a man can endure; but thanks to his physical -strength and health, of which he had till then been unconscious, and -thanks especially to the fact that the privations came so gradually that -it was impossible to say when they began, he endured his position -not only lightly but joyfully. And just at this time he obtained the -tranquillity and ease of mind he had formerly striven in vain to reach. -He had long sought in different ways that tranquillity of mind, that -inner harmony which had so impressed him in the soldiers at the battle -of Borodinó. He had sought it in philanthropy, in Freemasonry, in the -dissipations of town life, in wine, in heroic feats of self-sacrifice, -and in romantic love for Natásha; he had sought it by reasoning—and all -these quests and experiments had failed him. And now without thinking -about it he had found that peace and inner harmony only through the -horror of death, through privation, and through what he recognized in -Karatáev. - -Those dreadful moments he had lived through at the executions had as it -were forever washed away from his imagination and memory the agitating -thoughts and feelings that had formerly seemed so important. It did -not now occur to him to think of Russia, or the war, or politics, or -Napoleon. It was plain to him that all these things were no business -of his, and that he was not called on to judge concerning them and -therefore could not do so. “Russia and summer weather are not bound -together,” he thought, repeating words of Karatáev’s which he found -strangely consoling. His intention of killing Napoleon and his -calculations of the cabalistic number of the beast of the Apocalypse now -seemed to him meaningless and even ridiculous. His anger with his wife -and anxiety that his name should not be smirched now seemed not merely -trivial but even amusing. What concern was it of his that somewhere or -other that woman was leading the life she preferred? What did it matter -to anybody, and especially to him, whether or not they found out that -their prisoner’s name was Count Bezúkhov? - -He now often remembered his conversation with Prince Andrew and quite -agreed with him, though he understood Prince Andrew’s thoughts somewhat -differently. Prince Andrew had thought and said that happiness could -only be negative, but had said it with a shade of bitterness and irony -as though he was really saying that all desire for positive happiness is -implanted in us merely to torment us and never be satisfied. But Pierre -believed it without any mental reservation. The absence of suffering, -the satisfaction of one’s needs and consequent freedom in the choice of -one’s occupation, that is, of one’s way of life, now seemed to Pierre to -be indubitably man’s highest happiness. Here and now for the first time -he fully appreciated the enjoyment of eating when he wanted to eat, -drinking when he wanted to drink, sleeping when he wanted to sleep, of -warmth when he was cold, of talking to a fellow man when he wished to -talk and to hear a human voice. The satisfaction of one’s needs—good -food, cleanliness, and freedom—now that he was deprived of all this, -seemed to Pierre to constitute perfect happiness; and the choice -of occupation, that is, of his way of life—now that that was so -restricted—seemed to him such an easy matter that he forgot that a -superfluity of the comforts of life destroys all joy in satisfying one’s -needs, while great freedom in the choice of occupation—such freedom as -his wealth, his education, and his social position had given him in his -own life—is just what makes the choice of occupation insolubly difficult -and destroys the desire and possibility of having an occupation. - -All Pierre’s daydreams now turned on the time when he would be free. Yet -subsequently, and for the rest of his life, he thought and spoke with -enthusiasm of that month of captivity, of those irrecoverable, strong, -joyful sensations, and chiefly of the complete peace of mind and inner -freedom which he experienced only during those weeks. - -When on the first day he got up early, went out of the shed at dawn, and -saw the cupolas and crosses of the New Convent of the Virgin still dark -at first, the hoarfrost on the dusty grass, the Sparrow Hills, and the -wooded banks above the winding river vanishing in the purple distance, -when he felt the contact of the fresh air and heard the noise of the -crows flying from Moscow across the field, and when afterwards light -gleamed from the east and the sun’s rim appeared solemnly from behind a -cloud, and the cupolas and crosses, the hoarfrost, the distance and the -river, all began to sparkle in the glad light—Pierre felt a new joy and -strength in life such as he had never before known. And this not only -stayed with him during the whole of his imprisonment, but even grew in -strength as the hardships of his position increased. - -That feeling of alertness and of readiness for anything was still -further strengthened in him by the high opinion his fellow prisoners -formed of him soon after his arrival at the shed. With his knowledge -of languages, the respect shown him by the French, his simplicity, his -readiness to give anything asked of him (he received the allowance -of three rubles a week made to officers); with his strength, which he -showed to the soldiers by pressing nails into the walls of the hut; his -gentleness to his companions, and his capacity for sitting still and -thinking without doing anything (which seemed to them incomprehensible), -he appeared to them a rather mysterious and superior being. The very -qualities that had been a hindrance, if not actually harmful, to him in -the world he had lived in—his strength, his disdain for the comforts of -life, his absent-mindedness and simplicity—here among these people gave -him almost the status of a hero. And Pierre felt that their opinion -placed responsibilities upon him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -The French evacuation began on the night between the sixth and seventh -of October: kitchens and sheds were dismantled, carts loaded, and troops -and baggage trains started. - -At seven in the morning a French convoy in marching trim, wearing shakos -and carrying muskets, knapsacks, and enormous sacks, stood in front -of the sheds, and animated French talk mingled with curses sounded all -along the lines. - -In the shed everyone was ready, dressed, belted, shod, and only awaited -the order to start. The sick soldier, Sokolóv, pale and thin with dark -shadows round his eyes, alone sat in his place barefoot and not dressed. -His eyes, prominent from the emaciation of his face, gazed inquiringly -at his comrades who were paying no attention to him, and he moaned -regularly and quietly. It was evidently not so much his sufferings that -caused him to moan (he had dysentery) as his fear and grief at being -left alone. - -Pierre, girt with a rope round his waist and wearing shoes Karatáev had -made for him from some leather a French soldier had torn off a tea chest -and brought to have his boots mended with, went up to the sick man and -squatted down beside him. - -“You know, Sokolóv, they are not all going away! They have a hospital -here. You may be better off than we others,” said Pierre. - -“O Lord! Oh, it will be the death of me! O Lord!” moaned the man in a -louder voice. - -“I’ll go and ask them again directly,” said Pierre, rising and going to -the door of the shed. - -Just as Pierre reached the door, the corporal who had offered him a -pipe the day before came up to it with two soldiers. The corporal and -soldiers were in marching kit with knapsacks and shakos that had metal -straps, and these changed their familiar faces. - -The corporal came, according to orders, to shut the door. The prisoners -had to be counted before being let out. - -“Corporal, what will they do with the sick man?...” Pierre began. - -But even as he spoke he began to doubt whether this was the corporal -he knew or a stranger, so unlike himself did the corporal seem at that -moment. Moreover, just as Pierre was speaking a sharp rattle of drums -was suddenly heard from both sides. The corporal frowned at Pierre’s -words and, uttering some meaningless oaths, slammed the door. The shed -became semidark, and the sharp rattle of the drums on two sides drowned -the sick man’s groans. - -“There it is!... It again!...” said Pierre to himself, and an -involuntary shudder ran down his spine. In the corporal’s changed face, -in the sound of his voice, in the stirring and deafening noise of the -drums, he recognized that mysterious, callous force which compelled -people against their will to kill their fellow men—that force the effect -of which he had witnessed during the executions. To fear or to try to -escape that force, to address entreaties or exhortations to those who -served as its tools, was useless. Pierre knew this now. One had to wait -and endure. He did not again go to the sick man, nor turn to look at -him, but stood frowning by the door of the hut. - -When that door was opened and the prisoners, crowding against one -another like a flock of sheep, squeezed into the exit, Pierre pushed -his way forward and approached that very captain who as the corporal had -assured him was ready to do anything for him. The captain was also in -marching kit, and on his cold face appeared that same it which Pierre -had recognized in the corporal’s words and in the roll of the drums. - -“Pass on, pass on!” the captain reiterated, frowning sternly, and -looking at the prisoners who thronged past him. - -Pierre went up to him, though he knew his attempt would be vain. - -“What now?” the officer asked with a cold look as if not recognizing -Pierre. - -Pierre told him about the sick man. - -“He’ll manage to walk, devil take him!” said the captain. “Pass on, pass -on!” he continued without looking at Pierre. - -“But he is dying,” Pierre again began. - -“Be so good...” shouted the captain, frowning angrily. - -“Dram-da-da-dam, dam-dam...” rattled the drums, and Pierre understood -that this mysterious force completely controlled these men and that it -was now useless to say any more. - -The officer prisoners were separated from the soldiers and told to march -in front. There were about thirty officers, with Pierre among them, and -about three hundred men. - -The officers, who had come from the other sheds, were all strangers to -Pierre and much better dressed than he. They looked at him and at his -shoes mistrustfully, as at an alien. Not far from him walked a fat major -with a sallow, bloated, angry face, who was wearing a Kazán dressing -gown tied round with a towel, and who evidently enjoyed the respect of -his fellow prisoners. He kept one hand, in which he clasped his tobacco -pouch, inside the bosom of his dressing gown and held the stem of his -pipe firmly with the other. Panting and puffing, the major grumbled and -growled at everybody because he thought he was being pushed and that -they were all hurrying when they had nowhere to hurry to and were -all surprised at something when there was nothing to be surprised at. -Another, a thin little officer, was speaking to everyone, conjecturing -where they were now being taken and how far they would get that day. An -official in felt boots and wearing a commissariat uniform ran round from -side to side and gazed at the ruins of Moscow, loudly announcing his -observations as to what had been burned down and what this or that part -of the city was that they could see. A third officer, who by his accent -was a Pole, disputed with the commissariat officer, arguing that he was -mistaken in his identification of the different wards of Moscow. - -“What are you disputing about?” said the major angrily. “What does it -matter whether it is St. Nicholas or St. Blasius? You see it’s burned -down, and there’s an end of it.... What are you pushing for? Isn’t the -road wide enough?” said he, turning to a man behind him who was not -pushing him at all. - -“Oh, oh, oh! What have they done?” the prisoners on one side and another -were heard saying as they gazed on the charred ruins. “All beyond the -river, and Zúbova, and in the Krémlin.... Just look! There’s not half of -it left. Yes, I told you—the whole quarter beyond the river, and so it -is.” - -“Well, you know it’s burned, so what’s the use of talking?” said the -major. - -As they passed near a church in the Khamóvniki (one of the few unburned -quarters of Moscow) the whole mass of prisoners suddenly started to one -side and exclamations of horror and disgust were heard. - -“Ah, the villains! What heathens! Yes; dead, dead, so he is... And -smeared with something!” - -Pierre too drew near the church where the thing was that evoked these -exclamations, and dimly made out something leaning against the palings -surrounding the church. From the words of his comrades who saw better -than he did, he found that this was the body of a man, set upright -against the palings with its face smeared with soot. - -“Go on! What the devil... Go on! Thirty thousand devils!...” the convoy -guards began cursing and the French soldiers, with fresh virulence, -drove away with their swords the crowd of prisoners who were gazing at -the dead man. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -Through the cross streets of the Khamóvniki quarter the prisoners -marched, followed only by their escort and the vehicles and wagons -belonging to that escort, but when they reached the supply stores they -came among a huge and closely packed train of artillery mingled with -private vehicles. - -At the bridge they all halted, waiting for those in front to get across. -From the bridge they had a view of endless lines of moving baggage -trains before and behind them. To the right, where the Kalúga road turns -near Neskúchny, endless rows of troops and carts stretched away into -the distance. These were troops of Beauharnais’ corps which had started -before any of the others. Behind, along the riverside and across the -Stone Bridge, were Ney’s troops and transport. - -Davout’s troops, in whose charge were the prisoners, were crossing the -Crimean bridge and some were already debouching into the Kalúga road. -But the baggage trains stretched out so that the last of Beauharnais’ -train had not yet got out of Moscow and reached the Kalúga road when -the vanguard of Ney’s army was already emerging from the Great Ordýnka -Street. - -When they had crossed the Crimean bridge the prisoners moved a few steps -forward, halted, and again moved on, and from all sides vehicles and men -crowded closer and closer together. They advanced the few hundred paces -that separated the bridge from the Kalúga road, taking more than an -hour to do so, and came out upon the square where the streets of the -Transmoskvá ward and the Kalúga road converge, and the prisoners jammed -close together had to stand for some hours at that crossway. From all -sides, like the roar of the sea, were heard the rattle of wheels, the -tramp of feet, and incessant shouts of anger and abuse. Pierre stood -pressed against the wall of a charred house, listening to that noise -which mingled in his imagination with the roll of the drums. - -To get a better view, several officer prisoners climbed onto the wall of -the half-burned house against which Pierre was leaning. - -“What crowds! Just look at the crowds!... They’ve loaded goods even on -the cannon! Look there, those are furs!” they exclaimed. “Just see what -the blackguards have looted.... There! See what that one has behind -in the cart.... Why, those are settings taken from some icons, by -heaven!... Oh, the rascals!... See how that fellow has loaded -himself up, he can hardly walk! Good lord, they’ve even grabbed those -chaises!... See that fellow there sitting on the trunks.... Heavens! -They’re fighting.” - -“That’s right, hit him on the snout—on his snout! Like this, we -shan’t get away before evening. Look, look there.... Why, that must be -Napoleon’s own. See what horses! And the monograms with a crown! It’s -like a portable house.... That fellow’s dropped his sack and doesn’t see -it. Fighting again... A woman with a baby, and not bad-looking either! -Yes, I dare say, that’s the way they’ll let you pass.... Just look, -there’s no end to it. Russian wenches, by heaven, so they are! In -carriages—see how comfortably they’ve settled themselves!” - -Again, as at the church in Khamóvniki, a wave of general curiosity -bore all the prisoners forward onto the road, and Pierre, thanks to -his stature, saw over the heads of the others what so attracted their -curiosity. In three carriages involved among the munition carts, closely -squeezed together, sat women with rouged faces, dressed in glaring -colors, who were shouting something in shrill voices. - -From the moment Pierre had recognized the appearance of the mysterious -force nothing had seemed to him strange or dreadful: neither the corpse -smeared with soot for fun nor these women hurrying away nor the burned -ruins of Moscow. All that he now witnessed scarcely made an impression -on him—as if his soul, making ready for a hard struggle, refused to -receive impressions that might weaken it. - -The women’s vehicles drove by. Behind them came more carts, soldiers, -wagons, soldiers, gun carriages, carriages, soldiers, ammunition carts, -more soldiers, and now and then women. - -Pierre did not see the people as individuals but saw their movement. - -All these people and horses seemed driven forward by some invisible -power. During the hour Pierre watched them they all came flowing from -the different streets with one and the same desire to get on quickly; -they all jostled one another, began to grow angry and to fight, white -teeth gleamed, brows frowned, ever the same words of abuse flew from -side to side, and all the faces bore the same swaggeringly resolute -and coldly cruel expression that had struck Pierre that morning on the -corporal’s face when the drums were beating. - -It was not till nearly evening that the officer commanding the escort -collected his men and with shouts and quarrels forced his way in among -the baggage trains, and the prisoners, hemmed in on all sides, emerged -onto the Kalúga road. - -They marched very quickly, without resting, and halted only when the sun -began to set. The baggage carts drew up close together and the men -began to prepare for their night’s rest. They all appeared angry and -dissatisfied. For a long time, oaths, angry shouts, and fighting could -be heard from all sides. A carriage that followed the escort ran -into one of the carts and knocked a hole in it with its pole. Several -soldiers ran toward the cart from different sides: some beat the -carriage horses on their heads, turning them aside, others fought among -themselves, and Pierre saw that one German was badly wounded on the head -by a sword. - -It seemed that all these men, now that they had stopped amid fields -in the chill dusk of the autumn evening, experienced one and the same -feeling of unpleasant awakening from the hurry and eagerness to push on -that had seized them at the start. Once at a standstill they all seemed -to understand that they did not yet know where they were going, and that -much that was painful and difficult awaited them on this journey. - -During this halt the escort treated the prisoners even worse than they -had done at the start. It was here that the prisoners for the first time -received horseflesh for their meat ration. - -From the officer down to the lowest soldier they showed what seemed like -personal spite against each of the prisoners, in unexpected contrast to -their former friendly relations. - -This spite increased still more when, on calling over the roll of -prisoners, it was found that in the bustle of leaving Moscow one Russian -soldier, who had pretended to suffer from colic, had escaped. Pierre saw -a Frenchman beat a Russian soldier cruelly for straying too far from -the road, and heard his friend the captain reprimand and threaten to -court-martial a noncommissioned officer on account of the escape of the -Russian. To the noncommissioned officer’s excuse that the prisoner was -ill and could not walk, the officer replied that the order was to shoot -those who lagged behind. Pierre felt that that fatal force which had -crushed him during the executions, but which he had not felt during his -imprisonment, now again controlled his existence. It was terrible, but -he felt that in proportion to the efforts of that fatal force to crush -him, there grew and strengthened in his soul a power of life independent -of it. - -He ate his supper of buckwheat soup with horseflesh and chatted with his -comrades. - -Neither Pierre nor any of the others spoke of what they had seen in -Moscow, or of the roughness of their treatment by the French, or of the -order to shoot them which had been announced to them. As if in reaction -against the worsening of their position they were all particularly -animated and gay. They spoke of personal reminiscences, of amusing -scenes they had witnessed during the campaign, and avoided all talk of -their present situation. - -The sun had set long since. Bright stars shone out here and there in the -sky. A red glow as of a conflagration spread above the horizon from the -rising full moon, and that vast red ball swayed strangely in the gray -haze. It grew light. The evening was ending, but the night had not yet -come. Pierre got up and left his new companions, crossing between the -campfires to the other side of the road where he had been told the -common soldier prisoners were stationed. He wanted to talk to them. On -the road he was stopped by a French sentinel who ordered him back. - -Pierre turned back, not to his companions by the campfire, but to an -unharnessed cart where there was nobody. Tucking his legs under him and -dropping his head he sat down on the cold ground by the wheel of the -cart and remained motionless a long while sunk in thought. Suddenly he -burst out into a fit of his broad, good-natured laughter, so loud that -men from various sides turned with surprise to see what this strange and -evidently solitary laughter could mean. - -“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed Pierre. And he said aloud to himself: “The soldier -did not let me pass. They took me and shut me up. They hold me captive. -What, me? Me? My immortal soul? Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!...” and he laughed -till tears started to his eyes. - -A man got up and came to see what this queer big fellow was laughing at -all by himself. Pierre stopped laughing, got up, went farther away from -the inquisitive man, and looked around him. - -The huge, endless bivouac that had previously resounded with the -crackling of campfires and the voices of many men had grown quiet, the -red campfires were growing paler and dying down. High up in the light -sky hung the full moon. Forests and fields beyond the camp, unseen -before, were now visible in the distance. And farther still, beyond -those forests and fields, the bright, oscillating, limitless distance -lured one to itself. Pierre glanced up at the sky and the twinkling -stars in its faraway depths. “And all that is me, all that is within me, -and it is all I!” thought Pierre. “And they caught all that and put it -into a shed boarded up with planks!” He smiled, and went and lay down to -sleep beside his companions. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -In the early days of October another envoy came to Kutúzov with a letter -from Napoleon proposing peace and falsely dated from Moscow, though -Napoleon was already not far from Kutúzov on the old Kalúga road. -Kutúzov replied to this letter as he had done to the one formerly -brought by Lauriston, saying that there could be no question of peace. - -Soon after that a report was received from Dórokhov’s guerrilla -detachment operating to the left of Tarútino that troops of Broussier’s -division had been seen at Formínsk and that being separated from the -rest of the French army they might easily be destroyed. The soldiers and -officers again demanded action. Generals on the staff, excited by the -memory of the easy victory at Tarútino, urged Kutúzov to carry out -Dórokhov’s suggestion. Kutúzov did not consider any offensive necessary. -The result was a compromise which was inevitable: a small detachment was -sent to Formínsk to attack Broussier. - -By a strange coincidence, this task, which turned out to be a most -difficult and important one, was entrusted to Dokhtúrov—that same modest -little Dokhtúrov whom no one had described to us as drawing up plans -of battles, dashing about in front of regiments, showering crosses on -batteries, and so on, and who was thought to be and was spoken of as -undecided and undiscerning—but whom we find commanding wherever the -position was most difficult all through the Russo-French wars from -Austerlitz to the year 1813. At Austerlitz he remained last at the -Augezd dam, rallying the regiments, saving what was possible when all -were flying and perishing and not a single general was left in the rear -guard. Ill with fever he went to Smolénsk with twenty thousand men -to defend the town against Napoleon’s whole army. In Smolénsk, at the -Malákhov Gate, he had hardly dozed off in a paroxysm of fever before he -was awakened by the bombardment of the town—and Smolénsk held out all -day long. At the battle of Borodinó, when Bagratión was killed and nine -tenths of the men of our left flank had fallen and the full force of the -French artillery fire was directed against it, the man sent there was -this same irresolute and undiscerning Dokhtúrov—Kutúzov hastening to -rectify a mistake he had made by sending someone else there first. -And the quiet little Dokhtúrov rode thither, and Borodinó became the -greatest glory of the Russian army. Many heroes have been described to -us in verse and prose, but of Dokhtúrov scarcely a word has been said. - -It was Dokhtúrov again whom they sent to Formínsk and from there to -Málo-Yaroslávets, the place where the last battle with the French was -fought and where the obvious disintegration of the French army began; -and we are told of many geniuses and heroes of that period of the -campaign, but of Dokhtúrov nothing or very little is said and that -dubiously. And this silence about Dokhtúrov is the clearest testimony to -his merit. - -It is natural for a man who does not understand the workings of a -machine to imagine that a shaving that has fallen into it by chance -and is interfering with its action and tossing about in it is its most -important part. The man who does not understand the construction of -the machine cannot conceive that the small connecting cogwheel which -revolves quietly is one of the most essential parts of the machine, and -not the shaving which merely harms and hinders the working. - -On the tenth of October when Dokhtúrov had gone halfway to Formínsk and -stopped at the village of Aristóvo, preparing faithfully to execute the -orders he had received, the whole French army having, in its convulsive -movement, reached Murat’s position apparently in order to give -battle—suddenly without any reason turned off to the left onto the new -Kalúga road and began to enter Formínsk, where only Broussier had -been till then. At that time Dokhtúrov had under his command, besides -Dórokhov’s detachment, the two small guerrilla detachments of Figner and -Seslávin. - -On the evening of October 11 Seslávin came to the Aristóvo headquarters -with a French guardsman he had captured. The prisoner said that the -troops that had entered Formínsk that day were the vanguard of the whole -army, that Napoleon was there and the whole army had left Moscow four -days previously. That same evening a house serf who had come from -Bórovsk said he had seen an immense army entering the town. Some -Cossacks of Dokhtúrov’s detachment reported having sighted the French -Guards marching along the road to Bórovsk. From all these reports it was -evident that where they had expected to meet a single division there -was now the whole French army marching from Moscow in an unexpected -direction—along the Kalúga road. Dokhtúrov was unwilling to undertake -any action, as it was not clear to him now what he ought to do. He had -been ordered to attack Formínsk. But only Broussier had been there at -that time and now the whole French army was there. Ermólov wished to act -on his own judgment, but Dokhtúrov insisted that he must have Kutúzov’s -instructions. So it was decided to send a dispatch to the staff. - -For this purpose a capable officer, Bolkhovítinov, was chosen, who -was to explain the whole affair by word of mouth, besides delivering -a written report. Toward midnight Bolkhovítinov, having received the -dispatch and verbal instructions, galloped off to the General Staff -accompanied by a Cossack with spare horses. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -It was a warm, dark, autumn night. It had been raining for four days. -Having changed horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an hour and a -half over a sticky, muddy road, Bolkhovítinov reached Litashëvka after -one o’clock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on whose wattle fence -hung a signboard, GENERAL STAFF, and throwing down his reins, he entered -a dark passage. - -“The general on duty, quick! It’s very important!” said he to someone -who had risen and was sniffing in the dark passage. - -“He has been very unwell since the evening and this is the third night -he has not slept,” said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper. “You should -wake the captain first.” - -“But this is very important, from General Dokhtúrov,” said -Bolkhovítinov, entering the open door which he had found by feeling in -the dark. - -The orderly had gone in before him and began waking somebody. - -“Your honor, your honor! A courier.” - -“What? What’s that? From whom?” came a sleepy voice. - -“From Dokhtúrov and from Alexéy Petróvich. Napoleon is at Formínsk,” -said Bolkhovítinov, unable to see in the dark who was speaking but -guessing by the voice that it was not Konovnítsyn. - -The man who had wakened yawned and stretched himself. - -“I don’t like waking him,” he said, fumbling for something. “He is very -ill. Perhaps this is only a rumor.” - -“Here is the dispatch,” said Bolkhovítinov. “My orders are to give it at -once to the general on duty.” - -“Wait a moment, I’ll light a candle. You damned rascal, where do you -always hide it?” said the voice of the man who was stretching himself, -to the orderly. (This was Shcherbínin, Konovnítsyn’s adjutant.) “I’ve -found it, I’ve found it!” he added. - -The orderly was striking a light and Shcherbínin was fumbling for -something on the candlestick. - -“Oh, the nasty beasts!” said he with disgust. - -By the light of the sparks Bolkhovítinov saw Shcherbínin’s youthful face -as he held the candle, and the face of another man who was still asleep. -This was Konovnítsyn. - -When the flame of the sulphur splinters kindled by the tinder burned -up, first blue and then red, Shcherbínin lit the tallow candle, from -the candlestick of which the cockroaches that had been gnawing it were -running away, and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovítinov was bespattered -all over with mud and had smeared his face by wiping it with his sleeve. - -“Who gave the report?” inquired Shcherbínin, taking the envelope. - -“The news is reliable,” said Bolkhovítinov. “Prisoners, Cossacks, and -the scouts all say the same thing.” - -“There’s nothing to be done, we’ll have to wake him,” said Shcherbínin, -rising and going up to the man in the nightcap who lay covered by a -greatcoat. “Peter Petróvich!” said he. (Konovnítsyn did not stir.) “To -the General Staff!” he said with a smile, knowing that those words would -be sure to arouse him. - -And in fact the head in the nightcap was lifted at once. On -Konovnítsyn’s handsome, resolute face with cheeks flushed by fever, -there still remained for an instant a faraway dreamy expression remote -from present affairs, but then he suddenly started and his face assumed -its habitual calm and firm appearance. - -“Well, what is it? From whom?” he asked immediately but without hurry, -blinking at the light. - -While listening to the officer’s report Konovnítsyn broke the seal and -read the dispatch. Hardly had he done so before he lowered his legs in -their woolen stockings to the earthen floor and began putting on his -boots. Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hair over his temples, -and donned his cap. - -“Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his Highness.” - -Konovnítsyn had understood at once that the news brought was of great -importance and that no time must be lost. He did not consider or ask -himself whether the news was good or bad. That did not interest him. He -regarded the whole business of the war not with his intelligence or his -reason but by something else. There was within him a deep unexpressed -conviction that all would be well, but that one must not trust to this -and still less speak about it, but must only attend to one’s own work. -And he did his work, giving his whole strength to the task. - -Peter Petróvich Konovnítsyn, like Dokhtúrov, seems to have been included -merely for propriety’s sake in the list of the so-called heroes of -1812—the Barclays, Raévskis, Ermólovs, Plátovs, and Milorádoviches. Like -Dokhtúrov he had the reputation of being a man of very limited capacity -and information, and like Dokhtúrov he never made plans of battle but -was always found where the situation was most difficult. Since his -appointment as general on duty he had always slept with his door open, -giving orders that every messenger should be allowed to wake him up. In -battle he was always under fire, so that Kutúzov reproved him for it and -feared to send him to the front, and like Dokhtúrov he was one of those -unnoticed cogwheels that, without clatter or noise, constitute the most -essential part of the machine. - -Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark night Konovnítsyn -frowned—partly from an increased pain in his head and partly at the -unpleasant thought that occurred to him, of how all that nest of -influential men on the staff would be stirred up by this news, -especially Bennigsen, who ever since Tarútino had been at daggers -drawn with Kutúzov; and how they would make suggestions, quarrel, issue -orders, and rescind them. And this premonition was disagreeable to him -though he knew it could not be helped. - -And in fact Toll, to whom he went to communicate the news, immediately -began to expound his plans to a general sharing his quarters, until -Konovnítsyn, who listened in weary silence, reminded him that they must -go to see his Highness. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -Kutúzov like all old people did not sleep much at night. He often fell -asleep unexpectedly in the daytime, but at night, lying on his bed -without undressing, he generally remained awake thinking. - -So he lay now on his bed, supporting his large, heavy, scarred head on -his plump hand, with his one eye open, meditating and peering into the -darkness. - -Since Bennigsen, who corresponded with the Emperor and had more -influence than anyone else on the staff, had begun to avoid him, Kutúzov -was more at ease as to the possibility of himself and his troops being -obliged to take part in useless aggressive movements. The lesson of the -Tarútino battle and of the day before it, which Kutúzov remembered with -pain, must, he thought, have some effect on others too. - -“They must understand that we can only lose by taking the offensive. -Patience and time are my warriors, my champions,” thought Kutúzov. He -knew that an apple should not be plucked while it is green. It will fall -of itself when ripe, but if picked unripe the apple is spoiled, the tree -is harmed, and your teeth are set on edge. Like an experienced sportsman -he knew that the beast was wounded, and wounded as only the whole -strength of Russia could have wounded it, but whether it was mortally -wounded or not was still an undecided question. Now by the fact of -Lauriston and Barthélemi having been sent, and by the reports of the -guerrillas, Kutúzov was almost sure that the wound was mortal. But he -needed further proofs and it was necessary to wait. - -“They want to run to see how they have wounded it. Wait and we shall -see! Continual maneuvers, continual advances!” thought he. “What for? -Only to distinguish themselves! As if fighting were fun. They are -like children from whom one can’t get any sensible account of what has -happened because they all want to show how well they can fight. But -that’s not what is needed now. - -“And what ingenious maneuvers they all propose to me! It seems to -them that when they have thought of two or three contingencies” (he -remembered the general plan sent him from Petersburg) “they have -foreseen everything. But the contingencies are endless.” - -The undecided question as to whether the wound inflicted at Borodinó was -mortal or not had hung over Kutúzov’s head for a whole month. On the one -hand the French had occupied Moscow. On the other Kutúzov felt assured -with all his being that the terrible blow into which he and all the -Russians had put their whole strength must have been mortal. But in any -case proofs were needed; he had waited a whole month for them and grew -more impatient the longer he waited. Lying on his bed during those -sleepless nights he did just what he reproached those younger generals -for doing. He imagined all sorts of possible contingencies, just like -the younger men, but with this difference, that he saw thousands of -contingencies instead of two or three and based nothing on them. The -longer he thought the more contingencies presented themselves. He -imagined all sorts of movements of the Napoleonic army as a whole or -in sections—against Petersburg, or against him, or to outflank him. -He thought too of the possibility (which he feared most of all) that -Napoleon might fight him with his own weapon and remain in Moscow -awaiting him. Kutúzov even imagined that Napoleon’s army might turn back -through Medýn and Yukhnóv, but the one thing he could not foresee was -what happened—the insane, convulsive stampede of Napoleon’s army during -its first eleven days after leaving Moscow: a stampede which made -possible what Kutúzov had not yet even dared to think of—the complete -extermination of the French. Dórokhov’s report about Broussier’s -division, the guerrillas’ reports of distress in Napoleon’s army, rumors -of preparations for leaving Moscow, all confirmed the supposition that -the French army was beaten and preparing for flight. But these were -only suppositions, which seemed important to the younger men but not to -Kutúzov. With his sixty years’ experience he knew what value to attach -to rumors, knew how apt people who desire anything are to group all news -so that it appears to confirm what they desire, and he knew how readily -in such cases they omit all that makes for the contrary. And the more -he desired it the less he allowed himself to believe it. This question -absorbed all his mental powers. All else was to him only life’s -customary routine. To such customary routine belonged his conversations -with the staff, the letters he wrote from Tarútino to Madame de Staël, -the reading of novels, the distribution of awards, his correspondence -with Petersburg, and so on. But the destruction of the French, which he -alone foresaw, was his heart’s one desire. - -On the night of the eleventh of October he lay leaning on his arm and -thinking of that. - -There was a stir in the next room and he heard the steps of Toll, -Konovnítsyn, and Bolkhovítinov. - -“Eh, who’s there? Come in, come in! What news?” the field marshal called -out to them. - -While a footman was lighting a candle, Toll communicated the substance -of the news. - -“Who brought it?” asked Kutúzov with a look which, when the candle was -lit, struck Toll by its cold severity. - -“There can be no doubt about it, your Highness.” - -“Call him in, call him here.” - -Kutúzov sat up with one leg hanging down from the bed and his big paunch -resting against the other which was doubled under him. He screwed up his -seeing eye to scrutinize the messenger more carefully, as if wishing to -read in his face what preoccupied his own mind. - -“Tell me, tell me, friend,” said he to Bolkhovítinov in his low, aged -voice, as he pulled together the shirt which gaped open on his chest, -“come nearer—nearer. What news have you brought me? Eh? That Napoleon -has left Moscow? Are you sure? Eh?” - -Bolkhovítinov gave a detailed account from the beginning of all he had -been told to report. - -“Speak quicker, quicker! Don’t torture me!” Kutúzov interrupted him. - -Bolkhovítinov told him everything and was then silent, awaiting -instructions. Toll was beginning to say something but Kutúzov checked -him. He tried to say something, but his face suddenly puckered and -wrinkled; he waved his arm at Toll and turned to the opposite side of -the room, to the corner darkened by the icons that hung there. - -“O Lord, my Creator, Thou has heard our prayer...” said he in a -tremulous voice with folded hands. “Russia is saved. I thank Thee, O -Lord!” and he wept. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -From the time he received this news to the end of the campaign all -Kutúzov’s activity was directed toward restraining his troops, by -authority, by guile, and by entreaty, from useless attacks, -maneuvers, or encounters with the perishing enemy. Dokhtúrov went to -Málo-Yaroslávets, but Kutúzov lingered with the main army and gave -orders for the evacuation of Kalúga—a retreat beyond which town seemed -to him quite possible. - -Everywhere Kutúzov retreated, but the enemy without waiting for his -retreat fled in the opposite direction. - -Napoleon’s historians describe to us his skilled maneuvers at Tarútino -and Málo-Yaroslávets, and make conjectures as to what would have -happened had Napoleon been in time to penetrate into the rich southern -provinces. - -But not to speak of the fact that nothing prevented him from advancing -into those southern provinces (for the Russian army did not bar his -way), the historians forget that nothing could have saved his army, for -then already it bore within itself the germs of inevitable ruin. How -could that army—which had found abundant supplies in Moscow and had -trampled them underfoot instead of keeping them, and on arriving at -Smolénsk had looted provisions instead of storing them—how could that -army recuperate in Kalúga province, which was inhabited by Russians such -as those who lived in Moscow, and where fire had the same property of -consuming what was set ablaze? - -That army could not recover anywhere. Since the battle of Borodinó -and the pillage of Moscow it had borne within itself, as it were, the -chemical elements of dissolution. - -The members of what had once been an army—Napoleon himself and all his -soldiers fled—without knowing whither, each concerned only to make his -escape as quickly as possible from this position, of the hopelessness of -which they were all more or less vaguely conscious. - -So it came about that at the council at Málo-Yaroslávets, when the -generals pretending to confer together expressed various opinions, all -mouths were closed by the opinion uttered by the simple-minded soldier -Mouton who, speaking last, said what they all felt: that the one thing -needful was to get away as quickly as possible; and no one, not -even Napoleon, could say anything against that truth which they all -recognized. - -But though they all realized that it was necessary to get away, there -still remained a feeling of shame at admitting that they must flee. An -external shock was needed to overcome that shame, and this shock came in -due time. It was what the French called “le hourra de l’Empereur.” - -The day after the council at Málo-Yaroslávets Napoleon rode out early in -the morning amid the lines of his army with his suite of marshals and -an escort, on the pretext of inspecting the army and the scene of the -previous and of the impending battle. Some Cossacks on the prowl for -booty fell in with the Emperor and very nearly captured him. If the -Cossacks did not capture Napoleon then, what saved him was the very -thing that was destroying the French army, the booty on which the -Cossacks fell. Here as at Tarútino they went after plunder, leaving the -men. Disregarding Napoleon they rushed after the plunder and Napoleon -managed to escape. - -When les enfants du Don might so easily have taken the Emperor himself -in the midst of his army, it was clear that there was nothing for it but -to fly as fast as possible along the nearest, familiar road. Napoleon -with his forty-year-old stomach understood that hint, not feeling his -former agility and boldness, and under the influence of the fright -the Cossacks had given him he at once agreed with Mouton and issued -orders—as the historians tell us—to retreat by the Smolénsk road. - -That Napoleon agreed with Mouton, and that the army retreated, does -not prove that Napoleon caused it to retreat, but that the forces which -influenced the whole army and directed it along the Mozháysk (that is, -the Smolénsk) road acted simultaneously on him also. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -A man in motion always devises an aim for that motion. To be able to go -a thousand miles he must imagine that something good awaits him at the -end of those thousand miles. One must have the prospect of a promised -land to have the strength to move. - -The promised land for the French during their advance had been Moscow, -during their retreat it was their native land. But that native land -was too far off, and for a man going a thousand miles it is absolutely -necessary to set aside his final goal and to say to himself: “Today I -shall get to a place twenty-five miles off where I shall rest and -spend the night,” and during the first day’s journey that resting place -eclipses his ultimate goal and attracts all his hopes and desires. And -the impulses felt by a single person are always magnified in a crowd. - -For the French retreating along the old Smolénsk road, the final -goal—their native land—was too remote, and their immediate goal -was Smolénsk, toward which all their desires and hopes, enormously -intensified in the mass, urged them on. It was not that they knew that -much food and fresh troops awaited them in Smolénsk, nor that they were -told so (on the contrary their superior officers, and Napoleon himself, -knew that provisions were scarce there), but because this alone could -give them strength to move on and endure their present privations. So -both those who knew and those who did not know deceived themselves, and -pushed on to Smolénsk as to a promised land. - -Coming out onto the highroad the French fled with surprising energy -and unheard-of rapidity toward the goal they had fixed on. Besides the -common impulse which bound the whole crowd of French into one mass and -supplied them with a certain energy, there was another cause binding -them together—their great numbers. As with the physical law of gravity, -their enormous mass drew the individual human atoms to itself. In their -hundreds of thousands they moved like a whole nation. - -Each of them desired nothing more than to give himself up as a prisoner -to escape from all this horror and misery; but on the one hand the force -of this common attraction to Smolénsk, their goal, drew each of them in -the same direction; on the other hand an army corps could not surrender -to a company, and though the French availed themselves of every -convenient opportunity to detach themselves and to surrender on the -slightest decent pretext, such pretexts did not always occur. Their -very numbers and their crowded and swift movement deprived them of that -possibility and rendered it not only difficult but impossible for the -Russians to stop this movement, to which the French were directing all -their energies. Beyond a certain limit no mechanical disruption of the -body could hasten the process of decomposition. - -A lump of snow cannot be melted instantaneously. There is a certain -limit of time in less than which no amount of heat can melt the snow. On -the contrary the greater the heat the more solidified the remaining snow -becomes. - -Of the Russian commanders Kutúzov alone understood this. When the flight -of the French army along the Smolénsk road became well defined, what -Konovnítsyn had foreseen on the night of the eleventh of October began -to occur. The superior officers all wanted to distinguish themselves, -to cut off, to seize, to capture, and to overthrow the French, and all -clamored for action. - -Kutúzov alone used all his power (and such power is very limited in the -case of any commander in chief) to prevent an attack. - -He could not tell them what we say now: “Why fight, why block the road, -losing our own men and inhumanly slaughtering unfortunate wretches? What -is the use of that, when a third of their army has melted away on the -road from Moscow to Vyázma without any battle?” But drawing from his -aged wisdom what they could understand, he told them of the golden -bridge, and they laughed at and slandered him, flinging themselves on, -rending and exulting over the dying beast. - -Ermólov, Milorádovich, Plátov, and others in proximity to the French -near Vyázma could not resist their desire to cut off and break up two -French corps, and by way of reporting their intention to Kutúzov they -sent him a blank sheet of paper in an envelope. - -And try as Kutúzov might to restrain the troops, our men attacked, -trying to bar the road. Infantry regiments, we are told, advanced to the -attack with music and with drums beating, and killed and lost thousands -of men. - -But they did not cut off or overthrow anybody and the French army, -closing up more firmly at the danger, continued, while steadily melting -away, to pursue its fatal path to Smolénsk. - - - - - -BOOK FOURTEEN: 1812 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -The Battle of Borodinó, with the occupation of Moscow that followed it -and the flight of the French without further conflicts, is one of the -most instructive phenomena in history. - -All historians agree that the external activity of states and nations -in their conflicts with one another is expressed in wars, and that as a -direct result of greater or less success in war the political strength -of states and nations increases or decreases. - -Strange as may be the historical account of how some king or emperor, -having quarreled with another, collects an army, fights his enemy’s -army, gains a victory by killing three, five, or ten thousand men, and -subjugates a kingdom and an entire nation of several millions, all -the facts of history (as far as we know it) confirm the truth of the -statement that the greater or lesser success of one army against another -is the cause, or at least an essential indication, of an increase or -decrease in the strength of the nation—even though it is unintelligible -why the defeat of an army—a hundredth part of a nation—should oblige -that whole nation to submit. An army gains a victory, and at once the -rights of the conquering nation have increased to the detriment of the -defeated. An army has suffered defeat, and at once a people loses its -rights in proportion to the severity of the reverse, and if its army -suffers a complete defeat the nation is quite subjugated. - -So according to history it has been found from the most ancient times, -and so it is to our own day. All Napoleon’s wars serve to confirm this -rule. In proportion to the defeat of the Austrian army Austria loses -its rights, and the rights and the strength of France increase. The -victories of the French at Jena and Auerstädt destroy the independent -existence of Prussia. - -But then, in 1812, the French gain a victory near Moscow. Moscow is -taken and after that, with no further battles, it is not Russia that -ceases to exist, but the French army of six hundred thousand, and -then Napoleonic France itself. To strain the facts to fit the rules of -history: to say that the field of battle at Borodinó remained in the -hands of the Russians, or that after Moscow there were other battles -that destroyed Napoleon’s army, is impossible. - -After the French victory at Borodinó there was no general engagement nor -any that were at all serious, yet the French army ceased to exist. What -does this mean? If it were an example taken from the history of China, -we might say that it was not an historic phenomenon (which is the -historians’ usual expedient when anything does not fit their standards); -if the matter concerned some brief conflict in which only a small number -of troops took part, we might treat it as an exception; but this event -occurred before our fathers’ eyes, and for them it was a question of the -life or death of their fatherland, and it happened in the greatest of -all known wars. - -The period of the campaign of 1812 from the battle of Borodinó to the -expulsion of the French proved that the winning of a battle does not -produce a conquest and is not even an invariable indication of conquest; -it proved that the force which decides the fate of peoples lies not in -the conquerors, nor even in armies and battles, but in something else. - -The French historians, describing the condition of the French army -before it left Moscow, affirm that all was in order in the Grand Army, -except the cavalry, the artillery, and the transport—there was no forage -for the horses or the cattle. That was a misfortune no one could remedy, -for the peasants of the district burned their hay rather than let the -French have it. - -The victory gained did not bring the usual results because the peasants -Karp and Vlas (who after the French had evacuated Moscow drove in their -carts to pillage the town, and in general personally failed to manifest -any heroic feelings), and the whole innumerable multitude of such -peasants, did not bring their hay to Moscow for the high price offered -them, but burned it instead. - -Let us imagine two men who have come out to fight a duel with rapiers -according to all the rules of the art of fencing. The fencing has -gone on for some time; suddenly one of the combatants, feeling himself -wounded and understanding that the matter is no joke but concerns his -life, throws down his rapier, and seizing the first cudgel that comes to -hand begins to brandish it. Then let us imagine that the combatant who -so sensibly employed the best and simplest means to attain his end was -at the same time influenced by traditions of chivalry and, desiring to -conceal the facts of the case, insisted that he had gained his victory -with the rapier according to all the rules of art. One can imagine what -confusion and obscurity would result from such an account of the duel. - -The fencer who demanded a contest according to the rules of fencing was -the French army; his opponent who threw away the rapier and snatched up -the cudgel was the Russian people; those who try to explain the matter -according to the rules of fencing are the historians who have described -the event. - -After the burning of Smolénsk a war began which did not follow any -previous traditions of war. The burning of towns and villages, the -retreats after battles, the blow dealt at Borodinó and the renewed -retreat, the burning of Moscow, the capture of marauders, the seizure of -transports, and the guerrilla war were all departures from the rules. - -Napoleon felt this, and from the time he took up the correct fencing -attitude in Moscow and instead of his opponent’s rapier saw a cudgel -raised above his head, he did not cease to complain to Kutúzov and to -the Emperor Alexander that the war was being carried on contrary to all -the rules—as if there were any rules for killing people. In spite of the -complaints of the French as to the nonobservance of the rules, in -spite of the fact that to some highly placed Russians it seemed rather -disgraceful to fight with a cudgel and they wanted to assume a pose en -quarte or en tierce according to all the rules, and to make an adroit -thrust en prime, and so on—the cudgel of the people’s war was lifted -with all its menacing and majestic strength, and without consulting -anyone’s tastes or rules and regardless of anything else, it rose and -fell with stupid simplicity, but consistently, and belabored the French -till the whole invasion had perished. - -And it is well for a people who do not—as the French did in 1813—salute -according to all the rules of art, and, presenting the hilt of their -rapier gracefully and politely, hand it to their magnanimous conqueror, -but at the moment of trial, without asking what rules others have -adopted in similar cases, simply and easily pick up the first cudgel -that comes to hand and strike with it till the feeling of resentment and -revenge in their soul yields to a feeling of contempt and compassion. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -One of the most obvious and advantageous departures from the so-called -laws of war is the action of scattered groups against men pressed -together in a mass. Such action always occurs in wars that take on a -national character. In such actions, instead of two crowds opposing -each other, the men disperse, attack singly, run away when attacked by -stronger forces, but again attack when opportunity offers. This was done -by the guerrillas in Spain, by the mountain tribes in the Caucasus, and -by the Russians in 1812. - -People have called this kind of war “guerrilla warfare” and assume that -by so calling it they have explained its meaning. But such a war does -not fit in under any rule and is directly opposed to a well-known rule -of tactics which is accepted as infallible. That rule says that an -attacker should concentrate his forces in order to be stronger than his -opponent at the moment of conflict. - -Guerrilla war (always successful, as history shows) directly infringes -that rule. - -This contradiction arises from the fact that military science assumes -the strength of an army to be identical with its numbers. Military -science says that the more troops the greater the strength. Les gros -bataillons ont toujours raison. * - - * Large battalions are always victorious. - -For military science to say this is like defining momentum in mechanics -by reference to the mass only: stating that momenta are equal or unequal -to each other simply because the masses involved are equal or unequal. - -Momentum (quantity of motion) is the product of mass and velocity. - -In military affairs the strength of an army is the product of its mass -and some unknown x. - -Military science, seeing in history innumerable instances of the fact -that the size of any army does not coincide with its strength and that -small detachments defeat larger ones, obscurely admits the existence -of this unknown factor and tries to discover it—now in a geometric -formation, now in the equipment employed, now, and most usually, in the -genius of the commanders. But the assignment of these various meanings -to the factor does not yield results which accord with the historic -facts. - -Yet it is only necessary to abandon the false view (adopted to gratify -the “heroes”) of the efficacy of the directions issued in wartime by -commanders, in order to find this unknown quantity. - -That unknown quantity is the spirit of the army, that is to say, the -greater or lesser readiness to fight and face danger felt by all the men -composing an army, quite independently of whether they are, or are not, -fighting under the command of a genius, in two—or three-line formation, -with cudgels or with rifles that repeat thirty times a minute. Men -who want to fight will always put themselves in the most advantageous -conditions for fighting. - -The spirit of an army is the factor which multiplied by the mass gives -the resulting force. To define and express the significance of this -unknown factor—the spirit of an army—is a problem for science. - -This problem is only solvable if we cease arbitrarily to substitute -for the unknown x itself the conditions under which that force becomes -apparent—such as the commands of the general, the equipment employed, -and so on—mistaking these for the real significance of the factor, -and if we recognize this unknown quantity in its entirety as being -the greater or lesser desire to fight and to face danger. Only then, -expressing known historic facts by equations and comparing the relative -significance of this factor, can we hope to define the unknown. - -Ten men, battalions, or divisions, fighting fifteen men, battalions, or -divisions, conquer—that is, kill or take captive—all the others, while -themselves losing four, so that on the one side four and on the other -fifteen were lost. Consequently the four were equal to the fifteen, and -therefore 4x = 15y. Consequently x/y = 15/4. This equation does not -give us the value of the unknown factor but gives us a ratio between two -unknowns. And by bringing variously selected historic units (battles, -campaigns, periods of war) into such equations, a series of numbers -could be obtained in which certain laws should exist and might be -discovered. - -The tactical rule that an army should act in masses when attacking, and -in smaller groups in retreat, unconsciously confirms the truth that the -strength of an army depends on its spirit. To lead men forward under -fire more discipline (obtainable only by movement in masses) is needed -than is needed to resist attacks. But this rule which leaves out of -account the spirit of the army continually proves incorrect and is in -particularly striking contrast to the facts when some strong rise or -fall in the spirit of the troops occurs, as in all national wars. - -The French, retreating in 1812—though according to tactics they should -have separated into detachments to defend themselves—congregated into -a mass because the spirit of the army had so fallen that only the mass -held the army together. The Russians, on the contrary, ought according -to tactics to have attacked in mass, but in fact they split up -into small units, because their spirit had so risen that separate -individuals, without orders, dealt blows at the French without needing -any compulsion to induce them to expose themselves to hardships and -dangers. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The so-called partisan war began with the entry of the French into -Smolénsk. - -Before partisan warfare had been officially recognized by the -government, thousands of enemy stragglers, marauders, and foragers had -been destroyed by the Cossacks and the peasants, who killed them off -as instinctively as dogs worry a stray mad dog to death. Denís Davýdov, -with his Russian instinct, was the first to recognize the value of -this terrible cudgel which regardless of the rules of military science -destroyed the French, and to him belongs the credit for taking the first -step toward regularizing this method of warfare. - -On August 24 Davýdov’s first partisan detachment was formed and then -others were recognized. The further the campaign progressed the more -numerous these detachments became. - -The irregulars destroyed the great army piecemeal. They gathered the -fallen leaves that dropped of themselves from that withered tree—the -French army—and sometimes shook that tree itself. By October, when -the French were fleeing toward Smolénsk, there were hundreds of such -companies, of various sizes and characters. There were some that adopted -all the army methods and had infantry, artillery, staffs, and the -comforts of life. Others consisted solely of Cossack cavalry. There were -also small scratch groups of foot and horse, and groups of peasants and -landowners that remained unknown. A sacristan commanded one party which -captured several hundred prisoners in the course of a month; and there -was Vasílisa, the wife of a village elder, who slew hundreds of the -French. - -The partisan warfare flamed up most fiercely in the latter days of -October. Its first period had passed: when the partisans themselves, -amazed at their own boldness, feared every minute to be surrounded -and captured by the French, and hid in the forests without unsaddling, -hardly daring to dismount and always expecting to be pursued. By the end -of October this kind of warfare had taken definite shape: it had become -clear to all what could be ventured against the French and what could -not. Now only the commanders of detachments with staffs, and moving -according to rules at a distance from the French, still regarded many -things as impossible. The small bands that had started their activities -long before and had already observed the French closely considered -things possible which the commanders of the big detachments did not dare -to contemplate. The Cossacks and peasants who crept in among the French -now considered everything possible. - -On October 22, Denísov (who was one of the irregulars) was with his -group at the height of the guerrilla enthusiasm. Since early morning he -and his party had been on the move. All day long he had been watching -from the forest that skirted the highroad a large French convoy of -cavalry baggage and Russian prisoners separated from the rest of the -army, which—as was learned from spies and prisoners—was moving under a -strong escort to Smolénsk. Besides Denísov and Dólokhov (who also led -a small party and moved in Denísov’s vicinity), the commanders of some -large divisions with staffs also knew of this convoy and, as Denísov -expressed it, were sharpening their teeth for it. Two of the commanders -of large parties—one a Pole and the other a German—sent invitations -to Denísov almost simultaneously, requesting him to join up with their -divisions to attack the convoy. - -“No, bwother, I have gwown mustaches myself,” said Denísov on reading -these documents, and he wrote to the German that, despite his heartfelt -desire to serve under so valiant and renowned a general, he had to forgo -that pleasure because he was already under the command of the Polish -general. To the Polish general he replied to the same effect, informing -him that he was already under the command of the German. - -Having arranged matters thus, Denísov and Dólokhov intended, without -reporting matters to the higher command, to attack and seize that -convoy with their own small forces. On October 22 it was moving from -the village of Mikúlino to that of Shámshevo. To the left of the road -between Mikúlino and Shámshevo there were large forests, extending in -some places up to the road itself though in others a mile or more back -from it. Through these forests Denísov and his party rode all day, -sometimes keeping well back in them and sometimes coming to the very -edge, but never losing sight of the moving French. That morning, -Cossacks of Denísov’s party had seized and carried off into the forest -two wagons loaded with cavalry saddles, which had stuck in the mud not -far from Mikúlino where the forest ran close to the road. Since then, -and until evening, the party had watched the movements of the French -without attacking. It was necessary to let the French reach Shámshevo -quietly without alarming them and then, after joining Dólokhov who was -to come that evening to a consultation at a watchman’s hut in the forest -less than a mile from Shámshevo, to surprise the French at dawn, falling -like an avalanche on their heads from two sides, and rout and capture -them all at one blow. - -In their rear, more than a mile from Mikúlino where the forest came -right up to the road, six Cossacks were posted to report if any fresh -columns of French should show themselves. - -Beyond Shámshevo, Dólokhov was to observe the road in the same way, to -find out at what distance there were other French troops. They reckoned -that the convoy had fifteen hundred men. Denísov had two hundred, and -Dólokhov might have as many more, but the disparity of numbers did not -deter Denísov. All that he now wanted to know was what troops these were -and to learn that he had to capture a “tongue”—that is, a man from -the enemy column. That morning’s attack on the wagons had been made so -hastily that the Frenchmen with the wagons had all been killed; only a -little drummer boy had been taken alive, and as he was a straggler he -could tell them nothing definite about the troops in that column. - -Denísov considered it dangerous to make a second attack for fear of -putting the whole column on the alert, so he sent Tíkhon Shcherbáty, a -peasant of his party, to Shámshevo to try and seize at least one of the -French quartermasters who had been sent on in advance. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -It was a warm rainy autumn day. The sky and the horizon were both -the color of muddy water. At times a sort of mist descended, and then -suddenly heavy slanting rain came down. - -Denísov in a felt cloak and a sheepskin cap from which the rain ran down -was riding a thin thoroughbred horse with sunken sides. Like his horse, -which turned its head and laid its ears back, he shrank from the driving -rain and gazed anxiously before him. His thin face with its short, thick -black beard looked angry. - -Beside Denísov rode an esaul, * Denísov’s fellow worker, also in felt -cloak and sheepskin cap, and riding a large sleek Don horse. - - * A captain of Cossacks. - -Esaul Lováyski the Third was a tall man as straight as an arrow, -pale-faced, fair-haired, with narrow light eyes and with calm -self-satisfaction in his face and bearing. Though it was impossible to -say in what the peculiarity of the horse and rider lay, yet at first -glance at the esaul and Denísov one saw that the latter was wet and -uncomfortable and was a man mounted on a horse, while looking at the -esaul one saw that he was as comfortable and as much at ease as always -and that he was not a man who had mounted a horse, but a man who was one -with his horse, a being consequently possessed of twofold strength. - -A little ahead of them walked a peasant guide, wet to the skin and -wearing a gray peasant coat and a white knitted cap. - -A little behind, on a poor, small, lean Kirghíz mount with an enormous -tail and mane and a bleeding mouth, rode a young officer in a blue -French overcoat. - -Beside him rode an hussar, with a boy in a tattered French uniform and -blue cap behind him on the crupper of his horse. The boy held on to the -hussar with cold, red hands, and raising his eyebrows gazed about him -with surprise. This was the French drummer boy captured that morning. - -Behind them along the narrow, sodden, cutup forest road came hussars in -threes and fours, and then Cossacks: some in felt cloaks, some in French -greatcoats, and some with horsecloths over their heads. The horses, -being drenched by the rain, all looked black whether chestnut or bay. -Their necks, with their wet, close-clinging manes, looked strangely -thin. Steam rose from them. Clothes, saddles, reins, were all wet, -slippery, and sodden, like the ground and the fallen leaves that strewed -the road. The men sat huddled up trying not to stir, so as to warm the -water that had trickled to their bodies and not admit the fresh cold -water that was leaking in under their seats, their knees, and at the -back of their necks. In the midst of the outspread line of Cossacks two -wagons, drawn by French horses and by saddled Cossack horses that had -been hitched on in front, rumbled over the tree stumps and branches and -splashed through the water that lay in the ruts. - -Denísov’s horse swerved aside to avoid a pool in the track and bumped -his rider’s knee against a tree. - -“Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Denísov angrily, and showing his teeth he -struck his horse three times with his whip, splashing himself and his -comrades with mud. - -Denísov was out of sorts both because of the rain and also from hunger -(none of them had eaten anything since morning), and yet more because he -still had no news from Dólokhov and the man sent to capture a “tongue” -had not returned. - -“There’ll hardly be another such chance to fall on a transport as today. -It’s too risky to attack them by oneself, and if we put it off till -another day one of the big guerrilla detachments will snatch the prey -from under our noses,” thought Denísov, continually peering forward, -hoping to see a messenger from Dólokhov. - -On coming to a path in the forest along which he could see far to the -right, Denísov stopped. - -“There’s someone coming,” said he. - -The esaul looked in the direction Denísov indicated. - -“There are two, an officer and a Cossack. But it is not presupposable -that it is the lieutenant colonel himself,” said the esaul, who was fond -of using words the Cossacks did not know. - -The approaching riders having descended a decline were no longer -visible, but they reappeared a few minutes later. In front, at a weary -gallop and using his leather whip, rode an officer, disheveled and -drenched, whose trousers had worked up to above his knees. Behind him, -standing in the stirrups, trotted a Cossack. The officer, a very young -lad with a broad rosy face and keen merry eyes, galloped up to Denísov -and handed him a sodden envelope. - -“From the general,” said the officer. “Please excuse its not being quite -dry.” - -Denísov, frowning, took the envelope and opened it. - -“There, they kept telling us: ‘It’s dangerous, it’s dangerous,’” -said the officer, addressing the esaul while Denísov was reading the -dispatch. “But Komaróv and I”—he pointed to the Cossack—“were prepared. -We have each of us two pistols.... But what’s this?” he asked, noticing -the French drummer boy. “A prisoner? You’ve already been in action? May -I speak to him?” - -“Wostóv! Pétya!” exclaimed Denísov, having run through the dispatch. -“Why didn’t you say who you were?” and turning with a smile he held out -his hand to the lad. - -The officer was Pétya Rostóv. - -All the way Pétya had been preparing himself to behave with Denísov as -befitted a grown-up man and an officer—without hinting at their previous -acquaintance. But as soon as Denísov smiled at him Pétya brightened -up, blushed with pleasure, forgot the official manner he had been -rehearsing, and began telling him how he had already been in a battle -near Vyázma and how a certain hussar had distinguished himself there. - -“Well, I am glad to see you,” Denísov interrupted him, and his face -again assumed its anxious expression. - -“Michael Feoklítych,” said he to the esaul, “this is again fwom that -German, you know. He”—he indicated Pétya—“is serving under him.” - -And Denísov told the esaul that the dispatch just delivered was a -repetition of the German general’s demand that he should join forces -with him for an attack on the transport. - -“If we don’t take it tomowwow, he’ll snatch it fwom under our noses,” he -added. - -While Denísov was talking to the esaul, Pétya—abashed by Denísov’s -cold tone and supposing that it was due to the condition of his -trousers—furtively tried to pull them down under his greatcoat so -that no one should notice it, while maintaining as martial an air as -possible. - -“Will there be any orders, your honor?” he asked Denísov, holding his -hand at the salute and resuming the game of adjutant and general for -which he had prepared himself, “or shall I remain with your honor?” - -“Orders?” Denísov repeated thoughtfully. “But can you stay till -tomowwow?” - -“Oh, please... May I stay with you?” cried Pétya. - -“But, just what did the genewal tell you? To weturn at once?” asked -Denísov. - -Pétya blushed. - -“He gave me no instructions. I think I could?” he returned, inquiringly. - -“Well, all wight,” said Denísov. - -And turning to his men he directed a party to go on to the halting place -arranged near the watchman’s hut in the forest, and told the officer on -the Kirghíz horse (who performed the duties of an adjutant) to go and -find out where Dólokhov was and whether he would come that evening. -Denísov himself intended going with the esaul and Pétya to the edge of -the forest where it reached out to Shámshevo, to have a look at the part -of the French bivouac they were to attack next day. - -“Well, old fellow,” said he to the peasant guide, “lead us to -Shámshevo.” - -Denísov, Pétya, and the esaul, accompanied by some Cossacks and the -hussar who had the prisoner, rode to the left across a ravine to the -edge of the forest. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -The rain had stopped, and only the mist was falling and drops from -the trees. Denísov, the esaul, and Pétya rode silently, following the -peasant in the knitted cap who, stepping lightly with outturned toes -and moving noiselessly in his bast shoes over the roots and wet leaves, -silently led them to the edge of the forest. - -He ascended an incline, stopped, looked about him, and advanced to where -the screen of trees was less dense. On reaching a large oak tree that -had not yet shed its leaves, he stopped and beckoned mysteriously to -them with his hand. - -Denísov and Pétya rode up to him. From the spot where the peasant was -standing they could see the French. Immediately beyond the forest, on a -downward slope, lay a field of spring rye. To the right, beyond a steep -ravine, was a small village and a landowner’s house with a broken roof. -In the village, in the house, in the garden, by the well, by the pond, -over all the rising ground, and all along the road uphill from the -bridge leading to the village, not more than five hundred yards -away, crowds of men could be seen through the shimmering mist. Their -un-Russian shouting at their horses which were straining uphill with the -carts, and their calls to one another, could be clearly heard. - -“Bwing the prisoner here,” said Denísov in a low voice, not taking his -eyes off the French. - -A Cossack dismounted, lifted the boy down, and took him to Denísov. -Pointing to the French troops, Denísov asked him what these and those -of them were. The boy, thrusting his cold hands into his pockets and -lifting his eyebrows, looked at Denísov in affright, but in spite of -an evident desire to say all he knew gave confused answers, merely -assenting to everything Denísov asked him. Denísov turned away from him -frowning and addressed the esaul, conveying his own conjectures to him. - -Pétya, rapidly turning his head, looked now at the drummer boy, now -at Denísov, now at the esaul, and now at the French in the village and -along the road, trying not to miss anything of importance. - -“Whether Dólokhov comes or not, we must seize it, eh?” said Denísov with -a merry sparkle in his eyes. - -“It is a very suitable spot,” said the esaul. - -“We’ll send the infantwy down by the swamps,” Denísov continued. -“They’ll cweep up to the garden; you’ll wide up fwom there with the -Cossacks”—he pointed to a spot in the forest beyond the village—“and I -with my hussars fwom here. And at the signal shot...” - -“The hollow is impassable—there’s a swamp there,” said the esaul. “The -horses would sink. We must ride round more to the left....” - -While they were talking in undertones the crack of a shot sounded -from the low ground by the pond, a puff of white smoke appeared, then -another, and the sound of hundreds of seemingly merry French voices -shouting together came up from the slope. For a moment Denísov and the -esaul drew back. They were so near that they thought they were the cause -of the firing and shouting. But the firing and shouting did not relate -to them. Down below, a man wearing something red was running through the -marsh. The French were evidently firing and shouting at him. - -“Why, that’s our Tíkhon,” said the esaul. - -“So it is! It is!” - -“The wascal!” said Denísov. - -“He’ll get away!” said the esaul, screwing up his eyes. - -The man whom they called Tíkhon, having run to the stream, plunged in -so that the water splashed in the air, and, having disappeared for an -instant, scrambled out on all fours, all black with the wet, and ran on. -The French who had been pursuing him stopped. - -“Smart, that!” said the esaul. - -“What a beast!” said Denísov with his former look of vexation. “What has -he been doing all this time?” - -“Who is he?” asked Pétya. - -“He’s our plastún. I sent him to capture a ‘tongue.’” - -“Oh, yes,” said Pétya, nodding at the first words Denísov uttered as if -he understood it all, though he really did not understand anything of -it. - -Tíkhon Shcherbáty was one of the most indispensable men in their band. -He was a peasant from Pokróvsk, near the river Gzhat. When Denísov had -come to Pokróvsk at the beginning of his operations and had as usual -summoned the village elder and asked him what he knew about the French, -the elder, as though shielding himself, had replied, as all village -elders did, that he had neither seen nor heard anything of them. But -when Denísov explained that his purpose was to kill the French, and -asked if no French had strayed that way, the elder replied that some -“more-orderers” had really been at their village, but that Tíkhon -Shcherbáty was the only man who dealt with such matters. Denísov had -Tíkhon called and, having praised him for his activity, said a few words -in the elder’s presence about loyalty to the Tsar and the country and -the hatred of the French that all sons of the fatherland should cherish. - -“We don’t do the French any harm,” said Tíkhon, evidently frightened by -Denísov’s words. “We only fooled about with the lads for fun, you know! -We killed a score or so of ‘more-orderers,’ but we did no harm else....” - -Next day when Denísov had left Pokróvsk, having quite forgotten about -this peasant, it was reported to him that Tíkhon had attached himself -to their party and asked to be allowed to remain with it. Denísov gave -orders to let him do so. - -Tíkhon, who at first did rough work, laying campfires, fetching water, -flaying dead horses, and so on, soon showed a great liking and aptitude -for partisan warfare. At night he would go out for booty and always -brought back French clothing and weapons, and when told to would bring -in French captives also. Denísov then relieved him from drudgery and -began taking him with him when he went out on expeditions and had him -enrolled among the Cossacks. - -Tíkhon did not like riding, and always went on foot, never lagging -behind the cavalry. He was armed with a musketoon (which he carried -rather as a joke), a pike and an ax, which latter he used as a wolf uses -its teeth, with equal ease picking fleas out of its fur or crunching -thick bones. Tíkhon with equal accuracy would split logs with blows at -arm’s length, or holding the head of the ax would cut thin little pegs -or carve spoons. In Denísov’s party he held a peculiar and exceptional -position. When anything particularly difficult or nasty had to be -done—to push a cart out of the mud with one’s shoulders, pull a horse -out of a swamp by its tail, skin it, slink in among the French, or walk -more than thirty miles in a day—everybody pointed laughingly at Tíkhon. - -“It won’t hurt that devil—he’s as strong as a horse!” they said of him. - -Once a Frenchman Tíkhon was trying to capture fired a pistol at him -and shot him in the fleshy part of the back. That wound (which Tíkhon -treated only with internal and external applications of vodka) was the -subject of the liveliest jokes by the whole detachment—jokes in which -Tíkhon readily joined. - -“Hallo, mate! Never again? Gave you a twist?” the Cossacks would banter -him. And Tíkhon, purposely writhing and making faces, pretended to be -angry and swore at the French with the funniest curses. The only effect -of this incident on Tíkhon was that after being wounded he seldom -brought in prisoners. - -He was the bravest and most useful man in the party. No one found more -opportunities for attacking, no one captured or killed more Frenchmen, -and consequently he was made the buffoon of all the Cossacks and hussars -and willingly accepted that role. Now he had been sent by Denísov -overnight to Shámshevo to capture a “tongue.” But whether because he -had not been content to take only one Frenchman or because he had slept -through the night, he had crept by day into some bushes right among the -French and, as Denísov had witnessed from above, had been detected by -them. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -After talking for some time with the esaul about next day’s attack, -which now, seeing how near they were to the French, he seemed to have -definitely decided on, Denísov turned his horse and rode back. - -“Now, my lad, we’ll go and get dwy,” he said to Pétya. - -As they approached the watchhouse Denísov stopped, peering into the -forest. Among the trees a man with long legs and long, swinging arms, -wearing a short jacket, bast shoes, and a Kazán hat, was approaching -with long, light steps. He had a musketoon over his shoulder and an ax -stuck in his girdle. When he espied Denísov he hastily threw something -into the bushes, removed his sodden hat by its floppy brim, and -approached his commander. It was Tíkhon. His wrinkled and pockmarked -face and narrow little eyes beamed with self-satisfied merriment. He -lifted his head high and gazed at Denísov as if repressing a laugh. - -“Well, where did you disappear to?” inquired Denísov. - -“Where did I disappear to? I went to get Frenchmen,” answered Tíkhon -boldly and hurriedly, in a husky but melodious bass voice. - -“Why did you push yourself in there by daylight? You ass! Well, why -haven’t you taken one?” - -“Oh, I took one all right,” said Tíkhon. - -“Where is he?” - -“You see, I took him first thing at dawn,” Tíkhon continued, spreading -out his flat feet with outturned toes in their bast shoes. “I took him -into the forest. Then I see he’s no good and think I’ll go and fetch a -likelier one.” - -“You see?... What a wogue—it’s just as I thought,” said Denísov to the -esaul. “Why didn’t you bwing that one?” - -“What was the good of bringing him?” Tíkhon interrupted hastily and -angrily—“that one wouldn’t have done for you. As if I don’t know what -sort you want!” - -“What a bwute you are!... Well?” - -“I went for another one,” Tíkhon continued, “and I crept like this -through the wood and lay down.” (He suddenly lay down on his stomach -with a supple movement to show how he had done it.) “One turned up and -I grabbed him, like this.” (He jumped up quickly and lightly.) “‘Come -along to the colonel,’ I said. He starts yelling, and suddenly there -were four of them. They rushed at me with their little swords. So I went -for them with my ax, this way: ‘What are you up to?’ says I. ‘Christ -be with you!’” shouted Tíkhon, waving his arms with an angry scowl and -throwing out his chest. - -“Yes, we saw from the hill how you took to your heels through the -puddles!” said the esaul, screwing up his glittering eyes. - -Pétya badly wanted to laugh, but noticed that they all refrained from -laughing. He turned his eyes rapidly from Tíkhon’s face to the esaul’s -and Denísov’s, unable to make out what it all meant. - -“Don’t play the fool!” said Denísov, coughing angrily. “Why didn’t you -bwing the first one?” - -Tíkhon scratched his back with one hand and his head with the other, -then suddenly his whole face expanded into a beaming, foolish grin, -disclosing a gap where he had lost a tooth (that was why he was called -Shcherbáty—the gap-toothed). Denísov smiled, and Pétya burst into a peal -of merry laughter in which Tíkhon himself joined. - -“Oh, but he was a regular good-for-nothing,” said Tíkhon. “The clothes -on him—poor stuff! How could I bring him? And so rude, your honor! Why, -he says: ‘I’m a general’s son myself, I won’t go!’ he says.” - -“You are a bwute!” said Denísov. “I wanted to question...” - -“But I questioned him,” said Tíkhon. “He said he didn’t know much. -‘There are a lot of us,’ he says, ‘but all poor stuff—only soldiers in -name,’ he says. ‘Shout loud at them,’ he says, ‘and you’ll take -them all,’” Tíkhon concluded, looking cheerfully and resolutely into -Denísov’s eyes. - -“I’ll give you a hundwed sharp lashes—that’ll teach you to play the -fool!” said Denísov severely. - -“But why are you angry?” remonstrated Tíkhon, “just as if I’d never seen -your Frenchmen! Only wait till it gets dark and I’ll fetch you any of -them you want—three if you like.” - -“Well, let’s go,” said Denísov, and rode all the way to the watchhouse -in silence and frowning angrily. - -Tíkhon followed behind and Pétya heard the Cossacks laughing with him -and at him, about some pair of boots he had thrown into the bushes. - -When the fit of laughter that had seized him at Tíkhon’s words and smile -had passed and Pétya realized for a moment that this Tíkhon had killed a -man, he felt uneasy. He looked round at the captive drummer boy and felt -a pang in his heart. But this uneasiness lasted only a moment. He felt -it necessary to hold his head higher, to brace himself, and to question -the esaul with an air of importance about tomorrow’s undertaking, that -he might not be unworthy of the company in which he found himself. - -The officer who had been sent to inquire met Denísov on the way with the -news that Dólokhov was soon coming and that all was well with him. - -Denísov at once cheered up and, calling Pétya to him, said: “Well, tell -me about yourself.” - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Pétya, having left his people after their departure from Moscow, joined -his regiment and was soon taken as orderly by a general commanding a -large guerrilla detachment. From the time he received his commission, -and especially since he had joined the active army and taken part in -the battle of Vyázma, Pétya had been in a constant state of blissful -excitement at being grown-up and in a perpetual ecstatic hurry not to -miss any chance to do something really heroic. He was highly delighted -with what he saw and experienced in the army, but at the same time -it always seemed to him that the really heroic exploits were being -performed just where he did not happen to be. And he was always in a -hurry to get where he was not. - -When on the twenty-first of October his general expressed a wish to send -somebody to Denísov’s detachment, Pétya begged so piteously to be sent -that the general could not refuse. But when dispatching him he recalled -Pétya’s mad action at the battle of Vyázma, where instead of riding by -the road to the place to which he had been sent, he had galloped to the -advanced line under the fire of the French and had there twice fired -his pistol. So now the general explicitly forbade his taking part in any -action whatever of Denísov’s. That was why Pétya had blushed and grown -confused when Denísov asked him whether he could stay. Before they had -ridden to the outskirts of the forest Pétya had considered he must carry -out his instructions strictly and return at once. But when he saw the -French and saw Tíkhon and learned that there would certainly be an -attack that night, he decided, with the rapidity with which young people -change their views, that the general, whom he had greatly respected till -then, was a rubbishy German, that Denísov was a hero, the esaul a hero, -and Tíkhon a hero too, and that it would be shameful for him to leave -them at a moment of difficulty. - -It was already growing dusk when Denísov, Pétya, and the esaul rode up -to the watchhouse. In the twilight saddled horses could be seen, and -Cossacks and hussars who had rigged up rough shelters in the glade and -were kindling glowing fires in a hollow of the forest where the French -could not see the smoke. In the passage of the small watchhouse a -Cossack with sleeves rolled up was chopping some mutton. In the room -three officers of Denísov’s band were converting a door into a tabletop. -Pétya took off his wet clothes, gave them to be dried, and at once began -helping the officers to fix up the dinner table. - -In ten minutes the table was ready and a napkin spread on it. On the -table were vodka, a flask of rum, white bread, roast mutton, and salt. - -Sitting at table with the officers and tearing the fat savory mutton -with his hands, down which the grease trickled, Pétya was in an ecstatic -childish state of love for all men, and consequently of confidence that -others loved him in the same way. - -“So then what do you think, Vasíli Dmítrich?” said he to Denísov. “It’s -all right my staying a day with you?” And not waiting for a reply he -answered his own question: “You see I was told to find out—well, I am -finding out.... Only do let me into the very... into the chief... I -don’t want a reward.... But I want...” - -Pétya clenched his teeth and looked around, throwing back his head and -flourishing his arms. - -“Into the vewy chief...” Denísov repeated with a smile. - -“Only, please let me command something, so that I may really command...” -Pétya went on. “What would it be to you?... Oh, you want a knife?” he -said, turning to an officer who wished to cut himself a piece of mutton. - -And he handed him his clasp knife. The officer admired it. - -“Please keep it. I have several like it,” said Pétya, blushing. -“Heavens! I was quite forgetting!” he suddenly cried. “I have some -raisins, fine ones; you know, seedless ones. We have a new sutler and -he has such capital things. I bought ten pounds. I am used to something -sweet. Would you like some?...” and Pétya ran out into the passage to -his Cossack and brought back some bags which contained about five pounds -of raisins. “Have some, gentlemen, have some!” - -“You want a coffeepot, don’t you?” he asked the esaul. “I bought a -capital one from our sutler! He has splendid things. And he’s very -honest, that’s the chief thing. I’ll be sure to send it to you. Or -perhaps your flints are giving out, or are worn out—that happens -sometimes, you know. I have brought some with me, here they are”—and he -showed a bag—“a hundred flints. I bought them very cheap. Please take as -many as you want, or all if you like....” - -Then suddenly, dismayed lest he had said too much, Pétya stopped and -blushed. - -He tried to remember whether he had not done anything else that was -foolish. And running over the events of the day he remembered the French -drummer boy. “It’s capital for us here, but what of him? Where have they -put him? Have they fed him? Haven’t they hurt his feelings?” he thought. -But having caught himself saying too much about the flints, he was now -afraid to speak out. - -“I might ask,” he thought, “but they’ll say: ‘He’s a boy himself and so -he pities the boy.’ I’ll show them tomorrow whether I’m a boy. Will it -seem odd if I ask?” Pétya thought. “Well, never mind!” and immediately, -blushing and looking anxiously at the officers to see if they appeared -ironical, he said: - -“May I call in that boy who was taken prisoner and give him something to -eat?... Perhaps...” - -“Yes, he’s a poor little fellow,” said Denísov, who evidently saw -nothing shameful in this reminder. “Call him in. His name is Vincent -Bosse. Have him fetched.” - -“I’ll call him,” said Pétya. - -“Yes, yes, call him. A poor little fellow,” Denísov repeated. - -Pétya was standing at the door when Denísov said this. He slipped in -between the officers, came close to Denísov, and said: - -“Let me kiss you, dear old fellow! Oh, how fine, how splendid!” - -And having kissed Denísov he ran out of the hut. - -“Bosse! Vincent!” Pétya cried, stopping outside the door. - -“Who do you want, sir?” asked a voice in the darkness. - -Pétya replied that he wanted the French lad who had been captured that -day. - -“Ah, Vesénny?” said a Cossack. - -Vincent, the boy’s name, had already been changed by the Cossacks into -Vesénny (vernal) and into Vesénya by the peasants and soldiers. In both -these adaptations the reference to spring (vesná) matched the impression -made by the young lad. - -“He is warming himself there by the bonfire. Ho, Vesénya! -Vesénya!—Vesénny!” laughing voices were heard calling to one another in -the darkness. - -“He’s a smart lad,” said an hussar standing near Pétya. “We gave him -something to eat a while ago. He was awfully hungry!” - -The sound of bare feet splashing through the mud was heard in the -darkness, and the drummer boy came to the door. - -“Ah, c’est vous!” said Pétya. “Voulez-vous manger? N’ayez pas peur, on -ne vous fera pas de mal,” * he added shyly and affectionately, touching -the boy’s hand. “Entrez, entrez.” *(2) - - * “Ah, it’s you! Do you want something to eat? Don’t be - afraid, they won’t hurt you.” - - * (2) “Come in, come in.” - - -“Merci, monsieur,” * said the drummer boy in a trembling almost childish -voice, and he began scraping his dirty feet on the threshold. - - * “Thank you, sir.” - - -There were many things Pétya wanted to say to the drummer boy, but did -not dare to. He stood irresolutely beside him in the passage. Then in -the darkness he took the boy’s hand and pressed it. - -“Come in, come in!” he repeated in a gentle whisper. “Oh, what can I do -for him?” he thought, and opening the door he let the boy pass in first. - -When the boy had entered the hut, Pétya sat down at a distance from -him, considering it beneath his dignity to pay attention to him. But -he fingered the money in his pocket and wondered whether it would seem -ridiculous to give some to the drummer boy. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -The arrival of Dólokhov diverted Pétya’s attention from the drummer boy, -to whom Denísov had had some mutton and vodka given, and whom he had had -dressed in a Russian coat so that he might be kept with their band and -not sent away with the other prisoners. Pétya had heard in the army many -stories of Dólokhov’s extraordinary bravery and of his cruelty to the -French, so from the moment he entered the hut Pétya did not take his -eyes from him, but braced himself up more and more and held his head -high, that he might not be unworthy even of such company. - -Dólokhov’s appearance amazed Pétya by its simplicity. - -Denísov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, had an icon of Nicholas the -Wonder-Worker on his breast, and his way of speaking and everything he -did indicated his unusual position. But Dólokhov, who in Moscow had worn -a Persian costume, had now the appearance of a most correct officer of -the Guards. He was clean-shaven and wore a Guardsman’s padded coat with -an Order of St. George at his buttonhole and a plain forage cap set -straight on his head. He took off his wet felt cloak in a corner of -the room, and without greeting anyone went up to Denísov and began -questioning him about the matter in hand. Denísov told him of the -designs the large detachments had on the transport, of the message Pétya -had brought, and his own replies to both generals. Then he told him all -he knew of the French detachment. - -“That’s so. But we must know what troops they are and their numbers,” -said Dólokhov. “It will be necessary to go there. We can’t start the -affair without knowing for certain how many there are. I like to work -accurately. Here now—wouldn’t one of these gentlemen like to ride over -to the French camp with me? I have brought a spare uniform.” - -“I, I... I’ll go with you!” cried Pétya. - -“There’s no need for you to go at all,” said Denísov, addressing -Dólokhov, “and as for him, I won’t let him go on any account.” - -“I like that!” exclaimed Pétya. “Why shouldn’t I go?” - -“Because it’s useless.” - -“Well, you must excuse me, because... because... I shall go, and that’s -all. You’ll take me, won’t you?” he said, turning to Dólokhov. - -“Why not?” Dólokhov answered absently, scrutinizing the face of the -French drummer boy. “Have you had that youngster with you long?” he -asked Denísov. - -“He was taken today but he knows nothing. I’m keeping him with me.” - -“Yes, and where do you put the others?” inquired Dólokhov. - -“Where? I send them away and take a weceipt for them,” shouted Denísov, -suddenly flushing. “And I say boldly that I have not a single man’s life -on my conscience. Would it be difficult for you to send thirty or -thwee hundwed men to town under escort, instead of staining—I speak -bluntly—staining the honor of a soldier?” - -“That kind of amiable talk would be suitable from this young count of -sixteen,” said Dólokhov with cold irony, “but it’s time for you to drop -it.” - -“Why, I’ve not said anything! I only say that I’ll certainly go with -you,” said Pétya shyly. - -“But for you and me, old fellow, it’s time to drop these amenities,” -continued Dólokhov, as if he found particular pleasure in speaking of -this subject which irritated Denísov. “Now, why have you kept this lad?” -he went on, swaying his head. “Because you are sorry for him! Don’t we -know those ‘receipts’ of yours? You send a hundred men away, and thirty -get there. The rest either starve or get killed. So isn’t it all the -same not to send them?” - -The esaul, screwing up his light-colored eyes, nodded approvingly. - -“That’s not the point. I’m not going to discuss the matter. I do not -wish to take it on my conscience. You say they’ll die. All wight. Only -not by my fault!” - -Dólokhov began laughing. - -“Who has told them not to capture me these twenty times over? But if -they did catch me they’d string me up to an aspen tree, and with all -your chivalry just the same.” He paused. “However, we must get to work. -Tell the Cossack to fetch my kit. I have two French uniforms in it. -Well, are you coming with me?” he asked Pétya. - -“I? Yes, yes, certainly!” cried Pétya, blushing almost to tears and -glancing at Denísov. - -While Dólokhov had been disputing with Denísov what should be done with -prisoners, Pétya had once more felt awkward and restless; but again he -had no time to grasp fully what they were talking about. “If grown-up, -distinguished men think so, it must be necessary and right,” thought he. -“But above all Denísov must not dare to imagine that I’ll obey him and -that he can order me about. I will certainly go to the French camp with -Dólokhov. If he can, so can I!” - -And to all Denísov’s persuasions, Pétya replied that he too was -accustomed to do everything accurately and not just anyhow, and that he -never considered personal danger. - -“For you’ll admit that if we don’t know for sure how many of them there -are... hundreds of lives may depend on it, while there are only two -of us. Besides, I want to go very much and certainly will go, so don’t -hinder me,” said he. “It will only make things worse....” - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Having put on French greatcoats and shakos, Pétya and Dólokhov rode to -the clearing from which Denísov had reconnoitered the French camp, -and emerging from the forest in pitch darkness they descended into the -hollow. On reaching the bottom, Dólokhov told the Cossacks accompanying -him to await him there and rode on at a quick trot along the road to the -bridge. Pétya, his heart in his mouth with excitement, rode by his side. - -“If we’re caught, I won’t be taken alive! I have a pistol,” whispered -he. - -“Don’t talk Russian,” said Dólokhov in a hurried whisper, and at that -very moment they heard through the darkness the challenge: “Qui vive?” * -and the click of a musket. - - * “Who goes there?” - - -The blood rushed to Pétya’s face and he grasped his pistol. - -“Lanciers du 6-me,” * replied Dólokhov, neither hastening nor slackening -his horse’s pace. - - * “Lancers of the 6th Regiment.” - - -The black figure of a sentinel stood on the bridge. - -“Mot d’ordre.” * - - * “Password.” - - -Dólokhov reined in his horse and advanced at a walk. - -“Dites donc, le colonel Gérard est ici?” * he asked. - - * “Tell me, is Colonel Gérard here?” - - -“Mot d’ordre,” repeated the sentinel, barring the way and not replying. - -“Quand un officier fait sa ronde, les sentinelles ne demandent pas le -mot d’ordre...” cried Dólokhov suddenly flaring up and riding straight -at the sentinel. “Je vous demande si le colonel est ici.” * - - * “When an officer is making his round, sentinels don’t ask - him for the password.... I am asking you if the colonel is - here.” - - -And without waiting for an answer from the sentinel, who had stepped -aside, Dólokhov rode up the incline at a walk. - -Noticing the black outline of a man crossing the road, Dólokhov stopped -him and inquired where the commander and officers were. The man, -a soldier with a sack over his shoulder, stopped, came close up to -Dólokhov’s horse, touched it with his hand, and explained simply and in -a friendly way that the commander and the officers were higher up -the hill to the right in the courtyard of the farm, as he called the -landowner’s house. - -Having ridden up the road, on both sides of which French talk could be -heard around the campfires, Dólokhov turned into the courtyard of the -landowner’s house. Having ridden in, he dismounted and approached a -big blazing campfire, around which sat several men talking noisily. -Something was boiling in a small cauldron at the edge of the fire and -a soldier in a peaked cap and blue overcoat, lit up by the fire, was -kneeling beside it stirring its contents with a ramrod. - -“Oh, he’s a hard nut to crack,” said one of the officers who was sitting -in the shadow at the other side of the fire. - -“He’ll make them get a move on, those fellows!” said another, laughing. - -Both fell silent, peering out through the darkness at the sound of -Dólokhov’s and Pétya’s steps as they advanced to the fire leading their -horses. - -“Bonjour, messieurs!” * said Dólokhov loudly and clearly. - - * “Good day, gentlemen.” - - -There was a stir among the officers in the shadow beyond the fire, -and one tall, long-necked officer, walking round the fire, came up to -Dólokhov. - -“Is that you, Clément?” he asked. “Where the devil...?” But, noticing -his mistake, he broke off short and, with a frown, greeted Dólokhov as a -stranger, asking what he could do for him. - -Dólokhov said that he and his companion were trying to overtake their -regiment, and addressing the company in general asked whether they knew -anything of the 6th Regiment. None of them knew anything, and Pétya -thought the officers were beginning to look at him and Dólokhov with -hostility and suspicion. For some seconds all were silent. - -“If you were counting on the evening soup, you have come too late,” said -a voice from behind the fire with a repressed laugh. - -Dólokhov replied that they were not hungry and must push on farther that -night. - -He handed the horses over to the soldier who was stirring the pot and -squatted down on his heels by the fire beside the officer with the long -neck. That officer did not take his eyes from Dólokhov and again asked -to what regiment he belonged. Dólokhov, as if he had not heard the -question, did not reply, but lighting a short French pipe which he took -from his pocket began asking the officer in how far the road before them -was safe from Cossacks. - -“Those brigands are everywhere,” replied an officer from behind the -fire. - -Dólokhov remarked that the Cossacks were a danger only to stragglers -such as his companion and himself, “but probably they would not dare to -attack large detachments?” he added inquiringly. No one replied. - -“Well, now he’ll come away,” Pétya thought every moment as he stood by -the campfire listening to the talk. - -But Dólokhov restarted the conversation which had dropped and began -putting direct questions as to how many men there were in the battalion, -how many battalions, and how many prisoners. Asking about the Russian -prisoners with that detachment, Dólokhov said: - -“A horrid business dragging these corpses about with one! It would be -better to shoot such rabble,” and burst into loud laughter, so strange -that Pétya thought the French would immediately detect their disguise, -and involuntarily took a step back from the campfire. - -No one replied a word to Dólokhov’s laughter, and a French officer whom -they could not see (he lay wrapped in a greatcoat) rose and whispered -something to a companion. Dólokhov got up and called to the soldier who -was holding their horses. - -“Will they bring our horses or not?” thought Pétya, instinctively -drawing nearer to Dólokhov. - -The horses were brought. - -“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Dólokhov. - -Pétya wished to say “Good night” but could not utter a word. The -officers were whispering together. Dólokhov was a long time mounting -his horse which would not stand still, then he rode out of the yard at a -footpace. Pétya rode beside him, longing to look round to see whether or -not the French were running after them, but not daring to. - -Coming out onto the road Dólokhov did not ride back across the open -country, but through the village. At one spot he stopped and listened. -“Do you hear?” he asked. Pétya recognized the sound of Russian voices -and saw the dark figures of Russian prisoners round their campfires. -When they had descended to the bridge Pétya and Dólokhov rode past the -sentinel, who without saying a word paced morosely up and down it, then -they descended into the hollow where the Cossacks awaited them. - -“Well now, good-by. Tell Denísov, ‘at the first shot at daybreak,’” said -Dólokhov and was about to ride away, but Pétya seized hold of him. - -“Really!” he cried, “you are such a hero! Oh, how fine, how splendid! -How I love you!” - -“All right, all right!” said Dólokhov. But Pétya did not let go of him -and Dólokhov saw through the gloom that Pétya was bending toward him and -wanted to kiss him. Dólokhov kissed him, laughed, turned his horse, and -vanished into the darkness. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Having returned to the watchman’s hut, Pétya found Denísov in the -passage. He was awaiting Pétya’s return in a state of agitation, -anxiety, and self-reproach for having let him go. - -“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “Yes, thank God!” he repeated, listening to -Pétya’s rapturous account. “But, devil take you, I haven’t slept because -of you! Well, thank God. Now lie down. We can still get a nap before -morning.” - -“But... no,” said Pétya, “I don’t want to sleep yet. Besides I know -myself, if I fall asleep it’s finished. And then I am used to not -sleeping before a battle.” - -He sat awhile in the hut joyfully recalling the details of his -expedition and vividly picturing to himself what would happen next day. - -Then, noticing that Denísov was asleep, he rose and went out of doors. - -It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but drops were still -falling from the trees. Near the watchman’s hut the black shapes of the -Cossacks’ shanties and of horses tethered together could be seen. Behind -the hut the dark shapes of the two wagons with their horses beside them -were discernible, and in the hollow the dying campfire gleamed red. -Not all the Cossacks and hussars were asleep; here and there, amid the -sounds of falling drops and the munching of the horses near by, could be -heard low voices which seemed to be whispering. - -Pétya came out, peered into the darkness, and went up to the wagons. -Someone was snoring under them, and around them stood saddled horses -munching their oats. In the dark Pétya recognized his own horse, which -he called “Karabákh” though it was of Ukranian breed, and went up to it. - -“Well, Karabákh! We’ll do some service tomorrow,” said he, sniffing its -nostrils and kissing it. - -“Why aren’t you asleep, sir?” said a Cossack who was sitting under a -wagon. - -“No, ah... Likhachëv—isn’t that your name? Do you know I have only just -come back! We’ve been into the French camp.” - -And Pétya gave the Cossack a detailed account not only of his ride but -also of his object, and why he considered it better to risk his life -than to act “just anyhow.” - -“Well, you should get some sleep now,” said the Cossack. - -“No, I am used to this,” said Pétya. “I say, aren’t the flints in your -pistols worn out? I brought some with me. Don’t you want any? You can -have some.” - -The Cossack bent forward from under the wagon to get a closer look at -Pétya. - -“Because I am accustomed to doing everything accurately,” said Pétya. -“Some fellows do things just anyhow, without preparation, and then -they’re sorry for it afterwards. I don’t like that.” - -“Just so,” said the Cossack. - -“Oh yes, another thing! Please, my dear fellow, will you sharpen my -saber for me? It’s got bl...” (Pétya feared to tell a lie, and the saber -never had been sharpened.) “Can you do it?” - -“Of course I can.” - -Likhachëv got up, rummaged in his pack, and soon Pétya heard the warlike -sound of steel on whetstone. He climbed onto the wagon and sat on its -edge. The Cossack was sharpening the saber under the wagon. - -“I say! Are the lads asleep?” asked Pétya. - -“Some are, and some aren’t—like us.” - -“Well, and that boy?” - -“Vesénny? Oh, he’s thrown himself down there in the passage. Fast asleep -after his fright. He was that glad!” - -After that Pétya remained silent for a long time, listening to the -sounds. He heard footsteps in the darkness and a black figure appeared. - -“What are you sharpening?” asked a man coming up to the wagon. - -“Why, this gentleman’s saber.” - -“That’s right,” said the man, whom Pétya took to be an hussar. “Was the -cup left here?” - -“There, by the wheel!” - -The hussar took the cup. - -“It must be daylight soon,” said he, yawning, and went away. - -Pétya ought to have known that he was in a forest with Denísov’s -guerrilla band, less than a mile from the road, sitting on a wagon -captured from the French beside which horses were tethered, that under -it Likhachëv was sitting sharpening a saber for him, that the big dark -blotch to the right was the watchman’s hut, and the red blotch below to -the left was the dying embers of a campfire, that the man who had come -for the cup was an hussar who wanted a drink; but he neither knew nor -waited to know anything of all this. He was in a fairy kingdom where -nothing resembled reality. The big dark blotch might really be the -watchman’s hut or it might be a cavern leading to the very depths of -the earth. Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might be the eye of an -enormous monster. Perhaps he was really sitting on a wagon, but it might -very well be that he was not sitting on a wagon but on a terribly high -tower from which, if he fell, he would have to fall for a whole day or a -whole month, or go on falling and never reach the bottom. Perhaps it -was just the Cossack, Likhachëv, who was sitting under the wagon, but it -might be the kindest, bravest, most wonderful, most splendid man in the -world, whom no one knew of. It might really have been that the hussar -came for water and went back into the hollow, but perhaps he had simply -vanished—disappeared altogether and dissolved into nothingness. - -Nothing Pétya could have seen now would have surprised him. He was in a -fairy kingdom where everything was possible. - -He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the earth. -It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly -sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it looked as if the clouds -were passing, and a clear black sky appeared. Sometimes it seemed as -if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes the sky seemed to be rising -high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so low that one could -touch it with one’s hand. - -Pétya’s eyes began to close and he swayed a little. - -The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was heard. The horses neighed and -jostled one another. Someone snored. - -“Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg...” hissed the saber against the whetstone, -and suddenly Pétya heard an harmonious orchestra playing some unknown, -sweetly solemn hymn. Pétya was as musical as Natásha and more so than -Nicholas, but had never learned music or thought about it, and so the -melody that unexpectedly came to his mind seemed to him particularly -fresh and attractive. The music became more and more audible. The melody -grew and passed from one instrument to another. And what was played was -a fugue—though Pétya had not the least conception of what a fugue is. -Each instrument—now resembling a violin and now a horn, but better -and clearer than violin or horn—played its own part, and before it had -finished the melody merged with another instrument that began almost the -same air, and then with a third and a fourth; and they all blended into -one and again became separate and again blended, now into solemn church -music, now into something dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant. - -“Oh—why, that was in a dream!” Pétya said to himself, as he lurched -forward. “It’s in my ears. But perhaps it’s music of my own. Well, go -on, my music! Now!...” - -He closed his eyes, and, from all sides as if from a distance, sounds -fluttered, grew into harmonies, separated, blended, and again all -mingled into the same sweet and solemn hymn. “Oh, this is delightful! -As much as I like and as I like!” said Pétya to himself. He tried to -conduct that enormous orchestra. - -“Now softly, softly die away!” and the sounds obeyed him. “Now fuller, -more joyful. Still more and more joyful!” And from an unknown depth rose -increasingly triumphant sounds. “Now voices join in!” ordered Pétya. And -at first from afar he heard men’s voices and then women’s. The voices -grew in harmonious triumphant strength, and Pétya listened to their -surpassing beauty in awe and joy. - -With a solemn triumphal march there mingled a song, the drip from the -trees, and the hissing of the saber, “Ozheg-zheg-zheg...” and again the -horses jostled one another and neighed, not disturbing the choir but -joining in it. - -Pétya did not know how long this lasted: he enjoyed himself all the -time, wondered at his enjoyment and regretted that there was no one to -share it. He was awakened by Likhachëv’s kindly voice. - -“It’s ready, your honor; you can split a Frenchman in half with it!” - -Pétya woke up. - -“It’s getting light, it’s really getting light!” he exclaimed. - -The horses that had previously been invisible could now be seen to their -very tails, and a watery light showed itself through the bare branches. -Pétya shook himself, jumped up, took a ruble from his pocket and gave it -to Likhachëv; then he flourished the saber, tested it, and sheathed -it. The Cossacks were untying their horses and tightening their saddle -girths. - -“And here’s the commander,” said Likhachëv. - -Denísov came out of the watchman’s hut and, having called Pétya, gave -orders to get ready. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -The men rapidly picked out their horses in the semidarkness, tightened -their saddle girths, and formed companies. Denísov stood by the -watchman’s hut giving final orders. The infantry of the detachment -passed along the road and quickly disappeared amid the trees in the mist -of early dawn, hundreds of feet splashing through the mud. The esaul -gave some orders to his men. Pétya held his horse by the bridle, -impatiently awaiting the order to mount. His face, having been bathed -in cold water, was all aglow, and his eyes were particularly brilliant. -Cold shivers ran down his spine and his whole body pulsed rhythmically. - -“Well, is ev’wything weady?” asked Denísov. “Bwing the horses.” - -The horses were brought. Denísov was angry with the Cossack because the -saddle girths were too slack, reproved him, and mounted. Pétya put his -foot in the stirrup. His horse by habit made as if to nip his leg, but -Pétya leaped quickly into the saddle unconscious of his own weight and, -turning to look at the hussars starting in the darkness behind him, rode -up to Denísov. - -“Vasíli Dmítrich, entrust me with some commission! Please... for God’s -sake...!” said he. - -Denísov seemed to have forgotten Pétya’s very existence. He turned to -glance at him. - -“I ask one thing of you,” he said sternly, “to obey me and not shove -yourself forward anywhere.” - -He did not say another word to Pétya but rode in silence all the way. -When they had come to the edge of the forest it was noticeably growing -light over the field. Denísov talked in whispers with the esaul and -the Cossacks rode past Pétya and Denísov. When they had all ridden by, -Denísov touched his horse and rode down the hill. Slipping onto their -haunches and sliding, the horses descended with their riders into the -ravine. Pétya rode beside Denísov, the pulsation of his body constantly -increasing. It was getting lighter and lighter, but the mist still hid -distant objects. Having reached the valley, Denísov looked back and -nodded to a Cossack beside him. - -“The signal!” said he. - -The Cossack raised his arm and a shot rang out. In an instant the tramp -of horses galloping forward was heard, shouts came from various sides, -and then more shots. - -At the first sound of trampling hoofs and shouting, Pétya lashed his -horse and loosening his rein galloped forward, not heeding Denísov who -shouted at him. It seemed to Pétya that at the moment the shot was -fired it suddenly became as bright as noon. He galloped to the bridge. -Cossacks were galloping along the road in front of him. On the bridge -he collided with a Cossack who had fallen behind, but he galloped on. -In front of him soldiers, probably Frenchmen, were running from right -to left across the road. One of them fell in the mud under his horse’s -feet. - -Cossacks were crowding about a hut, busy with something. From the midst -of that crowd terrible screams arose. Pétya galloped up, and the -first thing he saw was the pale face and trembling jaw of a Frenchman, -clutching the handle of a lance that had been aimed at him. - -“Hurrah!... Lads!... ours!” shouted Pétya, and giving rein to his -excited horse he galloped forward along the village street. - -He could hear shooting ahead of him. Cossacks, hussars, and ragged -Russian prisoners, who had come running from both sides of the road, -were shouting something loudly and incoherently. A gallant-looking -Frenchman, in a blue overcoat, capless, and with a frowning red face, -had been defending himself against the hussars. When Pétya galloped -up the Frenchman had already fallen. “Too late again!” flashed through -Pétya’s mind and he galloped on to the place from which the rapid firing -could be heard. The shots came from the yard of the landowner’s house -he had visited the night before with Dólokhov. The French were making -a stand there behind a wattle fence in a garden thickly overgrown with -bushes and were firing at the Cossacks who crowded at the gateway. -Through the smoke, as he approached the gate, Pétya saw Dólokhov, whose -face was of a pale-greenish tint, shouting to his men. “Go round! Wait -for the infantry!” he exclaimed as Pétya rode up to him. - -“Wait?... Hurrah-ah-ah!” shouted Pétya, and without pausing a moment -galloped to the place whence came the sounds of firing and where the -smoke was thickest. - -A volley was heard, and some bullets whistled past, while others plashed -against something. The Cossacks and Dólokhov galloped after Pétya into -the gateway of the courtyard. In the dense wavering smoke some of the -French threw down their arms and ran out of the bushes to meet the -Cossacks, while others ran down the hill toward the pond. Pétya was -galloping along the courtyard, but instead of holding the reins he waved -both his arms about rapidly and strangely, slipping farther and farther -to one side in his saddle. His horse, having galloped up to a campfire -that was smoldering in the morning light, stopped suddenly, and Pétya -fell heavily on to the wet ground. The Cossacks saw that his arms and -legs jerked rapidly though his head was quite motionless. A bullet had -pierced his skull. - -After speaking to the senior French officer, who came out of the house -with a white handkerchief tied to his sword and announced that -they surrendered, Dólokhov dismounted and went up to Pétya, who lay -motionless with outstretched arms. - -“Done for!” he said with a frown, and went to the gate to meet Denísov -who was riding toward him. - -“Killed?” cried Denísov, recognizing from a distance the unmistakably -lifeless attitude—very familiar to him—in which Pétya’s body was lying. - -“Done for!” repeated Dólokhov as if the utterance of these words -afforded him pleasure, and he went quickly up to the prisoners, who -were surrounded by Cossacks who had hurried up. “We won’t take them!” he -called out to Denísov. - -Denísov did not reply; he rode up to Pétya, dismounted, and with -trembling hands turned toward himself the bloodstained, mud-bespattered -face which had already gone white. - -“I am used to something sweet. Raisins, fine ones... take them all!” he -recalled Pétya’s words. And the Cossacks looked round in surprise at the -sound, like the yelp of a dog, with which Denísov turned away, walked to -the wattle fence, and seized hold of it. - -Among the Russian prisoners rescued by Denísov and Dólokhov was Pierre -Bezúkhov. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -During the whole of their march from Moscow no fresh orders had been -issued by the French authorities concerning the party of prisoners -among whom was Pierre. On the twenty-second of October that party was -no longer with the same troops and baggage trains with which it had left -Moscow. Half the wagons laden with hardtack that had traveled the first -stages with them had been captured by Cossacks, the other half had gone -on ahead. Not one of those dismounted cavalrymen who had marched in -front of the prisoners was left; they had all disappeared. The artillery -the prisoners had seen in front of them during the first days was -now replaced by Marshal Junot’s enormous baggage train, convoyed by -Westphalians. Behind the prisoners came a cavalry baggage train. - -From Vyázma onwards the French army, which had till then moved in three -columns, went on as a single group. The symptoms of disorder that Pierre -had noticed at their first halting place after leaving Moscow had now -reached the utmost limit. - -The road along which they moved was bordered on both sides by dead -horses; ragged men who had fallen behind from various regiments -continually changed about, now joining the moving column, now again -lagging behind it. - -Several times during the march false alarms had been given and the -soldiers of the escort had raised their muskets, fired, and run -headlong, crushing one another, but had afterwards reassembled and -abused each other for their causeless panic. - -These three groups traveling together—the cavalry stores, the convoy of -prisoners, and Junot’s baggage train—still constituted a separate and -united whole, though each of the groups was rapidly melting away. - -Of the artillery baggage train which had consisted of a hundred and -twenty wagons, not more than sixty now remained; the rest had been -captured or left behind. Some of Junot’s wagons also had been captured -or abandoned. Three wagons had been raided and robbed by stragglers -from Davout’s corps. From the talk of the Germans Pierre learned that -a larger guard had been allotted to that baggage train than to the -prisoners, and that one of their comrades, a German soldier, had been -shot by the marshal’s own order because a silver spoon belonging to the -marshal had been found in his possession. - -The group of prisoners had melted away most of all. Of the three hundred -and thirty men who had set out from Moscow fewer than a hundred now -remained. The prisoners were more burdensome to the escort than even the -cavalry saddles or Junot’s baggage. They understood that the saddles and -Junot’s spoon might be of some use, but that cold and hungry soldiers -should have to stand and guard equally cold and hungry Russians who -froze and lagged behind on the road (in which case the order was to -shoot them) was not merely incomprehensible but revolting. And the -escort, as if afraid, in the grievous condition they themselves were in, -of giving way to the pity they felt for the prisoners and so rendering -their own plight still worse, treated them with particular moroseness -and severity. - -At Dorogobúzh while the soldiers of the convoy, after locking the -prisoners in a stable, had gone off to pillage their own stores, several -of the soldier prisoners tunneled under the wall and ran away, but were -recaptured by the French and shot. - -The arrangement adopted when they started, that the officer prisoners -should be kept separate from the rest, had long since been abandoned. -All who could walk went together, and after the third stage Pierre had -rejoined Karatáev and the gray-blue bandy-legged dog that had chosen -Karatáev for its master. - -On the third day after leaving Moscow Karatáev again fell ill with the -fever he had suffered from in the hospital in Moscow, and as he grew -gradually weaker Pierre kept away from him. Pierre did not know why, but -since Karatáev had begun to grow weaker it had cost him an effort to -go near him. When he did so and heard the subdued moaning with which -Karatáev generally lay down at the halting places, and when he smelled -the odor emanating from him which was now stronger than before, Pierre -moved farther away and did not think about him. - -While imprisoned in the shed Pierre had learned not with his intellect -but with his whole being, by life itself, that man is created for -happiness, that happiness is within him, in the satisfaction of simple -human needs, and that all unhappiness arises not from privation but from -superfluity. And now during these last three weeks of the march he had -learned still another new, consolatory truth—that nothing in this world -is terrible. He had learned that as there is no condition in which man -can be happy and entirely free, so there is no condition in which he -need be unhappy and lack freedom. He learned that suffering and freedom -have their limits and that those limits are very near together; that the -person in a bed of roses with one crumpled petal suffered as keenly as -he now, sleeping on the bare damp earth with one side growing chilled -while the other was warming; and that when he had put on tight dancing -shoes he had suffered just as he did now when he walked with bare feet -that were covered with sores—his footgear having long since fallen to -pieces. He discovered that when he had married his wife—of his own free -will as it had seemed to him—he had been no more free than now when they -locked him up at night in a stable. Of all that he himself subsequently -termed his sufferings, but which at the time he scarcely felt, the worst -was the state of his bare, raw, and scab-covered feet. (The horseflesh -was appetizing and nourishing, the saltpeter flavor of the gunpowder -they used instead of salt was even pleasant; there was no great cold, -it was always warm walking in the daytime, and at night there were the -campfires; the lice that devoured him warmed his body.) The one thing -that was at first hard to bear was his feet. - -After the second day’s march Pierre, having examined his feet by the -campfire, thought it would be impossible to walk on them; but when -everybody got up he went along, limping, and, when he had warmed up, -walked without feeling the pain, though at night his feet were more -terrible to look at than before. However, he did not look at them now, -but thought of other things. - -Only now did Pierre realize the full strength of life in man and the -saving power he has of transferring his attention from one thing -to another, which is like the safety valve of a boiler that allows -superfluous steam to blow off when the pressure exceeds a certain limit. - -He did not see and did not hear how they shot the prisoners who lagged -behind, though more than a hundred perished in that way. He did not -think of Karatáev who grew weaker every day and evidently would soon -have to share that fate. Still less did Pierre think about himself. The -harder his position became and the more terrible the future, the more -independent of that position in which he found himself were the joyful -and comforting thoughts, memories, and imaginings that came to him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -At midday on the twenty-second of October Pierre was going uphill along -the muddy, slippery road, looking at his feet and at the roughness of -the way. Occasionally he glanced at the familiar crowd around him and -then again at his feet. The former and the latter were alike familiar -and his own. The blue-gray bandy legged dog ran merrily along the side -of the road, sometimes in proof of its agility and self-satisfaction -lifting one hind leg and hopping along on three, and then again going on -all four and rushing to bark at the crows that sat on the carrion. The -dog was merrier and sleeker than it had been in Moscow. All around lay -the flesh of different animals—from men to horses—in various stages of -decomposition; and as the wolves were kept off by the passing men the -dog could eat all it wanted. - -It had been raining since morning and had seemed as if at any moment it -might cease and the sky clear, but after a short break it began raining -harder than before. The saturated road no longer absorbed the water, -which ran along the ruts in streams. - -Pierre walked along, looking from side to side, counting his steps in -threes, and reckoning them off on his fingers. Mentally addressing the -rain, he repeated: “Now then, now then, go on! Pelt harder!” - -It seemed to him that he was thinking of nothing, but far down and -deep within him his soul was occupied with something important and -comforting. This something was a most subtle spiritual deduction from a -conversation with Karatáev the day before. - -At their yesterday’s halting place, feeling chilly by a dying campfire, -Pierre had got up and gone to the next one, which was burning better. -There Platón Karatáev was sitting covered up—head and all—with his -greatcoat as if it were a vestment, telling the soldiers in his -effective and pleasant though now feeble voice a story Pierre knew. It -was already past midnight, the hour when Karatáev was usually free of -his fever and particularly lively. When Pierre reached the fire and -heard Platón’s voice enfeebled by illness, and saw his pathetic face -brightly lit up by the blaze, he felt a painful prick at his heart. His -feeling of pity for this man frightened him and he wished to go away, -but there was no other fire, and Pierre sat down, trying not to look at -Platón. - -“Well, how are you?” he asked. - -“How am I? If we grumble at sickness, God won’t grant us death,” replied -Platón, and at once resumed the story he had begun. - -“And so, brother,” he continued, with a smile on his pale emaciated face -and a particularly happy light in his eyes, “you see, brother...” - -Pierre had long been familiar with that story. Karatáev had told it -to him alone some half-dozen times and always with a specially joyful -emotion. But well as he knew it, Pierre now listened to that tale as to -something new, and the quiet rapture Karatáev evidently felt as he told -it communicated itself also to Pierre. The story was of an old merchant -who lived a good and God-fearing life with his family, and who went once -to the Nízhni fair with a companion—a rich merchant. - -Having put up at an inn they both went to sleep, and next morning his -companion was found robbed and with his throat cut. A bloodstained knife -was found under the old merchant’s pillow. He was tried, knouted, and -his nostrils having been torn off, “all in due form” as Karatáev put it, -he was sent to hard labor in Siberia. - -“And so, brother” (it was at this point that Pierre came up), “ten years -or more passed by. The old man was living as a convict, submitting as -he should and doing no wrong. Only he prayed to God for death. Well, one -night the convicts were gathered just as we are, with the old man among -them. And they began telling what each was suffering for, and how they -had sinned against God. One told how he had taken a life, another had -taken two, a third had set a house on fire, while another had simply -been a vagrant and had done nothing. So they asked the old man: ‘What -are you being punished for, Daddy?’—‘I, my dear brothers,’ said he, ‘am -being punished for my own and other men’s sins. But I have not killed -anyone or taken anything that was not mine, but have only helped my -poorer brothers. I was a merchant, my dear brothers, and had much -property. ‘And he went on to tell them all about it in due order. ‘I -don’t grieve for myself,’ he says, ‘God, it seems, has chastened me. -Only I am sorry for my old wife and the children,’ and the old man began -to weep. Now it happened that in the group was the very man who had -killed the other merchant. ‘Where did it happen, Daddy?’ he said. ‘When, -and in what month?’ He asked all about it and his heart began to ache. -So he comes up to the old man like this, and falls down at his feet! -‘You are perishing because of me, Daddy,’ he says. ‘It’s quite true, -lads, that this man,’ he says, ‘is being tortured innocently and for -nothing! I,’ he says, ‘did that deed, and I put the knife under your -head while you were asleep. Forgive me, Daddy,’ he says, ‘for Christ’s -sake!’” - -Karatáev paused, smiling joyously as he gazed into the fire, and he drew -the logs together. - -“And the old man said, ‘God will forgive you, we are all sinners in His -sight. I suffer for my own sins,’ and he wept bitter tears. Well, -and what do you think, dear friends?” Karatáev continued, his face -brightening more and more with a rapturous smile as if what he now had -to tell contained the chief charm and the whole meaning of his story: -“What do you think, dear fellows? That murderer confessed to the -authorities. ‘I have taken six lives,’ he says (he was a great sinner), -‘but what I am most sorry for is this old man. Don’t let him suffer -because of me.’ So he confessed and it was all written down and the -papers sent off in due form. The place was a long way off, and while -they were judging, what with one thing and another, filling in the -papers all in due form—the authorities I mean—time passed. The affair -reached the Tsar. After a while the Tsar’s decree came: to set the -merchant free and give him a compensation that had been awarded. The -paper arrived and they began to look for the old man. ‘Where is the old -man who has been suffering innocently and in vain? A paper has come from -the Tsar!’ so they began looking for him,” here Karatáev’s lower jaw -trembled, “but God had already forgiven him—he was dead! That’s how it -was, dear fellows!” Karatáev concluded and sat for a long time silent, -gazing before him with a smile. - -And Pierre’s soul was dimly but joyfully filled not by the story itself -but by its mysterious significance: by the rapturous joy that lit up -Karatáev’s face as he told it, and the mystic significance of that joy. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -“À vos places!” * suddenly cried a voice. - - * “To your places.” - - -A pleasant feeling of excitement and an expectation of something -joyful and solemn was aroused among the soldiers of the convoy and the -prisoners. From all sides came shouts of command, and from the left came -smartly dressed cavalrymen on good horses, passing the prisoners at a -trot. The expression on all faces showed the tension people feel at the -approach of those in authority. The prisoners thronged together and were -pushed off the road. The convoy formed up. - -“The Emperor! The Emperor! The Marshal! The Duke!” and hardly had the -sleek cavalry passed, before a carriage drawn by six gray horses rattled -by. Pierre caught a glimpse of a man in a three-cornered hat with a -tranquil look on his handsome, plump, white face. It was one of the -marshals. His eye fell on Pierre’s large and striking figure, and in -the expression with which he frowned and looked away Pierre thought he -detected sympathy and a desire to conceal that sympathy. - -The general in charge of the stores galloped after the carriage with a -red and frightened face, whipping up his skinny horse. Several officers -formed a group and some soldiers crowded round them. Their faces all -looked excited and worried. - -“What did he say? What did he say?” Pierre heard them ask. - -While the marshal was passing, the prisoners had huddled together in a -crowd, and Pierre saw Karatáev whom he had not yet seen that morning. -He sat in his short overcoat leaning against a birch tree. On his face, -besides the look of joyful emotion it had worn yesterday while telling -the tale of the merchant who suffered innocently, there was now an -expression of quiet solemnity. - -Karatáev looked at Pierre with his kindly round eyes now filled with -tears, evidently wishing him to come near that he might say something to -him. But Pierre was not sufficiently sure of himself. He made as if he -did not notice that look and moved hastily away. - -When the prisoners again went forward Pierre looked round. Karatáev -was still sitting at the side of the road under the birch tree and two -Frenchmen were talking over his head. Pierre did not look round again -but went limping up the hill. - -From behind, where Karatáev had been sitting, came the sound of a shot. -Pierre heard it plainly, but at that moment he remembered that he -had not yet finished reckoning up how many stages still remained to -Smolénsk—a calculation he had begun before the marshal went by. And he -again started reckoning. Two French soldiers ran past Pierre, one of -whom carried a lowered and smoking gun. They both looked pale, and -in the expression on their faces—one of them glanced timidly at -Pierre—there was something resembling what he had seen on the face of -the young soldier at the execution. Pierre looked at the soldier and -remembered that, two days before, that man had burned his shirt while -drying it at the fire and how they had laughed at him. - -Behind him, where Karatáev had been sitting, the dog began to howl. -“What a stupid beast! Why is it howling?” thought Pierre. - -His comrades, the prisoner soldiers walking beside him, avoided looking -back at the place where the shot had been fired and the dog was howling, -just as Pierre did, but there was a set look on all their faces. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -The stores, the prisoners, and the marshal’s baggage train stopped at -the village of Shámshevo. The men crowded together round the campfires. -Pierre went up to the fire, ate some roast horseflesh, lay down with his -back to the fire, and immediately fell asleep. He again slept as he had -done at Mozháysk after the battle of Borodinó. - -Again real events mingled with dreams and again someone, he or another, -gave expression to his thoughts, and even to the same thoughts that had -been expressed in his dream at Mozháysk. - -“Life is everything. Life is God. Everything changes and moves and that -movement is God. And while there is life there is joy in consciousness -of the divine. To love life is to love God. Harder and more blessed -than all else is to love this life in one’s sufferings, in innocent -sufferings.” - -“Karatáev!” came to Pierre’s mind. - -And suddenly he saw vividly before him a long-forgotten, kindly old man -who had given him geography lessons in Switzerland. “Wait a bit,” said -the old man, and showed Pierre a globe. This globe was alive—a vibrating -ball without fixed dimensions. Its whole surface consisted of drops -closely pressed together, and all these drops moved and changed places, -sometimes several of them merging into one, sometimes one dividing -into many. Each drop tried to spread out and occupy as much space as -possible, but others striving to do the same compressed it, sometimes -destroyed it, and sometimes merged with it. - -“That is life,” said the old teacher. - -“How simple and clear it is,” thought Pierre. “How is it I did not know -it before?” - -“God is in the midst, and each drop tries to expand so as to reflect -Him to the greatest extent. And it grows, merges, disappears from the -surface, sinks to the depths, and again emerges. There now, Karatáev -has spread out and disappeared. Do you understand, my child?” said the -teacher. - -“Do you understand, damn you?” shouted a voice, and Pierre woke up. - -He lifted himself and sat up. A Frenchman who had just pushed a Russian -soldier away was squatting by the fire, engaged in roasting a piece -of meat stuck on a ramrod. His sleeves were rolled up and his sinewy, -hairy, red hands with their short fingers deftly turned the ramrod. His -brown morose face with frowning brows was clearly visible by the glow of -the charcoal. - -“It’s all the same to him,” he muttered, turning quickly to a soldier -who stood behind him. “Brigand! Get away!” - -And twisting the ramrod he looked gloomily at Pierre, who turned -away and gazed into the darkness. A prisoner, the Russian soldier the -Frenchman had pushed away, was sitting near the fire patting something -with his hand. Looking more closely Pierre recognized the blue-gray dog, -sitting beside the soldier, wagging its tail. - -“Ah, he’s come?” said Pierre. “And Plat—” he began, but did not finish. - -Suddenly and simultaneously a crowd of memories awoke in his fancy—of -the look Platón had given him as he sat under the tree, of the shot -heard from that spot, of the dog’s howl, of the guilty faces of the two -Frenchmen as they ran past him, of the lowered and smoking gun, and of -Karatáev’s absence at this halt—and he was on the point of realizing -that Karatáev had been killed, but just at that instant, he knew not -why, the recollection came to his mind of a summer evening he had spent -with a beautiful Polish lady on the veranda of his house in Kiev. And -without linking up the events of the day or drawing a conclusion -from them, Pierre closed his eyes, seeing a vision of the country in -summertime mingled with memories of bathing and of the liquid, vibrating -globe, and he sank into water so that it closed over his head. - -Before sunrise he was awakened by shouts and loud and rapid firing. -French soldiers were running past him. - -“The Cossacks!” one of them shouted, and a moment later a crowd of -Russians surrounded Pierre. - -For a long time he could not understand what was happening to him. All -around he heard his comrades sobbing with joy. - -“Brothers! Dear fellows! Darlings!” old soldiers exclaimed, weeping, as -they embraced Cossacks and hussars. - -The hussars and Cossacks crowded round the prisoners; one offered them -clothes, another boots, and a third bread. Pierre sobbed as he sat -among them and could not utter a word. He hugged the first soldier who -approached him, and kissed him, weeping. - -Dólokhov stood at the gate of the ruined house, letting a crowd -of disarmed Frenchmen pass by. The French, excited by all that had -happened, were talking loudly among themselves, but as they passed -Dólokhov who gently switched his boots with his whip and watched them -with cold glassy eyes that boded no good, they became silent. On the -opposite side stood Dólokhov’s Cossack, counting the prisoners and -marking off each hundred with a chalk line on the gate. - -“How many?” Dólokhov asked the Cossack. - -“The second hundred,” replied the Cossack. - -“Filez, filez!” * Dólokhov kept saying, having adopted this expression -from the French, and when his eyes met those of the prisoners they -flashed with a cruel light. - - * “Get along, get along!” - - -Denísov, bareheaded and with a gloomy face, walked behind some Cossacks -who were carrying the body of Pétya Rostóv to a hole that had been dug -in the garden. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -After the twenty-eighth of October when the frosts began, the flight of -the French assumed a still more tragic character, with men freezing, -or roasting themselves to death at the campfires, while carriages -with people dressed in furs continued to drive past, carrying away the -property that had been stolen by the Emperor, kings, and dukes; but -the process of the flight and disintegration of the French army went on -essentially as before. - -From Moscow to Vyázma the French army of seventy-three thousand men not -reckoning the Guards (who did nothing during the whole war but pillage) -was reduced to thirty-six thousand, though not more than five thousand -had fallen in battle. From this beginning the succeeding terms of the -progression could be determined mathematically. The French army melted -away and perished at the same rate from Moscow to Vyázma, from Vyázma -to Smolénsk, from Smolénsk to the Berëzina, and from the Berëzina to -Vílna—independently of the greater or lesser intensity of the cold, the -pursuit, the barring of the way, or any other particular conditions. -Beyond Vyázma the French army instead of moving in three columns huddled -together into one mass, and so went on to the end. Berthier wrote to his -Emperor (we know how far commanding officers allow themselves to diverge -from the truth in describing the condition of an army) and this is what -he said: - - -I deem it my duty to report to Your Majesty the condition of the various -corps I have had occasion to observe during different stages of the last -two or three days’ march. They are almost disbanded. Scarcely a quarter -of the soldiers remain with the standards of their regiments, the others -go off by themselves in different directions hoping to find food and -escape discipline. In general they regard Smolénsk as the place where -they hope to recover. During the last few days many of the men have been -seen to throw away their cartridges and their arms. In such a state -of affairs, whatever your ultimate plans may be, the interest of Your -Majesty’s service demands that the army should be rallied at Smolénsk -and should first of all be freed from ineffectives, such as dismounted -cavalry, unnecessary baggage, and artillery material that is no longer -in proportion to the present forces. The soldiers, who are worn out with -hunger and fatigue, need these supplies as well as a few days’ rest. -Many have died these last days on the road or at the bivouacs. This -state of things is continually becoming worse and makes one fear that -unless a prompt remedy is applied the troops will no longer be under -control in case of an engagement. - -November 9: twenty miles from Smolénsk. - - -After staggering into Smolénsk which seemed to them a promised land, the -French, searching for food, killed one another, sacked their own stores, -and when everything had been plundered fled farther. - -They all went without knowing whither or why they were going. Still less -did that genius, Napoleon, know it, for no one issued any orders to -him. But still he and those about him retained their old habits: wrote -commands, letters, reports, and orders of the day; called one another -sire, mon cousin, prince d’Eckmühl, roi de Naples, and so on. But these -orders and reports were only on paper, nothing in them was acted upon -for they could not be carried out, and though they entitled one -another Majesties, Highnesses, or Cousins, they all felt that they were -miserable wretches who had done much evil for which they had now to -pay. And though they pretended to be concerned about the army, each -was thinking only of himself and of how to get away quickly and save -himself. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -The movements of the Russian and French armies during the campaign -from Moscow back to the Niemen were like those in a game of Russian -blindman’s bluff, in which two players are blindfolded and one of -them occasionally rings a little bell to inform the catcher of his -whereabouts. First he rings his bell fearlessly, but when he gets into -a tight place he runs away as quietly as he can, and often thinking to -escape runs straight into his opponent’s arms. - -At first while they were still moving along the Kalúga road, Napoleon’s -armies made their presence known, but later when they reached the -Smolénsk road they ran holding the clapper of their bell tight—and often -thinking they were escaping ran right into the Russians. - -Owing to the rapidity of the French flight and the Russian pursuit -and the consequent exhaustion of the horses, the chief means of -approximately ascertaining the enemy’s position—by cavalry scouting—was -not available. Besides, as a result of the frequent and rapid change of -position by each army, even what information was obtained could not be -delivered in time. If news was received one day that the enemy had been -in a certain position the day before, by the third day when something -could have been done, that army was already two days’ march farther on -and in quite another position. - -One army fled and the other pursued. Beyond Smolénsk there were several -different roads available for the French, and one would have thought -that during their stay of four days they might have learned where -the enemy was, might have arranged some more advantageous plan and -undertaken something new. But after a four days’ halt the mob, with no -maneuvers or plans, again began running along the beaten track, neither -to the right nor to the left but along the old—the worst—road, through -Krásnoe and Orshá. - -Expecting the enemy from behind and not in front, the French separated -in their flight and spread out over a distance of twenty-four hours. In -front of them all fled the Emperor, then the kings, then the dukes. The -Russian army, expecting Napoleon to take the road to the right beyond -the Dnieper—which was the only reasonable thing for him to do—themselves -turned to the right and came out onto the highroad at Krásnoe. And here -as in a game of blindman’s buff the French ran into our vanguard. Seeing -their enemy unexpectedly the French fell into confusion and stopped -short from the sudden fright, but then they resumed their flight, -abandoning their comrades who were farther behind. Then for three days -separate portions of the French army—first Murat’s (the vice-king’s), -then Davout’s, and then Ney’s—ran, as it were, the gauntlet of the -Russian army. They abandoned one another, abandoned all their heavy -baggage, their artillery, and half their men, and fled, getting past the -Russians by night by making semicircles to the right. - -Ney, who came last, had been busying himself blowing up the walls of -Smolénsk which were in nobody’s way, because despite the unfortunate -plight of the French or because of it, they wished to punish the floor -against which they had hurt themselves. Ney, who had had a corps of ten -thousand men, reached Napoleon at Orshá with only one thousand men left, -having abandoned all the rest and all his cannon, and having crossed the -Dnieper at night by stealth at a wooded spot. - -From Orshá they fled farther along the road to Vílna, still playing -at blindman’s buff with the pursuing army. At the Berëzina they again -became disorganized, many were drowned and many surrendered, but those -who got across the river fled farther. Their supreme chief donned a -fur coat and, having seated himself in a sleigh, galloped on alone, -abandoning his companions. The others who could do so drove away too, -leaving those who could not to surrender or die. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -This campaign consisted in a flight of the French during which they did -all they could to destroy themselves. From the time they turned onto -the Kalúga road to the day their leader fled from the army, none of the -movements of the crowd had any sense. So one might have thought that -regarding this period of the campaign the historians, who attributed -the actions of the mass to the will of one man, would have found it -impossible to make the story of the retreat fit their theory. But -no! Mountains of books have been written by the historians about this -campaign, and everywhere are described Napoleon’s arrangements, the -maneuvers, and his profound plans which guided the army, as well as the -military genius shown by his marshals. - -The retreat from Málo-Yaroslávets when he had a free road into a -well-supplied district and the parallel road was open to him along -which Kutúzov afterwards pursued him—this unnecessary retreat along -a devastated road—is explained to us as being due to profound -considerations. Similarly profound considerations are given for -his retreat from Smolénsk to Orshá. Then his heroism at Krásnoe is -described, where he is reported to have been prepared to accept battle -and take personal command, and to have walked about with a birch stick -and said: - -“J’ai assez fait l’empereur; il est temps de faire le général,” * but -nevertheless immediately ran away again, abandoning to its fate the -scattered fragments of the army he left behind. - - * “I have acted the Emperor long enough; it is time to act - the general.” - - -Then we are told of the greatness of soul of the marshals, especially -of Ney—a greatness of soul consisting in this: that he made his way by -night around through the forest and across the Dnieper and escaped to -Orshá, abandoning standards, artillery, and nine tenths of his men. - -And lastly, the final departure of the great Emperor from his heroic -army is presented to us by the historians as something great and -characteristic of genius. Even that final running away, described in -ordinary language as the lowest depth of baseness which every child -is taught to be ashamed of—even that act finds justification in the -historians’ language. - -When it is impossible to stretch the very elastic threads of historical -ratiocination any farther, when actions are clearly contrary to all -that humanity calls right or even just, the historians produce a saving -conception of “greatness.” “Greatness,” it seems, excludes the standards -of right and wrong. For the “great” man nothing is wrong, there is no -atrocity for which a “great” man can be blamed. - -“C’est grand!” * say the historians, and there no longer exists either -good or evil but only “grand” and “not grand.” Grand is good, not -grand is bad. Grand is the characteristic, in their conception, of some -special animals called “heroes.” And Napoleon, escaping home in a warm -fur coat and leaving to perish those who were not merely his comrades -but were (in his opinion) men he had brought there, feels que c’est -grand, *(2) and his soul is tranquil. - - * “It is great.” - - * (2) That it is great. - -“Du sublime (he saw something sublime in himself) au ridicule il n’y -a qu’un pas,” * said he. And the whole world for fifty years has been -repeating: “Sublime! Grand! Napoléon le Grand!” Du sublime au ridicule -il n’y a qu’un pas. - - * “From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step.” - - -And it occurs to no one that to admit a greatness not commensurable with -the standard of right and wrong is merely to admit one’s own nothingness -and immeasurable meanness. - -For us with the standard of good and evil given us by Christ, no human -actions are incommensurable. And there is no greatness where simplicity, -goodness, and truth are absent. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -What Russian, reading the account of the last part of the campaign -of 1812, has not experienced an uncomfortable feeling of regret, -dissatisfaction, and perplexity? Who has not asked himself how it is -that the French were not all captured or destroyed when our three armies -surrounded them in superior numbers, when the disordered French, hungry -and freezing, surrendered in crowds, and when (as the historians relate) -the aim of the Russians was to stop the French, to cut them off, and -capture them all? - -How was it that the Russian army, which when numerically weaker than the -French had given battle at Borodinó, did not achieve its purpose when it -had surrounded the French on three sides and when its aim was to capture -them? Can the French be so enormously superior to us that when we had -surrounded them with superior forces we could not beat them? How could -that happen? - -History (or what is called by that name) replying to these questions -says that this occurred because Kutúzov and Tormásov and Chichagóv, and -this man and that man, did not execute such and such maneuvers.... - -But why did they not execute those maneuvers? And why if they were -guilty of not carrying out a prearranged plan were they not tried and -punished? But even if we admitted that Kutúzov, Chichagóv, and others -were the cause of the Russian failures, it is still incomprehensible -why, the position of the Russian army being what it was at Krásnoe and -at the Berëzina (in both cases we had superior forces), the French army -with its marshals, kings, and Emperor was not captured, if that was what -the Russians aimed at. - -The explanation of this strange fact given by Russian military -historians (to the effect that Kutúzov hindered an attack) is unfounded, -for we know that he could not restrain the troops from attacking at -Vyázma and Tarútino. - -Why was the Russian army—which with inferior forces had withstood the -enemy in full strength at Borodinó—defeated at Krásnoe and the Berëzina -by the disorganized crowds of the French when it was numerically -superior? - -If the aim of the Russians consisted in cutting off and capturing -Napoleon and his marshals—and that aim was not merely frustrated but all -attempts to attain it were most shamefully baffled—then this last period -of the campaign is quite rightly considered by the French to be a -series of victories, and quite wrongly considered victorious by Russian -historians. - -The Russian military historians in so far as they submit to claims -of logic must admit that conclusion, and in spite of their lyrical -rhapsodies about valor, devotion, and so forth, must reluctantly admit -that the French retreat from Moscow was a series of victories for -Napoleon and defeats for Kutúzov. - -But putting national vanity entirely aside one feels that such a -conclusion involves a contradiction, since the series of French -victories brought the French complete destruction, while the series -of Russian defeats led to the total destruction of their enemy and the -liberation of their country. - -The source of this contradiction lies in the fact that the historians -studying the events from the letters of the sovereigns and the generals, -from memoirs, reports, projects, and so forth, have attributed to this -last period of the war of 1812 an aim that never existed, namely that of -cutting off and capturing Napoleon with his marshals and his army. - -There never was or could have been such an aim, for it would have been -senseless and its attainment quite impossible. - -It would have been senseless, first because Napoleon’s disorganized -army was flying from Russia with all possible speed, that is to say, was -doing just what every Russian desired. So what was the use of performing -various operations on the French who were running away as fast as they -possibly could? - -Secondly, it would have been senseless to block the passage of men whose -whole energy was directed to flight. - -Thirdly, it would have been senseless to sacrifice one’s own troops in -order to destroy the French army, which without external interference -was destroying itself at such a rate that, though its path was not -blocked, it could not carry across the frontier more than it actually -did in December, namely a hundredth part of the original army. - -Fourthly, it would have been senseless to wish to take captive the -Emperor, kings, and dukes—whose capture would have been in the highest -degree embarrassing for the Russians, as the most adroit diplomatists of -the time (Joseph de Maistre and others) recognized. Still more senseless -would have been the wish to capture army corps of the French, when our -own army had melted away to half before reaching Krásnoe and a whole -division would have been needed to convoy the corps of prisoners, and -when our men were not always getting full rations and the prisoners -already taken were perishing of hunger. - -All the profound plans about cutting off and capturing Napoleon and his -army were like the plan of a market gardener who, when driving out of -his garden a cow that had trampled down the beds he had planted, should -run to the gate and hit the cow on the head. The only thing to be said -in excuse of that gardener would be that he was very angry. But not even -that could be said for those who drew up this project, for it was not -they who had suffered from the trampled beds. - -But besides the fact that cutting off Napoleon with his army would have -been senseless, it was impossible. - -It was impossible first because—as experience shows that a three-mile -movement of columns on a battlefield never coincides with the plans—the -probability of Chichagóv, Kutúzov, and Wittgenstein effecting a junction -on time at an appointed place was so remote as to be tantamount to -impossibility, as in fact thought Kutúzov, who when he received the plan -remarked that diversions planned over great distances do not yield the -desired results. - -Secondly it was impossible, because to paralyze the momentum with which -Napoleon’s army was retiring, incomparably greater forces than the -Russians possessed would have been required. - -Thirdly it was impossible, because the military term “to cut off” has no -meaning. One can cut off a slice of bread, but not an army. To cut off -an army—to bar its road—is quite impossible, for there is always plenty -of room to avoid capture and there is the night when nothing can be -seen, as the military scientists might convince themselves by the -example of Krásnoe and of the Berëzina. It is only possible to capture -prisoners if they agree to be captured, just as it is only possible -to catch a swallow if it settles on one’s hand. Men can only be taken -prisoners if they surrender according to the rules of strategy and -tactics, as the Germans did. But the French troops quite rightly did not -consider that this suited them, since death by hunger and cold awaited -them in flight or captivity alike. - -Fourthly and chiefly it was impossible, because never since the world -began has a war been fought under such conditions as those that obtained -in 1812, and the Russian army in its pursuit of the French strained its -strength to the utmost and could not have done more without destroying -itself. - -During the movement of the Russian army from Tarútino to Krásnoe it -lost fifty thousand sick or stragglers, that is a number equal to the -population of a large provincial town. Half the men fell out of the army -without a battle. - -And it is of this period of the campaign—when the army lacked boots -and sheepskin coats, was short of provisions and without vodka, and -was camping out at night for months in the snow with fifteen degrees -of frost, when there were only seven or eight hours of daylight and -the rest was night in which the influence of discipline cannot be -maintained, when men were taken into that region of death where -discipline fails, not for a few hours only as in a battle, but for -months, where they were every moment fighting death from hunger and -cold, when half the army perished in a single month—it is of this period -of the campaign that the historians tell us how Milorádovich should have -made a flank march to such and such a place, Tormásov to another place, -and Chichagóv should have crossed (more than knee-deep in snow) to -somewhere else, and how so-and-so “routed” and “cut off” the French and -so on and so on. - -The Russians, half of whom died, did all that could and should have been -done to attain an end worthy of the nation, and they are not to blame -because other Russians, sitting in warm rooms, proposed that they should -do what was impossible. - -All that strange contradiction now difficult to understand between the -facts and the historical accounts only arises because the historians -dealing with the matter have written the history of the beautiful words -and sentiments of various generals, and not the history of the events. - -To them the words of Milorádovich seem very interesting, and so do their -surmises and the rewards this or that general received; but the question -of those fifty thousand men who were left in hospitals and in graves -does not even interest them, for it does not come within the range of -their investigation. - -Yet one need only discard the study of the reports and general plans and -consider the movement of those hundreds of thousands of men who took a -direct part in the events, and all the questions that seemed insoluble -easily and simply receive an immediate and certain solution. - -The aim of cutting off Napoleon and his army never existed except in -the imaginations of a dozen people. It could not exist because it was -senseless and unattainable. - -The people had a single aim: to free their land from invasion. That aim -was attained in the first place of itself, as the French ran away, -and so it was only necessary not to stop their flight. Secondly it was -attained by the guerrilla warfare which was destroying the French, and -thirdly by the fact that a large Russian army was following the French, -ready to use its strength in case their movement stopped. - -The Russian army had to act like a whip to a running animal. And the -experienced driver knew it was better to hold the whip raised as a -menace than to strike the running animal on the head. - - - - - -BOOK FIFTEEN: 1812 - 13 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -When seeing a dying animal a man feels a sense of horror: substance -similar to his own is perishing before his eyes. But when it is a -beloved and intimate human being that is dying, besides this horror at -the extinction of life there is a severance, a spiritual wound, which -like a physical wound is sometimes fatal and sometimes heals, but always -aches and shrinks at any external irritating touch. - -After Prince Andrew’s death Natásha and Princess Mary alike felt this. -Drooping in spirit and closing their eyes before the menacing cloud of -death that overhung them, they dared not look life in the face. They -carefully guarded their open wounds from any rough and painful contact. -Everything: a carriage passing rapidly in the street, a summons to -dinner, the maid’s inquiry what dress to prepare, or worse still any -word of insincere or feeble sympathy, seemed an insult, painfully -irritated the wound, interrupting that necessary quiet in which -they both tried to listen to the stern and dreadful choir that still -resounded in their imagination, and hindered their gazing into those -mysterious limitless vistas that for an instant had opened out before -them. - -Only when alone together were they free from such outrage and pain. -They spoke little even to one another, and when they did it was of very -unimportant matters. - -Both avoided any allusion to the future. To admit the possibility of -a future seemed to them to insult his memory. Still more carefully did -they avoid anything relating to him who was dead. It seemed to them that -what they had lived through and experienced could not be expressed in -words, and that any reference to the details of his life infringed the -majesty and sacredness of the mystery that had been accomplished before -their eyes. - -Continued abstention from speech, and constant avoidance of everything -that might lead up to the subject—this halting on all sides at the -boundary of what they might not mention—brought before their minds with -still greater purity and clearness what they were both feeling. - -But pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy. -Princess Mary, in her position as absolute and independent arbiter of -her own fate and guardian and instructor of her nephew, was the first to -be called back to life from that realm of sorrow in which she had dwelt -for the first fortnight. She received letters from her relations to -which she had to reply; the room in which little Nicholas had been put -was damp and he began to cough; Alpátych came to Yaroslávl with reports -on the state of their affairs and with advice and suggestions that they -should return to Moscow to the house on the Vozdvízhenka Street, which -had remained uninjured and needed only slight repairs. Life did not -stand still and it was necessary to live. Hard as it was for Princess -Mary to emerge from the realm of secluded contemplation in which she -had lived till then, and sorry and almost ashamed as she felt to leave -Natásha alone, yet the cares of life demanded her attention and she -involuntarily yielded to them. She went through the accounts with -Alpátych, conferred with Dessalles about her nephew, and gave orders and -made preparations for the journey to Moscow. - -Natásha remained alone and, from the time Princess Mary began making -preparations for departure, held aloof from her too. - -Princess Mary asked the countess to let Natásha go with her to Moscow, -and both parents gladly accepted this offer, for they saw their daughter -losing strength every day and thought that a change of scene and the -advice of Moscow doctors would be good for her. - -“I am not going anywhere,” Natásha replied when this was proposed to -her. “Do please just leave me alone!” And she ran out of the room, with -difficulty refraining from tears of vexation and irritation rather than -of sorrow. - -After she felt herself deserted by Princes Mary and alone in her grief, -Natásha spent most of the time in her room by herself, sitting huddled -up feet and all in the corner of the sofa, tearing and twisting -something with her slender nervous fingers and gazing intently and -fixedly at whatever her eyes chanced to fall on. This solitude exhausted -and tormented her but she was in absolute need of it. As soon as anyone -entered she got up quickly, changed her position and expression, and -picked up a book or some sewing, evidently waiting impatiently for the -intruder to go. - -She felt all the time as if she might at any moment penetrate that -on which—with a terrible questioning too great for her strength—her -spiritual gaze was fixed. - -One day toward the end of December Natásha, pale and thin, dressed in a -black woolen gown, her plaited hair negligently twisted into a knot, was -crouched feet and all in the corner of her sofa, nervously crumpling and -smoothing out the end of her sash while she looked at a corner of the -door. - -She was gazing in the direction in which he had gone—to the other side -of life. And that other side of life, of which she had never before -thought and which had formerly seemed to her so far away and improbable, -was now nearer and more akin and more comprehensible than this side of -life, where everything was either emptiness and desolation or suffering -and indignity. - -She was gazing where she knew him to be; but she could not imagine him -otherwise than as he had been here. She now saw him again as he had been -at Mytíshchi, at Tróitsa, and at Yaroslávl. - -She saw his face, heard his voice, repeated his words and her own, and -sometimes devised other words they might have spoken. - -There he is lying back in an armchair in his velvet cloak, leaning -his head on his thin pale hand. His chest is dreadfully hollow and his -shoulders raised. His lips are firmly closed, his eyes glitter, and a -wrinkle comes and goes on his pale forehead. One of his legs twitches -just perceptibly, but rapidly. Natásha knows that he is struggling with -terrible pain. “What is that pain like? Why does he have that pain? What -does he feel? How does it hurt him?” thought Natásha. He noticed her -watching him, raised his eyes, and began to speak seriously: - -“One thing would be terrible,” said he: “to bind oneself forever to a -suffering man. It would be continual torture.” And he looked searchingly -at her. Natásha as usual answered before she had time to think what she -would say. She said: “This can’t go on—it won’t. You will get well—quite -well.” - -She now saw him from the commencement of that scene and relived what she -had then felt. She recalled his long sad and severe look at those words -and understood the meaning of the rebuke and despair in that protracted -gaze. - -“I agreed,” Natásha now said to herself, “that it would be dreadful if -he always continued to suffer. I said it then only because it would have -been dreadful for him, but he understood it differently. He thought it -would be dreadful for me. He then still wished to live and feared death. -And I said it so awkwardly and stupidly! I did not say what I meant. -I thought quite differently. Had I said what I thought, I should have -said: even if he had to go on dying, to die continually before my eyes, -I should have been happy compared with what I am now. Now there is -nothing... nobody. Did he know that? No, he did not and never will know -it. And now it will never, never be possible to put it right.” And -now he again seemed to be saying the same words to her, only in her -imagination Natásha this time gave him a different answer. She stopped -him and said: “Terrible for you, but not for me! You know that for me -there is nothing in life but you, and to suffer with you is the greatest -happiness for me,” and he took her hand and pressed it as he had -pressed it that terrible evening four days before his death. And in her -imagination she said other tender and loving words which she might have -said then but only spoke now: “I love thee!... thee! I love, love...” -she said, convulsively pressing her hands and setting her teeth with a -desperate effort.... - -She was overcome by sweet sorrow and tears were already rising in her -eyes; then she suddenly asked herself to whom she was saying this. -Again everything was shrouded in hard, dry perplexity, and again with a -strained frown she peered toward the world where he was. And now, now -it seemed to her she was penetrating the mystery.... But at the instant -when it seemed that the incomprehensible was revealing itself to her a -loud rattle of the door handle struck painfully on her ears. Dunyásha, -her maid, entered the room quickly and abruptly with a frightened look -on her face and showing no concern for her mistress. - -“Come to your Papa at once, please!” said she with a strange, excited -look. “A misfortune... about Peter Ilýnich... a letter,” she finished -with a sob. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -Besides a feeling of aloofness from everybody Natásha was feeling a -special estrangement from the members of her own family. All of -them—her father, mother, and Sónya—were so near to her, so familiar, so -commonplace, that all their words and feelings seemed an insult to the -world in which she had been living of late, and she felt not merely -indifferent to them but regarded them with hostility. She heard -Dunyásha’s words about Peter Ilýnich and a misfortune, but did not grasp -them. - -“What misfortune? What misfortune can happen to them? They just live -their own old, quiet, and commonplace life,” thought Natásha. - -As she entered the ballroom her father was hurriedly coming out of -her mother’s room. His face was puckered up and wet with tears. He -had evidently run out of that room to give vent to the sobs that were -choking him. When he saw Natásha he waved his arms despairingly and -burst into convulsively painful sobs that distorted his soft round face. - -“Pe... Pétya... Go, go, she... is calling...” and weeping like a child -and quickly shuffling on his feeble legs to a chair, he almost fell into -it, covering his face with his hands. - -Suddenly an electric shock seemed to run through Natásha’s whole being. -Terrible anguish struck her heart, she felt a dreadful ache as if -something was being torn inside her and she were dying. But the pain -was immediately followed by a feeling of release from the oppressive -constraint that had prevented her taking part in life. The sight of her -father, the terribly wild cries of her mother that she heard through the -door, made her immediately forget herself and her own grief. - -She ran to her father, but he feebly waved his arm, pointing to her -mother’s door. Princess Mary, pale and with quivering chin, came out -from that room and taking Natásha by the arm said something to her. -Natásha neither saw nor heard her. She went in with rapid steps, pausing -at the door for an instant as if struggling with herself, and then ran -to her mother. - -The countess was lying in an armchair in a strange and awkward position, -stretching out and beating her head against the wall. Sónya and the -maids were holding her arms. - -“Natásha! Natásha!...” cried the countess. “It’s not true... it’s not -true... He’s lying... Natásha!” she shrieked, pushing those around her -away. “Go away, all of you; it’s not true! Killed!... ha, ha, ha!... -It’s not true!” - -Natásha put one knee on the armchair, stooped over her mother, embraced -her, and with unexpected strength raised her, turned her face toward -herself, and clung to her. - -“Mummy!... darling!... I am here, my dearest Mummy,” she kept on -whispering, not pausing an instant. - -She did not let go of her mother but struggled tenderly with her, -demanded a pillow and hot water, and unfastened and tore open her -mother’s dress. - -“My dearest darling... Mummy, my precious!...” she whispered -incessantly, kissing her head, her hands, her face, and feeling her own -irrepressible and streaming tears tickling her nose and cheeks. - -The countess pressed her daughter’s hand, closed her eyes, and became -quiet for a moment. Suddenly she sat up with unaccustomed swiftness, -glanced vacantly around her, and seeing Natásha began to press her -daughter’s head with all her strength. Then she turned toward her -daughter’s face which was wincing with pain and gazed long at it. - -“Natásha, you love me?” she said in a soft trustful whisper. “Natásha, -you would not deceive me? You’ll tell me the whole truth?” - -Natásha looked at her with eyes full of tears and in her look there was -nothing but love and an entreaty for forgiveness. - -“My darling Mummy!” she repeated, straining all the power of her love to -find some way of taking on herself the excess of grief that crushed her -mother. - -And again in a futile struggle with reality her mother, refusing to -believe that she could live when her beloved boy was killed in the bloom -of life, escaped from reality into a world of delirium. - -Natásha did not remember how that day passed nor that night, nor the -next day and night. She did not sleep and did not leave her mother. Her -persevering and patient love seemed completely to surround the countess -every moment, not explaining or consoling, but recalling her to life. - -During the third night the countess kept very quiet for a few minutes, -and Natásha rested her head on the arm of her chair and closed her eyes, -but opened them again on hearing the bedstead creak. The countess was -sitting up in bed and speaking softly. - -“How glad I am you have come. You are tired. Won’t you have some tea?” -Natásha went up to her. “You have improved in looks and grown more -manly,” continued the countess, taking her daughter’s hand. - -“Mamma! What are you saying...” - -“Natásha, he is no more, no more!” - -And embracing her daughter, the countess began to weep for the first -time. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -Princess Mary postponed her departure. Sónya and the count tried to -replace Natásha but could not. They saw that she alone was able to -restrain her mother from unreasoning despair. For three weeks Natásha -remained constantly at her mother’s side, sleeping on a lounge chair -in her room, making her eat and drink, and talking to her incessantly -because the mere sound of her tender, caressing tones soothed her -mother. - -The mother’s wounded spirit could not heal. Pétya’s death had torn from -her half her life. When the news of Pétya’s death had come she had been -a fresh and vigorous woman of fifty, but a month later she left her room -a listless old woman taking no interest in life. But the same blow that -almost killed the countess, this second blow, restored Natásha to life. - -A spiritual wound produced by a rending of the spiritual body is like -a physical wound and, strange as it may seem, just as a deep wound may -heal and its edges join, physical and spiritual wounds alike can yet -heal completely only as the result of a vital force from within. - -Natásha’s wound healed in that way. She thought her life was ended, -but her love for her mother unexpectedly showed her that the essence of -life—love—was still active within her. Love awoke and so did life. - -Prince Andrew’s last days had bound Princess Mary and Natásha together; -this new sorrow brought them still closer to one another. Princess Mary -put off her departure, and for three weeks looked after Natásha as if -she had been a sick child. The last weeks passed in her mother’s bedroom -had strained Natásha’s physical strength. - -One afternoon noticing Natásha shivering with fever, Princess Mary took -her to her own room and made her lie down on the bed. Natásha lay down, -but when Princess Mary had drawn the blinds and was going away she -called her back. - -“I don’t want to sleep, Mary, sit by me a little.” - -“You are tired—try to sleep.” - -“No, no. Why did you bring me away? She will be asking for me.” - -“She is much better. She spoke so well today,” said Princess Mary. - -Natásha lay on the bed and in the semidarkness of the room scanned -Princess Mary’s face. - -“Is she like him?” thought Natásha. “Yes, like and yet not like. But she -is quite original, strange, new, and unknown. And she loves me. What -is in her heart? All that is good. But how? What is her mind like? What -does she think about me? Yes, she is splendid!” - -“Mary,” she said timidly, drawing Princess Mary’s hand to herself, -“Mary, you mustn’t think me wicked. No? Mary darling, how I love you! -Let us be quite, quite friends.” - -And Natásha, embracing her, began kissing her face and hands, making -Princess Mary feel shy but happy by this demonstration of her feelings. - -From that day a tender and passionate friendship such as exists only -between women was established between Princess Mary and Natásha. They -were continually kissing and saying tender things to one another and -spent most of their time together. When one went out the other became -restless and hastened to rejoin her. Together they felt more in harmony -with one another than either of them felt with herself when alone. A -feeling stronger than friendship sprang up between them; an exclusive -feeling of life being possible only in each other’s presence. - -Sometimes they were silent for hours; sometimes after they were already -in bed they would begin talking and go on till morning. They spoke most -of what was long past. Princess Mary spoke of her childhood, of her -mother, her father, and her daydreams; and Natásha, who with a passive -lack of understanding had formerly turned away from that life of -devotion, submission, and the poetry of Christian self-sacrifice, now -feeling herself bound to Princess Mary by affection, learned to love her -past too and to understand a side of life previously incomprehensible to -her. She did not think of applying submission and self-abnegation to her -own life, for she was accustomed to seek other joys, but she understood -and loved in another those previously incomprehensible virtues. For -Princess Mary, listening to Natásha’s tales of childhood and early -youth, there also opened out a new and hitherto uncomprehended side of -life: belief in life and its enjoyment. - -Just as before, they never mentioned him so as not to lower (as they -thought) their exalted feelings by words; but this silence about him had -the effect of making them gradually begin to forget him without being -conscious of it. - -Natásha had grown thin and pale and physically so weak that they all -talked about her health, and this pleased her. But sometimes she was -suddenly overcome by fear not only of death but of sickness, weakness, -and loss of good looks, and involuntarily she examined her bare arm -carefully, surprised at its thinness, and in the morning noticed her -drawn and, as it seemed to her, piteous face in her glass. It seemed to -her that things must be so, and yet it was dreadfully sad. - -One day she went quickly upstairs and found herself out of breath. -Unconsciously she immediately invented a reason for going down, and -then, testing her strength, ran upstairs again, observing the result. - -Another time when she called Dunyásha her voice trembled, so she called -again—though she could hear Dunyásha coming—called her in the deep chest -tones in which she had been wont to sing, and listened attentively to -herself. - -She did not know and would not have believed it, but beneath the layer -of slime that covered her soul and seemed to her impenetrable, delicate -young shoots of grass were already sprouting, which taking root would so -cover with their living verdure the grief that weighed her down that -it would soon no longer be seen or noticed. The wound had begun to heal -from within. - -At the end of January Princess Mary left for Moscow, and the count -insisted on Natásha’s going with her to consult the doctors. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -After the encounter at Vyázma, where Kutúzov had been unable to hold -back his troops in their anxiety to overwhelm and cut off the enemy and -so on, the farther movement of the fleeing French, and of the Russians -who pursued them, continued as far as Krásnoe without a battle. The -flight was so rapid that the Russian army pursuing the French could -not keep up with them; cavalry and artillery horses broke down, and the -information received of the movements of the French was never reliable. - -The men in the Russian army were so worn out by this continuous marching -at the rate of twenty-seven miles a day that they could not go any -faster. - -To realize the degree of exhaustion of the Russian army it is only -necessary to grasp clearly the meaning of the fact that, while not -losing more than five thousand killed and wounded after Tarútino and -less than a hundred prisoners, the Russian army which left that place a -hundred thousand strong reached Krásnoe with only fifty thousand. - -The rapidity of the Russian pursuit was just as destructive to our army -as the flight of the French was to theirs. The only difference was that -the Russian army moved voluntarily, with no such threat of destruction -as hung over the French, and that the sick Frenchmen were left behind -in enemy hands while the sick Russians left behind were among their -own people. The chief cause of the wastage of Napoleon’s army was -the rapidity of its movement, and a convincing proof of this is the -corresponding decrease of the Russian army. - -Kutúzov as far as was in his power, instead of trying to check the -movement of the French as was desired in Petersburg and by the Russian -army generals, directed his whole activity here, as he had done at -Tarútino and Vyázma, to hastening it on while easing the movement of our -army. - -But besides this, since the exhaustion and enormous diminution of the -army caused by the rapidity of the advance had become evident, another -reason for slackening the pace and delaying presented itself to Kutúzov. -The aim of the Russian army was to pursue the French. The road the -French would take was unknown, and so the closer our troops trod on -their heels the greater distance they had to cover. Only by following -at some distance could one cut across the zigzag path of the French. All -the artful maneuvers suggested by our generals meant fresh movements of -the army and a lengthening of its marches, whereas the only reasonable -aim was to shorten those marches. To that end Kutúzov’s activity was -directed during the whole campaign from Moscow to Vílna—not casually or -intermittently but so consistently that he never once deviated from it. - -Kutúzov felt and knew—not by reasoning or science but with the whole of -his Russian being—what every Russian soldier felt: that the French were -beaten, that the enemy was flying and must be driven out; but at the -same time he like the soldiers realized all the hardship of this march, -the rapidity of which was unparalleled for such a time of the year. - -But to the generals, especially the foreign ones in the Russian army, -who wished to distinguish themselves, to astonish somebody, and for some -reason to capture a king or a duke—it seemed that now—when any battle -must be horrible and senseless—was the very time to fight and conquer -somebody. Kutúzov merely shrugged his shoulders when one after -another they presented projects of maneuvers to be made with those -soldiers—ill-shod, insufficiently clad, and half starved—who within a -month and without fighting a battle had dwindled to half their number, -and who at the best if the flight continued would have to go a greater -distance than they had already traversed, before they reached the -frontier. - -This longing to distinguish themselves, to maneuver, to overthrow, and -to cut off showed itself particularly whenever the Russians stumbled on -the French army. - -So it was at Krásnoe, where they expected to find one of the three -French columns and stumbled instead on Napoleon himself with sixteen -thousand men. Despite all Kutúzov’s efforts to avoid that ruinous -encounter and to preserve his troops, the massacre of the broken mob -of French soldiers by worn-out Russians continued at Krásnoe for three -days. - -Toll wrote a disposition: “The first column will march to so and so,” -etc. And as usual nothing happened in accord with the disposition. -Prince Eugène of Württemberg fired from a hill over the French crowds -that were running past, and demanded reinforcements which did not -arrive. The French, avoiding the Russians, dispersed and hid themselves -in the forest by night, making their way round as best they could, and -continued their flight. - -Milorádovich, who said he did not want to know anything about the -commissariat affairs of his detachment, and could never be found when -he was wanted—that chevalier sans peur et sans reproche * as he styled -himself—who was fond of parleys with the French, sent envoys demanding -their surrender, wasted time, and did not do what he was ordered to do. - - * Knight without fear and without reproach. - -“I give you that column, lads,” he said, riding up to the troops and -pointing out the French to the cavalry. - -And the cavalry, with spurs and sabers urging on horses that could -scarcely move, trotted with much effort to the column presented -to them—that is to say, to a crowd of Frenchmen stark with cold, -frost-bitten, and starving—and the column that had been presented to -them threw down its arms and surrendered as it had long been anxious to -do. - -At Krásnoe they took twenty-six thousand prisoners, several hundred -cannon, and a stick called a “marshal’s staff,” and disputed as to who -had distinguished himself and were pleased with their achievement—though -they much regretted not having taken Napoleon, or at least a marshal or -a hero of some sort, and reproached one another and especially Kutúzov -for having failed to do so. - -These men, carried away by their passions, were but blind tools of the -most melancholy law of necessity, but considered themselves heroes and -imagined that they were accomplishing a most noble and honorable -deed. They blamed Kutúzov and said that from the very beginning of the -campaign he had prevented their vanquishing Napoleon, that he thought of -nothing but satisfying his passions and would not advance from the Linen -Factories because he was comfortable there, that at Krásnoe he checked -the advance because on learning that Napoleon was there he had quite -lost his head, and that it was probable that he had an understanding -with Napoleon and had been bribed by him, and so on, and so on. - -Not only did his contemporaries, carried away by their passions, talk -in this way, but posterity and history have acclaimed Napoleon as grand, -while Kutúzov is described by foreigners as a crafty, dissolute, weak -old courtier, and by Russians as something indefinite—a sort of puppet -useful only because he had a Russian name. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -In 1812 and 1813 Kutúzov was openly accused of blundering. The Emperor -was dissatisfied with him. And in a history recently written by order -of the Highest Authorities it is said that Kutúzov was a cunning court -liar, frightened of the name of Napoleon, and that by his blunders at -Krásnoe and the Berëzina he deprived the Russian army of the glory of -complete victory over the French. * - - * History of the year 1812. The character of Kutúzov and - reflections on the unsatisfactory results of the battles at - Krásnoe, by Bogdánovich. - -Such is the fate not of great men (grands hommes) whom the Russian mind -does not acknowledge, but of those rare and always solitary individuals -who, discerning the will of Providence, submit their personal will to -it. The hatred and contempt of the crowd punish such men for discerning -the higher laws. - -For Russian historians, strange and terrible to say, Napoleon—that most -insignificant tool of history who never anywhere, even in exile, showed -human dignity—Napoleon is the object of adulation and enthusiasm; he -is grand. But Kutúzov—the man who from the beginning to the end of his -activity in 1812, never once swerving by word or deed from Borodinó to -Vílna, presented an example exceptional in history of self-sacrifice -and a present consciousness of the future importance of what was -happening—Kutúzov seems to them something indefinite and pitiful, and -when speaking of him and of the year 1812 they always seem a little -ashamed. - -And yet it is difficult to imagine an historical character whose -activity was so unswervingly directed to a single aim; and it would be -difficult to imagine any aim more worthy or more consonant with the -will of the whole people. Still more difficult would it be to find -an instance in history of the aim of an historical personage being so -completely accomplished as that to which all Kutúzov’s efforts were -directed in 1812. - -Kutúzov never talked of “forty centuries looking down from the -Pyramids,” of the sacrifices he offered for the fatherland, or of -what he intended to accomplish or had accomplished; in general he -said nothing about himself, adopted no pose, always appeared to be -the simplest and most ordinary of men, and said the simplest and most -ordinary things. He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame de -Staël, read novels, liked the society of pretty women, jested with -generals, officers, and soldiers, and never contradicted those who tried -to prove anything to him. When Count Rostopchín at the Yaúza bridge -galloped up to Kutúzov with personal reproaches for having caused the -destruction of Moscow, and said: “How was it you promised not to abandon -Moscow without a battle?” Kutúzov replied: “And I shall not abandon -Moscow without a battle,” though Moscow was then already abandoned. When -Arakchéev, coming to him from the Emperor, said that Ermólov ought to -be appointed chief of the artillery, Kutúzov replied: “Yes, I was -just saying so myself,” though a moment before he had said quite the -contrary. What did it matter to him—who then alone amid a senseless -crowd understood the whole tremendous significance of what was -happening—what did it matter to him whether Rostopchín attributed the -calamities of Moscow to him or to himself? Still less could it matter to -him who was appointed chief of the artillery. - -Not merely in these cases but continually did that old man—who by -experience of life had reached the conviction that thoughts and the -words serving as their expression are not what move people—use quite -meaningless words that happened to enter his head. - -But that man, so heedless of his words, did not once during the whole -time of his activity utter one word inconsistent with the single aim -toward which he moved throughout the whole war. Obviously in spite of -himself, in very diverse circumstances, he repeatedly expressed his real -thoughts with the bitter conviction that he would not be understood. -Beginning with the battle of Borodinó, from which time his disagreement -with those about him began, he alone said that the battle of Borodinó -was a victory, and repeated this both verbally and in his dispatches -and reports up to the time of his death. He alone said that the loss of -Moscow is not the loss of Russia. In reply to Lauriston’s proposal of -peace, he said: There can be no peace, for such is the people’s will. He -alone during the retreat of the French said that all our maneuvers are -useless, everything is being accomplished of itself better than we could -desire; that the enemy must be offered “a golden bridge”; that neither -the Tarútino, the Vyázma, nor the Krásnoe battles were necessary; that -we must keep some force to reach the frontier with, and that he would -not sacrifice a single Russian for ten Frenchmen. - -And this courtier, as he is described to us, who lies to Arakchéev -to please the Emperor, he alone—incurring thereby the Emperor’s -displeasure—said in Vílna that to carry the war beyond the frontier is -useless and harmful. - -Nor do words alone prove that only he understood the meaning of the -events. His actions—without the smallest deviation—were all directed -to one and the same threefold end: (1) to brace all his strength for -conflict with the French, (2) to defeat them, and (3) to drive them out -of Russia, minimizing as far as possible the sufferings of our people -and of our army. - -This procrastinator Kutúzov, whose motto was “Patience and Time,” -this enemy of decisive action, gave battle at Borodinó, investing the -preparations for it with unparalleled solemnity. This Kutúzov who before -the battle of Austerlitz began said that it would be lost, he alone, in -contradiction to everyone else, declared till his death that Borodinó -was a victory, despite the assurance of generals that the battle was -lost and despite the fact that for an army to have to retire after -winning a battle was unprecedented. He alone during the whole retreat -insisted that battles, which were useless then, should not be fought, -and that a new war should not be begun nor the frontiers of Russia -crossed. - -It is easy now to understand the significance of these events—if only we -abstain from attributing to the activity of the mass aims that existed -only in the heads of a dozen individuals—for the events and results now -lie before us. - -But how did that old man, alone, in opposition to the general opinion, -so truly discern the importance of the people’s view of the events that -in all his activity he was never once untrue to it? - -The source of that extraordinary power of penetrating the meaning of the -events then occuring lay in the national feeling which he possessed in -full purity and strength. - -Only the recognition of the fact that he possessed this feeling caused -the people in so strange a manner, contrary to the Tsar’s wish, to -select him—an old man in disfavor—to be their representative in the -national war. And only that feeling placed him on that highest human -pedestal from which he, the commander in chief, devoted all his powers -not to slaying and destroying men but to saving and showing pity on -them. - -That simple, modest, and therefore truly great, figure could not be -cast in the false mold of a European hero—the supposed ruler of men—that -history has invented. - -To a lackey no man can be great, for a lackey has his own conception of -greatness. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -The fifth of November was the first day of what is called the battle of -Krásnoe. Toward evening—after much disputing and many mistakes made by -generals who did not go to their proper places, and after adjutants had -been sent about with counterorders—when it had become plain that the -enemy was everywhere in flight and that there could and would be no -battle, Kutúzov left Krásnoe and went to Dóbroe whither his headquarters -had that day been transferred. - -The day was clear and frosty. Kutúzov rode to Dóbroe on his plump little -white horse, followed by an enormous suite of discontented generals who -whispered among themselves behind his back. All along the road groups of -French prisoners captured that day (there were seven thousand of them) -were crowding to warm themselves at campfires. Near Dóbroe an immense -crowd of tattered prisoners, buzzing with talk and wrapped and bandaged -in anything they had been able to get hold of, were standing in the road -beside a long row of unharnessed French guns. At the approach of the -commander in chief the buzz of talk ceased and all eyes were fixed on -Kutúzov who, wearing a white cap with a red band and a padded overcoat -that bulged on his round shoulders, moved slowly along the road on his -white horse. One of the generals was reporting to him where the guns and -prisoners had been captured. - -Kutúzov seemed preoccupied and did not listen to what the general was -saying. He screwed up his eyes with a dissatisfied look as he gazed -attentively and fixedly at these prisoners, who presented a specially -wretched appearance. Most of them were disfigured by frost-bitten noses -and cheeks, and nearly all had red, swollen and festering eyes. - -One group of the French stood close to the road, and two of them, one of -whom had his face covered with sores, were tearing a piece of raw -flesh with their hands. There was something horrible and bestial in -the fleeting glance they threw at the riders and in the malevolent -expression with which, after a glance at Kutúzov, the soldier with the -sores immediately turned away and went on with what he was doing. - -Kutúzov looked long and intently at these two soldiers. He puckered his -face, screwed up his eyes, and pensively swayed his head. At another -spot he noticed a Russian soldier laughingly patting a Frenchman on the -shoulder, saying something to him in a friendly manner, and Kutúzov with -the same expression on his face again swayed his head. - -“What were you saying?” he asked the general, who continuing his report -directed the commander in chief’s attention to some standards captured -from the French and standing in front of the Preobrazhénsk regiment. - -“Ah, the standards!” said Kutúzov, evidently detaching himself with -difficulty from the thoughts that preoccupied him. - -He looked about him absently. Thousands of eyes were looking at him from -all sides awaiting a word from him. - -He stopped in front of the Preobrazhénsk regiment, sighed deeply, and -closed his eyes. One of his suite beckoned to the soldiers carrying -the standards to advance and surround the commander in chief with them. -Kutúzov was silent for a few seconds and then, submitting with evident -reluctance to the duty imposed by his position, raised his head -and began to speak. A throng of officers surrounded him. He looked -attentively around at the circle of officers, recognizing several of -them. - -“I thank you all!” he said, addressing the soldiers and then again the -officers. In the stillness around him his slowly uttered words were -distinctly heard. “I thank you all for your hard and faithful service. -The victory is complete and Russia will not forget you! Honor to you -forever.” - -He paused and looked around. - -“Lower its head, lower it!” he said to a soldier who had accidentally -lowered the French eagle he was holding before the Preobrazhénsk -standards. “Lower, lower, that’s it. Hurrah lads!” he added, addressing -the men with a rapid movement of his chin. - -“Hur-r-rah!” roared thousands of voices. - -While the soldiers were shouting Kutúzov leaned forward in his saddle -and bowed his head, and his eye lit up with a mild and apparently ironic -gleam. - -“You see, brothers...” said he when the shouts had ceased... and all at -once his voice and the expression of his face changed. It was no longer -the commander in chief speaking but an ordinary old man who wanted to -tell his comrades something very important. - -There was a stir among the throng of officers and in the ranks of the -soldiers, who moved that they might hear better what he was going to -say. - -“You see, brothers, I know it’s hard for you, but it can’t be helped! -Bear up; it won’t be for long now! We’ll see our visitors off and then -we’ll rest. The Tsar won’t forget your service. It is hard for you, but -still you are at home while they—you see what they have come to,” said -he, pointing to the prisoners. “Worse off than our poorest beggars. -While they were strong we didn’t spare ourselves, but now we may even -pity them. They are human beings too. Isn’t it so, lads?” - -He looked around, and in the direct, respectful, wondering gaze fixed -upon him he read sympathy with what he had said. His face grew brighter -and brighter with an old man’s mild smile, which drew the corners of his -lips and eyes into a cluster of wrinkles. He ceased speaking and bowed -his head as if in perplexity. - -“But after all who asked them here? Serves them right, the bloody -bastards!” he cried, suddenly lifting his head. - -And flourishing his whip he rode off at a gallop for the first time -during the whole campaign, and left the broken ranks of the soldiers -laughing joyfully and shouting “Hurrah!” - -Kutúzov’s words were hardly understood by the troops. No one could have -repeated the field marshal’s address, begun solemnly and then changing -into an old man’s simplehearted talk; but the hearty sincerity of that -speech, the feeling of majestic triumph combined with pity for the foe -and consciousness of the justice of our cause, exactly expressed by that -old man’s good-natured expletives, was not merely understood but lay -in the soul of every soldier and found expression in their joyous and -long-sustained shouts. Afterwards when one of the generals addressed -Kutúzov asking whether he wished his calèche to be sent for, Kutúzov in -answering unexpectedly gave a sob, being evidently greatly moved. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -When the troops reached their night’s halting place on the eighth of -November, the last day of the Krásnoe battles, it was already growing -dusk. All day it had been calm and frosty with occasional lightly -falling snow and toward evening it began to clear. Through the falling -snow a purple-black and starry sky showed itself and the frost grew -keener. - -An infantry regiment which had left Tarútino three thousand strong but -now numbered only nine hundred was one of the first to arrive that night -at its halting place—a village on the highroad. The quartermasters who -met the regiment announced that all the huts were full of sick and dead -Frenchmen, cavalrymen, and members of the staff. There was only one hut -available for the regimental commander. - -The commander rode up to his hut. The regiment passed through the -village and stacked its arms in front of the last huts. - -Like some huge many-limbed animal, the regiment began to prepare its -lair and its food. One part of it dispersed and waded knee-deep -through the snow into a birch forest to the right of the village, and -immediately the sound of axes and swords, the crashing of branches, -and merry voices could be heard from there. Another section amid the -regimental wagons and horses which were standing in a group was busy -getting out caldrons and rye biscuit, and feeding the horses. A third -section scattered through the village arranging quarters for the staff -officers, carrying out the French corpses that were in the huts, and -dragging away boards, dry wood, and thatch from the roofs, for the -campfires, or wattle fences to serve for shelter. - -Some fifteen men with merry shouts were shaking down the high wattle -wall of a shed, the roof of which had already been removed. - -“Now then, all together—shove!” cried the voices, and the huge surface -of the wall, sprinkled with snow and creaking with frost, was seen -swaying in the gloom of the night. The lower stakes cracked more and -more and at last the wall fell, and with it the men who had been pushing -it. Loud, coarse laughter and joyous shouts ensued. - -“Now then, catch hold in twos! Hand up the lever! That’s it.... Where -are you shoving to?” - -“Now, all together! But wait a moment, boys... With a song!” - -All stood silent, and a soft, pleasant velvety voice began to sing. At -the end of the third verse as the last note died away, twenty voices -roared out at once: “Oo-oo-oo-oo! That’s it. All together! Heave away, -boys!...” but despite their united efforts the wattle hardly moved, and -in the silence that followed the heavy breathing of the men was audible. - -“Here, you of the Sixth Company! Devils that you are! Lend a hand... -will you? You may want us one of these days.” - -Some twenty men of the Sixth Company who were on their way into the -village joined the haulers, and the wattle wall, which was about -thirty-five feet long and seven feet high, moved forward along the -village street, swaying, pressing upon and cutting the shoulders of the -gasping men. - -“Get along... Falling? What are you stopping for? There now....” - -Merry senseless words of abuse flowed freely. - -“What are you up to?” suddenly came the authoritative voice of a -sergeant major who came upon the men who were hauling their burden. -“There are gentry here; the general himself is in that hut, and you -foul-mouthed devils, you brutes, I’ll give it to you!” shouted he, -hitting the first man who came in his way a swinging blow on the back. -“Can’t you make less noise?” - -The men became silent. The soldier who had been struck groaned and wiped -his face, which had been scratched till it bled by his falling against -the wattle. - -“There, how that devil hits out! He’s made my face all bloody,” said he -in a frightened whisper when the sergeant major had passed on. - -“Don’t you like it?” said a laughing voice, and moderating their tones -the men moved forward. - -When they were out of the village they began talking again as loud as -before, interlarding their talk with the same aimless expletives. - -In the hut which the men had passed, the chief officers had gathered and -were in animated talk over their tea about the events of the day and the -maneuvers suggested for tomorrow. It was proposed to make a flank march -to the left, cut off the Vice-King (Murat) and capture him. - -By the time the soldiers had dragged the wattle fence to its place -the campfires were blazing on all sides ready for cooking, the wood -crackled, the snow was melting, and black shadows of soldiers flitted -to and fro all over the occupied space where the snow had been trodden -down. - -Axes and choppers were plied all around. Everything was done without any -orders being given. Stores of wood were brought for the night, shelters -were rigged up for the officers, caldrons were being boiled, and muskets -and accouterments put in order. - -The wattle wall the men had brought was set up in a semicircle by the -Eighth Company as a shelter from the north, propped up by musket rests, -and a campfire was built before it. They beat the tattoo, called the -roll, had supper, and settled down round the fires for the night—some -repairing their footgear, some smoking pipes, and some stripping -themselves naked to steam the lice out of their shirts. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -One would have thought that under the almost incredibly wretched -conditions the Russian soldiers were in at that time—lacking warm boots -and sheepskin coats, without a roof over their heads, in the snow -with eighteen degrees of frost, and without even full rations (the -commissariat did not always keep up with the troops)—they would have -presented a very sad and depressing spectacle. - -On the contrary, the army had never under the best material conditions -presented a more cheerful and animated aspect. This was because all who -began to grow depressed or who lost strength were sifted out of the army -day by day. All the physically or morally weak had long since been left -behind and only the flower of the army—physically and mentally—remained. - -More men collected behind the wattle fence of the Eighth Company than -anywhere else. Two sergeants major were sitting with them and their -campfire blazed brighter than others. For leave to sit by their wattle -they demanded contributions of fuel. - -“Eh, Makéev! What has become of you, you son of a bitch? Are you lost or -have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some more wood!” shouted a red-haired -and red-faced man, screwing up his eyes and blinking because of the -smoke but not moving back from the fire. “And you, Jackdaw, go and fetch -some wood!” said he to another soldier. - -This red-haired man was neither a sergeant nor a corporal, but being -robust he ordered about those weaker than himself. The soldier -they called “Jackdaw,” a thin little fellow with a sharp nose, rose -obediently and was about to go but at that instant there came into -the light of the fire the slender, handsome figure of a young soldier -carrying a load of wood. - -“Bring it here—that’s fine!” - -They split up the wood, pressed it down on the fire, blew at it with -their mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their greatcoats, making -the flames hiss and crackle. The men drew nearer and lit their pipes. -The handsome young soldier who had brought the wood, setting his arms -akimbo, began stamping his cold feet rapidly and deftly on the spot -where he stood. - -“Mother! The dew is cold but clear.... It’s well that I’m a -musketeer...” he sang, pretending to hiccough after each syllable. - -“Look out, your soles will fly off!” shouted the red-haired man, -noticing that the sole of the dancer’s boot was hanging loose. “What a -fellow you are for dancing!” - -The dancer stopped, pulled off the loose piece of leather, and threw it -on the fire. - -“Right enough, friend,” said he, and, having sat down, took out of his -knapsack a scrap of blue French cloth, and wrapped it round his foot. -“It’s the steam that spoils them,” he added, stretching out his feet -toward the fire. - -“They’ll soon be issuing us new ones. They say that when we’ve finished -hammering them, we’re to receive double kits!” - -“And that son of a bitch Petróv has lagged behind after all, it seems,” -said one sergeant major. - -“I’ve had an eye on him this long while,” said the other. - -“Well, he’s a poor sort of soldier....” - -“But in the Third Company they say nine men were missing yesterday.” - -“Yes, it’s all very well, but when a man’s feet are frozen how can he -walk?” - -“Eh? Don’t talk nonsense!” said a sergeant major. - -“Do you want to be doing the same?” said an old soldier, turning -reproachfully to the man who had spoken of frozen feet. - -“Well, you know,” said the sharp-nosed man they called Jackdaw in a -squeaky and unsteady voice, raising himself at the other side of the -fire, “a plump man gets thin, but for a thin one it’s death. Take -me, now! I’ve got no strength left,” he added, with sudden resolution -turning to the sergeant major. “Tell them to send me to hospital; I’m -aching all over; anyway I shan’t be able to keep up.” - -“That’ll do, that’ll do!” replied the sergeant major quietly. - -The soldier said no more and the talk went on. - -“What a lot of those Frenchies were taken today, and the fact is that -not one of them had what you might call real boots on,” said a soldier, -starting a new theme. “They were no more than make-believes.” - -“The Cossacks have taken their boots. They were clearing the hut for the -colonel and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, boys,” put in -the dancer. “As they turned them over one seemed still alive and, would -you believe it, he jabbered something in their lingo.” - -“But they’re a clean folk, lads,” the first man went on; “he was -white—as white as birchbark—and some of them are such fine fellows, you -might think they were nobles.” - -“Well, what do you think? They make soldiers of all classes there.” - -“But they don’t understand our talk at all,” said the dancer with a -puzzled smile. “I asked him whose subject he was, and he jabbered in his -own way. A queer lot!” - -“But it’s strange, friends,” continued the man who had wondered at their -whiteness, “the peasants at Mozháysk were saying that when they began -burying the dead—where the battle was you know—well, those dead had been -lying there for nearly a month, and says the peasant, ‘they lie as white -as paper, clean, and not as much smell as a puff of powder smoke.’” - -“Was it from the cold?” asked someone. - -“You’re a clever fellow! From the cold indeed! Why, it was hot. If it -had been from the cold, ours would not have rotted either. ‘But,’ he -says, ‘go up to ours and they are all rotten and maggoty. So,’ he says, -‘we tie our faces up with kerchiefs and turn our heads away as we drag -them off: we can hardly do it. But theirs,’ he says, ‘are white as paper -and not so much smell as a whiff of gunpowder.’” - -All were silent. - -“It must be from their food,” said the sergeant major. “They used to -gobble the same food as the gentry.” - -No one contradicted him. - -“That peasant near Mozháysk where the battle was said the men were all -called up from ten villages around and they carted for twenty days and -still didn’t finish carting the dead away. And as for the wolves, he -says...” - -“That was a real battle,” said an old soldier. “It’s the only one worth -remembering; but since that... it’s only been tormenting folk.” - -“And do you know, Daddy, the day before yesterday we ran at them and, -my word, they didn’t let us get near before they just threw down their -muskets and went on their knees. ‘Pardon!’ they say. That’s only one -case. They say Plátov took ‘Poleon himself twice. But he didn’t know -the right charm. He catches him and catches him—no good! He turns into -a bird in his hands and flies away. And there’s no way of killing him -either.” - -“You’re a first-class liar, Kiselëv, when I come to look at you!” - -“Liar, indeed! It’s the real truth.” - -“If he fell into my hands, when I’d caught him I’d bury him in the -ground with an aspen stake to fix him down. What a lot of men he’s -ruined!” - -“Well, anyhow we’re going to end it. He won’t come here again,” remarked -the old soldier, yawning. - -The conversation flagged, and the soldiers began settling down to sleep. - -“Look at the stars. It’s wonderful how they shine! You would think the -women had spread out their linen,” said one of the men, gazing with -admiration at the Milky Way. - -“That’s a sign of a good harvest next year.” - -“We shall want some more wood.” - -“You warm your back and your belly gets frozen. That’s queer.” - -“O Lord!” - -“What are you pushing for? Is the fire only for you? Look how he’s -sprawling!” - -In the silence that ensued, the snoring of those who had fallen asleep -could be heard. Others turned over and warmed themselves, now and again -exchanging a few words. From a campfire a hundred paces off came a sound -of general, merry laughter. - -“Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth Company!” said one of the -soldiers, “and what a lot of them there are!” - -One of the men got up and went over to the Fifth Company. - -“They’re having such fun,” said he, coming back. “Two Frenchies have -turned up. One’s quite frozen and the other’s an awful swaggerer. He’s -singing songs....” - -“Oh, I’ll go across and have a look....” - -And several of the men went over to the Fifth Company. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -The fifth company was bivouacking at the very edge of the forest. A huge -campfire was blazing brightly in the midst of the snow, lighting up the -branches of trees heavy with hoarfrost. - -About midnight they heard the sound of steps in the snow of the forest, -and the crackling of dry branches. - -“A bear, lads,” said one of the men. - -They all raised their heads to listen, and out of the forest into the -bright firelight stepped two strangely clad human figures clinging to -one another. - -These were two Frenchmen who had been hiding in the forest. They came up -to the fire, hoarsely uttering something in a language our soldiers did -not understand. One was taller than the other; he wore an officer’s hat -and seemed quite exhausted. On approaching the fire he had been going to -sit down, but fell. The other, a short sturdy soldier with a shawl -tied round his head, was stronger. He raised his companion and said -something, pointing to his mouth. The soldiers surrounded the Frenchmen, -spread a greatcoat on the ground for the sick man, and brought some -buckwheat porridge and vodka for both of them. - -The exhausted French officer was Ramballe and the man with his head -wrapped in the shawl was Morel, his orderly. - -When Morel had drunk some vodka and finished his bowl of porridge he -suddenly became unnaturally merry and chattered incessantly to the -soldiers, who could not understand him. Ramballe refused food and -resting his head on his elbow lay silent beside the campfire, looking at -the Russian soldiers with red and vacant eyes. Occasionally he emitted -a long-drawn groan and then again became silent. Morel, pointing to his -shoulders, tried to impress on the soldiers the fact that Ramballe was -an officer and ought to be warmed. A Russian officer who had come up -to the fire sent to ask his colonel whether he would not take a French -officer into his hut to warm him, and when the messenger returned and -said that the colonel wished the officer to be brought to him, Ramballe -was told to go. He rose and tried to walk, but staggered and would have -fallen had not a soldier standing by held him up. - -“You won’t do it again, eh?” said one of the soldiers, winking and -turning mockingly to Ramballe. - -“Oh, you fool! Why talk rubbish, lout that you are—a real peasant!” came -rebukes from all sides addressed to the jesting soldier. - -They surrounded Ramballe, lifted him on the crossed arms of two -soldiers, and carried him to the hut. Ramballe put his arms around their -necks while they carried him and began wailing plaintively: - -“Oh, you fine fellows, my kind, kind friends! These are men! Oh, my -brave, kind friends,” and he leaned his head against the shoulder of one -of the men like a child. - -Meanwhile Morel was sitting in the best place by the fire, surrounded by -the soldiers. - -Morel, a short sturdy Frenchman with inflamed and streaming eyes, was -wearing a woman’s cloak and had a shawl tied woman fashion round his -head over his cap. He was evidently tipsy, and was singing a French song -in a hoarse broken voice, with an arm thrown round the nearest soldier. -The soldiers simply held their sides as they watched him. - -“Now then, now then, teach us how it goes! I’ll soon pick it up. How is -it?” said the man—a singer and a wag—whom Morel was embracing. - -“Vive Henri Quatre! Vive ce roi valiant!” sang Morel, winking. “Ce -diable à quatre...” * - - * “Long live Henry the Fourth, that valiant king! That rowdy - devil.” - - -“Vivarika! Vif-seruvaru! Sedyablyaka!” repeated the soldier, flourishing -his arm and really catching the tune. - -“Bravo! Ha, ha, ha!” rose their rough, joyous laughter from all sides. - -Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too. - -“Well, go on, go on!” - - “Qui eut le triple talent, - De boire, de battre, - Et d’être un vert galant.” * - - * Who had a triple talent - For drinking, for fighting, - And for being a gallant old boy... - -“It goes smoothly, too. Well, now, Zaletáev!” - -“Ke...” Zaletáev, brought out with effort: “ke-e-e-e,” he drawled, -laboriously pursing his lips, “le-trip-ta-la-de-bu-de-ba, e -de-tra-va-ga-la” he sang. - -“Fine! Just like the Frenchie! Oh, ho ho! Do you want some more to eat?” - -“Give him some porridge: it takes a long time to get filled up after -starving.” - -They gave him some more porridge and Morel with a laugh set to work on -his third bowl. All the young soldiers smiled gaily as they watched him. -The older men, who thought it undignified to amuse themselves with such -nonsense, continued to lie at the opposite side of the fire, but one -would occasionally raise himself on an elbow and glance at Morel with a -smile. - -“They are men too,” said one of them as he wrapped himself up in his -coat. “Even wormwood grows on its own root.” - -“O Lord, O Lord! How starry it is! Tremendous! That means a hard -frost....” - -They all grew silent. The stars, as if knowing that no one was looking -at them, began to disport themselves in the dark sky: now flaring -up, now vanishing, now trembling, they were busy whispering something -gladsome and mysterious to one another. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -The French army melted away at the uniform rate of a mathematical -progression; and that crossing of the Berëzina about which so much has -been written was only one intermediate stage in its destruction, and -not at all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so much has been -and still is written about the Berëzina, on the French side this is only -because at the broken bridge across that river the calamities their army -had been previously enduring were suddenly concentrated at one moment -into a tragic spectacle that remained in every memory, and on the -Russian side merely because in Petersburg—far from the seat of war—a -plan (again one of Pfuel’s) had been devised to catch Napoleon in a -strategic trap at the Berëzina River. Everyone assured himself that all -would happen according to plan, and therefore insisted that it was just -the crossing of the Berëzina that destroyed the French army. In reality -the results of the crossing were much less disastrous to the French—in -guns and men lost—than Krásnoe had been, as the figures show. - -The sole importance of the crossing of the Berëzina lies in the fact -that it plainly and indubitably proved the fallacy of all the plans for -cutting off the enemy’s retreat and the soundness of the only possible -line of action—the one Kutúzov and the general mass of the army -demanded—namely, simply to follow the enemy up. The French crowd fled -at a continually increasing speed and all its energy was directed to -reaching its goal. It fled like a wounded animal and it was impossible -to block its path. This was shown not so much by the arrangements it -made for crossing as by what took place at the bridges. When the bridges -broke down, unarmed soldiers, people from Moscow and women with -children who were with the French transport, all—carried on by vis -inertiæ—pressed forward into boats and into the ice-covered water and -did not, surrender. - -That impulse was reasonable. The condition of fugitives and of pursuers -was equally bad. As long as they remained with their own people each -might hope for help from his fellows and the definite place he held -among them. But those who surrendered, while remaining in the same -pitiful plight, would be on a lower level to claim a share in the -necessities of life. The French did not need to be informed of the fact -that half the prisoners—with whom the Russians did not know what to -do—perished of cold and hunger despite their captors’ desire to save -them; they felt that it could not be otherwise. The most compassionate -Russian commanders, those favorable to the French—and even the Frenchmen -in the Russian service—could do nothing for the prisoners. The French -perished from the conditions to which the Russian army was itself -exposed. It was impossible to take bread and clothes from our hungry and -indispensable soldiers to give to the French who, though not harmful, or -hated, or guilty, were simply unnecessary. Some Russians even did that, -but they were exceptions. - -Certain destruction lay behind the French but in front there was hope. -Their ships had been burned, there was no salvation save in collective -flight, and on that the whole strength of the French was concentrated. - -The farther they fled the more wretched became the plight of the -remnant, especially after the Berëzina, on which (in consequence of the -Petersburg plan) special hopes had been placed by the Russians, and -the keener grew the passions of the Russian commanders, who blamed one -another and Kutúzov most of all. Anticipation that the failure of -the Petersburg Berëzina plan would be attributed to Kutúzov led -to dissatisfaction, contempt, and ridicule, more and more strongly -expressed. The ridicule and contempt were of course expressed in a -respectful form, making it impossible for him to ask wherein he was -to blame. They did not talk seriously to him; when reporting to him or -asking for his sanction they appeared to be fulfilling a regrettable -formality, but they winked behind his back and tried to mislead him at -every turn. - -Because they could not understand him all these people assumed that -it was useless to talk to the old man; that he would never grasp the -profundity of their plans, that he would answer with his phrases (which -they thought were mere phrases) about a “golden bridge,” about the -impossibility of crossing the frontier with a crowd of tatterdemalions, -and so forth. They had heard all that before. And all he said—that it -was necessary to await provisions, or that the men had no boots—was so -simple, while what they proposed was so complicated and clever, that -it was evident that he was old and stupid and that they, though not in -power, were commanders of genius. - -After the junction with the army of the brilliant admiral and Petersburg -hero Wittgenstein, this mood and the gossip of the staff reached their -maximum. Kutúzov saw this and merely sighed and shrugged his shoulders. -Only once, after the affair of the Berëzina, did he get angry and write -to Bennigsen (who reported separately to the Emperor) the following -letter: - -“On account of your spells of ill health, will your excellency please -be so good as to set off for Kalúga on receipt of this, and there await -further commands and appointments from His Imperial Majesty.” - -But after Bennigsen’s departure, the Grand Duke Tsarévich Constantine -Pávlovich joined the army. He had taken part in the beginning of the -campaign but had subsequently been removed from the army by Kutúzov. -Now having come to the army, he informed Kutúzov of the Emperor’s -displeasure at the poor success of our forces and the slowness of their -advance. The Emperor intended to join the army personally in a few days’ -time. - -The old man, experienced in court as well as in military affairs—this -same Kutúzov who in August had been chosen commander in chief -against the sovereign’s wishes and who had removed the Grand Duke and -heir—apparent from the army—who on his own authority and contrary to the -Emperor’s will had decided on the abandonment of Moscow, now realized at -once that his day was over, that his part was played, and that the power -he was supposed to hold was no longer his. And he understood this not -merely from the attitude of the court. He saw on the one hand that the -military business in which he had played his part was ended and felt -that his mission was accomplished; and at the same time he began to -be conscious of the physical weariness of his aged body and of the -necessity of physical rest. - -On the twenty-ninth of November Kutúzov entered Vílna—his “dear Vílna” -as he called it. Twice during his career Kutúzov had been governor of -Vílna. In that wealthy town, which had not been injured, he found old -friends and associations, besides the comforts of life of which he had -so long been deprived. And he suddenly turned from the cares of army -and state and, as far as the passions that seethed around him allowed, -immersed himself in the quiet life to which he had formerly been -accustomed, as if all that was taking place and all that had still to be -done in the realm of history did not concern him at all. - -Chichagóv, one of the most zealous “cutters-off” and “breakers-up,” who -had first wanted to effect a diversion in Greece and then in Warsaw but -never wished to go where he was sent: Chichagóv, noted for the boldness -with which he spoke to the Emperor, and who considered Kutúzov to be -under an obligation to him because when he was sent to make peace -with Turkey in 1811 independently of Kutúzov, and found that peace had -already been concluded, he admitted to the Emperor that the merit of -securing that peace was really Kutúzov’s; this Chichagóv was the first -to meet Kutúzov at the castle where the latter was to stay. In undress -naval uniform, with a dirk, and holding his cap under his arm, he handed -Kutúzov a garrison report and the keys of the town. The contemptuously -respectful attitude of the younger men to the old man in his dotage was -expressed in the highest degree by the behavior of Chichagóv, who knew -of the accusations that were being directed against Kutúzov. - -When speaking to Chichagóv, Kutúzov incidentally mentioned that the -vehicles packed with china that had been captured from him at Borísov -had been recovered and would be restored to him. - -“You mean to imply that I have nothing to eat out of.... On the -contrary, I can supply you with everything even if you want to give -dinner parties,” warmly replied Chichagóv, who tried by every word he -spoke to prove his own rectitude and therefore imagined Kutúzov to be -animated by the same desire. - -Kutúzov, shrugging his shoulders, replied with his subtle penetrating -smile: “I meant merely to say what I said.” - -Contrary to the Emperor’s wish Kutúzov detained the greater part of the -army at Vílna. Those about him said that he became extraordinarily slack -and physically feeble during his stay in that town. He attended to army -affairs reluctantly, left everything to his generals, and while awaiting -the Emperor’s arrival led a dissipated life. - -Having left Petersburg on the seventh of December with his suite—Count -Tolstóy, Prince Volkónski, Arakchéev, and others—the Emperor reached -Vílna on the eleventh, and in his traveling sleigh drove straight to -the castle. In spite of the severe frost some hundred generals and staff -officers in full parade uniform stood in front of the castle, as well as -a guard of honor of the Semënov regiment. - -A courier who galloped to the castle in advance, in a troyka with three -foam-flecked horses, shouted “Coming!” and Konovnítsyn rushed into the -vestibule to inform Kutúzov, who was waiting in the hall porter’s little -lodge. - -A minute later the old man’s large stout figure in full-dress uniform, -his chest covered with orders and a scarf drawn round his stomach, -waddled out into the porch. He put on his hat with its peaks to the -sides and, holding his gloves in his hand and walking with an effort -sideways down the steps to the level of the street, took in his hand the -report he had prepared for the Emperor. - -There was running to and fro and whispering; another troyka flew -furiously up, and then all eyes were turned on an approaching sleigh -in which the figures of the Emperor and Volkónski could already be -descried. - -From the habit of fifty years all this had a physically agitating effect -on the old general. He carefully and hastily felt himself all over, -readjusted his hat, and pulling himself together drew himself up and, -at the very moment when the Emperor, having alighted from the sleigh, -lifted his eyes to him, handed him the report and began speaking in his -smooth, ingratiating voice. - -The Emperor with a rapid glance scanned Kutúzov from head to foot, -frowned for an instant, but immediately mastering himself went up to the -old man, extended his arms and embraced him. And this embrace too, owing -to a long-standing impression related to his innermost feelings, had its -usual effect on Kutúzov and he gave a sob. - -The Emperor greeted the officers and the Semënov guard, and again -pressing the old man’s hand went with him into the castle. - -When alone with the field marshal the Emperor expressed his -dissatisfaction at the slowness of the pursuit and at the mistakes made -at Krásnoe and the Berëzina, and informed him of his intentions for a -future campaign abroad. Kutúzov made no rejoinder or remark. The same -submissive, expressionless look with which he had listened to the -Emperor’s commands on the field of Austerlitz seven years before settled -on his face now. - -When Kutúzov came out of the study and with lowered head was crossing -the ballroom with his heavy waddling gait, he was arrested by someone’s -voice saying: - -“Your Serene Highness!” - -Kutúzov raised his head and looked for a long while into the eyes of -Count Tolstóy, who stood before him holding a silver salver on which lay -a small object. Kutúzov seemed not to understand what was expected of -him. - -Suddenly he seemed to remember; a scarcely perceptible smile flashed -across his puffy face, and bowing low and respectfully he took the -object that lay on the salver. It was the Order of St. George of the -First Class. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Next day the field marshal gave a dinner and ball which the Emperor -honored by his presence. Kutúzov had received the Order of St. George -of the First Class and the Emperor showed him the highest honors, but -everyone knew of the imperial dissatisfaction with him. The proprieties -were observed and the Emperor was the first to set that example, -but everybody understood that the old man was blameworthy and -good-for-nothing. When Kutúzov, conforming to a custom of Catherine’s -day, ordered the standards that had been captured to be lowered at the -Emperor’s feet on his entering the ballroom, the Emperor made a wry face -and muttered something in which some people caught the words, “the old -comedian.” - -The Emperor’s displeasure with Kutúzov was specially increased at Vílna -by the fact that Kutúzov evidently could not or would not understand the -importance of the coming campaign. - -When on the following morning the Emperor said to the officers assembled -about him: “You have not only saved Russia, you have saved Europe!” they -all understood that the war was not ended. - -Kutúzov alone would not see this and openly expressed his opinion that -no fresh war could improve the position or add to the glory of Russia, -but could only spoil and lower the glorious position that Russia had -gained. He tried to prove to the Emperor the impossibility of levying -fresh troops, spoke of the hardships already endured by the people, of -the possibility of failure and so forth. - -This being the field marshal’s frame of mind he was naturally regarded -as merely a hindrance and obstacle to the impending war. - -To avoid unpleasant encounters with the old man, the natural method was -to do what had been done with him at Austerlitz and with Barclay at -the beginning of the Russian campaign—to transfer the authority to the -Emperor himself, thus cutting the ground from under the commander in -chief’s feet without upsetting the old man by informing him of the -change. - -With this object his staff was gradually reconstructed and its real -strength removed and transferred to the Emperor. Toll, Konovnítsyn, and -Ermólov received fresh appointments. Everyone spoke loudly of the field -marshal’s great weakness and failing health. - -His health had to be bad for his place to be taken away and given to -another. And in fact his health was poor. - -So naturally, simply, and gradually—just as he had come from Turkey to -the Treasury in Petersburg to recruit the militia, and then to the army -when he was needed there—now when his part was played out, Kutúzov’s -place was taken by a new and necessary performer. - -The war of 1812, besides its national significance dear to every Russian -heart, was now to assume another, a European, significance. - -The movement of peoples from west to east was to be succeeded by a -movement of peoples from east to west, and for this fresh war another -leader was necessary, having qualities and views differing from -Kutúzov’s and animated by different motives. - -Alexander I was as necessary for the movement of the peoples from east -to west and for the refixing of national frontiers as Kutúzov had been -for the salvation and glory of Russia. - -Kutúzov did not understand what Europe, the balance of power, or -Napoleon meant. He could not understand it. For the representative of -the Russian people, after the enemy had been destroyed and Russia had -been liberated and raised to the summit of her glory, there was nothing -left to do as a Russian. Nothing remained for the representative of the -national war but to die, and Kutúzov died. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -As generally happens, Pierre did not feel the full effects of the -physical privation and strain he had suffered as prisoner until after -they were over. After his liberation he reached Orël, and on the third -day there, when preparing to go to Kiev, he fell ill and was laid up -for three months. He had what the doctors termed “bilious fever.” But -despite the fact that the doctors treated him, bled him, and gave him -medicines to drink, he recovered. - -Scarcely any impression was left on Pierre’s mind by all that happened -to him from the time of his rescue till his illness. He remembered -only the dull gray weather now rainy and now snowy, internal physical -distress, and pains in his feet and side. He remembered a general -impression of the misfortunes and sufferings of people and of being -worried by the curiosity of officers and generals who questioned him, he -also remembered his difficulty in procuring a conveyance and horses, and -above all he remembered his incapacity to think and feel all that time. -On the day of his rescue he had seen the body of Pétya Rostóv. That same -day he had learned that Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of -Borodinó for more than a month had recently died in the Rostóvs’ house -at Yaroslávl, and Denísov who told him this news also mentioned Hélène’s -death, supposing that Pierre had heard of it long before. All this at -the time seemed merely strange to Pierre: he felt he could not grasp its -significance. Just then he was only anxious to get away as quickly as -possible from places where people were killing one another, to some -peaceful refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think over -all the strange new facts he had learned; but on reaching Orël he -immediately fell ill. When he came to himself after his illness he saw -in attendance on him two of his servants, Terénty and Váska, who had -come from Moscow; and also his cousin the eldest princess, who had been -living on his estate at Eléts and hearing of his rescue and illness had -come to look after him. - -It was only gradually during his convalescence that Pierre lost the -impressions he had become accustomed to during the last few months -and got used to the idea that no one would oblige him to go anywhere -tomorrow, that no one would deprive him of his warm bed, and that he -would be sure to get his dinner, tea, and supper. But for a long time in -his dreams he still saw himself in the conditions of captivity. In the -same way little by little he came to understand the news he had been -told after his rescue, about the death of Prince Andrew, the death of -his wife, and the destruction of the French. - -A joyous feeling of freedom—that complete inalienable freedom natural -to man which he had first experienced at the first halt outside -Moscow—filled Pierre’s soul during his convalescence. He was surprised -to find that this inner freedom, which was independent of external -conditions, now had as it were an additional setting of external -liberty. He was alone in a strange town, without acquaintances. No one -demanded anything of him or sent him anywhere. He had all he wanted: -the thought of his wife which had been a continual torment to him was no -longer there, since she was no more. - -“Oh, how good! How splendid!” said he to himself when a cleanly laid -table was moved up to him with savory beef tea, or when he lay down for -the night on a soft clean bed, or when he remembered that the French had -gone and that his wife was no more. “Oh, how good, how splendid!” - -And by old habit he asked himself the question: “Well, and what then? -What am I going to do?” And he immediately gave himself the answer: -“Well, I shall live. Ah, how splendid!” - -The very question that had formerly tormented him, the thing he had -continually sought to find—the aim of life—no longer existed for -him now. That search for the aim of life had not merely disappeared -temporarily—he felt that it no longer existed for him and could not -present itself again. And this very absence of an aim gave him the -complete, joyous sense of freedom which constituted his happiness at -this time. - -He could not see an aim, for he now had faith—not faith in any kind of -rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an ever-living, ever-manifest -God. Formerly he had sought Him in aims he set himself. That search for -an aim had been simply a search for God, and suddenly in his captivity -he had learned not by words or reasoning but by direct feeling what his -nurse had told him long ago: that God is here and everywhere. In his -captivity he had learned that in Karatáev God was greater, more infinite -and unfathomable than in the Architect of the Universe recognized by the -Freemasons. He felt like a man who after straining his eyes to see into -the far distance finds what he sought at his very feet. All his life -he had looked over the heads of the men around him, when he should have -merely looked in front of him without straining his eyes. - -In the past he had never been able to find that great inscrutable -infinite something. He had only felt that it must exist somewhere and -had looked for it. In everything near and comprehensible he had seen -only what was limited, petty, commonplace, and senseless. He had -equipped himself with a mental telescope and looked into remote space, -where petty worldliness hiding itself in misty distance had seemed to -him great and infinite merely because it was not clearly seen. And such -had European life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy, and philanthropy -seemed to him. But even then, at moments of weakness as he had accounted -them, his mind had penetrated to those distances and he had there seen -the same pettiness, worldliness, and senselessness. Now, however, he -had learned to see the great, eternal, and infinite in everything, and -therefore—to see it and enjoy its contemplation—he naturally threw away -the telescope through which he had till now gazed over men’s heads, and -gladly regarded the ever-changing, eternally great, unfathomable, and -infinite life around him. And the closer he looked the more tranquil and -happy he became. That dreadful question, “What for?” which had formerly -destroyed all his mental edifices, no longer existed for him. To that -question, “What for?” a simple answer was now always ready in his soul: -“Because there is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls -from a man’s head.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -In external ways Pierre had hardly changed at all. In appearance he -was just what he used to be. As before he was absent-minded and seemed -occupied not with what was before his eyes but with something special -of his own. The difference between his former and present self was that -formerly when he did not grasp what lay before him or was said to -him, he had puckered his forehead painfully as if vainly seeking to -distinguish something at a distance. At present he still forgot what was -said to him and still did not see what was before his eyes, but he now -looked with a scarcely perceptible and seemingly ironic smile at what -was before him and listened to what was said, though evidently seeing -and hearing something quite different. Formerly he had appeared to be -a kindhearted but unhappy man, and so people had been inclined to avoid -him. Now a smile at the joy of life always played round his lips, and -sympathy for others, shone in his eyes with a questioning look as to -whether they were as contented as he was, and people felt pleased by his -presence. - -Previously he had talked a great deal, grew excited when he talked, and -seldom listened; now he was seldom carried away in conversation and -knew how to listen so that people readily told him their most intimate -secrets. - -The princess, who had never liked Pierre and had been particularly -hostile to him since she had felt herself under obligations to him after -the old count’s death, now after staying a short time in Orël—where she -had come intending to show Pierre that in spite of his ingratitude she -considered it her duty to nurse him—felt to her surprise and vexation -that she had become fond of him. Pierre did not in any way seek her -approval, he merely studied her with interest. Formerly she had felt -that he regarded her with indifference and irony, and so had shrunk into -herself as she did with others and had shown him only the combative side -of her nature; but now he seemed to be trying to understand the most -intimate places of her heart, and, mistrustfully at first but afterwards -gratefully, she let him see the hidden, kindly sides of her character. - -The most cunning man could not have crept into her confidence more -successfully, evoking memories of the best times of her youth and -showing sympathy with them. Yet Pierre’s cunning consisted simply in -finding pleasure in drawing out the human qualities of the embittered, -hard, and (in her own way) proud princess. - -“Yes, he is a very, very kind man when he is not under the influence of -bad people but of people such as myself,” thought she. - -His servants too—Terénty and Váska—in their own way noticed the change -that had taken place in Pierre. They considered that he had become much -“simpler.” Terénty, when he had helped him undress and wished him good -night, often lingered with his master’s boots in his hands and clothes -over his arm, to see whether he would not start a talk. And Pierre, -noticing that Terénty wanted a chat, generally kept him there. - -“Well, tell me... now, how did you get food?” he would ask. - -And Terénty would begin talking of the destruction of Moscow, and of -the old count, and would stand for a long time holding the clothes and -talking, or sometimes listening to Pierre’s stories, and then would go -out into the hall with a pleasant sense of intimacy with his master and -affection for him. - -The doctor who attended Pierre and visited him every day, though he -considered it his duty as a doctor to pose as a man whose every moment -was of value to suffering humanity, would sit for hours with Pierre -telling him his favorite anecdotes and his observations on the -characters of his patients in general, and especially of the ladies. - -“It’s a pleasure to talk to a man like that; he is not like our -provincials,” he would say. - -There were several prisoners from the French army in Orël, and the -doctor brought one of them, a young Italian, to see Pierre. - -This officer began visiting Pierre, and the princess used to make fun of -the tenderness the Italian expressed for him. - -The Italian seemed happy only when he could come to see Pierre, talk -with him, tell him about his past, his life at home, and his love, -and pour out to him his indignation against the French and especially -against Napoleon. - -“If all Russians are in the least like you, it is sacrilege to fight -such a nation,” he said to Pierre. “You, who have suffered so from the -French, do not even feel animosity toward them.” - -Pierre had evoked the passionate affection of the Italian merely by -evoking the best side of his nature and taking a pleasure in so doing. - -During the last days of Pierre’s stay in Orël his old Masonic -acquaintance Count Willarski, who had introduced him to the lodge in -1807, came to see him. Willarski was married to a Russian heiress who -had a large estate in Orël province, and he occupied a temporary post in -the commissariat department in that town. - -Hearing that Bezúkhov was in Orël, Willarski, though they had never been -intimate, came to him with the professions of friendship and intimacy -that people who meet in a desert generally express for one another. -Willarski felt dull in Orël and was pleased to meet a man of his own -circle and, as he supposed, of similar interests. - -But to his surprise Willarski soon noticed that Pierre had lagged much -behind the times, and had sunk, as he expressed it to himself, into -apathy and egotism. - -“You are letting yourself go, my dear fellow,” he said. - -But for all that Willarski found it pleasanter now than it had been -formerly to be with Pierre, and came to see him every day. To Pierre as -he looked at and listened to Willarski, it seemed strange to think that -he had been like that himself but a short time before. - -Willarski was a married man with a family, busy with his family affairs, -his wife’s affairs, and his official duties. He regarded all these -occupations as hindrances to life, and considered that they were all -contemptible because their aim was the welfare of himself and his -family. Military, administrative, political, and Masonic interests -continually absorbed his attention. And Pierre, without trying to -change the other’s views and without condemning him, but with the quiet, -joyful, and amused smile now habitual to him, was interested in this -strange though very familiar phenomenon. - -There was a new feature in Pierre’s relations with Willarski, with the -princess, with the doctor, and with all the people he now met, which -gained for him the general good will. This was his acknowledgment of -the impossibility of changing a man’s convictions by words, and his -recognition of the possibility of everyone thinking, feeling, and seeing -things each from his own point of view. This legitimate peculiarity of -each individual which used to excite and irritate Pierre now became a -basis of the sympathy he felt for, and the interest he took in, other -people. The difference, and sometimes complete contradiction, between -men’s opinions and their lives, and between one man and another, pleased -him and drew from him an amused and gentle smile. - -In practical matters Pierre unexpectedly felt within himself a center -of gravity he had previously lacked. Formerly all pecuniary questions, -especially requests for money to which, as an extremely wealthy man, -he was very exposed, produced in him a state of hopeless agitation and -perplexity. “To give or not to give?” he had asked himself. “I have -it and he needs it. But someone else needs it still more. Who needs it -most? And perhaps they are both impostors?” In the old days he had been -unable to find a way out of all these surmises and had given to all -who asked as long as he had anything to give. Formerly he had been in a -similar state of perplexity with regard to every question concerning his -property, when one person advised one thing and another something else. - -Now to his surprise he found that he no longer felt either doubt or -perplexity about these questions. There was now within him a judge who -by some rule unknown to him decided what should or should not be done. - -He was as indifferent as heretofore to money matters, but now he felt -certain of what ought and what ought not to be done. The first time he -had recourse to his new judge was when a French prisoner, a colonel, -came to him and, after talking a great deal about his exploits, -concluded by making what amounted to a demand that Pierre should give -him four thousand francs to send to his wife and children. Pierre -refused without the least difficulty or effort, and was afterwards -surprised how simple and easy had been what used to appear so -insurmountably difficult. At the same time that he refused the colonel’s -demand he made up his mind that he must have recourse to artifice when -leaving Orël, to induce the Italian officer to accept some money of -which he was evidently in need. A further proof to Pierre of his own -more settled outlook on practical matters was furnished by his decision -with regard to his wife’s debts and to the rebuilding of his houses in -and near Moscow. - -His head steward came to him at Orël and Pierre reckoned up with him his -diminished income. The burning of Moscow had cost him, according to the -head steward’s calculation, about two million rubles. - -To console Pierre for these losses the head steward gave him an estimate -showing that despite these losses his income would not be diminished but -would even be increased if he refused to pay his wife’s debts which he -was under no obligation to meet, and did not rebuild his Moscow house -and the country house on his Moscow estate, which had cost him eighty -thousand rubles a year and brought in nothing. - -“Yes, of course that’s true,” said Pierre with a cheerful smile. “I -don’t need all that at all. By being ruined I have become much richer.” - -But in January Savélich came from Moscow and gave him an account of the -state of things there, and spoke of the estimate an architect had made -of the cost of rebuilding the town and country houses, speaking of this -as of a settled matter. About the same time he received letters from -Prince Vasíli and other Petersburg acquaintances speaking of his wife’s -debts. And Pierre decided that the steward’s proposals which had so -pleased him were wrong and that he must go to Petersburg and settle his -wife’s affairs and must rebuild in Moscow. Why this was necessary he -did not know, but he knew for certain that it was necessary. His income -would be reduced by three fourths, but he felt it must be done. - -Willarski was going to Moscow and they agreed to travel together. - -During the whole time of his convalescence in Orël Pierre had -experienced a feeling of joy, freedom, and life; but when during his -journey he found himself in the open world and saw hundreds of new -faces, that feeling was intensified. Throughout his journey he felt like -a schoolboy on holiday. Everyone—the stagecoach driver, the post-house -overseers, the peasants on the roads and in the villages—had a new -significance for him. The presence and remarks of Willarski who -continually deplored the ignorance and poverty of Russia and its -backwardness compared with Europe only heightened Pierre’s pleasure. -Where Willarski saw deadness Pierre saw an extraordinary strength and -vitality—the strength which in that vast space amid the snows maintained -the life of this original, peculiar, and unique people. He did not -contradict Willarski and even seemed to agree with him—an apparent -agreement being the simplest way to avoid discussions that could lead to -nothing—and he smiled joyfully as he listened to him. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -It would be difficult to explain why and whither ants whose heap -has been destroyed are hurrying: some from the heap dragging bits of -rubbish, larvae, and corpses, others back to the heap, or why they -jostle, overtake one another, and fight, and it would be equally -difficult to explain what caused the Russians after the departure of the -French to throng to the place that had formerly been Moscow. But when -we watch the ants round their ruined heap, the tenacity, energy, and -immense number of the delving insects prove that despite the destruction -of the heap, something indestructible, which though intangible is the -real strength of the colony, still exists; and similarly, though in -Moscow in the month of October there was no government and no churches, -shrines, riches, or houses—it was still the Moscow it had been in -August. All was destroyed, except something intangible yet powerful and -indestructible. - -The motives of those who thronged from all sides to Moscow after it had -been cleared of the enemy were most diverse and personal, and at first -for the most part savage and brutal. One motive only they all had in -common: a desire to get to the place that had been called Moscow, to -apply their activities there. - -Within a week Moscow already had fifteen thousand inhabitants, in a -fortnight twenty-five thousand, and so on. By the autumn of 1813 the -number, ever increasing and increasing, exceeded what it had been in -1812. - -The first Russians to enter Moscow were the Cossacks of Wintzingerode’s -detachment, peasants from the adjacent villages, and residents who had -fled from Moscow and had been hiding in its vicinity. The Russians who -entered Moscow, finding it plundered, plundered it in their turn. They -continued what the French had begun. Trains of peasant carts came to -Moscow to carry off to the villages what had been abandoned in the -ruined houses and the streets. The Cossacks carried off what they could -to their camps, and the householders seized all they could find in other -houses and moved it to their own, pretending that it was their property. - -But the first plunderers were followed by a second and a third -contingent, and with increasing numbers plundering became more and more -difficult and assumed more definite forms. - -The French found Moscow abandoned but with all the organizations of -regular life, with diverse branches of commerce and craftsmanship, with -luxury, and governmental and religious institutions. These forms were -lifeless but still existed. There were bazaars, shops, warehouses, -market stalls, granaries—for the most part still stocked with goods—and -there were factories and workshops, palaces and wealthy houses filled -with luxuries, hospitals, prisons, government offices, churches, and -cathedrals. The longer the French remained the more these forms of town -life perished, until finally all was merged into one confused, lifeless -scene of plunder. - -The more the plundering by the French continued, the more both the -wealth of Moscow and the strength of its plunderers was destroyed. But -plundering by the Russians, with which the reoccupation of the city -began, had an opposite effect: the longer it continued and the greater -the number of people taking part in it the more rapidly was the wealth -of the city and its regular life restored. - -Besides the plunderers, very various people, some drawn by curiosity, -some by official duties, some by self-interest—house owners, clergy, -officials of all kinds, tradesmen, artisans, and peasants—streamed into -Moscow as blood flows to the heart. - -Within a week the peasants who came with empty carts to carry off -plunder were stopped by the authorities and made to cart the corpses -out of the town. Other peasants, having heard of their comrades’ -discomfiture, came to town bringing rye, oats, and hay, and beat down -one another’s prices to below what they had been in former days. Gangs -of carpenters hoping for high pay arrived in Moscow every day, and on -all sides logs were being hewn, new houses built, and old, charred ones -repaired. Tradesmen began trading in booths. Cookshops and taverns were -opened in partially burned houses. The clergy resumed the services -in many churches that had not been burned. Donors contributed -Church property that had been stolen. Government clerks set up their -baize-covered tables and their pigeonholes of documents in small rooms. -The higher authorities and the police organized the distribution of -goods left behind by the French. The owners of houses in which much -property had been left, brought there from other houses, complained of -the injustice of taking everything to the Faceted Palace in the Krémlin; -others insisted that as the French had gathered things from different -houses into this or that house, it would be unfair to allow its owner to -keep all that was found there. They abused the police and bribed them, -made out estimates at ten times their value for government stores that -had perished in the fire, and demanded relief. And Count Rostopchín -wrote proclamations. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -At the end of January Pierre went to Moscow and stayed in an annex of -his house which had not been burned. He called on Count Rostopchín and -on some acquaintances who were back in Moscow, and he intended to leave -for Petersburg two days later. Everybody was celebrating the victory, -everything was bubbling with life in the ruined but reviving city. -Everyone was pleased to see Pierre, everyone wished to meet him, and -everyone questioned him about what he had seen. Pierre felt particularly -well disposed toward them all, but was now instinctively on his -guard for fear of binding himself in any way. To all questions put to -him—whether important or quite trifling—such as: Where would he live? -Was he going to rebuild? When was he going to Petersburg and would he -mind taking a parcel for someone?—he replied: “Yes, perhaps,” or, “I -think so,” and so on. - -He had heard that the Rostóvs were at Kostromá but the thought of -Natásha seldom occurred to him. If it did it was only as a pleasant -memory of the distant past. He felt himself not only free from social -obligations but also from that feeling which, it seemed to him, he had -aroused in himself. - -On the third day after his arrival he heard from the Drubetskóys that -Princess Mary was in Moscow. The death, sufferings, and last days of -Prince Andrew had often occupied Pierre’s thoughts and now recurred to -him with fresh vividness. Having heard at dinner that Princess Mary -was in Moscow and living in her house—which had not been burned—in -Vozdvízhenka Street, he drove that same evening to see her. - -On his way to the house Pierre kept thinking of Prince Andrew, of their -friendship, of his various meetings with him, and especially of the last -one at Borodinó. - -“Is it possible that he died in the bitter frame of mind he was then in? -Is it possible that the meaning of life was not disclosed to him -before he died?” thought Pierre. He recalled Karatáev and his death and -involuntarily began to compare these two men, so different, and yet so -similar in that they had both lived and both died and in the love he -felt for both of them. - -Pierre drove up to the house of the old prince in a most serious mood. -The house had escaped the fire; it showed signs of damage but its -general aspect was unchanged. The old footman, who met Pierre with a -stern face as if wishing to make the visitor feel that the absence -of the old prince had not disturbed the order of things in the house, -informed him that the princess had gone to her own apartments, and that -she received on Sundays. - -“Announce me. Perhaps she will see me,” said Pierre. - -“Yes, sir,” said the man. “Please step into the portrait gallery.” - -A few minutes later the footman returned with Dessalles, who brought -word from the princess that she would be very glad to see Pierre if he -would excuse her want of ceremony and come upstairs to her apartment. - -In a rather low room lit by one candle sat the princess and with her -another person dressed in black. Pierre remembered that the princess -always had lady companions, but who they were and what they were like -he never knew or remembered. “This must be one of her companions,” he -thought, glancing at the lady in the black dress. - -The princess rose quickly to meet him and held out her hand. - -“Yes,” she said, looking at his altered face after he had kissed her -hand, “so this is how we meet again. He spoke of you even at the very -last,” she went on, turning her eyes from Pierre to her companion with a -shyness that surprised him for an instant. - -“I was so glad to hear of your safety. It was the first piece of good -news we had received for a long time.” - -Again the princess glanced round at her companion with even more -uneasiness in her manner and was about to add something, but Pierre -interrupted her. - -“Just imagine—I knew nothing about him!” said he. “I thought he had been -killed. All I know I heard at second hand from others. I only know that -he fell in with the Rostóvs.... What a strange coincidence!” - -Pierre spoke rapidly and with animation. He glanced once at the -companion’s face, saw her attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and, -as often happens when one is talking, felt somehow that this companion -in the black dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who would not -hinder his conversing freely with Princess Mary. - -But when he mentioned the Rostóvs, Princess Mary’s face expressed still -greater embarrassment. She again glanced rapidly from Pierre’s face to -that of the lady in the black dress and said: - -“Do you really not recognize her?” - -Pierre looked again at the companion’s pale, delicate face with its -black eyes and peculiar mouth, and something near to him, long forgotten -and more than sweet, looked at him from those attentive eyes. - -“But no, it can’t be!” he thought. “This stern, thin, pale face that -looks so much older! It cannot be she. It merely reminds me of her.” -But at that moment Princess Mary said, “Natásha!” And with difficulty, -effort, and stress, like the opening of a door grown rusty on its -hinges, a smile appeared on the face with the attentive eyes, and from -that opening door came a breath of fragrance which suffused Pierre with -a happiness he had long forgotten and of which he had not even been -thinking—especially at that moment. It suffused him, seized him, and -enveloped him completely. When she smiled doubt was no longer possible, -it was Natásha and he loved her. - -At that moment Pierre involuntarily betrayed to her, to Princess Mary, -and above all to himself, a secret of which he himself had been unaware. -He flushed joyfully yet with painful distress. He tried to hide his -agitation. But the more he tried to hide it the more clearly—clearer -than any words could have done—did he betray to himself, to her, and to -Princess Mary that he loved her. - -“No, it’s only the unexpectedness of it,” thought Pierre. But as soon as -he tried to continue the conversation he had begun with Princess Mary he -again glanced at Natásha, and a still-deeper flush suffused his face and -a still-stronger agitation of mingled joy and fear seized his soul. He -became confused in his speech and stopped in the middle of what he was -saying. - -Pierre had failed to notice Natásha because he did not at all expect to -see her there, but he had failed to recognize her because the change in -her since he last saw her was immense. She had grown thin and pale, but -that was not what made her unrecognizable; she was unrecognizable at the -moment he entered because on that face whose eyes had always shone with -a suppressed smile of the joy of life, now when he first entered and -glanced at her there was not the least shadow of a smile: only her eyes -were kindly attentive and sadly interrogative. - -Pierre’s confusion was not reflected by any confusion on Natásha’s part, -but only by the pleasure that just perceptibly lit up her whole face. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -“She has come to stay with me,” said Princess Mary. “The count and -countess will be here in a few days. The countess is in a dreadful -state; but it was necessary for Natásha herself to see a doctor. They -insisted on her coming with me.” - -“Yes, is there a family free from sorrow now?” said Pierre, addressing -Natásha. “You know it happened the very day we were rescued. I saw him. -What a delightful boy he was!” - -Natásha looked at him, and by way of answer to his words her eyes -widened and lit up. - -“What can one say or think of as a consolation?” said Pierre. “Nothing! -Why had such a splendid boy, so full of life, to die?” - -“Yes, in these days it would be hard to live without faith...” remarked -Princess Mary. - -“Yes, yes, that is really true,” Pierre hastily interrupted her. - -“Why is it true?” Natásha asked, looking attentively into Pierre’s eyes. - -“How can you ask why?” said Princess Mary. “The thought alone of what -awaits...” - -Natásha without waiting for Princess Mary to finish again looked -inquiringly at Pierre. - -“And because,” Pierre continued, “only one who believes that there is a -God ruling us can bear a loss such as hers and... yours.” - -Natásha had already opened her mouth to speak but suddenly stopped. -Pierre hurriedly turned away from her and again addressed Princess Mary, -asking about his friend’s last days. - -Pierre’s confusion had now almost vanished, but at the same time he felt -that his freedom had also completely gone. He felt that there was now a -judge of his every word and action whose judgment mattered more to -him than that of all the rest of the world. As he spoke now he was -considering what impression his words would make on Natásha. He did -not purposely say things to please her, but whatever he was saying he -regarded from her standpoint. - -Princess Mary—reluctantly as is usual in such cases—began telling of -the condition in which she had found Prince Andrew. But Pierre’s face -quivering with emotion, his questions and his eager restless expression, -gradually compelled her to go into details which she feared to recall -for her own sake. - -“Yes, yes, and so...?” Pierre kept saying as he leaned toward her with -his whole body and eagerly listened to her story. “Yes, yes... so he -grew tranquil and softened? With all his soul he had always sought -one thing—to be perfectly good—so he could not be afraid of death. The -faults he had—if he had any—were not of his making. So he did soften?... -What a happy thing that he saw you again,” he added, suddenly turning to -Natásha and looking at her with eyes full of tears. - -Natásha’s face twitched. She frowned and lowered her eyes for a moment. -She hesitated for an instant whether to speak or not. - -“Yes, that was happiness,” she then said in her quiet voice with its -deep chest notes. “For me it certainly was happiness.” She paused. “And -he... he... he said he was wishing for it at the very moment I entered -the room....” - -Natásha’s voice broke. She blushed, pressed her clasped hands on her -knees, and then controlling herself with an evident effort lifted her -head and began to speak rapidly. - -“We knew nothing of it when we started from Moscow. I did not dare to -ask about him. Then suddenly Sónya told me he was traveling with us. I -had no idea and could not imagine what state he was in, all I wanted was -to see him and be with him,” she said, trembling, and breathing quickly. - -And not letting them interrupt her she went on to tell what she had -never yet mentioned to anyone—all she had lived through during those -three weeks of their journey and life at Yaroslávl. - -Pierre listened to her with lips parted and eyes fixed upon her full of -tears. As he listened he did not think of Prince Andrew, nor of death, -nor of what she was telling. He listened to her and felt only pity for -her, for what she was suffering now while she was speaking. - -Princess Mary, frowning in her effort to hold back her tears, sat beside -Natásha, and heard for the first time the story of those last days of -her brother’s and Natásha’s love. - -Evidently Natásha needed to tell that painful yet joyful tale. - -She spoke, mingling most trifling details with the intimate secrets of -her soul, and it seemed as if she could never finish. Several times she -repeated the same thing twice. - -Dessalles’ voice was heard outside the door asking whether little -Nicholas might come in to say good night. - -“Well, that’s all—everything,” said Natásha. - -She got up quickly just as Nicholas entered, almost ran to the door -which was hidden by curtains, struck her head against it, and rushed -from the room with a moan either of pain or sorrow. - -Pierre gazed at the door through which she had disappeared and did not -understand why he suddenly felt all alone in the world. - -Princess Mary roused him from his abstraction by drawing his attention -to her nephew who had entered the room. - -At that moment of emotional tenderness young Nicholas’ face, which -resembled his father’s, affected Pierre so much that when he had kissed -the boy he got up quickly, took out his handkerchief, and went to the -window. He wished to take leave of Princess Mary, but she would not let -him go. - -“No, Natásha and I sometimes don’t go to sleep till after two, so please -don’t go. I will order supper. Go downstairs, we will come immediately.” - -Before Pierre left the room Princess Mary told him: “This is the first -time she has talked of him like that.” - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -Pierre was shown into the large, brightly lit dining room; a few minutes -later he heard footsteps and Princess Mary entered with Natásha. Natásha -was calm, though a severe and grave expression had again settled on her -face. They all three of them now experienced that feeling of awkwardness -which usually follows after a serious and heartfelt talk. It is -impossible to go back to the same conversation, to talk of trifles is -awkward, and yet the desire to speak is there and silence seems like -affectation. They went silently to table. The footmen drew back the -chairs and pushed them up again. Pierre unfolded his cold table napkin -and, resolving to break the silence, looked at Natásha and at Princess -Mary. They had evidently both formed the same resolution; the eyes of -both shone with satisfaction and a confession that besides sorrow life -also has joy. - -“Do you take vodka, Count?” asked Princess Mary, and those words -suddenly banished the shadows of the past. “Now tell us about yourself,” -said she. “One hears such improbable wonders about you.” - -“Yes,” replied Pierre with the smile of mild irony now habitual to him. -“They even tell me wonders I myself never dreamed of! Mary Abrámovna -invited me to her house and kept telling me what had happened, or ought -to have happened, to me. Stepán Stepánych also instructed me how I ought -to tell of my experiences. In general I have noticed that it is very -easy to be an interesting man (I am an interesting man now); people -invite me out and tell me all about myself.” - -Natásha smiled and was on the point of speaking. - -“We have been told,” Princess Mary interrupted her, “that you lost two -millions in Moscow. Is that true?” - -“But I am three times as rich as before,” returned Pierre. - -Though the position was now altered by his decision to pay his wife’s -debts and to rebuild his houses, Pierre still maintained that he had -become three times as rich as before. - -“What I have certainly gained is freedom,” he began seriously, but did -not continue, noticing that this theme was too egotistic. - -“And are you building?” - -“Yes. Savélich says I must!” - -“Tell me, you did not know of the countess’ death when you decided to -remain in Moscow?” asked Princess Mary and immediately blushed, noticing -that her question, following his mention of freedom, ascribed to his -words a meaning he had perhaps not intended. - -“No,” answered Pierre, evidently not considering awkward the meaning -Princess Mary had given to his words. “I heard of it in Orël and you -cannot imagine how it shocked me. We were not an exemplary couple,” he -added quickly, glancing at Natásha and noticing on her face curiosity as -to how he would speak of his wife, “but her death shocked me terribly. -When two people quarrel they are always both in fault, and one’s own -guilt suddenly becomes terribly serious when the other is no longer -alive. And then such a death... without friends and without consolation! -I am very, very sorry for her,” he concluded, and was pleased to notice -a look of glad approval on Natásha’s face. - -“Yes, and so you are once more an eligible bachelor,” said Princess -Mary. - -Pierre suddenly flushed crimson and for a long time tried not to look -at Natásha. When he ventured to glance her way again her face was cold, -stern, and he fancied even contemptuous. - -“And did you really see and speak to Napoleon, as we have been told?” -said Princess Mary. - -Pierre laughed. - -“No, not once! Everybody seems to imagine that being taken prisoner -means being Napoleon’s guest. Not only did I never see him but I heard -nothing about him—I was in much lower company!” - -Supper was over, and Pierre who at first declined to speak about his -captivity was gradually led on to do so. - -“But it’s true that you remained in Moscow to kill Napoleon?” Natásha -asked with a slight smile. “I guessed it then when we met at the -Súkharev tower, do you remember?” - -Pierre admitted that it was true, and from that was gradually led by -Princess Mary’s questions and especially by Natásha’s into giving a -detailed account of his adventures. - -At first he spoke with the amused and mild irony now customary with -him toward everybody and especially toward himself, but when he came -to describe the horrors and sufferings he had witnessed he was -unconsciously carried away and began speaking with the suppressed -emotion of a man re-experiencing in recollection strong impressions he -has lived through. - -Princess Mary with a gentle smile looked now at Pierre and now at -Natásha. In the whole narrative she saw only Pierre and his goodness. -Natásha, leaning on her elbow, the expression of her face constantly -changing with the narrative, watched Pierre with an attention that never -wandered—evidently herself experiencing all that he described. Not only -her look, but her exclamations and the brief questions she put, showed -Pierre that she understood just what he wished to convey. It was clear -that she understood not only what he said but also what he wished to, -but could not, express in words. The account Pierre gave of the incident -with the child and the woman for protecting whom he was arrested was -this: “It was an awful sight—children abandoned, some in the flames... -One was snatched out before my eyes... and there were women who had -their things snatched off and their earrings torn out...” he flushed and -grew confused. “Then a patrol arrived and all the men—all those who were -not looting, that is—were arrested, and I among them.” - -“I am sure you’re not telling us everything; I am sure you did -something...” said Natásha and pausing added, “something fine?” - -Pierre continued. When he spoke of the execution he wanted to pass -over the horrible details, but Natásha insisted that he should not omit -anything. - -Pierre began to tell about Karatáev, but paused. By this time he had -risen from the table and was pacing the room, Natásha following him with -her eyes. Then he added: - -“No, you can’t understand what I learned from that illiterate man—that -simple fellow.” - -“Yes, yes, go on!” said Natásha. “Where is he?” - -“They killed him almost before my eyes.” - -And Pierre, his voice trembling continually, went on to tell of the last -days of their retreat, of Karatáev’s illness and his death. - -He told of his adventures as he had never yet recalled them. He now, as -it were, saw a new meaning in all he had gone through. Now that he was -telling it all to Natásha he experienced that pleasure which a man has -when women listen to him—not clever women who when listening either try -to remember what they hear to enrich their minds and when opportunity -offers to retell it, or who wish to adopt it to some thought of their -own and promptly contribute their own clever comments prepared in their -little mental workshop—but the pleasure given by real women gifted with -a capacity to select and absorb the very best a man shows of himself. -Natásha without knowing it was all attention: she did not lose a word, -no single quiver in Pierre’s voice, no look, no twitch of a muscle in -his face, nor a single gesture. She caught the unfinished word in its -flight and took it straight into her open heart, divining the secret -meaning of all Pierre’s mental travail. - -Princess Mary understood his story and sympathized with him, but she -now saw something else that absorbed all her attention. She saw the -possibility of love and happiness between Natásha and Pierre, and the -first thought of this filled her heart with gladness. - -It was three o’clock in the morning. The footmen came in with sad and -stern faces to change the candles, but no one noticed them. - -Pierre finished his story. Natásha continued to look at him intently -with bright, attentive, and animated eyes, as if trying to understand -something more which he had perhaps left untold. Pierre in shamefaced -and happy confusion glanced occasionally at her, and tried to think what -to say next to introduce a fresh subject. Princess Mary was silent. It -occurred to none of them that it was three o’clock and time to go to -bed. - -“People speak of misfortunes and sufferings,” remarked Pierre, “but if -at this moment I were asked: ‘Would you rather be what you were before -you were taken prisoner, or go through all this again?’ then for -heaven’s sake let me again have captivity and horseflesh! We imagine -that when we are thrown out of our usual ruts all is lost, but it is -only then that what is new and good begins. While there is life there is -happiness. There is much, much before us. I say this to you,” he added, -turning to Natásha. - -“Yes, yes,” she said, answering something quite different. “I too should -wish nothing but to relive it all from the beginning.” - -Pierre looked intently at her. - -“Yes, and nothing more,” said Natásha. - -“It’s not true, not true!” cried Pierre. “I am not to blame for being -alive and wishing to live—nor you either.” - -Suddenly Natásha bent her head, covered her face with her hands, and -began to cry. - -“What is it, Natásha?” said Princess Mary. - -“Nothing, nothing.” She smiled at Pierre through her tears. “Good night! -It is time for bed.” - -Pierre rose and took his leave. - - -Princess Mary and Natásha met as usual in the bedroom. They talked of -what Pierre had told them. Princess Mary did not express her opinion of -Pierre nor did Natásha speak of him. - -“Well, good night, Mary!” said Natásha. “Do you know, I am often afraid -that by not speaking of him” (she meant Prince Andrew) “for fear of not -doing justice to our feelings, we forget him.” - -Princess Mary sighed deeply and thereby acknowledged the justice of -Natásha’s remark, but she did not express agreement in words. - -“Is it possible to forget?” said she. - -“It did me so much good to tell all about it today. It was hard and -painful, but good, very good!” said Natásha. “I am sure he really loved -him. That is why I told him... Was it all right?” she added, suddenly -blushing. - -“To tell Pierre? Oh, yes. What a splendid man he is!” said Princess -Mary. - -“Do you know, Mary...” Natásha suddenly said with a mischievous smile -such as Princess Mary had not seen on her face for a long time, “he has -somehow grown so clean, smooth, and fresh—as if he had just come out of -a Russian bath; do you understand? Out of a moral bath. Isn’t it true?” - -“Yes,” replied Princess Mary. “He has greatly improved.” - -“With a short coat and his hair cropped; just as if, well, just as if he -had come straight from the bath... Papa used to...” - -“I understand why he” (Prince Andrew) “liked no one so much as him,” -said Princess Mary. - -“Yes, and yet he is quite different. They say men are friends when they -are quite different. That must be true. Really he is quite unlike him—in -everything.” - -“Yes, but he’s wonderful.” - -“Well, good night,” said Natásha. - -And the same mischievous smile lingered for a long time on her face as -if it had been forgotten there. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -It was a long time before Pierre could fall asleep that night. He paced -up and down his room, now turning his thoughts on a difficult problem -and frowning, now suddenly shrugging his shoulders and wincing, and now -smiling happily. - -He was thinking of Prince Andrew, of Natásha, and of their love, at one -moment jealous of her past, then reproaching himself for that feeling. -It was already six in the morning and he still paced up and down the -room. - -“Well, what’s to be done if it cannot be avoided? What’s to be done? -Evidently it has to be so,” said he to himself, and hastily undressing -he got into bed, happy and agitated but free from hesitation or -indecision. - -“Strange and impossible as such happiness seems, I must do everything -that she and I may be man and wife,” he told himself. - -A few days previously Pierre had decided to go to Petersburg on the -Friday. When he awoke on the Thursday, Savélich came to ask him about -packing for the journey. - -“What, to Petersburg? What is Petersburg? Who is there in Petersburg?” -he asked involuntarily, though only to himself. “Oh, yes, long ago -before this happened I did for some reason mean to go to Petersburg,” -he reflected. “Why? But perhaps I shall go. What a good fellow he is and -how attentive, and how he remembers everything,” he thought, looking at -Savélich’s old face, “and what a pleasant smile he has!” - -“Well, Savélich, do you still not wish to accept your freedom?” Pierre -asked him. - -“What’s the good of freedom to me, your excellency? We lived under the -late count—the kingdom of heaven be his!—and we have lived under you -too, without ever being wronged.” - -“And your children?” - -“The children will live just the same. With such masters one can live.” - -“But what about my heirs?” said Pierre. “Supposing I suddenly marry... -it might happen,” he added with an involuntary smile. - -“If I may take the liberty, your excellency, it would be a good thing.” - -“How easy he thinks it,” thought Pierre. “He doesn’t know how terrible -it is and how dangerous. Too soon or too late... it is terrible!” - -“So what are your orders? Are you starting tomorrow?” asked Savélich. - -“No, I’ll put it off for a bit. I’ll tell you later. You must forgive -the trouble I have put you to,” said Pierre, and seeing Savélich smile, -he thought: “But how strange it is that he should not know that now -there is no Petersburg for me, and that that must be settled first of -all! But probably he knows it well enough and is only pretending. Shall -I have a talk with him and see what he thinks?” Pierre reflected. “No, -another time.” - -At breakfast Pierre told the princess, his cousin, that he had been to -see Princess Mary the day before and had there met—“Whom do you think? -Natásha Rostóva!” - -The princess seemed to see nothing more extraordinary in that than if he -had seen Anna Semënovna. - -“Do you know her?” asked Pierre. - -“I have seen the princess,” she replied. “I heard that they were -arranging a match for her with young Rostóv. It would be a very good -thing for the Rostóvs, they are said to be utterly ruined.” - -“No; I mean do you know Natásha Rostóva?” - -“I heard about that affair of hers at the time. It was a great pity.” - -“No, she either doesn’t understand or is pretending,” thought Pierre. -“Better not say anything to her either.” - -The princess too had prepared provisions for Pierre’s journey. - -“How kind they all are,” thought Pierre. “What is surprising is that -they should trouble about these things now when it can no longer be of -interest to them. And all for me!” - -On the same day the Chief of Police came to Pierre, inviting him to send -a representative to the Faceted Palace to recover things that were to be -returned to their owners that day. - -“And this man too,” thought Pierre, looking into the face of the Chief -of Police. “What a fine, good-looking officer and how kind. Fancy -bothering about such trifles now! And they actually say he is not honest -and takes bribes. What nonsense! Besides, why shouldn’t he take bribes? -That’s the way he was brought up, and everybody does it. But what a -kind, pleasant face and how he smiles as he looks at me.” - -Pierre went to Princess Mary’s to dinner. - -As he drove through the streets past the houses that had been burned -down, he was surprised by the beauty of those ruins. The picturesqueness -of the chimney stacks and tumble-down walls of the burned-out quarters -of the town, stretching out and concealing one another, reminded him of -the Rhine and the Colosseum. The cabmen he met and their passengers, -the carpenters cutting the timber for new houses with axes, the women -hawkers, and the shopkeepers, all looked at him with cheerful beaming -eyes that seemed to say: “Ah, there he is! Let’s see what will come of -it!” - -At the entrance to Princess Mary’s house Pierre felt doubtful whether -he had really been there the night before and really seen Natásha and -talked to her. “Perhaps I imagined it; perhaps I shall go in and find -no one there.” But he had hardly entered the room before he felt her -presence with his whole being by the loss of his sense of freedom. She -was in the same black dress with soft folds and her hair was done the -same way as the day before, yet she was quite different. Had she been -like this when he entered the day before he could not for a moment have -failed to recognize her. - -She was as he had known her almost as a child and later on as Prince -Andrew’s fiancée. A bright questioning light shone in her eyes, and on -her face was a friendly and strangely roguish expression. - -Pierre dined with them and would have spent the whole evening there, but -Princess Mary was going to vespers and Pierre left the house with her. - -Next day he came early, dined, and stayed the whole evening. Though -Princess Mary and Natásha were evidently glad to see their visitor and -though all Pierre’s interest was now centered in that house, by the -evening they had talked over everything and the conversation passed from -one trivial topic to another and repeatedly broke off. He stayed so long -that Princess Mary and Natásha exchanged glances, evidently wondering -when he would go. Pierre noticed this but could not go. He felt uneasy -and embarrassed, but sat on because he simply could not get up and take -his leave. - -Princess Mary, foreseeing no end to this, rose first, and complaining of -a headache began to say good night. - -“So you are going to Petersburg tomorrow?” she asked. - -“No, I am not going,” Pierre replied hastily, in a surprised tone and as -though offended. “Yes... no... to Petersburg? Tomorrow—but I won’t say -good-by yet. I will call round in case you have any commissions for me,” -said he, standing before Princess Mary and turning red, but not taking -his departure. - -Natásha gave him her hand and went out. Princess Mary on the other hand -instead of going away sank into an armchair, and looked sternly and -intently at him with her deep, radiant eyes. The weariness she -had plainly shown before had now quite passed off. With a deep and -long-drawn sigh she seemed to be prepared for a lengthy talk. - -When Natásha left the room Pierre’s confusion and awkwardness -immediately vanished and were replaced by eager excitement. He quickly -moved an armchair toward Princess Mary. - -“Yes, I wanted to tell you,” said he, answering her look as if she had -spoken. “Princess, help me! What am I to do? Can I hope? Princess, my -dear friend, listen! I know it all. I know I am not worthy of her, I -know it’s impossible to speak of it now. But I want to be a brother to -her. No, not that, I don’t, I can’t...” - -He paused and rubbed his face and eyes with his hands. - -“Well,” he went on with an evident effort at self-control and coherence. -“I don’t know when I began to love her, but I have loved her and her -alone all my life, and I love her so that I cannot imagine life without -her. I cannot propose to her at present, but the thought that -perhaps she might someday be my wife and that I may be missing that -possibility... that possibility... is terrible. Tell me, can I hope? -Tell me what I am to do, dear princess!” he added after a pause, and -touched her hand as she did not reply. - -“I am thinking of what you have told me,” answered Princess Mary. -“This is what I will say. You are right that to speak to her of love at -present...” - -Princess Mary stopped. She was going to say that to speak of love was -impossible, but she stopped because she had seen by the sudden change -in Natásha two days before that she would not only not be hurt if Pierre -spoke of his love, but that it was the very thing she wished for. - -“To speak to her now wouldn’t do,” said the princess all the same. - -“But what am I to do?” - -“Leave it to me,” said Princess Mary. “I know...” - -Pierre was looking into Princess Mary’s eyes. - -“Well?... Well?...” he said. - -“I know that she loves... will love you,” Princess Mary corrected -herself. - -Before her words were out, Pierre had sprung up and with a frightened -expression seized Princess Mary’s hand. - -“What makes you think so? You think I may hope? You think...?” - -“Yes, I think so,” said Princess Mary with a smile. “Write to her -parents, and leave it to me. I will tell her when I can. I wish it to -happen and my heart tells me it will.” - -“No, it cannot be! How happy I am! But it can’t be.... How happy I am! -No, it can’t be!” Pierre kept saying as he kissed Princess Mary’s hands. - -“Go to Petersburg, that will be best. And I will write to you,” she -said. - -“To Petersburg? Go there? Very well, I’ll go. But I may come again -tomorrow?” - -Next day Pierre came to say good-by. Natásha was less animated than -she had been the day before; but that day as he looked at her Pierre -sometimes felt as if he was vanishing and that neither he nor she -existed any longer, that nothing existed but happiness. “Is it possible? -No, it can’t be,” he told himself at every look, gesture, and word that -filled his soul with joy. - -When on saying good-by he took her thin, slender hand, he could not help -holding it a little longer in his own. - -“Is it possible that this hand, that face, those eyes, all this treasure -of feminine charm so strange to me now, is it possible that it will one -day be mine forever, as familiar to me as I am to myself?... No, that’s -impossible!...” - -“Good-by, Count,” she said aloud. “I shall look forward very much to -your return,” she added in a whisper. - -And these simple words, her look, and the expression on her face which -accompanied them, formed for two months the subject of inexhaustible -memories, interpretations, and happy meditations for Pierre. “‘I shall -look forward very much to your return....’ Yes, yes, how did she say it? -Yes, ‘I shall look forward very much to your return.’ Oh, how happy I -am! What is happening to me? How happy I am!” said Pierre to himself. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -There was nothing in Pierre’s soul now at all like what had troubled it -during his courtship of Hélène. - -He did not repeat to himself with a sickening feeling of shame the words -he had spoken, or say: “Oh, why did I not say that?” and, “Whatever made -me say ‘Je vous aime’?” On the contrary, he now repeated in imagination -every word that he or Natásha had spoken and pictured every detail of -her face and smile, and did not wish to diminish or add anything, but -only to repeat it again and again. There was now not a shadow of doubt -in his mind as to whether what he had undertaken was right or wrong. -Only one terrible doubt sometimes crossed his mind: “Wasn’t it all -a dream? Isn’t Princess Mary mistaken? Am I not too conceited and -self-confident? I believe all this—and suddenly Princess Mary will tell -her, and she will be sure to smile and say: ‘How strange! He must be -deluding himself. Doesn’t he know that he is a man, just a man, while -I...? I am something altogether different and higher.’” - -That was the only doubt often troubling Pierre. He did not now make any -plans. The happiness before him appeared so inconceivable that if only -he could attain it, it would be the end of all things. Everything ended -with that. - -A joyful, unexpected frenzy, of which he had thought himself incapable, -possessed him. The whole meaning of life—not for him alone but for the -whole world—seemed to him centered in his love and the possibility of -being loved by her. At times everybody seemed to him to be occupied with -one thing only—his future happiness. Sometimes it seemed to him that -other people were all as pleased as he was himself and merely tried to -hide that pleasure by pretending to be busy with other interests. In -every word and gesture he saw allusions to his happiness. He often -surprised those he met by his significantly happy looks and smiles which -seemed to express a secret understanding between him and them. And when -he realized that people might not be aware of his happiness, he pitied -them with his whole heart and felt a desire somehow to explain to them -that all that occupied them was a mere frivolous trifle unworthy of -attention. - -When it was suggested to him that he should enter the civil service, -or when the war or any general political affairs were discussed on the -assumption that everybody’s welfare depended on this or that issue -of events, he would listen with a mild and pitying smile and surprise -people by his strange comments. But at this time he saw everybody—both -those who, as he imagined, understood the real meaning of life (that -is, what he was feeling) and those unfortunates who evidently did not -understand it—in the bright light of the emotion that shone within -himself, and at once without any effort saw in everyone he met -everything that was good and worthy of being loved. - -When dealing with the affairs and papers of his dead wife, her memory -aroused in him no feeling but pity that she had not known the bliss he -now knew. Prince Vasíli, who having obtained a new post and some -fresh decorations was particularly proud at this time, seemed to him a -pathetic, kindly old man much to be pitied. - -Often in afterlife Pierre recalled this period of blissful insanity. All -the views he formed of men and circumstances at this time remained true -for him always. He not only did not renounce them subsequently, but when -he was in doubt or inwardly at variance, he referred to the views he had -held at this time of his madness and they always proved correct. - -“I may have appeared strange and queer then,” he thought, “but I was -not so mad as I seemed. On the contrary I was then wiser and had -more insight than at any other time, and understood all that is worth -understanding in life, because... because I was happy.” - -Pierre’s insanity consisted in not waiting, as he used to do, to -discover personal attributes which he termed “good qualities” in people -before loving them; his heart was now overflowing with love, and by -loving people without cause he discovered indubitable causes for loving -them. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -After Pierre’s departure that first evening, when Natásha had said to -Princess Mary with a gaily mocking smile: “He looks just, yes, just as -if he had come out of a Russian bath—in a short coat and with his hair -cropped,” something hidden and unknown to herself, but irrepressible, -awoke in Natásha’s soul. - -Everything: her face, walk, look, and voice, was suddenly altered. -To her own surprise a power of life and hope of happiness rose to the -surface and demanded satisfaction. From that evening she seemed to have -forgotten all that had happened to her. She no longer complained of her -position, did not say a word about the past, and no longer feared to -make happy plans for the future. She spoke little of Pierre, but when -Princess Mary mentioned him a long-extinguished light once more kindled -in her eyes and her lips curved with a strange smile. - -The change that took place in Natásha at first surprised Princess Mary; -but when she understood its meaning it grieved her. “Can she have loved -my brother so little as to be able to forget him so soon?” she thought -when she reflected on the change. But when she was with Natásha she was -not vexed with her and did not reproach her. The reawakened power -of life that had seized Natásha was so evidently irrepressible and -unexpected by her that in her presence Princess Mary felt that she had -no right to reproach her even in her heart. - -Natásha gave herself up so fully and frankly to this new feeling that -she did not try to hide the fact that she was no longer sad, but bright -and cheerful. - -When Princess Mary returned to her room after her nocturnal talk with -Pierre, Natásha met her on the threshold. - -“He has spoken? Yes? He has spoken?” she repeated. - -And a joyful yet pathetic expression which seemed to beg forgiveness for -her joy settled on Natásha’s face. - -“I wanted to listen at the door, but I knew you would tell me.” - -Understandable and touching as the look with which Natásha gazed at -her seemed to Princess Mary, and sorry as she was to see her agitation, -these words pained her for a moment. She remembered her brother and his -love. - -“But what’s to be done? She can’t help it,” thought the princess. - -And with a sad and rather stern look she told Natásha all that Pierre -had said. On hearing that he was going to Petersburg Natásha was -astounded. - -“To Petersburg!” she repeated as if unable to understand. - -But noticing the grieved expression on Princess Mary’s face she guessed -the reason of that sadness and suddenly began to cry. - -“Mary,” said she, “tell me what I should do! I am afraid of being bad. -Whatever you tell me, I will do. Tell me....” - -“You love him?” - -“Yes,” whispered Natásha. - -“Then why are you crying? I am happy for your sake,” said Princess Mary, -who because of those tears quite forgave Natásha’s joy. - -“It won’t be just yet—someday. Think what fun it will be when I am his -wife and you marry Nicholas!” - -“Natásha, I have asked you not to speak of that. Let us talk about you.” - -They were silent awhile. - -“But why go to Petersburg?” Natásha suddenly asked, and hastily replied -to her own question. “But no, no, he must... Yes, Mary, He must....” - - - - - -FIRST EPILOGUE: 1813 - 20 - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Seven years had passed. The storm-tossed sea of European history had -subsided within its shores and seemed to have become calm. But the -mysterious forces that move humanity (mysterious because the laws of -their motion are unknown to us) continued to operate. - -Though the surface of the sea of history seemed motionless, the movement -of humanity went on as unceasingly as the flow of time. Various groups -of people formed and dissolved, the coming formation and dissolution of -kingdoms and displacement of peoples was in course of preparation. - -The sea of history was not driven spasmodically from shore to shore as -previously. It was seething in its depths. Historic figures were not -borne by the waves from one shore to another as before. They now seemed -to rotate on one spot. The historical figures at the head of armies, -who formerly reflected the movement of the masses by ordering wars, -campaigns, and battles, now reflected the restless movement by political -and diplomatic combinations, laws, and treaties. - -The historians call this activity of the historical figures “the -reaction.” - -In dealing with this period they sternly condemn the historical -personages who, in their opinion, caused what they describe as the -reaction. All the well-known people of that period, from Alexander and -Napoleon to Madame de Staël, Photius, Schelling, Fichte, Chateaubriand, -and the rest, pass before their stern judgment seat and are acquitted or -condemned according to whether they conduced to progress or to reaction. - -According to their accounts a reaction took place at that time in Russia -also, and the chief culprit was Alexander I, the same man who according -to them was the chief cause of the liberal movement at the commencement -of his reign, being the savior of Russia. - -There is no one in Russian literature now, from schoolboy essayist to -learned historian, who does not throw his little stone at Alexander for -things he did wrong at this period of his reign. - -“He ought to have acted in this way and in that way. In this case he did -well and in that case badly. He behaved admirably at the beginning of -his reign and during 1812, but acted badly by giving a constitution -to Poland, forming the Holy Alliance, entrusting power to Arakchéev, -favoring Golítsyn and mysticism, and afterwards Shishkóv and Photius. -He also acted badly by concerning himself with the active army and -disbanding the Semënov regiment.” - -It would take a dozen pages to enumerate all the reproaches the -historians address to him, based on their knowledge of what is good for -humanity. - -What do these reproaches mean? - -Do not the very actions for which the historians praise Alexander I -(the liberal attempts at the beginning of his reign, his struggle with -Napoleon, the firmness he displayed in 1812 and the campaign of 1813) -flow from the same sources—the circumstances of his birth, education, -and life—that made his personality what it was and from which the -actions for which they blame him (the Holy Alliance, the restoration of -Poland, and the reaction of 1820 and later) also flowed? - -In what does the substance of those reproaches lie? - -It lies in the fact that an historic character like Alexander I, -standing on the highest possible pinnacle of human power with the -blinding light of history focused upon him; a character exposed to those -strongest of all influences: the intrigues, flattery, and self-deception -inseparable from power; a character who at every moment of his life -felt a responsibility for all that was happening in Europe; and not -a fictitious but a live character who like every man had his personal -habits, passions, and impulses toward goodness, beauty, and truth—that -this character—though not lacking in virtue (the historians do not -accuse him of that)—had not the same conception of the welfare of -humanity fifty years ago as a present-day professor who from his -youth upwards has been occupied with learning: that is, with books and -lectures and with taking notes from them. - -But even if we assume that fifty years ago Alexander I was mistaken in -his view of what was good for the people, we must inevitably assume that -the historian who judges Alexander will also after the lapse of some -time turn out to be mistaken in his view of what is good for humanity. -This assumption is all the more natural and inevitable because, watching -the movement of history, we see that every year and with each new -writer, opinion as to what is good for mankind changes; so that what -once seemed good, ten years later seems bad, and vice versa. And what is -more, we find at one and the same time quite contradictory views as to -what is bad and what is good in history: some people regard giving a -constitution to Poland and forming the Holy Alliance as praiseworthy in -Alexander, while others regard it as blameworthy. - -The activity of Alexander or of Napoleon cannot be called useful or -harmful, for it is impossible to say for what it was useful or harmful. -If that activity displeases somebody, this is only because it does -not agree with his limited understanding of what is good. Whether the -preservation of my father’s house in Moscow, or the glory of the Russian -arms, or the prosperity of the Petersburg and other universities, or the -freedom of Poland or the greatness of Russia, or the balance of power in -Europe, or a certain kind of European culture called “progress” appear -to me to be good or bad, I must admit that besides these things the -action of every historic character has other more general purposes -inaccessible to me. - -But let us assume that what is called science can harmonize all -contradictions and possesses an unchanging standard of good and bad by -which to try historic characters and events; let us say that Alexander -could have done everything differently; let us say that with guidance -from those who blame him and who profess to know the ultimate aim of the -movement of humanity, he might have arranged matters according to -the program his present accusers would have given him—of nationality, -freedom, equality, and progress (these, I think, cover the ground). Let -us assume that this program was possible and had then been formulated, -and that Alexander had acted on it. What would then have become of the -activity of all those who opposed the tendency that then prevailed in -the government—an activity that in the opinion of the historians was -good and beneficent? Their activity would not have existed: there would -have been no life, there would have been nothing. - -If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, the possibility of -life is destroyed. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -If we assume as the historians do that great men lead humanity to the -attainment of certain ends—the greatness of Russia or of France, -the balance of power in Europe, the diffusion of the ideas of the -Revolution, general progress, or anything else—then it is impossible -to explain the facts of history without introducing the conceptions of -chance and genius. - -If the aim of the European wars at the beginning of the nineteenth -century had been the aggrandizement of Russia, that aim might have been -accomplished without all the preceding wars and without the invasion. If -the aim was the aggrandizement of France, that might have been attained -without the Revolution and without the Empire. If the aim was the -dissemination of ideas, the printing press could have accomplished that -much better than warfare. If the aim was the progress of civilization, -it is easy to see that there are other ways of diffusing civilization -more expedient than by the destruction of wealth and of human lives. - -Why did it happen in this and not in some other way? - -Because it happened so! “Chance created the situation; genius utilized -it,” says history. - -But what is chance? What is genius? - -The words chance and genius do not denote any really existing thing and -therefore cannot be defined. Those words only denote a certain stage of -understanding of phenomena. I do not know why a certain event occurs; I -think that I cannot know it; so I do not try to know it and I talk about -chance. I see a force producing effects beyond the scope of ordinary -human agencies; I do not understand why this occurs and I talk of -genius. - -To a herd of rams, the ram the herdsman drives each evening into a -special enclosure to feed and that becomes twice as fat as the others -must seem to be a genius. And it must appear an astonishing conjunction -of genius with a whole series of extraordinary chances that this ram, -who instead of getting into the general fold every evening goes into a -special enclosure where there are oats—that this very ram, swelling with -fat, is killed for meat. - -But the rams need only cease to suppose that all that happens to them -happens solely for the attainment of their sheepish aims; they need only -admit that what happens to them may also have purposes beyond their ken, -and they will at once perceive a unity and coherence in what happened -to the ram that was fattened. Even if they do not know for what purpose -they are fattened, they will at least know that all that happened to the -ram did not happen accidentally, and will no longer need the conceptions -of chance or genius. - -Only by renouncing our claim to discern a purpose immediately -intelligible to us, and admitting the ultimate purpose to be beyond our -ken, may we discern the sequence of experiences in the lives of -historic characters and perceive the cause of the effect they produce -(incommensurable with ordinary human capabilities), and then the words -chance and genius become superfluous. - -We need only confess that we do not know the purpose of the European -convulsions and that we know only the facts—that is, the murders, first -in France, then in Italy, in Africa, in Prussia, in Austria, in Spain, -and in Russia—and that the movements from the west to the east and from -the east to the west form the essence and purpose of these events, and -not only shall we have no need to see exceptional ability and genius in -Napoleon and Alexander, but we shall be unable to consider them to -be anything but like other men, and we shall not be obliged to have -recourse to chance for an explanation of those small events which made -these people what they were, but it will be clear that all those small -events were inevitable. - -By discarding a claim to knowledge of the ultimate purpose, we shall -clearly perceive that just as one cannot imagine a blossom or seed for -any single plant better suited to it than those it produces, so it is -impossible to imagine any two people more completely adapted down to the -smallest detail for the purpose they had to fulfill, than Napoleon and -Alexander with all their antecedents. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The fundamental and essential significance of the European events of the -beginning of the nineteenth century lies in the movement of the mass of -the European peoples from west to east and afterwards from east to west. -The commencement of that movement was the movement from west to east. -For the peoples of the west to be able to make their warlike movement -to Moscow it was necessary: (1) that they should form themselves into -a military group of a size able to endure a collision with the warlike -military group of the east, (2) that they should abandon all established -traditions and customs, and (3) that during their military movement they -should have at their head a man who could justify to himself and to them -the deceptions, robberies, and murders which would have to be committed -during that movement. - -And beginning with the French Revolution the old inadequately large -group was destroyed, as well as the old habits and traditions, and step -by step a group was formed of larger dimensions with new customs and -traditions, and a man was produced who would stand at the head of the -coming movement and bear the responsibility for all that had to be done. - -A man without convictions, without habits, without traditions, without -a name, and not even a Frenchman, emerges—by what seem the strangest -chances—from among all the seething French parties, and without joining -anyone of them is borne forward to a prominent position. - -The ignorance of his colleagues, the weakness and insignificance of -his opponents, the frankness of his falsehoods, and the dazzling and -self-confident limitations of this man raise him to the head of the -army. The brilliant qualities of the soldiers of the army sent to Italy, -his opponents’ reluctance to fight, and his own childish audacity and -self-confidence secure him military fame. Innumerable so-called chances -accompany him everywhere. The disfavor into which he falls with the -rulers of France turns to his advantage. His attempts to avoid his -predestined path are unsuccessful: he is not received into the Russian -service, and the appointment he seeks in Turkey comes to nothing. During -the war in Italy he is several times on the verge of destruction and -each time is saved in an unexpected manner. Owing to various diplomatic -considerations the Russian armies—just those which might have destroyed -his prestige—do not appear upon the scene till he is no longer there. - -On his return from Italy he finds the government in Paris in a process -of dissolution in which all those who are in it are inevitably wiped -out and destroyed. And by chance an escape from this dangerous position -presents itself in the form of an aimless and senseless expedition -to Africa. Again so-called chance accompanies him. Impregnable Malta -surrenders without a shot; his most reckless schemes are crowned with -success. The enemy’s fleet, which subsequently did not let a single boat -pass, allows his entire army to elude it. In Africa a whole series of -outrages are committed against the almost unarmed inhabitants. And the -men who commit these crimes, especially their leader, assure themselves -that this is admirable, this is glory—it resembles Caesar and Alexander -the Great and is therefore good. - -This ideal of glory and grandeur—which consists not merely in -considering nothing wrong that one does but in priding oneself on every -crime one commits, ascribing to it an incomprehensible supernatural -significance—that ideal, destined to guide this man and his associates, -had scope for its development in Africa. Whatever he does succeeds. The -plague does not touch him. The cruelty of murdering prisoners is not -imputed to him as a fault. His childishly rash, uncalled-for, and -ignoble departure from Africa, leaving his comrades in distress, is -set down to his credit, and again the enemy’s fleet twice lets him slip -past. When, intoxicated by the crimes he has committed so successfully, -he reaches Paris, the dissolution of the republican government, which a -year earlier might have ruined him, has reached its extreme limit, and -his presence there now as a newcomer free from party entanglements can -only serve to exalt him—and though he himself has no plan, he is quite -ready for his new rôle. - -He had no plan, he was afraid of everything, but the parties snatched at -him and demanded his participation. - -He alone—with his ideal of glory and grandeur developed in Italy and -Egypt, his insane self-adulation, his boldness in crime and frankness in -lying—he alone could justify what had to be done. - -He is needed for the place that awaits him, and so almost apart from -his will and despite his indecision, his lack of a plan, and all his -mistakes, he is drawn into a conspiracy that aims at seizing power and -the conspiracy is crowned with success. - -He is pushed into a meeting of the legislature. In alarm he wishes to -flee, considering himself lost. He pretends to fall into a swoon and -says senseless things that should have ruined him. But the once proud -and shrewd rulers of France, feeling that their part is played out, are -even more bewildered than he, and do not say the words they should have -said to destroy him and retain their power. - -Chance, millions of chances, give him power, and all men as if by -agreement co-operate to confirm that power. Chance forms the characters -of the rulers of France, who submit to him; chance forms the character -of Paul I of Russia who recognizes his government; chance contrives -a plot against him which not only fails to harm him but confirms his -power. Chance puts the Duc d’Enghien in his hands and unexpectedly -causes him to kill him—thereby convincing the mob more forcibly than -in any other way that he had the right, since he had the might. -Chance contrives that though he directs all his efforts to prepare an -expedition against England (which would inevitably have ruined him) he -never carries out that intention, but unexpectedly falls upon Mack and -the Austrians, who surrender without a battle. Chance and genius give -him the victory at Austerlitz; and by chance all men, not only the -French but all Europe—except England which does not take part in the -events about to happen—despite their former horror and detestation of -his crimes, now recognize his authority, the title he has given -himself, and his ideal of grandeur and glory, which seems excellent and -reasonable to them all. - -As if measuring themselves and preparing for the coming movement, the -western forces push toward the east several times in 1805, 1806, 1807, -and 1809, gaining strength and growing. In 1811 the group of people that -had formed in France unites into one group with the peoples of Central -Europe. The strength of the justification of the man who stands at the -head of the movement grows with the increased size of the group. During -the ten-year preparatory period this man had formed relations with all -the crowned heads of Europe. The discredited rulers of the world can -oppose no reasonable ideal to the insensate Napoleonic ideal of -glory and grandeur. One after another they hasten to display their -insignificance before him. The King of Prussia sends his wife to seek -the great man’s mercy; the Emperor of Austria considers it a favor that -this man receives a daughter of the Caesars into his bed; the Pope, the -guardian of all that the nations hold sacred, utilizes religion for the -aggrandizement of the great man. It is not Napoleon who prepares himself -for the accomplishment of his role, so much as all those round him who -prepare him to take on himself the whole responsibility for what is -happening and has to happen. There is no step, no crime or petty fraud -he commits, which in the mouths of those around him is not at once -represented as a great deed. The most suitable fête the Germans can -devise for him is a celebration of Jena and Auerstädt. Not only is he -great, but so are his ancestors, his brothers, his stepsons, and his -brothers-in-law. Everything is done to deprive him of the remains of his -reason and to prepare him for his terrible part. And when he is ready so -too are the forces. - -The invasion pushes eastward and reaches its final goal—Moscow. That -city is taken; the Russian army suffers heavier losses than the opposing -armies had suffered in the former war from Austerlitz to Wagram. But -suddenly instead of those chances and that genius which hitherto had -so consistently led him by an uninterrupted series of successes to the -predestined goal, an innumerable sequence of inverse chances occur—from -the cold in his head at Borodinó to the sparks which set Moscow on -fire, and the frosts—and instead of genius, stupidity and immeasurable -baseness become evident. - -The invaders flee, turn back, flee again, and all the chances are now -not for Napoleon but always against him. - -A countermovement is then accomplished from east to west with a -remarkable resemblance to the preceding movement from west to east. -Attempted drives from east to west—similar to the contrary movements of -1805, 1807, and 1809—precede the great westward movement; there is the -same coalescence into a group of enormous dimensions; the same adhesion -of the people of Central Europe to the movement; the same hesitation -midway, and the same increasing rapidity as the goal is approached. - -Paris, the ultimate goal, is reached. The Napoleonic government and army -are destroyed. Napoleon himself is no longer of any account; all his -actions are evidently pitiful and mean, but again an inexplicable chance -occurs. The allies detest Napoleon whom they regard as the cause of -their sufferings. Deprived of power and authority, his crimes and his -craft exposed, he should have appeared to them what he appeared ten -years previously and one year later—an outlawed brigand. But by some -strange chance no one perceives this. His part is not yet ended. The man -who ten years before and a year later was considered an outlawed brigand -is sent to an island two days’ sail from France, which for some reason -is presented to him as his dominion, and guards are given to him and -millions of money are paid him. - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -The flood of nations begins to subside into its normal channels. The -waves of the great movement abate, and on the calm surface eddies are -formed in which float the diplomatists, who imagine that they have -caused the floods to abate. - -But the smooth sea again suddenly becomes disturbed. The diplomatists -think that their disagreements are the cause of this fresh pressure -of natural forces; they anticipate war between their sovereigns; the -position seems to them insoluble. But the wave they feel to be rising -does not come from the quarter they expect. It rises again from the same -point as before—Paris. The last backwash of the movement from the west -occurs: a backwash which serves to solve the apparently insuperable -diplomatic difficulties and ends the military movement of that period of -history. - -The man who had devastated France returns to France alone, without any -conspiracy and without soldiers. Any guard might arrest him, but by -strange chance no one does so and all rapturously greet the man they -cursed the day before and will curse again a month later. - -This man is still needed to justify the final collective act. - -That act is performed. - -The last rôle is played. The actor is bidden to disrobe and wash off his -powder and paint: he will not be wanted any more. - -And some years pass during which he plays a pitiful comedy to himself -in solitude on his island, justifying his actions by intrigues and lies -when the justification is no longer needed, and displaying to the whole -world what it was that people had mistaken for strength as long as an -unseen hand directed his actions. - -The manager having brought the drama to a close and stripped the actor -shows him to us. - -“See what you believed in! This is he! Do you now see that it was not he -but I who moved you?” - -But dazed by the force of the movement, it was long before people -understood this. - -Still greater coherence and inevitability is seen in the life of -Alexander I, the man who stood at the head of the countermovement from -east to west. - -What was needed for him who, overshadowing others, stood at the head of -that movement from east to west? - -What was needed was a sense of justice and a sympathy with European -affairs, but a remote sympathy not dulled by petty interests; a moral -superiority over those sovereigns of the day who co-operated with him; -a mild and attractive personality; and a personal grievance against -Napoleon. And all this was found in Alexander I; all this had been -prepared by innumerable so-called chances in his life: his education, -his early liberalism, the advisers who surrounded him, and by -Austerlitz, and Tilsit, and Erfurt. - -During the national war he was inactive because he was not needed. But -as soon as the necessity for a general European war presented itself he -appeared in his place at the given moment and, uniting the nations of -Europe, led them to the goal. - -The goal is reached. After the final war of 1815 Alexander possesses all -possible power. How does he use it? - -Alexander I—the pacifier of Europe, the man who from his early years -had striven only for his people’s welfare, the originator of the liberal -innovations in his fatherland—now that he seemed to possess the utmost -power and therefore to have the possibility of bringing about the -welfare of his peoples—at the time when Napoleon in exile was drawing -up childish and mendacious plans of how he would have made mankind happy -had he retained power—Alexander I, having fulfilled his mission and -feeling the hand of God upon him, suddenly recognizes the insignificance -of that supposed power, turns away from it, and gives it into the hands -of contemptible men whom he despises, saying only: - -“Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy Name!... I too am a man like the -rest of you. Let me live like a man and think of my soul and of God.” - -As the sun and each atom of ether is a sphere complete in itself, and -yet at the same time only a part of a whole too immense for man to -comprehend, so each individual has within himself his own aims and yet -has them to serve a general purpose incomprehensible to man. - -A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. And the child is afraid -of bees and declares that bees exist to sting people. A poet admires the -bee sucking from the chalice of a flower and says it exists to suck the -fragrance of flowers. A beekeeper, seeing the bee collect pollen from -flowers and carry it to the hive, says that it exists to gather honey. -Another beekeeper who has studied the life of the hive more closely -says that the bee gathers pollen dust to feed the young bees and rear -a queen, and that it exists to perpetuate its race. A botanist notices -that the bee flying with the pollen of a male flower to a pistil -fertilizes the latter, and sees in this the purpose of the bee’s -existence. Another, observing the migration of plants, notices that the -bee helps in this work, and may say that in this lies the purpose of the -bee. But the ultimate purpose of the bee is not exhausted by the first, -the second, or any of the processes the human mind can discern. The -higher the human intellect rises in the discovery of these purposes, -the more obvious it becomes, that the ultimate purpose is beyond our -comprehension. - -All that is accessible to man is the relation of the life of the bee to -other manifestations of life. And so it is with the purpose of historic -characters and nations. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -Natásha’s wedding to Bezúkhov, which took place in 1813, was the last -happy event in the family of the old Rostóvs. Count Ilyá Rostóv died -that same year and, as always happens, after the father’s death the -family group broke up. - -The events of the previous year: the burning of Moscow and the flight -from it, the death of Prince Andrew, Natásha’s despair, Pétya’s death, -and the old countess’ grief fell blow after blow on the old count’s -head. He seemed to be unable to understand the meaning of all these -events, and bowed his old head in a spiritual sense as if expecting and -inviting further blows which would finish him. He seemed now frightened -and distraught and now unnaturally animated and enterprising. - -The arrangements for Natásha’s marriage occupied him for a while. He -ordered dinners and suppers and obviously tried to appear cheerful, but -his cheerfulness was not infectious as it used to be: on the contrary it -evoked the compassion of those who knew and liked him. - -When Pierre and his wife had left, he grew very quiet and began to -complain of depression. A few days later he fell ill and took to his -bed. He realized from the first that he would not get up again, despite -the doctor’s encouragement. The countess passed a fortnight in an -armchair by his pillow without undressing. Every time she gave him -his medicine he sobbed and silently kissed her hand. On his last day, -sobbing, he asked her and his absent son to forgive him for having -dissipated their property—that being the chief fault of which he was -conscious. After receiving communion and unction he quietly died; and -next day a throng of acquaintances who came to pay their last respects -to the deceased filled the house rented by the Rostóvs. All these -acquaintances, who had so often dined and danced at his house and had so -often laughed at him, now said, with a common feeling of self-reproach -and emotion, as if justifying themselves: “Well, whatever he may have -been he was a most worthy man. You don’t meet such men nowadays.... And -which of us has not weaknesses of his own?” - -It was just when the count’s affairs had become so involved that it was -impossible to say what would happen if he lived another year that he -unexpectedly died. - -Nicholas was with the Russian army in Paris when the news of his -father’s death reached him. He at once resigned his commission, and -without waiting for it to be accepted took leave of absence and went to -Moscow. The state of the count’s affairs became quite obvious a month -after his death, surprising everyone by the immense total of small -debts the existence of which no one had suspected. The debts amounted to -double the value of the property. - -Friends and relations advised Nicholas to decline the inheritance. But -he regarded such a refusal as a slur on his father’s memory, which he -held sacred, and therefore would not hear of refusing and accepted the -inheritance together with the obligation to pay the debts. - -The creditors who had so long been silent, restrained by a vague -but powerful influence exerted on them while he lived by the count’s -careless good nature, all proceeded to enforce their claims at once. As -always happens in such cases rivalry sprang up as to which should get -paid first, and those who like Mítenka held promissory notes given them -as presents now became the most exacting of the creditors. Nicholas was -allowed no respite and no peace, and those who had seemed to pity -the old man—the cause of their losses (if they were losses)—now -remorselessly pursued the young heir who had voluntarily undertaken the -debts and was obviously not guilty of contracting them. - -Not one of the plans Nicholas tried succeeded; the estate was sold by -auction for half its value, and half the debts still remained -unpaid. Nicholas accepted thirty thousand rubles offered him by his -brother-in-law Bezúkhov to pay off debts he regarded as genuinely due -for value received. And to avoid being imprisoned for the remainder, as -the creditors threatened, he re-entered the government service. - -He could not rejoin the army where he would have been made colonel at -the next vacancy, for his mother now clung to him as her one hold on -life; and so despite his reluctance to remain in Moscow among people who -had known him before, and despite his abhorrence of the civil service, -he accepted a post in Moscow in that service, doffed the uniform of -which he was so fond, and moved with his mother and Sónya to a small -house on the Sívtsev Vrazhók. - -Natásha and Pierre were living in Petersburg at the time and had no -clear idea of Nicholas’ circumstances. Having borrowed money from his -brother-in-law, Nicholas tried to hide his wretched condition from him. -His position was the more difficult because with his salary of twelve -hundred rubles he had not only to keep himself, his mother, and Sónya, -but had to shield his mother from knowledge of their poverty. The -countess could not conceive of life without the luxurious conditions she -had been used to from childhood and, unable to realize how hard it was -for her son, kept demanding now a carriage (which they did not keep) to -send for a friend, now some expensive article of food for herself, or -wine for her son, or money to buy a present as a surprise for Natásha or -Sónya, or for Nicholas himself. - -Sónya kept house, attended on her aunt, read to her, put up with her -whims and secret ill-will, and helped Nicholas to conceal their poverty -from the old countess. Nicholas felt himself irredeemably indebted -to Sónya for all she was doing for his mother and greatly admired her -patience and devotion, but tried to keep aloof from her. - -He seemed in his heart to reproach her for being too perfect, and -because there was nothing to reproach her with. She had all that people -are valued for, but little that could have made him love her. He felt -that the more he valued her the less he loved her. He had taken her at -her word when she wrote giving him his freedom and now behaved as if all -that had passed between them had been long forgotten and could never in -any case be renewed. - -Nicholas’ position became worse and worse. The idea of putting something -aside out of his salary proved a dream. Not only did he not save -anything, but to comply with his mother’s demands he even incurred some -small debts. He could see no way out of this situation. The idea of -marrying some rich woman, which was suggested to him by his female -relations, was repugnant to him. The other way out—his mother’s -death—never entered his head. He wished for nothing and hoped -for nothing, and deep in his heart experienced a gloomy and stern -satisfaction in an uncomplaining endurance of his position. He tried -to avoid his old acquaintances with their commiseration and offensive -offers of assistance; he avoided all distraction and recreation, and -even at home did nothing but play cards with his mother, pace silently -up and down the room, and smoke one pipe after another. He seemed -carefully to cherish within himself the gloomy mood which alone enabled -him to endure his position. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -At the beginning of winter Princess Mary came to Moscow. From reports -current in town she learned how the Rostóvs were situated, and how “the -son has sacrificed himself for his mother,” as people were saying. - -“I never expected anything else of him,” said Princess Mary to herself, -feeling a joyous sense of her love for him. Remembering her friendly -relations with all the Rostóvs which had made her almost a member of the -family, she thought it her duty to go to see them. But remembering her -relations with Nicholas in Vorónezh she was shy about doing so. Making -a great effort she did however go to call on them a few weeks after her -arrival in Moscow. - -Nicholas was the first to meet her, as the countess’ room could only be -reached through his. But instead of being greeted with pleasure as she -had expected, at his first glance at her his face assumed a cold, stiff, -proud expression she had not seen on it before. He inquired about her -health, led the way to his mother, and having sat there for five minutes -left the room. - -When the princess came out of the countess’ room Nicholas met her again, -and with marked solemnity and stiffness accompanied her to the anteroom. -To her remarks about his mother’s health he made no reply. “What’s that -to you? Leave me in peace,” his looks seemed to say. - -“Why does she come prowling here? What does she want? I can’t bear these -ladies and all these civilities!” said he aloud in Sónya’s presence, -evidently unable to repress his vexation, after the princess’ carriage -had disappeared. - -“Oh, Nicholas, how can you talk like that?” cried Sónya, hardly able to -conceal her delight. “She is so kind and Mamma is so fond of her!” - -Nicholas did not reply and tried to avoid speaking of the princess any -more. But after her visit the old countess spoke of her several times a -day. - -She sang her praises, insisted that her son must call on her, expressed -a wish to see her often, but yet always became ill-humored when she -began to talk about her. - -Nicholas tried to keep silence when his mother spoke of the princess, -but his silence irritated her. - -“She is a very admirable and excellent young woman,” said she, “and you -must go and call on her. You would at least be seeing somebody, and I -think it must be dull for you only seeing us.” - -“But I don’t in the least want to, Mamma.” - -“You used to want to, and now you don’t. Really I don’t understand you, -my dear. One day you are dull, and the next you refuse to see anyone.” - -“But I never said I was dull.” - -“Why, you said yourself you don’t want even to see her. She is a very -admirable young woman and you always liked her, but now suddenly you -have got some notion or other in your head. You hide everything from -me.” - -“Not at all, Mamma.” - -“If I were asking you to do something disagreeable now—but I only ask -you to return a call. One would think mere politeness required it.... -Well, I have asked you, and now I won’t interfere any more since you -have secrets from your mother.” - -“Well, then, I’ll go if you wish it.” - -“It doesn’t matter to me. I only wish it for your sake.” - -Nicholas sighed, bit his mustache, and laid out the cards for a -patience, trying to divert his mother’s attention to another topic. - -The same conversation was repeated next day and the day after, and the -day after that. - -After her visit to the Rostóvs and her unexpectedly chilly reception by -Nicholas, Princess Mary confessed to herself that she had been right in -not wishing to be the first to call. - -“I expected nothing else,” she told herself, calling her pride to her -aid. “I have nothing to do with him and I only wanted to see the -old lady, who was always kind to me and to whom I am under many -obligations.” - -But she could not pacify herself with these reflections; a feeling akin -to remorse troubled her when she thought of her visit. Though she had -firmly resolved not to call on the Rostóvs again and to forget the whole -matter, she felt herself all the time in an awkward position. And when -she asked herself what distressed her, she had to admit that it was her -relation to Rostóv. His cold, polite manner did not express his feeling -for her (she knew that) but it concealed something, and until she could -discover what that something was, she felt that she could not be at -ease. - -One day in midwinter when sitting in the schoolroom attending to her -nephew’s lessons, she was informed that Rostóv had called. With a firm -resolution not to betray herself and not show her agitation, she sent -for Mademoiselle Bourienne and went with her to the drawing room. - -Her first glance at Nicholas’ face told her that he had only come to -fulfill the demands of politeness, and she firmly resolved to maintain -the tone in which he addressed her. - -They spoke of the countess’ health, of their mutual friends, of the -latest war news, and when the ten minutes required by propriety had -elapsed after which a visitor may rise, Nicholas got up to say good-by. - -With Mademoiselle Bourienne’s help the princess had maintained the -conversation very well, but at the very last moment, just when he rose, -she was so tired of talking of what did not interest her, and her -mind was so full of the question why she alone was granted so little -happiness in life, that in a fit of absent-mindedness she sat still, her -luminous eyes gazing fixedly before her, not noticing that he had risen. - -Nicholas glanced at her and, wishing to appear not to notice her -abstraction, made some remark to Mademoiselle Bourienne and then -again looked at the princess. She still sat motionless with a look of -suffering on her gentle face. He suddenly felt sorry for her and was -vaguely conscious that he might be the cause of the sadness her face -expressed. He wished to help her and say something pleasant, but could -think of nothing to say. - -“Good-by, Princess!” said he. - -She started, flushed, and sighed deeply. - -“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said as if waking up. “Are you going -already, Count? Well then, good-by! Oh, but the cushion for the -countess!” - -“Wait a moment, I’ll fetch it,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, and she -left the room. - -They both sat silent, with an occasional glance at one another. - -“Yes, Princess,” said Nicholas at last with a sad smile, “it doesn’t -seem long ago since we first met at Boguchárovo, but how much water -has flowed since then! In what distress we all seemed to be then, yet -I would give much to bring back that time... but there’s no bringing it -back.” - -Princess Mary gazed intently into his eyes with her own luminous ones -as he said this. She seemed to be trying to fathom the hidden meaning of -his words which would explain his feeling for her. - -“Yes, yes,” said she, “but you have no reason to regret the past, Count. -As I understand your present life, I think you will always recall it -with satisfaction, because the self-sacrifice that fills it now...” - -“I cannot accept your praise,” he interrupted her hurriedly. “On the -contrary I continually reproach myself.... But this is not at all an -interesting or cheerful subject.” - -His face again resumed its former stiff and cold expression. But the -princess had caught a glimpse of the man she had known and loved, and it -was to him that she now spoke. - -“I thought you would allow me to tell you this,” she said. “I had come -so near to you... and to all your family that I thought you would not -consider my sympathy misplaced, but I was mistaken,” and suddenly her -voice trembled. “I don’t know why,” she continued, recovering herself, -“but you used to be different, and...” - -“There are a thousand reasons why,” laying special emphasis on the why. -“Thank you, Princess,” he added softly. “Sometimes it is hard.” - -“So that’s why! That’s why!” a voice whispered in Princess Mary’s soul. -“No, it was not only that gay, kind, and frank look, not only that -handsome exterior, that I loved in him. I divined his noble, resolute, -self-sacrificing spirit too,” she said to herself. “Yes, he is poor now -and I am rich.... Yes, that’s the only reason.... Yes, were it not for -that...” And remembering his former tenderness, and looking now at his -kind, sorrowful face, she suddenly understood the cause of his coldness. - -“But why, Count, why?” she almost cried, unconsciously moving closer to -him. “Why? Tell me. You must tell me!” - -He was silent. - -“I don’t understand your why, Count,” she continued, “but it’s hard for -me... I confess it. For some reason you wish to deprive me of our former -friendship. And that hurts me.” There were tears in her eyes and in her -voice. “I have had so little happiness in life that every loss is hard -for me to bear.... Excuse me, good-by!” and suddenly she began to cry -and was hurrying from the room. - -“Princess, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed, trying to stop her. -“Princess!” - -She turned round. For a few seconds they gazed silently into one -another’s eyes—and what had seemed impossible and remote suddenly became -possible, inevitable, and very near. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -In the winter of 1813 Nicholas married Princess Mary and moved to Bald -Hills with his wife, his mother, and Sónya. - -Within four years he had paid off all his remaining debts without -selling any of his wife’s property, and having received a small -inheritance on the death of a cousin he paid his debt to Pierre as well. - -In another three years, by 1820, he had so managed his affairs that he -was able to buy a small estate adjoining Bald Hills and was negotiating -to buy back Otrádnoe—that being his pet dream. - -Having started farming from necessity, he soon grew so devoted to it -that it became his favorite and almost his sole occupation. Nicholas was -a plain farmer: he did not like innovations, especially the English ones -then coming into vogue. He laughed at theoretical treatises on estate -management, disliked factories, the raising of expensive products, -and the buying of expensive seed corn, and did not make a hobby of any -particular part of the work on his estate. He always had before his -mind’s eye the estate as a whole and not any particular part of it. The -chief thing in his eyes was not the nitrogen in the soil, nor the oxygen -in the air, nor manures, nor special plows, but that most important -agent by which nitrogen, oxygen, manure, and plow were made -effective—the peasant laborer. When Nicholas first began farming -and began to understand its different branches, it was the serf who -especially attracted his attention. The peasant seemed to him not merely -a tool, but also a judge of farming and an end in himself. At first -he watched the serfs, trying to understand their aims and what they -considered good and bad, and only pretended to direct them and give -orders while in reality learning from them their methods, their manner -of speech, and their judgment of what was good and bad. Only when he -had understood the peasants’ tastes and aspirations, had learned to talk -their language, to grasp the hidden meaning of their words, and felt -akin to them did he begin boldly to manage his serfs, that is, to -perform toward them the duties demanded of him. And Nicholas’ management -produced very brilliant results. - -Guided by some gift of insight, on taking up the management of the -estates he at once unerringly appointed as bailiff, village elder, and -delegate, the very men the serfs would themselves have chosen had they -had the right to choose, and these posts never changed hands. Before -analyzing the properties of manure, before entering into the debit and -credit (as he ironically called it), he found out how many cattle the -peasants had and increased the number by all possible means. He kept the -peasant families together in the largest groups possible, not allowing -the family groups to divide into separate households. He was hard alike -on the lazy, the depraved, and the weak, and tried to get them expelled -from the commune. - -He was as careful of the sowing and reaping of the peasants’ hay -and corn as of his own, and few landowners had their crops sown -and harvested so early and so well, or got so good a return, as did -Nicholas. - -He disliked having anything to do with the domestic serfs—the “drones” -as he called them—and everyone said he spoiled them by his laxity. When -a decision had to be taken regarding a domestic serf, especially if one -had to be punished, he always felt undecided and consulted everybody in -the house; but when it was possible to have a domestic serf conscripted -instead of a land worker he did so without the least hesitation. He -never felt any hesitation in dealing with the peasants. He knew that his -every decision would be approved by them all with very few exceptions. - -He did not allow himself either to be hard on or punish a man, or to -make things easy for or reward anyone, merely because he felt inclined -to do so. He could not have said by what standard he judged what he -should or should not do, but the standard was quite firm and definite in -his own mind. - -Often, speaking with vexation of some failure or irregularity, he would -say: “What can one do with our Russian peasants?” and imagined that he -could not bear them. - -Yet he loved “our Russian peasants” and their way of life with his whole -soul, and for that very reason had understood and assimilated the one -way and manner of farming which produced good results. - -Countess Mary was jealous of this passion of her husband’s and regretted -that she could not share it; but she could not understand the joys and -vexations he derived from that world, to her so remote and alien. She -could not understand why he was so particularly animated and happy -when, after getting up at daybreak and spending the whole morning in the -fields or on the threshing floor, he returned from the sowing or mowing -or reaping to have tea with her. She did not understand why he spoke -with such admiration and delight of the farming of the thrifty and -well-to-do peasant Matthew Ermíshin, who with his family had carted -corn all night; or of the fact that his (Nicholas’) sheaves were already -stacked before anyone else had his harvest in. She did not understand -why he stepped out from the window to the veranda and smiled under his -mustache and winked so joyfully, when warm steady rain began to fall -on the dry and thirsty shoots of the young oats, or why when the wind -carried away a threatening cloud during the hay harvest he would return -from the barn, flushed, sunburned, and perspiring, with a smell of -wormwood and gentian in his hair and, gleefully rubbing his hands, would -say: “Well, one more day and my grain and the peasants’ will all be -under cover.” - -Still less did she understand why he, kindhearted and always ready to -anticipate her wishes, should become almost desperate when she brought -him a petition from some peasant men or women who had appealed to her -to be excused some work; why he, that kind Nicholas, should obstinately -refuse her, angrily asking her not to interfere in what was not her -business. She felt he had a world apart, which he loved passionately and -which had laws she had not fathomed. - -Sometimes when, trying to understand him, she spoke of the good work he -was doing for his serfs, he would be vexed and reply: “Not in the least; -it never entered my head and I wouldn’t do that for their good! That’s -all poetry and old wives’ talk—all that doing good to one’s neighbor! -What I want is that our children should not have to go begging. I must -put our affairs in order while I am alive, that’s all. And to do that, -order and strictness are essential.... That’s all about it!” said he, -clenching his vigorous fist. “And fairness, of course,” he added, “for -if the peasant is naked and hungry and has only one miserable horse, he -can do no good either for himself or for me.” - -And all Nicholas did was fruitful—probably just because he refused to -allow himself to think that he was doing good to others for virtue’s -sake. His means increased rapidly; serfs from neighboring estates came -to beg him to buy them, and long after his death the memory of his -administration was devoutly preserved among the serfs. “He was a -master... the peasants’ affairs first and then his own. Of course he was -not to be trifled with either—in a word, he was a real master!” - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -One matter connected with his management sometimes worried Nicholas, and -that was his quick temper together with his old hussar habit of making -free use of his fists. At first he saw nothing reprehensible in -this, but in the second year of his marriage his view of that form of -punishment suddenly changed. - -Once in summer he had sent for the village elder from Boguchárovo, a -man who had succeeded to the post when Dron died and who was accused of -dishonesty and various irregularities. Nicholas went out into the porch -to question him, and immediately after the elder had given a few replies -the sound of cries and blows were heard. On returning to lunch Nicholas -went up to his wife, who sat with her head bent low over her embroidery -frame, and as usual began to tell her what he had been doing that -morning. Among other things he spoke of the Boguchárovo elder. Countess -Mary turned red and then pale, but continued to sit with head bowed and -lips compressed and gave her husband no reply. - -“Such an insolent scoundrel!” he cried, growing hot again at the mere -recollection of him. “If he had told me he was drunk and did not see... -But what is the matter with you, Mary?” he suddenly asked. - -Countess Mary raised her head and tried to speak, but hastily looked -down again and her lips puckered. - -“Why, whatever is the matter, my dearest?” - -The looks of the plain Countess Mary always improved when she was in -tears. She never cried from pain or vexation, but always from sorrow or -pity, and when she wept her radiant eyes acquired an irresistible charm. - -The moment Nicholas took her hand she could no longer restrain herself -and began to cry. - -“Nicholas, I saw it... he was to blame, but why do you... Nicholas!” and -she covered her face with her hands. - -Nicholas said nothing. He flushed crimson, left her side, and paced up -and down the room. He understood what she was weeping about, but could -not in his heart at once agree with her that what he had regarded -from childhood as quite an everyday event was wrong. “Is it just -sentimentality, old wives’ tales, or is she right?” he asked himself. -Before he had solved that point he glanced again at her face filled with -love and pain, and he suddenly realized that she was right and that he -had long been sinning against himself. - -“Mary,” he said softly, going up to her, “it will never happen again; -I give you my word. Never,” he repeated in a trembling voice like a boy -asking for forgiveness. - -The tears flowed faster still from the countess’ eyes. She took his hand -and kissed it. - -“Nicholas, when did you break your cameo?” she asked to change the -subject, looking at his finger on which he wore a ring with a cameo of -Laocoön’s head. - -“Today—it was the same affair. Oh, Mary, don’t remind me of it!” and -again he flushed. “I give you my word of honor it shan’t occur again, -and let this always be a reminder to me,” and he pointed to the broken -ring. - -After that, when in discussions with his village elders or stewards the -blood rushed to his face and his fists began to clench, Nicholas would -turn the broken ring on his finger and would drop his eyes before the -man who was making him angry. But he did forget himself once or twice -within a twelvemonth, and then he would go and confess to his wife, and -would again promise that this should really be the very last time. - -“Mary, you must despise me!” he would say. “I deserve it.” - -“You should go, go away at once, if you don’t feel strong enough to -control yourself,” she would reply sadly, trying to comfort her husband. - -Among the gentry of the province Nicholas was respected but not liked. -He did not concern himself with the interests of his own class, and -consequently some thought him proud and others thought him stupid. The -whole summer, from spring sowing to harvest, he was busy with the work -on his farm. In autumn he gave himself up to hunting with the same -business-like seriousness—leaving home for a month, or even two, with -his hunt. In winter he visited his other villages or spent his time -reading. The books he read were chiefly historical, and on these he -spent a certain sum every year. He was collecting, as he said, a serious -library, and he made it a rule to read through all the books he bought. -He would sit in his study with a grave air, reading—a task he first -imposed upon himself as a duty, but which afterwards became a habit -affording him a special kind of pleasure and a consciousness of -being occupied with serious matters. In winter, except for business -excursions, he spent most of his time at home making himself one with -his family and entering into all the details of his children’s relations -with their mother. The harmony between him and his wife grew closer and -closer and he daily discovered fresh spiritual treasures in her. - -From the time of his marriage Sónya had lived in his house. Before -that, Nicholas had told his wife all that had passed between himself and -Sónya, blaming himself and commending her. He had asked Princess Mary to -be gentle and kind to his cousin. She thoroughly realized the wrong he -had done Sónya, felt herself to blame toward her, and imagined that her -wealth had influenced Nicholas’ choice. She could not find fault with -Sónya in any way and tried to be fond of her, but often felt ill-will -toward her which she could not overcome. - -Once she had a talk with her friend Natásha about Sónya and about her -own injustice toward her. - -“You know,” said Natásha, “you have read the Gospels a great deal—there -is a passage in them that just fits Sónya.” - -“What?” asked Countess Mary, surprised. - -“‘To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be -taken away.’ You remember? She is one that hath not; why, I don’t know. -Perhaps she lacks egotism, I don’t know, but from her is taken away, and -everything has been taken away. Sometimes I am dreadfully sorry for her. -Formerly I very much wanted Nicholas to marry her, but I always had -a sort of presentiment that it would not come off. She is a sterile -flower, you know—like some strawberry blossoms. Sometimes I am sorry for -her, and sometimes I think she doesn’t feel it as you or I would.” - -Though Countess Mary told Natásha that those words in the Gospel must be -understood differently, yet looking at Sónya she agreed with Natásha’s -explanation. It really seemed that Sónya did not feel her position -trying, and had grown quite reconciled to her lot as a sterile flower. -She seemed to be fond not so much of individuals as of the family as a -whole. Like a cat, she had attached herself not to the people but to the -home. She waited on the old countess, petted and spoiled the children, -was always ready to render the small services for which she had a gift, -and all this was unconsciously accepted from her with insufficient -gratitude. - -The country seat at Bald Hills had been rebuilt, though not on the same -scale as under the old prince. - -The buildings, begun under straitened circumstances, were more than -simple. The immense house on the old stone foundations was of wood, -plastered only inside. It had bare deal floors and was furnished with -very simple hard sofas, armchairs, tables, and chairs made by their own -serf carpenters out of their own birchwood. The house was spacious -and had rooms for the house serfs and apartments for visitors. Whole -families of the Rostóvs’ and Bolkónskis’ relations sometimes came to -Bald Hills with sixteen horses and dozens of servants and stayed for -months. Besides that, four times a year, on the name days and birthdays -of the hosts, as many as a hundred visitors would gather there for a day -or two. The rest of the year life pursued its unbroken routine with its -ordinary occupations, and its breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and suppers, -provided out of the produce of the estate. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -It was the eve of St. Nicholas, the fifth of December, 1820. Natásha had -been staying at her brother’s with her husband and children since early -autumn. Pierre had gone to Petersburg on business of his own for three -weeks as he said, but had remained there nearly seven weeks and was -expected back every minute. - -Besides the Bezúkhov family, Nicholas’ old friend the retired General -Vasíli Dmítrich Denísov was staying with the Rostóvs this fifth of -December. - -On the sixth, which was his name day when the house would be full of -visitors, Nicholas knew he would have to exchange his Tartar tunic for -a tail coat, and put on narrow boots with pointed toes, and drive to -the new church he had built, and then receive visitors who would come to -congratulate him, offer them refreshments, and talk about the elections -of the nobility; but he considered himself entitled to spend the eve -of that day in his usual way. He examined the bailiff’s accounts of -the village in Ryazán which belonged to his wife’s nephew, wrote two -business letters, and walked over to the granaries, cattle yards and -stables before dinner. Having taken precautions against the general -drunkenness to be expected on the morrow because it was a great saint’s -day, he returned to dinner, and without having time for a private talk -with his wife sat down at the long table laid for twenty persons, at -which the whole household had assembled. At that table were his mother, -his mother’s old lady companion Belóva, his wife, their three children -with their governess and tutor, his wife’s nephew with his tutor, Sónya, -Denísov, Natásha, her three children, their governess, and old Michael -Ivánovich, the late prince’s architect, who was living on in retirement -at Bald Hills. - -Countess Mary sat at the other end of the table. When her husband took -his place she concluded, from the rapid manner in which after taking -up his table napkin he pushed back the tumbler and wineglass standing -before him, that he was out of humor, as was sometimes the case when -he came in to dinner straight from the farm—especially before the soup. -Countess Mary well knew that mood of his, and when she herself was in -a good frame of mind quietly waited till he had had his soup and then -began to talk to him and make him admit that there was no cause for his -ill-humor. But today she quite forgot that and was hurt that he should -be angry with her without any reason, and she felt unhappy. She asked -him where he had been. He replied. She again inquired whether -everything was going well on the farm. Her unnatural tone made him wince -unpleasantly and he replied hastily. - -“Then I’m not mistaken,” thought Countess Mary. “Why is he cross with -me?” She concluded from his tone that he was vexed with her and wished -to end the conversation. She knew her remarks sounded unnatural, but -could not refrain from asking some more questions. - -Thanks to Denísov the conversation at table soon became general and -lively, and she did not talk to her husband. When they left the table -and went as usual to thank the old countess, Countess Mary held out her -hand and kissed her husband, and asked him why he was angry with her. - -“You always have such strange fancies! I didn’t even think of being -angry,” he replied. - -But the word always seemed to her to imply: “Yes, I am angry but I won’t -tell you why.” - -Nicholas and his wife lived together so happily that even Sónya and the -old countess, who felt jealous and would have liked them to disagree, -could find nothing to reproach them with; but even they had their -moments of antagonism. Occasionally, and it was always just after they -had been happiest together, they suddenly had a feeling of estrangement -and hostility, which occurred most frequently during Countess Mary’s -pregnancies, and this was such a time. - -“Well, messieurs et mesdames,” said Nicholas loudly and with apparent -cheerfulness (it seemed to Countess Mary that he did it on purpose to -vex her), “I have been on my feet since six this morning. Tomorrow I -shall have to suffer, so today I’ll go and rest.” - -And without a word to his wife he went to the little sitting room and -lay down on the sofa. - -“That’s always the way,” thought Countess Mary. “He talks to everyone -except me. I see... I see that I am repulsive to him, especially when I -am in this condition.” She looked down at her expanded figure and in the -glass at her pale, sallow, emaciated face in which her eyes now looked -larger than ever. - -And everything annoyed her—Denísov’s shouting and laughter, Natásha’s -talk, and especially a quick glance Sónya gave her. - -Sónya was always the first excuse Countess Mary found for feeling -irritated. - -Having sat awhile with her visitors without understanding anything of -what they were saying, she softly left the room and went to the nursery. - -The children were playing at “going to Moscow” in a carriage made of -chairs and invited her to go with them. She sat down and played with -them a little, but the thought of her husband and his unreasonable -crossness worried her. She got up and, walking on tiptoe with -difficulty, went to the small sitting room. - -“Perhaps he is not asleep; I’ll have an explanation with him,” she -said to herself. Little Andrew, her eldest boy, imitating his mother, -followed her on tiptoe. She did not notice him. - -“Mary, dear, I think he is asleep—he was so tired,” said Sónya, meeting -her in the large sitting room (it seemed to Countess Mary that she -crossed her path everywhere). “Andrew may wake him.” - -Countess Mary looked round, saw little Andrew following her, felt that -Sónya was right, and for that very reason flushed and with evident -difficulty refrained from saying something harsh. She made no reply, but -to avoid obeying Sónya beckoned to Andrew to follow her quietly and went -to the door. Sónya went away by another door. From the room in which -Nicholas was sleeping came the sound of his even breathing, every -slightest tone of which was familiar to his wife. As she listened to it -she saw before her his smooth handsome forehead, his mustache, and his -whole face, as she had so often seen it in the stillness of the night -when he slept. Nicholas suddenly moved and cleared his throat. And at -that moment little Andrew shouted from outside the door: “Papa! Mamma’s -standing here!” Countess Mary turned pale with fright and made signs -to the boy. He grew silent, and quiet ensued for a moment, terrible to -Countess Mary. She knew how Nicholas disliked being waked. Then through -the door she heard Nicholas clearing his throat again and stirring, and -his voice said crossly: - -“I can’t get a moment’s peace.... Mary, is that you? Why did you bring -him here?” - -“I only came in to look and did not notice... forgive me....” - -Nicholas coughed and said no more. Countess Mary moved away from the -door and took the boy back to the nursery. Five minutes later little -black-eyed three-year-old Natásha, her father’s pet, having learned from -her brother that Papa was asleep and Mamma was in the sitting room, ran -to her father unobserved by her mother. The dark-eyed little girl boldly -opened the creaking door, went up to the sofa with energetic steps of -her sturdy little legs, and having examined the position of her father, -who was asleep with his back to her, rose on tiptoe and kissed the hand -which lay under his head. Nicholas turned with a tender smile on his -face. - -“Natásha, Natásha!” came Countess Mary’s frightened whisper from the -door. “Papa wants to sleep.” - -“No, Mamma, he doesn’t want to sleep,” said little Natásha with -conviction. “He’s laughing.” - -Nicholas lowered his legs, rose, and took his daughter in his arms. - -“Come in, Mary,” he said to his wife. - -She went in and sat down by her husband. - -“I did not notice him following me,” she said timidly. “I just looked -in.” - -Holding his little girl with one arm, Nicholas glanced at his wife and, -seeing her guilty expression, put his other arm around her and kissed -her hair. - -“May I kiss Mamma?” he asked Natásha. - -Natásha smiled bashfully. - -“Again!” she commanded, pointing with a peremptory gesture to the spot -where Nicholas had placed the kiss. - -“I don’t know why you think I am cross,” said Nicholas, replying to the -question he knew was in his wife’s mind. - -“You have no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you are like -that. It always seems to me...” - -“Mary, don’t talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” he -said gaily. - -“It seems to be that you can’t love me, that I am so plain... always... -and now... in this cond...” - -“Oh, how absurd you are! It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that -makes us see beauty. It is only Malvínas and women of that kind who are -loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I don’t love her, but... -I don’t know how to put it. Without you, or when something comes between -us like this, I seem lost and can’t do anything. Now do I love my -finger? I don’t love it, but just try to cut it off!” - -“I’m not like that myself, but I understand. So you’re not angry with -me?” - -“Awfully angry!” he said, smiling and getting up. And smoothing his hair -he began to pace the room. - -“Do you know, Mary, what I’ve been thinking?” he began, immediately -thinking aloud in his wife’s presence now that they had made it up. - -He did not ask if she was ready to listen to him. He did not care. A -thought had occurred to him and so it belonged to her also. And he told -her of his intention to persuade Pierre to stay with them till spring. - -Countess Mary listened till he had finished, made some remark, and in -her turn began thinking aloud. Her thoughts were about the children. - -“You can see the woman in her already,” she said in French, pointing to -little Natásha. “You reproach us women with being illogical. Here is our -logic. I say: ‘Papa wants to sleep!’ but she says, ‘No, he’s laughing.’ -And she was right,” said Countess Mary with a happy smile. - -“Yes, yes.” And Nicholas, taking his little daughter in his strong hand, -lifted her high, placed her on his shoulder, held her by the legs, and -paced the room with her. There was an expression of carefree happiness -on the faces of both father and daughter. - -“But you know you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one,” his wife -whispered in French. - -“Yes, but what am I to do?... I try not to show...” - -At that moment they heard the sound of the door pulley and footsteps in -the hall and anteroom, as if someone had arrived. - -“Somebody has come.” - -“I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and see,” said Countess Mary and left -the room. - -In her absence Nicholas allowed himself to give his little daughter a -gallop round the room. Out of breath, he took the laughing child quickly -from his shoulder and pressed her to his heart. His capers reminded -him of dancing, and looking at the child’s round happy little face he -thought of what she would be like when he was an old man, taking her -into society and dancing the mazurka with her as his old father had -danced Daniel Cooper with his daughter. - -“It is he, it is he, Nicholas!” said Countess Mary, re-entering the room -a few minutes later. “Now our Natásha has come to life. You should have -seen her ecstasy, and how he caught it for having stayed away so long. -Well, come along now, quick, quick! It’s time you two were parted,” she -added, looking smilingly at the little girl who clung to her father. - -Nicholas went out holding the child by the hand. - -Countess Mary remained in the sitting room. - -“I should never, never have believed that one could be so happy,” she -whispered to herself. A smile lit up her face but at the same time she -sighed, and her deep eyes expressed a quiet sadness as though she -felt, through her happiness, that there is another sort of happiness -unattainable in this life and of which she involuntarily thought at that -instant. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Natásha had married in the early spring of 1813, and in 1820 already had -three daughters besides a son for whom she had longed and whom she was -now nursing. She had grown stouter and broader, so that it was difficult -to recognize in this robust, motherly woman the slim, lively Natásha of -former days. Her features were more defined and had a calm, soft, -and serene expression. In her face there was none of the ever-glowing -animation that had formerly burned there and constituted its charm. -Now her face and body were often all that one saw, and her soul was -not visible at all. All that struck the eye was a strong, handsome, and -fertile woman. The old fire very rarely kindled in her face now. That -happened only when, as was the case that day, her husband returned home, -or a sick child was convalescent, or when she and Countess Mary spoke of -Prince Andrew (she never mentioned him to her husband, who she imagined -was jealous of Prince Andrew’s memory), or on the rare occasions when -something happened to induce her to sing, a practice she had quite -abandoned since her marriage. At the rare moments when the old fire -did kindle in her handsome, fully developed body she was even more -attractive than in former days. - -Since their marriage Natásha and her husband had lived in Moscow, in -Petersburg, on their estate near Moscow, or with her mother, that is to -say, in Nicholas’ house. The young Countess Bezúkhova was not often seen -in society, and those who met her there were not pleased with her -and found her neither attractive nor amiable. Not that Natásha liked -solitude—she did not know whether she liked it or not, she even thought -that she did not—but with her pregnancies, her confinements, the nursing -of her children, and sharing every moment of her husband’s life, she had -demands on her time which could be satisfied only by renouncing society. -All who had known Natásha before her marriage wondered at the change -in her as at something extraordinary. Only the old countess with her -maternal instinct had realized that all Natásha’s outbursts had been due -to her need of children and a husband—as she herself had once exclaimed -at Otrádnoe not so much in fun as in earnest—and her mother was now -surprised at the surprise expressed by those who had never understood -Natásha, and she kept saying that she had always known that Natásha -would make an exemplary wife and mother. - -“Only she lets her love of her husband and children overflow all -bounds,” said the countess, “so that it even becomes absurd.” - -Natásha did not follow the golden rule advocated by clever folk, -especially by the French, which says that a girl should not let herself -go when she marries, should not neglect her accomplishments, should be -even more careful of her appearance than when she was unmarried, and -should fascinate her husband as much as she did before he became her -husband. Natásha on the contrary had at once abandoned all her witchery, -of which her singing had been an unusually powerful part. She gave it up -just because it was so powerfully seductive. She took no pains with -her manners or with delicacy of speech, or with her toilet, or to show -herself to her husband in her most becoming attitudes, or to avoid -inconveniencing him by being too exacting. She acted in contradiction -to all those rules. She felt that the allurements instinct had formerly -taught her to use would now be merely ridiculous in the eyes of -her husband, to whom she had from the first moment given herself up -entirely—that is, with her whole soul, leaving no corner of it hidden -from him. She felt that her unity with her husband was not maintained -by the poetic feelings that had attracted him to her, but by something -else—indefinite but firm as the bond between her own body and soul. - -To fluff out her curls, put on fashionable dresses, and sing romantic -songs to fascinate her husband would have seemed as strange as to adorn -herself to attract herself. To adorn herself for others might perhaps -have been agreeable—she did not know—but she had no time at all for it. -The chief reason for devoting no time either to singing, to dress, or -to choosing her words was that she really had no time to spare for these -things. - -We know that man has the faculty of becoming completely absorbed in -a subject however trivial it may be, and that there is no subject so -trivial that it will not grow to infinite proportions if one’s entire -attention is devoted to it. - -The subject which wholly engrossed Natásha’s attention was her family: -that is, her husband whom she had to keep so that he should belong -entirely to her and to the home, and the children whom she had to bear, -bring into the world, nurse, and bring up. - -And the deeper she penetrated, not with her mind only but with her whole -soul, her whole being, into the subject that absorbed her, the larger -did that subject grow and the weaker and more inadequate did her powers -appear, so that she concentrated them wholly on that one thing and yet -was unable to accomplish all that she considered necessary. - -There were then as now conversations and discussions about women’s -rights, the relations of husband and wife and their freedom and rights, -though these themes were not yet termed questions as they are now; but -these topics were not merely uninteresting to Natásha, she positively -did not understand them. - -These questions, then as now, existed only for those who see nothing in -marriage but the pleasure married people get from one another, that is, -only the beginnings of marriage and not its whole significance, which -lies in the family. - -Discussions and questions of that kind, which are like the question of -how to get the greatest gratification from one’s dinner, did not then -and do not now exist for those for whom the purpose of a dinner is the -nourishment it affords; and the purpose of marriage is the family. - -If the purpose of dinner is to nourish the body, a man who eats two -dinners at once may perhaps get more enjoyment but will not attain his -purpose, for his stomach will not digest the two dinners. - -If the purpose of marriage is the family, the person who wishes to have -many wives or husbands may perhaps obtain much pleasure, but in that -case will not have a family. - -If the purpose of food is nourishment and the purpose of marriage is the -family, the whole question resolves itself into not eating more than one -can digest, and not having more wives or husbands than are needed for -the family—that is, one wife or one husband. Natásha needed a husband. A -husband was given her and he gave her a family. And she not only saw no -need of any other or better husband, but as all the powers of her soul -were intent on serving that husband and family, she could not imagine -and saw no interest in imagining how it would be if things were -different. - -Natásha did not care for society in general, but prized the more the -society of her relatives—Countess Mary, and her brother, her mother, and -Sónya. She valued the company of those to whom she could come striding -disheveled from the nursery in her dressing gown, and with joyful face -show a yellow instead of a green stain on baby’s napkin, and from whom -she could hear reassuring words to the effect that baby was much better. - -To such an extent had Natásha let herself go that the way she dressed -and did her hair, her ill-chosen words, and her jealousy—she was jealous -of Sónya, of the governess, and of every woman, pretty or plain—were -habitual subjects of jest to those about her. The general opinion was -that Pierre was under his wife’s thumb, which was really true. From the -very first days of their married life Natásha had announced her demands. -Pierre was greatly surprised by his wife’s view, to him a perfectly -novel one, that every moment of his life belonged to her and to the -family. His wife’s demands astonished him, but they also flattered him, -and he submitted to them. - -Pierre’s subjection consisted in the fact that he not only dared not -flirt with, but dared not even speak smilingly to, any other woman; did -not dare dine at the Club as a pastime, did not dare spend money on a -whim, and did not dare absent himself for any length of time, except on -business—in which his wife included his intellectual pursuits, which -she did not in the least understand but to which she attributed great -importance. To make up for this, at home Pierre had the right to -regulate his life and that of the whole family exactly as he chose. At -home Natásha placed herself in the position of a slave to her husband, -and the whole household went on tiptoe when he was occupied—that is, was -reading or writing in his study. Pierre had but to show a partiality for -anything to get just what he liked done always. He had only to express a -wish and Natásha would jump up and run to fulfill it. - -The entire household was governed according to Pierre’s supposed orders, -that is, by his wishes which Natásha tried to guess. Their way of -life and place of residence, their acquaintances and ties, Natásha’s -occupations, the children’s upbringing, were all selected not merely -with regard to Pierre’s expressed wishes, but to what Natásha from the -thoughts he expressed in conversation supposed his wishes to be. And she -deduced the essentials of his wishes quite correctly, and having once -arrived at them clung to them tenaciously. When Pierre himself wanted to -change his mind she would fight him with his own weapons. - -Thus in a time of trouble ever memorable to him after the birth of their -first child who was delicate, when they had to change the wet nurse -three times and Natásha fell ill from despair, Pierre one day told her -of Rousseau’s view, with which he quite agreed, that to have a wet -nurse is unnatural and harmful. When her next baby was born, despite -the opposition of her mother, the doctors, and even of her husband -himself—who were all vigorously opposed to her nursing her baby herself, -a thing then unheard of and considered injurious—she insisted on having -her own way, and after that nursed all her babies herself. - -It very often happened that in a moment of irritation husband and wife -would have a dispute, but long afterwards Pierre to his surprise and -delight would find in his wife’s ideas and actions the very thought -against which she had argued, but divested of everything superfluous -that in the excitement of the dispute he had added when expressing his -opinion. - -After seven years of marriage Pierre had the joyous and firm -consciousness that he was not a bad man, and he felt this because he saw -himself reflected in his wife. He felt the good and bad within himself -inextricably mingled and overlapping. But only what was really good in -him was reflected in his wife, all that was not quite good was rejected. -And this was not the result of logical reasoning but was a direct and -mysterious reflection. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Two months previously when Pierre was already staying with the Rostóvs -he had received a letter from Prince Theodore, asking him to come -to Petersburg to confer on some important questions that were being -discussed there by a society of which Pierre was one of the principal -founders. - -On reading that letter (she always read her husband’s letters) Natásha -herself suggested that he should go to Petersburg, though she would feel -his absence very acutely. She attributed immense importance to all -her husband’s intellectual and abstract interests though she did not -understand them, and she always dreaded being a hindrance to him in such -matters. To Pierre’s timid look of inquiry after reading the letter she -replied by asking him to go, but to fix a definite date for his return. -He was given four weeks’ leave of absence. - -Ever since that leave of absence had expired, more than a fortnight -before, Natásha had been in a constant state of alarm, depression, and -irritability. - -Denísov, now a general on the retired list and much dissatisfied with -the present state of affairs, had arrived during that fortnight. He -looked at Natásha with sorrow and surprise as at a bad likeness of a -person once dear. A dull, dejected look, random replies, and talk about -the nursery was all he saw and heard from his former enchantress. - -Natásha was sad and irritable all that time, especially when her mother, -her brother, Sónya, or Countess Mary in their efforts to console her -tried to excuse Pierre and suggested reasons for his delay in returning. - -“It’s all nonsense, all rubbish—those discussions which lead to nothing -and all those idiotic societies!” Natásha declared of the very affairs -in the immense importance of which she firmly believed. - -And she would go to the nursery to nurse Pétya, her only boy. No one -else could tell her anything so comforting or so reasonable as this -little three-month-old creature when he lay at her breast and she was -conscious of the movement of his lips and the snuffling of his little -nose. That creature said: “You are angry, you are jealous, you would -like to pay him out, you are afraid—but here am I! And I am he...” and -that was unanswerable. It was more than true. - -During that fortnight of anxiety Natásha resorted to the baby for -comfort so often, and fussed over him so much, that she overfed him and -he fell ill. She was terrified by his illness, and yet that was just -what she needed. While attending to him she bore the anxiety about her -husband more easily. - -She was nursing her boy when the sound of Pierre’s sleigh was heard -at the front door, and the old nurse—knowing how to please her -mistress—entered the room inaudibly but hurriedly and with a beaming -face. - -“Has he come?” Natásha asked quickly in a whisper, afraid to move lest -she should rouse the dozing baby. - -“He’s come, ma’am,” whispered the nurse. - -The blood rushed to Natásha’s face and her feet involuntarily moved, but -she could not jump up and run out. The baby again opened his eyes and -looked at her. “You’re here?” he seemed to be saying, and again lazily -smacked his lips. - -Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natásha rocked him a little, handed -him to the nurse, and went with rapid steps toward the door. But at the -door she stopped as if her conscience reproached her for having in -her joy left the child too soon, and she glanced round. The nurse with -raised elbows was lifting the infant over the rail of his cot. - -“Go, ma’am! Don’t worry, go!” she whispered, smiling, with the kind of -familiarity that grows up between a nurse and her mistress. - -Natásha ran with light footsteps to the anteroom. - -Denísov, who had come out of the study into the dancing room with his -pipe, now for the first time recognized the old Natásha. A flood of -brilliant, joyful light poured from her transfigured face. - -“He’s come!” she exclaimed as she ran past, and Denísov felt that he too -was delighted that Pierre, whom he did not much care for, had returned. - -On reaching the vestibule Natásha saw a tall figure in a fur coat -unwinding his scarf. “It’s he! It’s really he! He has come!” she said -to herself, and rushing at him embraced him, pressed his head to her -breast, and then pushed him back and gazed at his ruddy, happy face, -covered with hoarfrost. “Yes, it is he, happy and contented....” - -Then all at once she remembered the tortures of suspense she had -experienced for the last fortnight, and the joy that had lit up her -face vanished; she frowned and overwhelmed Pierre with a torrent of -reproaches and angry words. - -“Yes, it’s all very well for you. You are pleased, you’ve had a good -time.... But what about me? You might at least have shown consideration -for the children. I am nursing and my milk was spoiled.... Pétya was at -death’s door. But you were enjoying yourself. Yes, enjoying...” - -Pierre knew he was not to blame, for he could not have come sooner; he -knew this outburst was unseemly and would blow over in a minute or two; -above all he knew that he himself was bright and happy. He wanted -to smile but dared not even think of doing so. He made a piteous, -frightened face and bent down. - -“I could not, on my honor. But how is Pétya?” - -“All right now. Come along! I wonder you’re not ashamed! If only you -could see what I was like without you, how I suffered!” - -“You are well?” - -“Come, come!” she said, not letting go of his arm. And they went to -their rooms. - -When Nicholas and his wife came to look for Pierre he was in the nursery -holding his baby son, who was again awake, on his huge right palm and -dandling him. A blissful bright smile was fixed on the baby’s broad face -with its toothless open mouth. The storm was long since over and there -was bright, joyous sunshine on Natásha’s face as she gazed tenderly at -her husband and child. - -“And have you talked everything well over with Prince Theodore?” she -asked. - -“Yes, capitally.” - -“You see, he holds it up.” (She meant the baby’s head.) “But how he did -frighten me... You’ve seen the princess? Is it true she’s in love with -that...” - -“Yes, just fancy...” - -At that moment Nicholas and Countess Mary came in. Pierre with the baby -on his hand stooped, kissed them, and replied to their inquiries. But -in spite of much that was interesting and had to be discussed, the baby -with the little cap on its unsteady head evidently absorbed all his -attention. - -“How sweet!” said Countess Mary, looking at and playing with the baby. -“Now, Nicholas,” she added, turning to her husband, “I can’t understand -how it is you don’t see the charm of these delicious marvels.” - -“I don’t and can’t,” replied Nicholas, looking coldly at the baby. “A -lump of flesh. Come along, Pierre!” - -“And yet he’s such an affectionate father,” said Countess Mary, -vindicating her husband, “but only after they are a year old or so...” - -“Now, Pierre nurses them splendidly,” said Natásha. “He says his hand is -just made for a baby’s seat. Just look!” - -“Only not for this...” Pierre suddenly exclaimed with a laugh, and -shifting the baby he gave him to the nurse. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -As in every large household, there were at Bald Hills several perfectly -distinct worlds which merged into one harmonious whole, though each -retained its own peculiarities and made concessions to the others. Every -event, joyful or sad, that took place in that house was important to all -these worlds, but each had its own special reasons to rejoice or grieve -over that occurrence independently of the others. - -For instance, Pierre’s return was a joyful and important event and they -all felt it to be so. - -The servants—the most reliable judges of their masters because they -judge not by their conversation or expressions of feeling but by their -acts and way of life—were glad of Pierre’s return because they knew that -when he was there Count Nicholas would cease going every day to attend -to the estate, and would be in better spirits and temper, and also -because they would all receive handsome presents for the holidays. - -The children and their governesses were glad of Pierre’s return because -no one else drew them into the social life of the household as he did. -He alone could play on the clavichord that écossaise (his only piece) -to which, as he said, all possible dances could be danced, and they felt -sure he had brought presents for them all. - -Young Nicholas, now a slim lad of fifteen, delicate and intelligent, -with curly light-brown hair and beautiful eyes, was delighted because -Uncle Pierre as he called him was the object of his rapturous and -passionate affection. No one had instilled into him this love for Pierre -whom he saw only occasionally. Countess Mary who had brought him up -had done her utmost to make him love her husband as she loved him, and -little Nicholas did love his uncle, but loved him with just a shade of -contempt. Pierre, however, he adored. He did not want to be an hussar or -a Knight of St. George like his uncle Nicholas; he wanted to be learned, -wise, and kind like Pierre. In Pierre’s presence his face always shone -with pleasure and he flushed and was breathless when Pierre spoke to -him. He did not miss a single word he uttered, and would afterwards, -with Dessalles or by himself, recall and reconsider the meaning of -everything Pierre had said. Pierre’s past life and his unhappiness prior -to 1812 (of which young Nicholas had formed a vague poetic picture from -some words he had overheard), his adventures in Moscow, his captivity, -Platón Karatáev (of whom he had heard from Pierre), his love for Natásha -(of whom the lad was also particularly fond), and especially Pierre’s -friendship with the father whom Nicholas could not remember—all this -made Pierre in his eyes a hero and a saint. - -From broken remarks about Natásha and his father, from the emotion with -which Pierre spoke of that dead father, and from the careful, reverent -tenderness with which Natásha spoke of him, the boy, who was only just -beginning to guess what love is, derived the notion that his father had -loved Natásha and when dying had left her to his friend. But the father -whom the boy did not remember appeared to him a divinity who could not -be pictured, and of whom he never thought without a swelling heart and -tears of sadness and rapture. So the boy also was happy that Pierre had -arrived. - -The guests welcomed Pierre because he always helped to enliven and unite -any company he was in. - -The grown-up members of the family, not to mention his wife, were -pleased to have back a friend whose presence made life run more smoothly -and peacefully. - -The old ladies were pleased with the presents he brought them, and -especially that Natásha would now be herself again. - -Pierre felt the different outlooks of these various worlds and made -haste to satisfy all their expectations. - -Though the most absent-minded and forgetful of men, Pierre, with the aid -of a list his wife drew up, had now bought everything, not forgetting -his mother—and brother-in-law’s commissions, nor the dress material for -a present to Belóva, nor toys for his wife’s nephews. In the early days -of his marriage it had seemed strange to him that his wife should expect -him not to forget to procure all the things he undertook to buy, and he -had been taken aback by her serious annoyance when on his first trip he -forgot everything. But in time he grew used to this demand. Knowing that -Natásha asked nothing for herself, and gave him commissions for others -only when he himself had offered to undertake them, he now found an -unexpected and childlike pleasure in this purchase of presents for -everyone in the house, and never forgot anything. If he now incurred -Natásha’s censure it was only for buying too many and too expensive -things. To her other defects (as most people thought them, but which -to Pierre were qualities) of untidiness and neglect of herself, she now -added stinginess. - -From the time that Pierre began life as a family man on a footing -entailing heavy expenditure, he had noticed to his surprise that he -spent only half as much as before, and that his affairs—which had been -in disorder of late, chiefly because of his first wife’s debts—had begun -to improve. - -Life was cheaper because it was circumscribed: that most expensive -luxury, the kind of life that can be changed at any moment, was no -longer his nor did he wish for it. He felt that his way of life had now -been settled once for all till death and that to change it was not in -his power, and so that way of life proved economical. - -With a merry, smiling face Pierre was sorting his purchases. - -“What do you think of this?” said he, unrolling a piece of stuff like a -shopman. - -Natásha, who was sitting opposite to him with her eldest daughter on her -lap, turned her sparkling eyes swiftly from her husband to the things he -showed her. - -“That’s for Belóva? Excellent!” She felt the quality of the material. -“It was a ruble an arshin, I suppose?” - -Pierre told her the price. - -“Too dear!” Natásha remarked. “How pleased the children will be and -Mamma too! Only you need not have bought me this,” she added, unable to -suppress a smile as she gazed admiringly at a gold comb set with pearls, -of a kind then just coming into fashion. - -“Adèle tempted me: she kept on telling me to buy it,” returned Pierre. - -“When am I to wear it?” and Natásha stuck it in her coil of hair. “When -I take little Másha into society? Perhaps they will be fashionable again -by then. Well, let’s go now.” - -And collecting the presents they went first to the nursery and then to -the old countess’ rooms. - -The countess was sitting with her companion Belóva, playing -grand-patience as usual, when Pierre and Natásha came into the drawing -room with parcels under their arms. - -The countess was now over sixty, was quite gray, and wore a cap with a -frill that surrounded her face. Her face had shriveled, her upper lip -had sunk in, and her eyes were dim. - -After the deaths of her son and husband in such rapid succession, she -felt herself a being accidentally forgotten in this world and left -without aim or object for her existence. She ate, drank, slept, or kept -awake, but did not live. Life gave her no new impressions. She wanted -nothing from life but tranquillity, and that tranquillity only death -could give her. But until death came she had to go on living, that is, -to use her vital forces. A peculiarity one sees in very young children -and very old people was particularly evident in her. Her life had -no external aims—only a need to exercise her various functions and -inclinations was apparent. She had to eat, sleep, think, speak, weep, -work, give vent to her anger, and so on, merely because she had a -stomach, a brain, muscles, nerves, and a liver. She did these things not -under any external impulse as people in the full vigor of life do, -when behind the purpose for which they strive that of exercising their -functions remains unnoticed. She talked only because she physically -needed to exercise her tongue and lungs. She cried as a child does, -because her nose had to be cleared, and so on. What for people in their -full vigor is an aim was for her evidently merely a pretext. - -Thus in the morning—especially if she had eaten anything rich the day -before—she felt a need of being angry and would choose as the handiest -pretext Belóva’s deafness. - -She would begin to say something to her in a low tone from the other end -of the room. - -“It seems a little warmer today, my dear,” she would murmur. - -And when Belóva replied: “Oh yes, they’ve come,” she would mutter -angrily: “O Lord! How stupid and deaf she is!” - -Another pretext would be her snuff, which would seem too dry or too damp -or not rubbed fine enough. After these fits of irritability her face -would grow yellow, and her maids knew by infallible symptoms when Belóva -would again be deaf, the snuff damp, and the countess’ face yellow. Just -as she needed to work off her spleen so she had sometimes to exercise -her still-existing faculty of thinking—and the pretext for that was a -game of patience. When she needed to cry, the deceased count would be -the pretext. When she wanted to be agitated, Nicholas and his health -would be the pretext, and when she felt a need to speak spitefully, the -pretext would be Countess Mary. When her vocal organs needed exercise, -which was usually toward seven o’clock when she had had an after-dinner -rest in a darkened room, the pretext would be the retelling of the same -stories over and over again to the same audience. - -The old lady’s condition was understood by the whole household though no -one ever spoke of it, and they all made every possible effort to satisfy -her needs. Only by a rare glance exchanged with a sad smile -between Nicholas, Pierre, Natásha, and Countess Mary was the common -understanding of her condition expressed. - -But those glances expressed something more: they said that she had -played her part in life, that what they now saw was not her whole self, -that we must all become like her, and that they were glad to yield to -her, to restrain themselves for this once precious being formerly as -full of life as themselves, but now so much to be pitied. “Memento -mori,” said these glances. - -Only the really heartless, the stupid ones of that household, and the -little children failed to understand this and avoided her. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -When Pierre and his wife entered the drawing room the countess was in -one of her customary states in which she needed the mental exertion of -playing patience, and so—though by force of habit she greeted him with -the words she always used when Pierre or her son returned after an -absence: “High time, my dear, high time! We were all weary of waiting -for you. Well, thank God!” and received her presents with another -customary remark: “It’s not the gift that’s precious, my dear, but that -you give it to me, an old woman...”—yet it was evident that she was -not pleased by Pierre’s arrival at that moment when it diverted her -attention from the unfinished game. - -She finished her game of patience and only then examined the presents. -They consisted of a box for cards, of splendid workmanship, a -bright-blue Sèvres tea cup with shepherdesses depicted on it and with -a lid, and a gold snuffbox with the count’s portrait on the lid which -Pierre had had done by a miniaturist in Petersburg. The countess had -long wished for such a box, but as she did not want to cry just then she -glanced indifferently at the portrait and gave her attention chiefly to -the box for cards. - -“Thank you, my dear, you have cheered me up,” said she as she always -did. “But best of all you have brought yourself back—for I never saw -anything like it, you ought to give your wife a scolding! What are we -to do with her? She is like a mad woman when you are away. Doesn’t see -anything, doesn’t remember anything,” she went on, repeating her usual -phrases. “Look, Anna Timoféevna,” she added to her companion, “see what -a box for cards my son has brought us!” - -Belóva admired the presents and was delighted with her dress material. - -Though Pierre, Natásha, Nicholas, Countess Mary, and Denísov had much to -talk about that they could not discuss before the old countess—not -that anything was hidden from her, but because she had dropped so -far behindhand in many things that had they begun to converse in her -presence they would have had to answer inopportune questions and to -repeat what they had already told her many times: that so-and-so was -dead and so-and-so was married, which she would again be unable to -remember—yet they sat at tea round the samovar in the drawing room from -habit, and Pierre answered the countess’ questions as to whether Prince -Vasíli had aged and whether Countess Mary Alexéevna had sent greetings -and still thought of them, and other matters that interested no one and -to which she herself was indifferent. - -Conversation of this kind, interesting to no one yet unavoidable, -continued all through teatime. All the grown-up members of the family -were assembled near the round tea table at which Sónya presided beside -the samovar. The children with their tutors and governesses had had -tea and their voices were audible from the next room. At tea all sat -in their accustomed places: Nicholas beside the stove at a small table -where his tea was handed to him; Mílka, the old gray borzoi bitch -(daughter of the first Mílka), with a quite gray face and large black -eyes that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on the armchair beside -him; Denísov, whose curly hair, mustache, and whiskers had turned half -gray, sat beside countess Mary with his general’s tunic unbuttoned; -Pierre sat between his wife and the old countess. He spoke of what he -knew might interest the old lady and that she could understand. He -told her of external social events and of the people who had formed -the circle of her contemporaries and had once been a real, living, and -distinct group, but who were now for the most part scattered about the -world and like herself were garnering the last ears of the harvests they -had sown in earlier years. But to the old countess those contemporaries -of hers seemed to be the only serious and real society. Natásha saw by -Pierre’s animation that his visit had been interesting and that he had -much to tell them but dare not say it before the old countess. Denísov, -not being a member of the family, did not understand Pierre’s caution -and being, as a malcontent, much interested in what was occurring in -Petersburg, kept urging Pierre to tell them about what had happened in -the Semënovsk regiment, then about Arakchéev, and then about the Bible -Society. Once or twice Pierre was carried away and began to speak of -these things, but Nicholas and Natásha always brought him back to the -health of Prince Iván and Countess Mary Alexéevna. - -“Well, and all this idiocy—Gossner and Tatáwinova?” Denísov asked. “Is -that weally still going on?” - -“Going on?” Pierre exclaimed. “Why more than ever! The Bible Society is -the whole government now!” - -“What is that, mon cher ami?” asked the countess, who had finished her -tea and evidently needed a pretext for being angry after her meal. “What -are you saying about the government? I don’t understand.” - -“Well, you know, Maman,” Nicholas interposed, knowing how to translate -things into his mother’s language, “Prince Alexander Golítsyn has -founded a society and in consequence has great influence, they say.” - -“Arakchéev and Golítsyn,” incautiously remarked Pierre, “are now the -whole government! And what a government! They see treason everywhere and -are afraid of everything.” - -“Well, and how is Prince Alexander to blame? He is a most estimable -man. I used to meet him at Mary Antónovna’s,” said the countess in an -offended tone; and still more offended that they all remained silent, -she went on: “Nowadays everyone finds fault. A Gospel Society! Well, and -what harm is there in that?” and she rose (everybody else got up too) -and with a severe expression sailed back to her table in the sitting -room. - -The melancholy silence that followed was broken by the sounds of the -children’s voices and laughter from the next room. Evidently some jolly -excitement was going on there. - -“Finished, finished!” little Natásha’s gleeful yell rose above them all. - -Pierre exchanged glances with Countess Mary and Nicholas (Natásha he -never lost sight of) and smiled happily. - -“That’s delightful music!” said he. - -“It means that Anna Makárovna has finished her stocking,” said Countess -Mary. - -“Oh, I’ll go and see,” said Pierre, jumping up. “You know,” he added, -stopping at the door, “why I’m especially fond of that music? It is -always the first thing that tells me all is well. When I was driving -here today, the nearer I got to the house the more anxious I grew. As I -entered the anteroom I heard Andrúsha’s peals of laughter and that meant -that all was well.” - -“I know! I know that feeling,” said Nicholas. “But I mustn’t go -there—those stockings are to be a surprise for me.” - -Pierre went to the children, and the shouting and laughter grew still -louder. - -“Come, Anna Makárovna,” Pierre’s voice was heard saying, “come here into -the middle of the room and at the word of command, ‘One, two,’ and -when I say ‘three’... You stand here, and you in my arms—well now! One, -two!...” said Pierre, and a silence followed: “three!” and a rapturously -breathless cry of children’s voices filled the room. “Two, two!” they -shouted. - -This meant two stockings, which by a secret process known only to -herself Anna Makárovna used to knit at the same time on the same -needles, and which, when they were ready, she always triumphantly drew, -one out of the other, in the children’s presence. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -Soon after this the children came in to say good night. They kissed -everyone, the tutors and governesses made their bows, and they went out. -Only young Nicholas and his tutor remained. Dessalles whispered to the -boy to come downstairs. - -“No, Monsieur Dessalles, I will ask my aunt to let me stay,” replied -Nicholas Bolkónski also in a whisper. - -“Ma tante, please let me stay,” said he, going up to his aunt. - -His face expressed entreaty, agitation, and ecstasy. Countess Mary -glanced at him and turned to Pierre. - -“When you are here he can’t tear himself away,” she said. - -“I will bring him to you directly, Monsieur Dessalles. Good night!” -said Pierre, giving his hand to the Swiss tutor, and he turned to young -Nicholas with a smile. “You and I haven’t seen anything of one another -yet.... How like he is growing, Mary!” he added, addressing Countess -Mary. - -“Like my father?” asked the boy, flushing crimson and looking up at -Pierre with bright, ecstatic eyes. - -Pierre nodded, and went on with what he had been saying when the -children had interrupted. Countess Mary sat down doing woolwork; Natásha -did not take her eyes off her husband. Nicholas and Denísov rose, asked -for their pipes, smoked, went to fetch more tea from Sónya—who sat weary -but resolute at the samovar—and questioned Pierre. The curly-headed, -delicate boy sat with shining eyes unnoticed in a corner, starting -every now and then and muttering something to himself, and evidently -experiencing a new and powerful emotion as he turned his curly head, -with his thin neck exposed by his turn-down collar, toward the place -where Pierre sat. - -The conversation turned on the contemporary gossip about those in power, -in which most people see the chief interest of home politics. Denísov, -dissatisfied with the government on account of his own disappointments -in the service, heard with pleasure of the things done in Petersburg -which seemed to him stupid, and made forcible and sharp comments on what -Pierre told them. - -“One used to have to be a German—now one must dance with Tatáwinova -and Madame Kwüdener, and wead Ecka’tshausen and the bwethwen. Oh, they -should let that fine fellow Bonaparte loose—he’d knock all this nonsense -out of them! Fancy giving the command of the Semënov wegiment to a -fellow like that Schwa’tz!” he cried. - -Nicholas, though free from Denísov’s readiness to find fault with -everything, also thought that discussion of the government was a very -serious and weighty matter, and the fact that A had been appointed -Minister of This and B Governor General of That, and that the Emperor -had said so-and-so and this minister so-and-so, seemed to him very -important. And so he thought it necessary to take an interest in these -things and to question Pierre. The questions put by these two kept the -conversation from changing its ordinary character of gossip about the -higher government circles. - -But Natásha, knowing all her husband’s ways and ideas, saw that he had -long been wishing but had been unable to divert the conversation to -another channel and express his own deeply felt idea for the sake of -which he had gone to Petersburg to consult with his new friend Prince -Theodore, and she helped him by asking how his affairs with Prince -Theodore had gone. - -“What was it about?” asked Nicholas. - -“Always the same thing,” said Pierre, looking round at his listeners. -“Everybody sees that things are going so badly that they cannot be -allowed to go on so and that it is the duty of all decent men to -counteract it as far as they can.” - -“What can decent men do?” Nicholas inquired, frowning slightly. “What -can be done?” - -“Why, this...” - -“Come into my study,” said Nicholas. - -Natásha, who had long expected to be fetched to nurse her baby, now -heard the nurse calling her and went to the nursery. Countess Mary -followed her. The men went into the study and little Nicholas Bolkónski -followed them unnoticed by his uncle and sat down at the writing table -in a shady corner by the window. - -“Well, what would you do?” asked Denísov. - -“Always some fantastic schemes,” said Nicholas. - -“Why this,” began Pierre, not sitting down but pacing the room, -sometimes stopping short, gesticulating, and lisping: “the position -in Petersburg is this: the Emperor does not look into anything. He -has abandoned himself altogether to this mysticism” (Pierre could not -tolerate mysticism in anyone now). “He seeks only for peace, and only -these people sans foi ni loi * can give it him—people who recklessly -hack at and strangle everything—Magnítski, Arakchéev, and tutti -quanti.... You will agree that if you did not look after your estates -yourself but only wanted a quiet life, the harsher your steward was the -more readily your object might be attained,” he said to Nicholas. - - * Without faith or law. - -“Well, what does that lead up to?” said Nicholas. - -“Well, everything is going to ruin! Robbery in the law courts, in the -army nothing but flogging, drilling, and Military Settlements; the -people are tortured, enlightenment is suppressed. All that is young and -honest is crushed! Everyone sees that this cannot go on. Everything is -strained to such a degree that it will certainly break,” said Pierre (as -those who examine the actions of any government have always said since -governments began). “I told them just one thing in Petersburg.” - -“Told whom?” - -“Well, you know whom,” said Pierre, with a meaning glance from under -his brows. “Prince Theodore and all those. To encourage culture and -philanthropy is all very well of course. The aim is excellent but in the -present circumstances something else is needed.” - -At that moment Nicholas noticed the presence of his nephew. His face -darkened and he went up to the boy. - -“Why are you here?” - -“Why? Let him be,” said Pierre, taking Nicholas by the arm and -continuing. “That is not enough, I told them. Something else is needed. -When you stand expecting the overstrained string to snap at any moment, -when everyone is expecting the inevitable catastrophe, as many as -possible must join hands as closely as they can to withstand the general -calamity. Everything that is young and strong is being enticed away and -depraved. One is lured by women, another by honors, a third by ambition -or money, and they go over to that camp. No independent men, such as you -or I, are left. What I say is widen the scope of our society, let the -mot d’ordre be not virtue alone but independence and action as well!” - -Nicholas, who had left his nephew, irritably pushed up an armchair, sat -down in it, and listened to Pierre, coughing discontentedly and frowning -more and more. - -“But action with what aim?” he cried. “And what position will you adopt -toward the government?” - -“Why, the position of assistants. The society need not be secret if the -government allows it. Not merely is it not hostile to government, but -it is a society of true conservatives—a society of gentlemen in the full -meaning of that word. It is only to prevent some Pugachëv or other from -killing my children and yours, and Arakchéev from sending me off to some -Military Settlement. We join hands only for the public welfare and the -general safety.” - -“Yes, but it’s a secret society and therefore a hostile and harmful one -which can only cause harm.” - -“Why? Did the Tugendbund which saved Europe” (they did not then venture -to suggest that Russia had saved Europe) “do any harm? The Tugendbund -is an alliance of virtue: it is love, mutual help... it is what Christ -preached on the Cross.” - -Natásha, who had come in during the conversation, looked joyfully at -her husband. It was not what he was saying that pleased her—that did not -even interest her, for it seemed to her that was all extremely simple -and that she had known it a long time (it seemed so to her because she -knew that it sprang from Pierre’s whole soul), but it was his animated -and enthusiastic appearance that made her glad. - -The boy with the thin neck stretching out from the turn-down collar—whom -everyone had forgotten—gazed at Pierre with even greater and more -rapturous joy. Every word of Pierre’s burned into his heart, and with a -nervous movement of his fingers he unconsciously broke the sealing wax -and quill pens his hands came upon on his uncle’s table. - -“It is not at all what you suppose; but that is what the German -Tugendbund was, and what I am proposing.” - -“No, my fwiend! The Tugendbund is all vewy well for the sausage eaters, -but I don’t understand it and can’t even pwonounce it,” interposed -Denísov in a loud and resolute voice. “I agwee that evewything here is -wotten and howwible, but the Tugendbund I don’t understand. If we’re -not satisfied, let us have a bunt of our own. That’s all wight. Je suis -vot’e homme!” * - - * “I’m your man.” - - -Pierre smiled, Natásha began to laugh, but Nicholas knitted his brows -still more and began proving to Pierre that there was no prospect of -any great change and that all the danger he spoke of existed only in his -imagination. Pierre maintained the contrary, and as his mental faculties -were greater and more resourceful, Nicholas felt himself cornered. This -made him still angrier, for he was fully convinced, not by reasoning -but by something within him stronger than reason, of the justice of his -opinion. - -“I will tell you this,” he said, rising and trying with nervously -twitching fingers to prop up his pipe in a corner, but finally -abandoning the attempt. “I can’t prove it to you. You say that -everything here is rotten and that an overthrow is coming: I don’t -see it. But you also say that our oath of allegiance is a conditional -matter, and to that I reply: ‘You are my best friend, as you know, -but if you formed a secret society and began working against the -government—be it what it may—I know it is my duty to obey the -government. And if Arakchéev ordered me to lead a squadron against you -and cut you down, I should not hesitate an instant, but should do it.’ -And you may argue about that as you like!” - -An awkward silence followed these words. Natásha was the first to speak, -defending her husband and attacking her brother. Her defense was weak -and inapt but she attained her object. The conversation was resumed, and -no longer in the unpleasantly hostile tone of Nicholas’ last remark. - -When they all got up to go in to supper, little Nicholas Bolkónski went -up to Pierre, pale and with shining, radiant eyes. - -“Uncle Pierre, you... no... If Papa were alive... would he agree with -you?” he asked. - -And Pierre suddenly realized what a special, independent, complex, and -powerful process of thought and feeling must have been going on in -this boy during that conversation, and remembering all he had said he -regretted that the lad should have heard him. He had, however, to give -him an answer. - -“Yes, I think so,” he said reluctantly, and left the study. - -The lad looked down and seemed now for the first time to notice what he -had done to the things on the table. He flushed and went up to Nicholas. - -“Uncle, forgive me, I did that... unintentionally,” he said, pointing to -the broken sealing wax and pens. - -Nicholas started angrily. - -“All right, all right,” he said, throwing the bits under the table. - -And evidently suppressing his vexation with difficulty, he turned away -from the boy. - -“You ought not to have been here at all,” he said. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -The conversation at supper was not about politics or societies, but -turned on the subject Nicholas liked best—recollections of 1812. Denísov -started these and Pierre was particularly agreeable and amusing about -them. The family separated on the most friendly terms. - -After supper Nicholas, having undressed in his study and given -instructions to the steward who had been waiting for him, went to the -bedroom in his dressing gown, where he found his wife still at her -table, writing. - -“What are you writing, Mary?” Nicholas asked. - -Countess Mary blushed. She was afraid that what she was writing would -not be understood or approved by her husband. - -She had wanted to conceal what she was writing from him, but at the same -time was glad he had surprised her at it and that she would now have to -tell him. - -“A diary, Nicholas,” she replied, handing him a blue exercise book -filled with her firm, bold writing. - -“A diary?” Nicholas repeated with a shade of irony, and he took up the -book. - -It was in French. - - -December 4. Today when Andrúsha (her eldest boy) woke up he did not -wish to dress and Mademoiselle Louise sent for me. He was naughty and -obstinate. I tried threats, but he only grew angrier. Then I took the -matter in hand: I left him alone and began with nurse’s help to get the -other children up, telling him that I did not love him. For a long time -he was silent, as if astonished, then he jumped out of bed, ran to me in -his shirt, and sobbed so that I could not calm him for a long time. -It was plain that what troubled him most was that he had grieved me. -Afterwards in the evening when I gave him his ticket, he again began -crying piteously and kissing me. One can do anything with him by -tenderness. - - -“What is a ‘ticket’?” Nicholas inquired. - -“I have begun giving the elder ones marks every evening, showing how -they have behaved.” - -Nicholas looked into the radiant eyes that were gazing at him, and -continued to turn over the pages and read. In the diary was set down -everything in the children’s lives that seemed noteworthy to their -mother as showing their characters or suggesting general reflections -on educational methods. They were for the most part quite insignificant -trifles, but did not seem so to the mother or to the father either, now -that he read this diary about his children for the first time. - -Under the date “5” was entered: - - -Mítya was naughty at table. Papa said he was to have no pudding. He had -none, but looked so unhappily and greedily at the others while they were -eating! I think that punishment by depriving children of sweets only -develops their greediness. Must tell Nicholas this. - -Nicholas put down the book and looked at his wife. The radiant eyes -gazed at him questioningly: would he approve or disapprove of her -diary? There could be no doubt not only of his approval but also of his -admiration for his wife. - -Perhaps it need not be done so pedantically, thought Nicholas, or even -done at all, but this untiring, continual spiritual effort of which the -sole aim was the children’s moral welfare delighted him. Had Nicholas -been able to analyze his feelings he would have found that his steady, -tender, and proud love of his wife rested on his feeling of wonder at -her spirituality and at the lofty moral world, almost beyond his reach, -in which she had her being. - -He was proud of her intelligence and goodness, recognized his own -insignificance beside her in the spiritual world, and rejoiced all the -more that she with such a soul not only belonged to him but was part of -himself. - -“I quite, quite approve, my dearest!” said he with a significant look, -and after a short pause he added: “And I behaved badly today. You -weren’t in the study. We began disputing—Pierre and I—and I lost my -temper. But he is impossible: such a child! I don’t know what would -become of him if Natásha didn’t keep him in hand.... Have you any idea -why he went to Petersburg? They have formed...” - -“Yes, I know,” said Countess Mary. “Natásha told me.” - -“Well, then, you know,” Nicholas went on, growing hot at the mere -recollection of their discussion, “he wanted to convince me that it is -every honest man’s duty to go against the government, and that the oath -of allegiance and duty... I am sorry you weren’t there. They all fell on -me—Denísov and Natásha... Natásha is absurd. How she rules over him! And -yet there need only be a discussion and she has no words of her own -but only repeats his sayings...” added Nicholas, yielding to that -irresistible inclination which tempts us to judge those nearest and -dearest to us. He forgot that what he was saying about Natásha could -have been applied word for word to himself in relation to his wife. - -“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Countess Mary. - -“When I told him that duty and the oath were above everything, he -started proving goodness knows what! A pity you were not there—what -would you have said?” - -“As I see it you were quite right, and I told Natásha so. Pierre says -everybody is suffering, tortured, and being corrupted, and that it -is our duty to help our neighbor. Of course he is right there,” said -Countess Mary, “but he forgets that we have other duties nearer to us, -duties indicated to us by God Himself, and that though we might expose -ourselves to risks we must not risk our children.” - -“Yes, that’s it! That’s just what I said to him,” put in Nicholas, who -fancied he really had said it. “But they insisted on their own view: -love of one’s neighbor and Christianity—and all this in the presence of -young Nicholas, who had gone into my study and broke all my things.” - -“Ah, Nicholas, do you know I am often troubled about little Nicholas,” -said Countess Mary. “He is such an exceptional boy. I am afraid I -neglect him in favor of my own: we all have children and relations while -he has no one. He is constantly alone with his thoughts.” - -“Well, I don’t think you need reproach yourself on his account. All that -the fondest mother could do for her son you have done and are doing for -him, and of course I am glad of it. He is a fine lad, a fine lad! This -evening he listened to Pierre in a sort of trance, and fancy—as we were -going in to supper I looked and he had broken everything on my table to -bits, and he told me of it himself at once! I never knew him to tell an -untruth. A fine lad, a fine lad!” repeated Nicholas, who at heart was -not fond of Nicholas Bolkónski but was always anxious to recognize that -he was a fine lad. - -“Still, I am not the same as his own mother,” said Countess Mary. “I -feel I am not the same and it troubles me. A wonderful boy, but I am -dreadfully afraid for him. It would be good for him to have companions.” - -“Well it won’t be for long. Next summer I’ll take him to Petersburg,” -said Nicholas. “Yes, Pierre always was a dreamer and always will be,” -he continued, returning to the talk in the study which had evidently -disturbed him. “Well, what business is it of mine what goes on -there—whether Arakchéev is bad, and all that? What business was it of -mine when I married and was so deep in debt that I was threatened with -prison, and had a mother who could not see or understand it? And -then there are you and the children and our affairs. Is it for my own -pleasure that I am at the farm or in the office from morning to night? -No, but I know I must work to comfort my mother, to repay you, and not -to leave the children such beggars as I was.” - -Countess Mary wanted to tell him that man does not live by bread alone -and that he attached too much importance to these matters. But she knew -she must not say this and that it would be useless to do so. She only -took his hand and kissed it. He took this as a sign of approval and -a confirmation of his thoughts, and after a few minutes’ reflection -continued to think aloud. - -“You know, Mary, today Elias Mitrofánych” (this was his overseer) “came -back from the Tambóv estate and told me they are already offering eighty -thousand rubles for the forest.” - -And with an eager face Nicholas began to speak of the possibility of -repurchasing Otrádnoe before long, and added: “Another ten years of life -and I shall leave the children... in an excellent position.” - -Countess Mary listened to her husband and understood all that he told -her. She knew that when he thought aloud in this way he would sometimes -ask her what he had been saying, and be vexed if he noticed that she -had been thinking about something else. But she had to force herself to -attend, for what he was saying did not interest her at all. She looked -at him and did not think, but felt, about something different. She felt -a submissive tender love for this man who would never understand all -that she understood, and this seemed to make her love for him still -stronger and added a touch of passionate tenderness. Besides this -feeling which absorbed her altogether and hindered her from following -the details of her husband’s plans, thoughts that had no connection with -what he was saying flitted through her mind. She thought of her nephew. -Her husband’s account of the boy’s agitation while Pierre was speaking -struck her forcibly, and various traits of his gentle, sensitive -character recurred to her mind; and while thinking of her nephew she -thought also of her own children. She did not compare them with him, but -compared her feeling for them with her feeling for him, and felt -with regret that there was something lacking in her feeling for young -Nicholas. - -Sometimes it seemed to her that this difference arose from the -difference in their ages, but she felt herself to blame toward him and -promised in her heart to do better and to accomplish the impossible—in -this life to love her husband, her children, little Nicholas, and all -her neighbors, as Christ loved mankind. Countess Mary’s soul always -strove toward the infinite, the eternal, and the absolute, and could -therefore never be at peace. A stern expression of the lofty, secret -suffering of a soul burdened by the body appeared on her face. Nicholas -gazed at her. “O God! What will become of us if she dies, as I always -fear when her face is like that?” thought he, and placing himself before -the icon he began to say his evening prayers. - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Natásha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk as only a husband -and wife can talk, that is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, -understanding and expressing each other’s thoughts in ways contrary to -all rules of logic, without premises, deductions, or conclusions, and in -a quite peculiar way. Natásha was so used to this kind of talk with her -husband that for her it was the surest sign of something being wrong -between them if Pierre followed a line of logical reasoning. When he -began proving anything, or talking argumentatively and calmly and she, -led on by his example, began to do the same, she knew that they were on -the verge of a quarrel. - -From the moment they were alone and Natásha came up to him with -wide-open happy eyes, and quickly seizing his head pressed it to her -bosom, saying: “Now you are all mine, mine! You won’t escape!”—from that -moment this conversation began, contrary to all the laws of logic and -contrary to them because quite different subjects were talked about at -one and the same time. This simultaneous discussion of many topics did -not prevent a clear understanding but on the contrary was the surest -sign that they fully understood one another. - -Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, unreasoning, and -contradictory, except the feeling that guides the dream, so in this -intercourse contrary to all laws of reason, the words themselves were -not consecutive and clear but only the feeling that prompted them. - -Natásha spoke to Pierre about her brother’s life and doings, of how she -had suffered and lacked life during his own absence, and of how she -was fonder than ever of Mary, and how Mary was in every way better than -herself. In saying this Natásha was sincere in acknowledging Mary’s -superiority, but at the same time by saying it she made a demand on -Pierre that he should, all the same, prefer her to Mary and to all -other women, and that now, especially after having seen many women in -Petersburg, he should tell her so afresh. - -Pierre, answering Natásha’s words, told her how intolerable it had been -for him to meet ladies at dinners and balls in Petersburg. - -“I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies,” he said. “It was -simply dull. Besides, I was very busy.” - -Natásha looked intently at him and went on: - -“Mary is so splendid,” she said. “How she understands children! It is as -if she saw straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mítya was -naughty...” - -“How like his father he is,” Pierre interjected. - -Natásha knew why he mentioned Mítya’s likeness to Nicholas: the -recollection of his dispute with his brother-in-law was unpleasant and -he wanted to know what Natásha thought of it. - -“Nicholas has the weakness of never agreeing with anything not generally -accepted. But I understand that you value what opens up a fresh line,” -said she, repeating words Pierre had once uttered. - -“No, the chief point is that to Nicholas ideas and discussions are -an amusement—almost a pastime,” said Pierre. “For instance, he is -collecting a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book -till he has read what he had already bought—Sismondi and Rousseau and -Montesquieu,” he added with a smile. “You know how much I...” he began -to soften down what he had said; but Natásha interrupted him to show -that this was unnecessary. - -“So you say ideas are an amusement to him....” - -“Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. All the time in Petersburg I -saw everyone as in a dream. When I am taken up by a thought, all else is -mere amusement.” - -“Ah, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you met the children,” said -Natásha. “Which was most delighted? Lisa, I’m sure.” - -“Yes,” Pierre replied, and went on with what was in his mind. “Nicholas -says we ought not to think. But I can’t help it. Besides, when I was in -Petersburg I felt (I can say this to you) that the whole affair would go -to pieces without me—everyone was pulling his own way. But I succeeded -in uniting them all; and then my idea is so clear and simple. You see, -I don’t say that we ought to oppose this and that. We may be mistaken. -What I say is: ‘Join hands, you who love the right, and let there be but -one banner—that of active virtue.’ Prince Sergéy is a fine fellow and -clever.” - -Natásha would have had no doubt as to the greatness of Pierre’s idea, -but one thing disconcerted her. “Can a man so important and necessary to -society be also my husband? How did this happen?” She wished to express -this doubt to him. “Now who could decide whether he is really cleverer -than all the others?” she asked herself, and passed in review all those -whom Pierre most respected. Judging by what he had said there was no one -he had respected so highly as Platón Karatáev. - -“Do you know what I am thinking about?” she asked. “About Platón -Karatáev. Would he have approved of you now, do you think?” - -Pierre was not at all surprised at this question. He understood his -wife’s line of thought. - -“Platón Karatáev?” he repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerely -trying to imagine Karatáev’s opinion on the subject. “He would not have -understood... yet perhaps he would.” - -“I love you awfully!” Natásha suddenly said. “Awfully, awfully!” - -“No, he would not have approved,” said Pierre, after reflection. “What -he would have approved of is our family life. He was always so anxious -to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, and I should -have been proud to let him see us. There now—you talk of my absence, -but you wouldn’t believe what a special feeling I have for you after a -separation....” - -“Yes, I should think...” Natásha began. - -“No, it’s not that. I never leave off loving you. And one couldn’t love -more, but this is something special.... Yes, of course—” he did not -finish because their eyes meeting said the rest. - -“What nonsense it is,” Natásha suddenly exclaimed, “about honeymoons, -and that the greatest happiness is at first! On the contrary, now is -the best of all. If only you did not go away! Do you remember how -we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Always mine. And what we -quarreled about—I don’t even remember!” - -“Always about the same thing,” said Pierre with a smile. “Jealo...” - -“Don’t say it! I can’t bear it!” Natásha cried, and her eyes glittered -coldly and vindictively. “Did you see her?” she added, after a pause. - -“No, and if I had I shouldn’t have recognized her.” - -They were silent for a while. - -“Oh, do you know? While you were talking in the study I was looking at -you,” Natásha began, evidently anxious to disperse the cloud that had -come over them. “You are as like him as two peas—like the boy.” (She -meant her little son.) “Oh, it’s time to go to him.... The milk’s -come.... But I’m sorry to leave you.” - -They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to one -another at the same time they both began to speak. Pierre began with -self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natásha with a quiet, happy smile. -Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the other -continue. - -“No. What did you say? Go on, go on.” - -“No, you go on, I was talking nonsense,” said Natásha. - -Pierre finished what he had begun. It was the sequel to his complacent -reflections on his success in Petersburg. At that moment it seemed to -him that he was chosen to give a new direction to the whole of Russian -society and to the whole world. - -“I only wished to say that ideas that have great results are always -simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people are united and -constitute a power, then honest folk must do the same. Now that’s simple -enough.” - -“Yes.” - -“And what were you going to say?” - -“I? Only nonsense.” - -“But all the same?” - -“Oh nothing, only a trifle,” said Natásha, smiling still more brightly. -“I only wanted to tell you about Pétya: today nurse was coming to take -him from me, and he laughed, shut his eyes, and clung to me. I’m sure -he thought he was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, now he’s crying. Well, -good-by!” and she left the room. - - -Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas Bolkónski’s bedroom a little lamp -was burning as usual. (The boy was afraid of the dark and they could -not cure him of it.) Dessalles slept propped up on four pillows and his -Roman nose emitted sounds of rhythmic snoring. Little Nicholas, who had -just waked up in a cold perspiration, sat up in bed and gazed before him -with wide-open eyes. He had awaked from a terrible dream. He had dreamed -that he and Uncle Pierre, wearing helmets such as were depicted in -his Plutarch, were leading a huge army. The army was made up of white -slanting lines that filled the air like the cobwebs that float about in -autumn and which Dessalles called les fils de la Vièrge. In front was -Glory, which was similar to those threads but rather thicker. He and -Pierre were borne along lightly and joyously, nearer and nearer to their -goal. Suddenly the threads that moved them began to slacken and become -entangled and it grew difficult to move. And Uncle Nicholas stood before -them in a stern and threatening attitude. - -“Have you done this?” he said, pointing to some broken sealing wax and -pens. “I loved you, but I have orders from Arakchéev and will kill -the first of you who moves forward.” Little Nicholas turned to look -at Pierre but Pierre was no longer there. In his place was his -father—Prince Andrew—and his father had neither shape nor form, but he -existed, and when little Nicholas perceived him he grew faint with love: -he felt himself powerless, limp, and formless. His father caressed and -pitied him. But Uncle Nicholas came nearer and nearer to them. Terror -seized young Nicholas and he awoke. - -“My father!” he thought. (Though there were two good portraits of Prince -Andrew in the house, Nicholas never imagined him in human form.) “My -father has been with me and caressed me. He approved of me and of Uncle -Pierre. Whatever he may tell me, I will do it. Mucius Scaevola burned -his hand. Why should not the same sort of thing happen to me? I know -they want me to learn. And I will learn. But someday I shall have -finished learning, and then I will do something. I only pray God that -something may happen to me such as happened to Plutarch’s men, and I -will act as they did. I will do better. Everyone shall know me, love me, -and be delighted with me!” And suddenly his bosom heaved with sobs and -he began to cry. - -“Are you ill?” he heard Dessalles’ voice asking. - -“No,” answered Nicholas, and lay back on his pillow. - -“He is good and kind and I am fond of him!” he thought of Dessalles. -“But Uncle Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man he is! And my father? Oh, -Father, Father! Yes, I will do something with which even he would be -satisfied....” - - - - - -SECOND EPILOGUE - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -History is the life of nations and of humanity. To seize and put into -words, to describe directly the life of humanity or even of a single -nation, appears impossible. - -The ancient historians all employed one and the same method to describe -and seize the apparently elusive—the life of a people. They described -the activity of individuals who ruled the people, and regarded the -activity of those men as representing the activity of the whole nation. - -The question: how did individuals make nations act as they wished and by -what was the will of these individuals themselves guided? the ancients -met by recognizing a divinity which subjected the nations to the will of -a chosen man, and guided the will of that chosen man so as to accomplish -ends that were predestined. - -For the ancients these questions were solved by a belief in the direct -participation of the Deity in human affairs. - -Modern history, in theory, rejects both these principles. - -It would seem that having rejected the belief of the ancients in man’s -subjection to the Deity and in a predetermined aim toward which nations -are led, modern history should study not the manifestations of power but -the causes that produce it. But modern history has not done this. Having -in theory rejected the view held by the ancients, it still follows them -in practice. - -Instead of men endowed with divine authority and directly guided by -the will of God, modern history has given us either heroes endowed with -extraordinary, superhuman capacities, or simply men of very various -kinds, from monarchs to journalists, who lead the masses. Instead of the -former divinely appointed aims of the Jewish, Greek, or Roman nations, -which ancient historians regarded as representing the progress of -humanity, modern history has postulated its own aims—the welfare of the -French, German, or English people, or, in its highest abstraction, the -welfare and civilization of humanity in general, by which is usually -meant that of the peoples occupying a small northwesterly portion of a -large continent. - -Modern history has rejected the beliefs of the ancients without -replacing them by a new conception, and the logic of the situation has -obliged the historians, after they had apparently rejected the divine -authority of the kings and the “fate” of the ancients, to reach the same -conclusion by another road, that is, to recognize (1) nations guided -by individual men, and (2) the existence of a known aim to which these -nations and humanity at large are tending. - -At the basis of the works of all the modern historians from Gibbon to -Buckle, despite their seeming disagreements and the apparent novelty of -their outlooks, lie those two old, unavoidable assumptions. - -In the first place the historian describes the activity of individuals -who in his opinion have directed humanity (one historian considers -only monarchs, generals, and ministers as being such men, while another -includes also orators, learned men, reformers, philosophers, and poets). -Secondly, it is assumed that the goal toward which humanity is being led -is known to the historians: to one of them this goal is the greatness of -the Roman, Spanish, or French realm; to another it is liberty, equality, -and a certain kind of civilization of a small corner of the world called -Europe. - -In 1789 a ferment arises in Paris; it grows, spreads, and is expressed -by a movement of peoples from west to east. Several times it moves -eastward and collides with a countermovement from the east westward. -In 1812 it reaches its extreme limit, Moscow, and then, with remarkable -symmetry, a countermovement occurs from east to west, attracting to -it, as the first movement had done, the nations of middle Europe. The -counter movement reaches the starting point of the first movement in the -west—Paris—and subsides. - -During that twenty-year period an immense number of fields were left -untilled, houses were burned, trade changed its direction, millions -of men migrated, were impoverished, or were enriched, and millions -of Christian men professing the law of love of their fellows slew one -another. - -What does all this mean? Why did it happen? What made those people burn -houses and slay their fellow men? What were the causes of these events? -What force made men act so? These are the instinctive, plain, and -most legitimate questions humanity asks itself when it encounters the -monuments and tradition of that period. - -For a reply to these questions the common sense of mankind turns to the -science of history, whose aim is to enable nations and humanity to know -themselves. - -If history had retained the conception of the ancients it would have -said that God, to reward or punish his people, gave Napoleon power and -directed his will to the fulfillment of the divine ends, and that reply -would have been clear and complete. One might believe or disbelieve -in the divine significance of Napoleon, but for anyone believing in -it there would have been nothing unintelligible in the history of that -period, nor would there have been any contradictions. - -But modern history cannot give that reply. Science does not admit the -conception of the ancients as to the direct participation of the Deity -in human affairs, and therefore history ought to give other answers. - -Modern history replying to these questions says: you want to know what -this movement means, what caused it, and what force produced these -events? Then listen: - -“Louis XIV was a very proud and self-confident man; he had such and such -mistresses and such and such ministers and he ruled France badly. His -descendants were weak men and they too ruled France badly. And they had -such and such favorites and such and such mistresses. Moreover, certain -men wrote some books at that time. At the end of the eighteenth century -there were a couple of dozen men in Paris who began to talk about all -men being free and equal. This caused people all over France to begin -to slash at and drown one another. They killed the king and many other -people. At that time there was in France a man of genius—Napoleon. He -conquered everybody everywhere—that is, he killed many people because -he was a great genius. And for some reason he went to kill Africans, and -killed them so well and was so cunning and wise that when he returned to -France he ordered everybody to obey him, and they all obeyed him. Having -become an Emperor he again went out to kill people in Italy, Austria, -and Prussia. And there too he killed a great many. In Russia there -was an Emperor, Alexander, who decided to restore order in Europe and -therefore fought against Napoleon. In 1807 he suddenly made friends -with him, but in 1811 they again quarreled and again began killing many -people. Napoleon led six hundred thousand men into Russia and captured -Moscow; then he suddenly ran away from Moscow, and the Emperor -Alexander, helped by the advice of Stein and others, united Europe to -arm against the disturber of its peace. All Napoleon’s allies suddenly -became his enemies and their forces advanced against the fresh forces he -raised. The Allies defeated Napoleon, entered Paris, forced Napoleon to -abdicate, and sent him to the island of Elba, not depriving him of the -title of Emperor and showing him every respect, though five years before -and one year later they all regarded him as an outlaw and a brigand. -Then Louis XVIII, who till then had been the laughingstock both of the -French and the Allies, began to reign. And Napoleon, shedding tears -before his Old Guards, renounced the throne and went into exile. Then -the skillful statesmen and diplomatists (especially Talleyrand, who -managed to sit down in a particular chair before anyone else and -thereby extended the frontiers of France) talked in Vienna and by -these conversations made the nations happy or unhappy. Suddenly the -diplomatists and monarchs nearly quarreled and were on the point of -again ordering their armies to kill one another, but just then Napoleon -arrived in France with a battalion, and the French, who had been hating -him, immediately all submitted to him. But the Allied monarchs were -angry at this and went to fight the French once more. And they defeated -the genius Napoleon and, suddenly recognizing him as a brigand, sent him -to the island of St. Helena. And the exile, separated from the beloved -France so dear to his heart, died a lingering death on that rock and -bequeathed his great deeds to posterity. But in Europe a reaction -occurred and the sovereigns once again all began to oppress their -subjects.” - -It would be a mistake to think that this is ironic—a caricature of the -historical accounts. On the contrary it is a very mild expression of -the contradictory replies, not meeting the questions, which all the -historians give, from the compilers of memoirs and the histories -of separate states to the writers of general histories and the new -histories of the culture of that period. - -The strangeness and absurdity of these replies arise from the fact that -modern history, like a deaf man, answers questions no one has asked. - -If the purpose of history be to give a description of the movement of -humanity and of the peoples, the first question—in the absence of a -reply to which all the rest will be incomprehensible—is: what is the -power that moves peoples? To this, modern history laboriously replies -either that Napoleon was a great genius, or that Louis XIV was very -proud, or that certain writers wrote certain books. - -All that may be so and mankind is ready to agree with it, but it is not -what was asked. All that would be interesting if we recognized a divine -power based on itself and always consistently directing its nations -through Napoleons, Louis-es, and writers; but we do not acknowledge such -a power, and therefore before speaking about Napoleons, Louis-es, and -authors, we ought to be shown the connection existing between these men -and the movement of the nations. - -If instead of a divine power some other force has appeared, it should -be explained in what this new force consists, for the whole interest of -history lies precisely in that force. - -History seems to assume that this force is self-evident and known to -everyone. But in spite of every desire to regard it as known, anyone -reading many historical works cannot help doubting whether this new -force, so variously understood by the historians themselves, is really -quite well known to everybody. - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -What force moves the nations? - -Biographical historians and historians of separate nations understand -this force as a power inherent in heroes and rulers. In their narration -events occur solely by the will of a Napoleon, and Alexander, or in -general of the persons they describe. The answers given by this kind -of historian to the question of what force causes events to happen are -satisfactory only as long as there is but one historian to each event. -As soon as historians of different nationalities and tendencies begin -to describe the same event, the replies they give immediately lose all -meaning, for this force is understood by them all not only differently -but often in quite contradictory ways. One historian says that an -event was produced by Napoleon’s power, another that it was produced by -Alexander’s, a third that it was due to the power of some other person. -Besides this, historians of that kind contradict each other even -in their statement as to the force on which the authority of some -particular person was based. Thiers, a Bonapartist, says that Napoleon’s -power was based on his virtue and genius. Lanfrey, a Republican, says it -was based on his trickery and deception of the people. So the historians -of this class, by mutually destroying one another’s positions, destroy -the understanding of the force which produces events, and furnish no -reply to history’s essential question. - -Writers of universal history who deal with all the nations seem to -recognize how erroneous is the specialist historians’ view of the force -which produces events. They do not recognize it as a power inherent in -heroes and rulers, but as the resultant of a multiplicity of variously -directed forces. In describing a war or the subjugation of a people, a -general historian looks for the cause of the event not in the power -of one man, but in the interaction of many persons connected with the -event. - -According to this view the power of historical personages, represented -as the product of many forces, can no longer, it would seem, be regarded -as a force that itself produces events. Yet in most cases universal -historians still employ the conception of power as a force that itself -produces events, and treat it as their cause. In their exposition, an -historic character is first the product of his time, and his power only -the resultant of various forces, and then his power is itself a force -producing events. Gervinus, Schlosser, and others, for instance, at one -time prove Napoleon to be a product of the Revolution, of the ideas of -1789 and so forth, and at another plainly say that the campaign of 1812 -and other things they do not like were simply the product of Napoleon’s -misdirected will, and that the very ideas of 1789 were arrested in their -development by Napoleon’s caprice. The ideas of the Revolution and the -general temper of the age produced Napoleon’s power. But Napoleon’s -power suppressed the ideas of the Revolution and the general temper of -the age. - -This curious contradiction is not accidental. Not only does it occur at -every step, but the universal historians’ accounts are all made up of -a chain of such contradictions. This contradiction occurs because after -entering the field of analysis the universal historians stop halfway. - -To find component forces equal to the composite or resultant force, the -sum of the components must equal the resultant. This condition is never -observed by the universal historians, and so to explain the resultant -forces they are obliged to admit, in addition to the insufficient -components, another unexplained force affecting the resultant action. - -Specialist historians describing the campaign of 1813 or the restoration -of the Bourbons plainly assert that these events were produced by the -will of Alexander. But the universal historian Gervinus, refuting this -opinion of the specialist historian, tries to prove that the campaign of -1813 and the restoration of the Bourbons were due to other things beside -Alexander’s will—such as the activity of Stein, Metternich, Madame de -Staël, Talleyrand, Fichte, Chateaubriand, and others. The historian -evidently decomposes Alexander’s power into the components: Talleyrand, -Chateaubriand, and the rest—but the sum of the components, that is, -the interactions of Chateaubriand, Talleyrand, Madame de Staël, and the -others, evidently does not equal the resultant, namely the phenomenon -of millions of Frenchmen submitting to the Bourbons. That Chateaubriand, -Madame de Staël, and others spoke certain words to one another only -affected their mutual relations but does not account for the submission -of millions. And therefore to explain how from these relations of theirs -the submission of millions of people resulted—that is, how component -forces equal to one A gave a resultant equal to a thousand times A—the -historian is again obliged to fall back on power—the force he had -denied—and to recognize it as the resultant of the forces, that is, he -has to admit an unexplained force acting on the resultant. And that is -just what the universal historians do, and consequently they not only -contradict the specialist historians but contradict themselves. - -Peasants having no clear idea of the cause of rain, say, according to -whether they want rain or fine weather: “The wind has blown the clouds -away,” or, “The wind has brought up the clouds.” And in the same way the -universal historians sometimes, when it pleases them and fits in with -their theory, say that power is the result of events, and sometimes, -when they want to prove something else, say that power produces events. - -A third class of historians—the so-called historians of -culture—following the path laid down by the universal historians who -sometimes accept writers and ladies as forces producing events—again -take that force to be something quite different. They see it in what is -called culture—in mental activity. - -The historians of culture are quite consistent in regard to their -progenitors, the writers of universal histories, for if historical -events may be explained by the fact that certain persons treated one -another in such and such ways, why not explain them by the fact that -such and such people wrote such and such books? Of the immense number of -indications accompanying every vital phenomenon, these historians select -the indication of intellectual activity and say that this indication is -the cause. But despite their endeavors to prove that the cause of events -lies in intellectual activity, only by a great stretch can one admit -that there is any connection between intellectual activity and the -movement of peoples, and in no case can one admit that intellectual -activity controls people’s actions, for that view is not confirmed by -such facts as the very cruel murders of the French Revolution resulting -from the doctrine of the equality of man, or the very cruel wars and -executions resulting from the preaching of love. - -But even admitting as correct all the cunningly devised arguments with -which these histories are filled—admitting that nations are governed by -some undefined force called an idea—history’s essential question still -remains unanswered, and to the former power of monarchs and to the -influence of advisers and other people introduced by the universal -historians, another, newer force—the idea—is added, the connection of -which with the masses needs explanation. It is possible to understand -that Napoleon had power and so events occurred; with some effort one may -even conceive that Napoleon together with other influences was the cause -of an event; but how a book, Le Contrat Social, had the effect of making -Frenchmen begin to drown one another cannot be understood without an -explanation of the causal nexus of this new force with the event. - -Undoubtedly some relation exists between all who live contemporaneously, -and so it is possible to find some connection between the intellectual -activity of men and their historical movements, just as such a -connection may be found between the movements of humanity and commerce, -handicraft, gardening, or anything else you please. But why intellectual -activity is considered by the historians of culture to be the cause or -expression of the whole historical movement is hard to understand. -Only the following considerations can have led the historians to such -a conclusion: (1) that history is written by learned men, and so it is -natural and agreeable for them to think that the activity of their class -supplies the basis of the movement of all humanity, just as a similar -belief is natural and agreeable to traders, agriculturists, and soldiers -(if they do not express it, that is merely because traders and soldiers -do not write history), and (2) that spiritual activity, enlightenment, -civilization, culture, ideas, are all indistinct, indefinite conceptions -under whose banner it is very easy to use words having a still less -definite meaning, and which can therefore be readily introduced into any -theory. - -But not to speak of the intrinsic quality of histories of this kind -(which may possibly even be of use to someone for something) the -histories of culture, to which all general histories tend more and more -to approximate, are significant from the fact that after seriously -and minutely examining various religious, philosophic, and political -doctrines as causes of events, as soon as they have to describe an -actual historic event such as the campaign of 1812 for instance, they -involuntarily describe it as resulting from an exercise of power—and say -plainly that that was the result of Napoleon’s will. Speaking so, the -historians of culture involuntarily contradict themselves, and show that -the new force they have devised does not account for what happens in -history, and that history can only be explained by introducing a power -which they apparently do not recognize. - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A locomotive is moving. Someone asks: “What moves it?” A peasant says -the devil moves it. Another man says the locomotive moves because its -wheels go round. A third asserts that the cause of its movement lies in -the smoke which the wind carries away. - -The peasant is irrefutable. He has devised a complete explanation. To -refute him someone would have to prove to him that there is no devil, -or another peasant would have to explain to him that it is not the devil -but a German, who moves the locomotive. Only then, as a result of the -contradiction, will they see that they are both wrong. But the man who -says that the movement of the wheels is the cause refutes himself, for -having once begun to analyze he ought to go on and explain further why -the wheels go round; and till he has reached the ultimate cause of the -movement of the locomotive in the pressure of steam in the boiler, he -has no right to stop in his search for the cause. The man who explains -the movement of the locomotive by the smoke that is carried back has -noticed that the wheels do not supply an explanation and has taken the -first sign that occurs to him and in his turn has offered that as an -explanation. - -The only conception that can explain the movement of the locomotive is -that of a force commensurate with the movement observed. - -The only conception that can explain the movement of the peoples is that -of some force commensurate with the whole movement of the peoples. - -Yet to supply this conception various historians take forces of -different kinds, all of which are incommensurate with the movement -observed. Some see it as a force directly inherent in heroes, as the -peasant sees the devil in the locomotive; others as a force resulting -from several other forces, like the movement of the wheels; others again -as an intellectual influence, like the smoke that is blown away. - -So long as histories are written of separate individuals, whether -Caesars, Alexanders, Luthers, or Voltaires, and not the histories -of all, absolutely all those who take part in an event, it is quite -impossible to describe the movement of humanity without the conception -of a force compelling men to direct their activity toward a certain end. -And the only such conception known to historians is that of power. - -This conception is the one handle by means of which the material of -history, as at present expounded, can be dealt with, and anyone who -breaks that handle off, as Buckle did, without finding some other method -of treating historical material, merely deprives himself of the one -possible way of dealing with it. The necessity of the conception of -power as an explanation of historical events is best demonstrated by -the universal historians and historians of culture themselves, for they -professedly reject that conception but inevitably have recourse to it at -every step. - -In dealing with humanity’s inquiry, the science of history up to now -is like money in circulation—paper money and coin. The biographies and -special national histories are like paper money. They can be used and -can circulate and fulfill their purpose without harm to anyone and even -advantageously, as long as no one asks what is the security behind them. -You need only forget to ask how the will of heroes produces events, and -such histories as Thiers’ will be interesting and instructive and may -perhaps even possess a tinge of poetry. But just as doubts of the real -value of paper money arise either because, being easy to make, too much -of it gets made or because people try to exchange it for gold, so also -doubts concerning the real value of such histories arise either because -too many of them are written or because in his simplicity of heart -someone inquires: by what force did Napoleon do this?—that is, wants -to exchange the current paper money for the real gold of actual -comprehension. - -The writers of universal histories and of the history of culture are -like people who, recognizing the defects of paper money, decide to -substitute for it money made of metal that has not the specific gravity -of gold. It may indeed make jingling coin, but will do no more than -that. Paper money may deceive the ignorant, but nobody is deceived by -tokens of base metal that have no value but merely jingle. As gold is -gold only if it is serviceable not merely for exchange but also for use, -so universal historians will be valuable only when they can reply to -history’s essential question: what is power? The universal historians -give contradictory replies to that question, while the historians of -culture evade it and answer something quite different. And as counters -of imitation gold can be used only among a group of people who agree to -accept them as gold, or among those who do not know the nature of -gold, so universal historians and historians of culture, not answering -humanity’s essential question, serve as currency for some purposes of -their own, only in universities and among the mass of readers who have a -taste for what they call “serious reading.” - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Having abandoned the conception of the ancients as to the divine -subjection of the will of a nation to some chosen man and the subjection -of that man’s will to the Deity, history cannot without contradictions -take a single step till it has chosen one of two things: either a return -to the former belief in the direct intervention of the Deity in human -affairs or a definite explanation of the meaning of the force producing -historical events and termed “power.” - -A return to the first is impossible, the belief has been destroyed; and -so it is essential to explain what is meant by power. - -Napoleon ordered an army to be raised and go to war. We are so -accustomed to that idea and have become so used to it that the question: -why did six hundred thousand men go to fight when Napoleon uttered -certain words, seems to us senseless. He had the power and so what he -ordered was done. - -This reply is quite satisfactory if we believe that the power was given -him by God. But as soon as we do not admit that, it becomes essential to -determine what is this power of one man over others. - -It cannot be the direct physical power of a strong man over a weak one—a -domination based on the application or threat of physical force, like -the power of Hercules; nor can it be based on the effect of moral force, -as in their simplicity some historians think who say that the leading -figures in history are heroes, that is, men gifted with a special -strength of soul and mind called genius. This power cannot be based on -the predominance of moral strength, for, not to mention heroes such as -Napoleon about whose moral qualities opinions differ widely, history -shows us that neither a Louis XI nor a Metternich, who ruled over -millions of people, had any particular moral qualities, but on the -contrary were generally morally weaker than any of the millions they -ruled over. - -If the source of power lies neither in the physical nor in the moral -qualities of him who possesses it, it must evidently be looked for -elsewhere—in the relation to the people of the man who wields the power. - -And that is how power is understood by the science of jurisprudence, -that exchange bank of history which offers to exchange history’s -understanding of power for true gold. - -Power is the collective will of the people transferred, by expressed or -tacit consent, to their chosen rulers. - -In the domain of jurisprudence, which consists of discussions of how a -state and power might be arranged were it possible for all that to -be arranged, it is all very clear; but when applied to history that -definition of power needs explanation. - -The science of jurisprudence regards the state and power as the ancients -regarded fire—namely, as something existing absolutely. But for history, -the state and power are merely phenomena, just as for modern physics -fire is not an element but a phenomenon. - -From this fundamental difference between the view held by history and -that held by jurisprudence, it follows that jurisprudence can tell -minutely how in its opinion power should be constituted and what -power—existing immutably outside time—is, but to history’s questions -about the meaning of the mutations of power in time it can answer -nothing. - -If power be the collective will of the people transferred to their -ruler, was Pugachëv a representative of the will of the people? If not, -then why was Napoleon I? Why was Napoleon III a criminal when he was -taken prisoner at Boulogne, and why, later on, were those criminals whom -he arrested? - -Do palace revolutions—in which sometimes only two or three people take -part—transfer the will of the people to a new ruler? In international -relations, is the will of the people also transferred to their -conqueror? Was the will of the Confederation of the Rhine transferred -to Napoleon in 1806? Was the will of the Russian people transferred -to Napoleon in 1809, when our army in alliance with the French went to -fight the Austrians? - -To these questions three answers are possible: - -Either to assume (1) that the will of the people is always -unconditionally transferred to the ruler or rulers they have chosen, and -that therefore every emergence of a new power, every struggle -against the power once appointed, should be absolutely regarded as an -infringement of the real power; or (2) that the will of the people -is transferred to the rulers conditionally, under definite and known -conditions, and to show that all limitations, conflicts, and even -destructions of power result from a nonobservance by the rulers of the -conditions under which their power was entrusted to them; or (3) that -the will of the people is delegated to the rulers conditionally, but -that the conditions are unknown and indefinite, and that the appearance -of several authorities, their struggles and their falls, result solely -from the greater or lesser fulfillment by the rulers of these unknown -conditions on which the will of the people is transferred from some -people to others. - -And these are the three ways in which the historians do explain the -relation of the people to their rulers. - -Some historians—those biographical and specialist historians already -referred to—in their simplicity failing to understand the question of -the meaning of power, seem to consider that the collective will of -the people is unconditionally transferred to historical persons, and -therefore when describing some single state they assume that particular -power to be the one absolute and real power, and that any other force -opposing this is not a power but a violation of power—mere violence. - -Their theory, suitable for primitive and peaceful periods of history, -has the inconvenience—in application to complex and stormy periods in -the life of nations during which various powers arise simultaneously and -struggle with one another—that a Legitimist historian will prove -that the National Convention, the Directory, and Bonaparte were mere -infringers of the true power, while a Republican and a Bonapartist will -prove: the one that the Convention and the other that the Empire was the -real power, and that all the others were violations of power. -Evidently the explanations furnished by these historians being mutually -contradictory can only satisfy young children. - -Recognizing the falsity of this view of history, another set of -historians say that power rests on a conditional delegation of the will -of the people to their rulers, and that historical leaders have power -only conditionally on carrying out the program that the will of the -people has by tacit agreement prescribed to them. But what this program -consists in these historians do not say, or if they do they continually -contradict one another. - -Each historian, according to his view of what constitutes a nation’s -progress, looks for these conditions in the greatness, wealth, freedom, -or enlightenment of citizens of France or some other country. But not -to mention the historians’ contradictions as to the nature of this -program—or even admitting that some one general program of these -conditions exists—the facts of history almost always contradict that -theory. If the conditions under which power is entrusted consist in the -wealth, freedom, and enlightenment of the people, how is it that Louis -XIV and Iván the Terrible end their reigns tranquilly, while Louis XVI -and Charles I are executed by their people? To this question historians -reply that Louis XIV’s activity, contrary to the program, reacted on -Louis XVI. But why did it not react on Louis XIV or on Louis XV—why -should it react just on Louis XVI? And what is the time limit for such -reactions? To these questions there are and can be no answers. Equally -little does this view explain why for several centuries the collective -will is not withdrawn from certain rulers and their heirs, and -then suddenly during a period of fifty years is transferred to the -Convention, to the Directory, to Napoleon, to Alexander, to Louis XVIII, -to Napoleon again, to Charles X, to Louis Philippe, to a Republican -government, and to Napoleon III. When explaining these rapid transfers -of the people’s will from one individual to another, especially in view -of international relations, conquests, and alliances, the historians are -obliged to admit that some of these transfers are not normal delegations -of the people’s will but are accidents dependent on cunning, on -mistakes, on craft, or on the weakness of a diplomatist, a ruler, or a -party leader. So that the greater part of the events of history—civil -wars, revolutions, and conquests—are presented by these historians -not as the results of free transferences of the people’s will, but as -results of the ill-directed will of one or more individuals, that is, -once again, as usurpations of power. And so these historians also see -and admit historical events which are exceptions to the theory. - -These historians resemble a botanist who, having noticed that some -plants grow from seeds producing two cotyledons, should insist that all -that grows does so by sprouting into two leaves, and that the palm, the -mushroom, and even the oak, which blossom into full growth and no longer -resemble two leaves, are deviations from the theory. - -Historians of the third class assume that the will of the people -is transferred to historic personages conditionally, but that the -conditions are unknown to us. They say that historical personages have -power only because they fulfill the will of the people which has been -delegated to them. - -But in that case, if the force that moves nations lies not in the -historic leaders but in the nations themselves, what significance have -those leaders? - -The leaders, these historians tell us, express the will of the people: -the activity of the leaders represents the activity of the people. - -But in that case the question arises whether all the activity of the -leaders serves as an expression of the people’s will or only some part -of it. If the whole activity of the leaders serves as the expression of -the people’s will, as some historians suppose, then all the details -of the court scandals contained in the biographies of a Napoleon or -a Catherine serve to express the life of the nation, which is evident -nonsense; but if it is only some particular side of the activity of an -historical leader which serves to express the people’s life, as other -so-called “philosophical” historians believe, then to determine which -side of the activity of a leader expresses the nation’s life, we have -first of all to know in what the nation’s life consists. - -Met by this difficulty historians of that class devise some most -obscure, impalpable, and general abstraction which can cover all -conceivable occurrences, and declare this abstraction to be the aim of -humanity’s movement. The most usual generalizations adopted by almost -all the historians are: freedom, equality, enlightenment, progress, -civilization, and culture. Postulating some generalization as the goal -of the movement of humanity, the historians study the men of whom the -greatest number of monuments have remained: kings, ministers, generals, -authors, reformers, popes, and journalists, to the extent to which in -their opinion these persons have promoted or hindered that abstraction. -But as it is in no way proved that the aim of humanity does consist in -freedom, equality, enlightenment, or civilization, and as the connection -of the people with the rulers and enlighteners of humanity is only based -on the arbitrary assumption that the collective will of the people is -always transferred to the men whom we have noticed, it happens that the -activity of the millions who migrate, burn houses, abandon agriculture, -and destroy one another never is expressed in the account of the -activity of some dozen people who did not burn houses, practice -agriculture, or slay their fellow creatures. - -History proves this at every turn. Is the ferment of the peoples of -the west at the end of the eighteenth century and their drive eastward -explained by the activity of Louis XIV, XV, and XVI, their mistresses -and ministers, and by the lives of Napoleon, Rousseau, Diderot, -Beaumarchais, and others? - -Is the movement of the Russian people eastward to Kazán and Siberia -expressed by details of the morbid character of Iván the Terrible and by -his correspondence with Kúrbski? - -Is the movement of the peoples at the time of the Crusades explained by -the life and activity of the Godfreys and the Louis-es and their ladies? -For us that movement of the peoples from west to east, without -leaders, with a crowd of vagrants, and with Peter the Hermit, remains -incomprehensible. And yet more incomprehensible is the cessation of that -movement when a rational and sacred aim for the Crusade—the deliverance -of Jerusalem—had been clearly defined by historic leaders. Popes, kings, -and knights incited the peoples to free the Holy Land; but the people -did not go, for the unknown cause which had previously impelled them to -go no longer existed. The history of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers -can evidently not cover the life of the peoples. And the history of the -Godfreys and the Minnesingers has remained the history of Godfreys -and Minnesingers, but the history of the life of the peoples and their -impulses has remained unknown. - -Still less does the history of authors and reformers explain to us the -life of the peoples. - -The history of culture explains to us the impulses and conditions of -life and thought of a writer or a reformer. We learn that Luther had -a hot temper and said such and such things; we learn that Rousseau was -suspicious and wrote such and such books; but we do not learn why after -the Reformation the peoples massacred one another, nor why during the -French Revolution they guillotined one another. - -If we unite both these kinds of history, as is done by the newest -historians, we shall have the history of monarchs and writers, but not -the history of the life of the peoples. - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -The life of the nations is not contained in the lives of a few men, for -the connection between those men and the nations has not been found. -The theory that this connection is based on the transference of the -collective will of a people to certain historical personages is an -hypothesis unconfirmed by the experience of history. - -The theory of the transference of the collective will of the people to -historic persons may perhaps explain much in the domain of jurisprudence -and be essential for its purposes, but in its application to history, as -soon as revolutions, conquests, or civil wars occur—that is, as soon as -history begins—that theory explains nothing. - -The theory seems irrefutable just because the act of transference of the -people’s will cannot be verified, for it never occurred. - -Whatever happens and whoever may stand at the head of affairs, the -theory can always say that such and such a person took the lead because -the collective will was transferred to him. - -The replies this theory gives to historical questions are like the -replies of a man who, watching the movements of a herd of cattle and -paying no attention to the varying quality of the pasturage in different -parts of the field, or to the driving of the herdsman, should attribute -the direction the herd takes to what animal happens to be at its head. - -“The herd goes in that direction because the animal in front leads -it and the collective will of all the other animals is vested in that -leader.” This is what historians of the first class say—those who assume -the unconditional transference of the people’s will. - -“If the animals leading the herd change, this happens because the -collective will of all the animals is transferred from one leader to -another, according to whether the animal is or is not leading them in -the direction selected by the whole herd.” Such is the reply historians -who assume that the collective will of the people is delegated to -rulers under conditions which they regard as known. (With this method -of observation it often happens that the observer, influenced by the -direction he himself prefers, regards those as leaders who, owing to the -people’s change of direction, are no longer in front, but on one side, -or even in the rear.) - -“If the animals in front are continually changing and the direction of -the whole herd is constantly altered, this is because in order to follow -a given direction the animals transfer their will to the animals that -have attracted our attention, and to study the movements of the herd -we must watch the movements of all the prominent animals moving on all -sides of the herd.” So say the third class of historians who regard all -historical persons, from monarchs to journalists, as the expression of -their age. - -The theory of the transference of the will of the people to historic -persons is merely a paraphrase—a restatement of the question in other -words. - -What causes historical events? Power. What is power? Power is the -collective will of the people transferred to one person. Under what -condition is the will of the people delegated to one person? On -condition that that person expresses the will of the whole people. That -is, power is power: in other words, power is a word the meaning of which -we do not understand. - -If the realm of human knowledge were confined to abstract reasoning, -then having subjected to criticism the explanation of “power” that -juridical science gives us, humanity would conclude that power is merely -a word and has no real existence. But to understand phenomena man -has, besides abstract reasoning, experience by which he verifies his -reflections. And experience tells us that power is not merely a word but -an actually existing phenomenon. - -Not to speak of the fact that no description of the collective activity -of men can do without the conception of power, the existence of power is -proved both by history and by observing contemporary events. - -Whenever an event occurs a man appears or men appear, by whose will the -event seems to have taken place. Napoleon III issues a decree and the -French go to Mexico. The King of Prussia and Bismarck issue decrees and -an army enters Bohemia. Napoleon I issues a decree and an army enters -Russia. Alexander I gives a command and the French submit to the -Bourbons. Experience shows us that whatever event occurs it is always -related to the will of one or of several men who have decreed it. - -The historians, in accord with the old habit of acknowledging divine -intervention in human affairs, want to see the cause of events in -the expression of the will of someone endowed with power, but that -supposition is not confirmed either by reason or by experience. - -On the one side reflection shows that the expression of a man’s will—his -words—are only part of the general activity expressed in an event, -as for instance in a war or a revolution, and so without assuming an -incomprehensible, supernatural force—a miracle—one cannot admit that -words can be the immediate cause of the movements of millions of men. -On the other hand, even if we admitted that words could be the cause -of events, history shows that the expression of the will of historical -personages does not in most cases produce any effect, that is to say, -their commands are often not executed, and sometimes the very opposite -of what they order occurs. - -Without admitting divine intervention in the affairs of humanity we -cannot regard “power” as the cause of events. - -Power, from the standpoint of experience, is merely the relation that -exists between the expression of someone’s will and the execution of -that will by others. - -To explain the conditions of that relationship we must first establish a -conception of the expression of will, referring it to man and not to the -Deity. - -If the Deity issues a command, expresses His will, as ancient history -tells us, the expression of that will is independent of time and is not -caused by anything, for the Divinity is not controlled by an event. But -speaking of commands that are the expression of the will of men acting -in time and in relation to one another, to explain the connection of -commands with events we must restore: (1) the condition of all that -takes place: the continuity of movement in time both of the events and -of the person who commands, and (2) the inevitability of the connection -between the person commanding and those who execute his command. - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Only the expression of the will of the Deity, not dependent on time, can -relate to a whole series of events occurring over a period of years or -centuries, and only the Deity, independent of everything, can by His -sole will determine the direction of humanity’s movement; but man acts -in time and himself takes part in what occurs. - -Reinstating the first condition omitted, that of time, we see that no -command can be executed without some preceding order having been given -rendering the execution of the last command possible. - -No command ever appears spontaneously, or itself covers a whole series -of occurrences; but each command follows from another, and never refers -to a whole series of events but always to one moment only of an event. - -When, for instance, we say that Napoleon ordered armies to go to war, -we combine in one simultaneous expression a whole series of consecutive -commands dependent one on another. Napoleon could not have commanded -an invasion of Russia and never did so. Today he ordered such and such -papers to be written to Vienna, to Berlin, and to Petersburg; -tomorrow such and such decrees and orders to the army, the fleet, the -commissariat, and so on and so on—millions of commands, which formed -a whole series corresponding to a series of events which brought the -French armies into Russia. - -If throughout his reign Napoleon gave commands concerning an invasion -of England and expended on no other undertaking so much time and effort, -and yet during his whole reign never once attempted to execute that -design but undertook an expedition into Russia, with which country he -considered it desirable to be in alliance (a conviction he repeatedly -expressed)—this came about because his commands did not correspond to -the course of events in the first case, but did so correspond in the -latter. - -For an order to be certainly executed, it is necessary that a man should -order what can be executed. But to know what can and what cannot be -executed is impossible, not only in the case of Napoleon’s invasion of -Russia in which millions participated, but even in the simplest event, -for in either case millions of obstacles may arise to prevent its -execution. Every order executed is always one of an immense number -unexecuted. All the impossible orders inconsistent with the course of -events remain unexecuted. Only the possible ones get linked up with a -consecutive series of commands corresponding to a series of events, and -are executed. - -Our false conception that an event is caused by a command which precedes -it is due to the fact that when the event has taken place and out of -thousands of others those few commands which were consistent with that -event have been executed, we forget about the others that were not -executed because they could not be. Apart from that, the chief source -of our error in this matter is due to the fact that in the historical -accounts a whole series of innumerable, diverse, and petty events, such -for instance as all those which led the French armies to Russia, is -generalized into one event in accord with the result produced by that -series of events, and corresponding with this generalization the whole -series of commands is also generalized into a single expression of will. - -We say that Napoleon wished to invade Russia and invaded it. In -reality in all Napoleon’s activity we never find anything resembling an -expression of that wish, but find a series of orders, or expressions of -his will, very variously and indefinitely directed. Amid a long series -of unexecuted orders of Napoleon’s one series, for the campaign of 1812, -was carried out—not because those orders differed in any way from the -other, unexecuted orders but because they coincided with the course of -events that led the French army into Russia; just as in stencil work -this or that figure comes out not because the color was laid on from -this side or in that way, but because it was laid on from all sides over -the figure cut in the stencil. - -So that examining the relation in time of the commands to the events, -we find that a command can never be the cause of the event, but that a -certain definite dependence exists between the two. - -To understand in what this dependence consists it is necessary to -reinstate another omitted condition of every command proceeding not from -the Deity but from a man, which is, that the man who gives the command -himself takes part in the event. - -This relation of the commander to those he commands is just what is -called power. This relation consists in the following: - -For common action people always unite in certain combinations, in which -regardless of the difference of the aims set for the common action, the -relation between those taking part in it is always the same. - -Men uniting in these combinations always assume such relations toward -one another that the larger number take a more direct share, and the -smaller number a less direct share, in the collective action for which -they have combined. - -Of all the combinations in which men unite for collective action one of -the most striking and definite examples is an army. - -Every army is composed of lower grades of the service—the rank and -file—of whom there are always the greatest number; of the next higher -military rank—corporals and noncommissioned officers of whom there are -fewer, and of still-higher officers of whom there are still fewer, -and so on to the highest military command which is concentrated in one -person. - -A military organization may be quite correctly compared to a cone, of -which the base with the largest diameter consists of the rank and file; -the next higher and smaller section of the cone consists of the next -higher grades of the army, and so on to the apex, the point of which -will represent the commander in chief. - -The soldiers, of whom there are the most, form the lower section of -the cone and its base. The soldier himself does the stabbing, hacking, -burning, and pillaging, and always receives orders for these actions -from men above him; he himself never gives an order. The noncommissioned -officers (of whom there are fewer) perform the action itself less -frequently than the soldiers, but they already give commands. An -officer still less often acts directly himself, but commands still more -frequently. A general does nothing but command the troops, indicates the -objective, and hardly ever uses a weapon himself. The commander in chief -never takes direct part in the action itself, but only gives general -orders concerning the movement of the mass of the troops. A similar -relation of people to one another is seen in every combination of men -for common activity—in agriculture, trade, and every administration. - -And so without particularly analyzing all the contiguous sections of -a cone and of the ranks of an army, or the ranks and positions in -any administrative or public business whatever from the lowest to the -highest, we see a law by which men, to take associated action, combine -in such relations that the more directly they participate in performing -the action the less they can command and the more numerous they are, -while the less their direct participation in the action itself, the more -they command and the fewer of them there are; rising in this way from -the lowest ranks to the man at the top, who takes the least direct share -in the action and directs his activity chiefly to commanding. - -This relation of the men who command to those they command is what -constitutes the essence of the conception called power. - -Having restored the condition of time under which all events occur, -we find that a command is executed only when it is related to a -corresponding series of events. Restoring the essential condition of -relation between those who command and those who execute, we find that -by the very nature of the case those who command take the smallest part -in the action itself and that their activity is exclusively directed to -commanding. - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -When an event is taking place people express their opinions and wishes -about it, and as the event results from the collective activity of -many people, some one of the opinions or wishes expressed is sure to be -fulfilled if but approximately. When one of the opinions expressed -is fulfilled, that opinion gets connected with the event as a command -preceding it. - -Men are hauling a log. Each of them expresses his opinion as to how and -where to haul it. They haul the log away, and it happens that this is -done as one of them said. He ordered it. There we have command and power -in their primary form. The man who worked most with his hands could not -think so much about what he was doing, or reflect on or command what -would result from the common activity; while the man who commanded -more would evidently work less with his hands on account of his greater -verbal activity. - -When some larger concourse of men direct their activity to a common aim -there is a yet sharper division of those who, because their activity is -given to directing and commanding, take less part in the direct work. - -When a man works alone he always has a certain set of reflections which -as it seems to him directed his past activity, justify his present -activity, and guide him in planning his future actions. Just the same is -done by a concourse of people, allowing those who do not take a direct -part in the activity to devise considerations, justifications, and -surmises concerning their collective activity. - -For reasons known or unknown to us the French began to drown and kill -one another. And corresponding to the event its justification appears in -people’s belief that this was necessary for the welfare of France, for -liberty, and for equality. People ceased to kill one another, and -this event was accompanied by its justification in the necessity for a -centralization of power, resistance to Europe, and so on. Men went -from the west to the east killing their fellow men, and the event -was accompanied by phrases about the glory of France, the baseness of -England, and so on. History shows us that these justifications of the -events have no common sense and are all contradictory, as in the case of -killing a man as the result of recognizing his rights, and the killing -of millions in Russia for the humiliation of England. But these -justifications have a very necessary significance in their own day. - -These justifications release those who produce the events from moral -responsibility. These temporary aims are like the broom fixed in front -of a locomotive to clear the snow from the rails in front: they clear -men’s moral responsibilities from their path. - -Without such justification there would be no reply to the simplest -question that presents itself when examining each historical event. How -is it that millions of men commit collective crimes—make war, commit -murder, and so on? - -With the present complex forms of political and social life in Europe -can any event that is not prescribed, decreed, or ordered by monarchs, -ministers, parliaments, or newspapers be imagined? Is there any -collective action which cannot find its justification in political -unity, in patriotism, in the balance of power, or in civilization? So -that every event that occurs inevitably coincides with some expressed -wish and, receiving a justification, presents itself as the result of -the will of one man or of several men. - -In whatever direction a ship moves, the flow of the waves it cuts -will always be noticeable ahead of it. To those on board the ship the -movement of those waves will be the only perceptible motion. - -Only by watching closely moment by moment the movement of that flow and -comparing it with the movement of the ship do we convince ourselves that -every bit of it is occasioned by the forward movement of the ship, -and that we were led into error by the fact that we ourselves were -imperceptibly moving. - -We see the same if we watch moment by moment the movement of historical -characters (that is, re-establish the inevitable condition of all that -occurs—the continuity of movement in time) and do not lose sight of the -essential connection of historical persons with the masses. - -When the ship moves in one direction there is one and the same wave -ahead of it, when it turns frequently the wave ahead of it also turns -frequently. But wherever it may turn there always will be the wave -anticipating its movement. - -Whatever happens it always appears that just that event was foreseen -and decreed. Wherever the ship may go, the rush of water which neither -directs nor increases its movement foams ahead of it, and at a distance -seems to us not merely to move of itself but to govern the ship’s -movement also. - -Examining only those expressions of the will of historical persons -which, as commands, were related to events, historians have assumed -that the events depended on those commands. But examining the events -themselves and the connection in which the historical persons stood to -the people, we have found that they and their orders were dependent on -events. The incontestable proof of this deduction is that, however many -commands were issued, the event does not take place unless there are -other causes for it, but as soon as an event occurs—be it what it -may—then out of all the continually expressed wishes of different people -some will always be found which by their meaning and their time of -utterance are related as commands to the events. - -Arriving at this conclusion we can reply directly and positively to -these two essential questions of history: - -(1) What is power? - -(2) What force produces the movement of the nations? - -(1) Power is the relation of a given person to other individuals, -in which the more this person expresses opinions, predictions, and -justifications of the collective action that is performed, the less is -his participation in that action. - -(2) The movement of nations is caused not by power, nor by intellectual -activity, nor even by a combination of the two as historians have -supposed, but by the activity of all the people who participate in -the events, and who always combine in such a way that those taking -the largest direct share in the event take on themselves the least -responsibility and vice versa. - -Morally the wielder of power appears to cause the event; physically -it is those who submit to the power. But as the moral activity is -inconceivable without the physical, the cause of the event is neither in -the one nor in the other but in the union of the two. - -Or in other words, the conception of a cause is inapplicable to the -phenomena we are examining. - -In the last analysis we reach the circle of infinity—that final limit -to which in every domain of thought man’s reason arrives if it is not -playing with the subject. Electricity produces heat, heat produces -electricity. Atoms attract each other and atoms repel one another. - -Speaking of the interaction of heat and electricity and of atoms, we -cannot say why this occurs, and we say that it is so because it is -inconceivable otherwise, because it must be so and that it is a law. The -same applies to historical events. Why war and revolution occur we do -not know. We only know that to produce the one or the other action, -people combine in a certain formation in which they all take part, and -we say that this is so because it is unthinkable otherwise, or in other -words that it is a law. - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -If history dealt only with external phenomena, the establishment of this -simple and obvious law would suffice and we should have finished our -argument. But the law of history relates to man. A particle of matter -cannot tell us that it does not feel the law of attraction or repulsion -and that that law is untrue, but man, who is the subject of history, -says plainly: I am free and am therefore not subject to the law. - -The presence of the problem of man’s free will, though unexpressed, is -felt at every step of history. - -All seriously thinking historians have involuntarily encountered this -question. All the contradictions and obscurities of history and the -false path historical science has followed are due solely to the lack of -a solution of that question. - -If the will of every man were free, that is, if each man could act as he -pleased, all history would be a series of disconnected incidents. - -If in a thousand years even one man in a million could act freely, that -is, as he chose, it is evident that one single free act of that man’s -in violation of the laws governing human action would destroy the -possibility of the existence of any laws for the whole of humanity. - -If there be a single law governing the actions of men, free will cannot -exist, for then man’s will is subject to that law. - -In this contradiction lies the problem of free will, which from most -ancient times has occupied the best human minds and from most ancient -times has been presented in its whole tremendous significance. - -The problem is that regarding man as a subject of observation -from whatever point of view—theological, historical, ethical, or -philosophic—we find a general law of necessity to which he (like all -that exists) is subject. But regarding him from within ourselves as what -we are conscious of, we feel ourselves to be free. - -This consciousness is a source of self-cognition quite apart from and -independent of reason. Through his reason man observes himself, but only -through consciousness does he know himself. - -Apart from consciousness of self no observation or application of reason -is conceivable. - -To understand, observe, and draw conclusions, man must first of all be -conscious of himself as living. A man is only conscious of himself as -a living being by the fact that he wills, that is, is conscious of -his volition. But his will—which forms the essence of his life—man -recognizes (and can but recognize) as free. - -If, observing himself, man sees that his will is always directed by -one and the same law (whether he observes the necessity of taking -food, using his brain, or anything else) he cannot recognize this -never-varying direction of his will otherwise than as a limitation of -it. Were it not free it could not be limited. A man’s will seems to him -to be limited just because he is not conscious of it except as free. - -You say: I am not free. But I have lifted my hand and let it fall. -Everyone understands that this illogical reply is an irrefutable -demonstration of freedom. - -That reply is the expression of a consciousness that is not subject to -reason. - -If the consciousness of freedom were not a separate and independent -source of self-consciousness it would be subject to reasoning and -to experience, but in fact such subjection does not exist and is -inconceivable. - -A series of experiments and arguments proves to every man that he, as -an object of observation, is subject to certain laws, and man submits to -them and never resists the laws of gravity or impermeability once he -has become acquainted with them. But the same series of experiments -and arguments proves to him that the complete freedom of which he is -conscious in himself is impossible, and that his every action depends -on his organization, his character, and the motives acting upon him; yet -man never submits to the deductions of these experiments and arguments. -Having learned from experiment and argument that a stone falls -downwards, a man indubitably believes this and always expects the law -that he has learned to be fulfilled. - -But learning just as certainly that his will is subject to laws, he does -not and cannot believe this. - -However often experiment and reasoning may show a man that under the -same conditions and with the same character he will do the same thing as -before, yet when under the same conditions and with the same character -he approaches for the thousandth time the action that always ends in the -same way, he feels as certainly convinced as before the experiment -that he can act as he pleases. Every man, savage or sage, however -incontestably reason and experiment may prove to him that it is -impossible to imagine two different courses of action in precisely the -same conditions, feels that without this irrational conception (which -constitutes the essence of freedom) he cannot imagine life. He feels -that however impossible it may be, it is so, for without this conception -of freedom not only would he be unable to understand life, but he would -be unable to live for a single moment. - -He could not live, because all man’s efforts, all his impulses to life, -are only efforts to increase freedom. Wealth and poverty, fame and -obscurity, power and subordination, strength and weakness, health and -disease, culture and ignorance, work and leisure, repletion and hunger, -virtue and vice, are only greater or lesser degrees of freedom. - -A man having no freedom cannot be conceived of except as deprived of -life. - -If the conception of freedom appears to reason to be a senseless -contradiction like the possibility of performing two actions at one and -the same instant of time, or of an effect without a cause, that only -proves that consciousness is not subject to reason. - -This unshakable, irrefutable consciousness of freedom, uncontrolled by -experiment or argument, recognized by all thinkers and felt by everyone -without exception, this consciousness without which no conception of man -is possible constitutes the other side of the question. - -Man is the creation of an all-powerful, all-good, and all-seeing God. -What is sin, the conception of which arises from the consciousness of -man’s freedom? That is a question for theology. - -The actions of men are subject to general immutable laws expressed in -statistics. What is man’s responsibility to society, the conception of -which results from the conception of freedom? That is a question for -jurisprudence. - -Man’s actions proceed from his innate character and the motives acting -upon him. What is conscience and the perception of right and wrong -in actions that follows from the consciousness of freedom? That is a -question for ethics. - -Man in connection with the general life of humanity appears subject -to laws which determine that life. But the same man apart from that -connection appears to be free. How should the past life of nations and -of humanity be regarded—as the result of the free, or as the result of -the constrained, activity of man? That is a question for history. - -Only in our self-confident day of the popularization of knowledge—thanks -to that most powerful engine of ignorance, the diffusion of printed -matter—has the question of the freedom of will been put on a level on -which the question itself cannot exist. In our time the majority of -so-called advanced people—that is, the crowd of ignoramuses—have taken -the work of the naturalists who deal with one side of the question for a -solution of the whole problem. - -They say and write and print that the soul and freedom do not exist, -for the life of man is expressed by muscular movements and muscular -movements are conditioned by the activity of the nerves; the soul and -free will do not exist because at an unknown period of time we sprang -from the apes. They say this, not at all suspecting that thousands of -years ago that same law of necessity which with such ardor they are now -trying to prove by physiology and comparative zoology was not merely -acknowledged by all the religions and all the thinkers, but has never -been denied. They do not see that the role of the natural sciences in -this matter is merely to serve as an instrument for the illumination -of one side of it. For the fact that, from the point of view of -observation, reason and the will are merely secretions of the brain, and -that man following the general law may have developed from lower animals -at some unknown period of time, only explains from a fresh side -the truth admitted thousands of years ago by all the religious and -philosophic theories—that from the point of view of reason man is -subject to the law of necessity; but it does not advance by a hair’s -breadth the solution of the question, which has another, opposite, side, -based on the consciousness of freedom. - -If men descended from the apes at an unknown period of time, that is -as comprehensible as that they were made from a handful of earth at a -certain period of time (in the first case the unknown quantity is the -time, in the second case it is the origin); and the question of how -man’s consciousness of freedom is to be reconciled with the law of -necessity to which he is subject cannot be solved by comparative -physiology and zoology, for in a frog, a rabbit, or an ape, we can -observe only the muscular nervous activity, but in man we observe -consciousness as well as the muscular and nervous activity. - -The naturalists and their followers, thinking they can solve this -question, are like plasterers set to plaster one side of the walls of -a church who, availing themselves of the absence of the chief -superintendent of the work, should in an access of zeal plaster over the -windows, icons, woodwork, and still unbuttressed walls, and should be -delighted that from their point of view as plasterers, everything is now -so smooth and regular. - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -For the solution of the question of free will or inevitability, history -has this advantage over other branches of knowledge in which the -question is dealt with, that for history this question does not refer -to the essence of man’s free will but its manifestation in the past and -under certain conditions. - -In regard to this question, history stands to the other sciences as -experimental science stands to abstract science. - -The subject for history is not man’s will itself but our presentation of -it. - -And so for history, the insoluble mystery presented by the -incompatibility of free will and inevitability does not exist as it does -for theology, ethics, and philosophy. History surveys a presentation of -man’s life in which the union of these two contradictions has already -taken place. - -In actual life each historic event, each human action, is very clearly -and definitely understood without any sense of contradiction, although -each event presents itself as partly free and partly compulsory. - -To solve the question of how freedom and necessity are combined and -what constitutes the essence of these two conceptions, the philosophy -of history can and should follow a path contrary to that taken by other -sciences. Instead of first defining the conceptions of freedom and -inevitability in themselves, and then ranging the phenomena of life -under those definitions, history should deduce a definition of the -conception of freedom and inevitability themselves from the immense -quantity of phenomena of which it is cognizant and that always appear -dependent on these two elements. - -Whatever presentation of the activity of many men or of an individual -we may consider, we always regard it as the result partly of man’s free -will and partly of the law of inevitability. - -Whether we speak of the migration of the peoples and the incursions -of the barbarians, or of the decrees of Napoleon III, or of someone’s -action an hour ago in choosing one direction out of several for his -walk, we are unconscious of any contradiction. The degree of freedom and -inevitability governing the actions of these people is clearly defined -for us. - -Our conception of the degree of freedom often varies according to -differences in the point of view from which we regard the event, but -every human action appears to us as a certain combination of freedom and -inevitability. In every action we examine we see a certain measure of -freedom and a certain measure of inevitability. And always the more -freedom we see in any action the less inevitability do we perceive, and -the more inevitability the less freedom. - -The proportion of freedom to inevitability decreases and increases -according to the point of view from which the action is regarded, but -their relation is always one of inverse proportion. - -A sinking man who clutches at another and drowns him; or a hungry mother -exhausted by feeding her baby, who steals some food; or a man trained -to discipline who on duty at the word of command kills a defenseless -man—seem less guilty, that is, less free and more subject to the law of -necessity, to one who knows the circumstances in which these people were -placed, and more free to one who does not know that the man was himself -drowning, that the mother was hungry, that the soldier was in the ranks, -and so on. Similarly a man who committed a murder twenty years ago and -has since lived peaceably and harmlessly in society seems less guilty -and his action more due to the law of inevitability, to someone who -considers his action after twenty years have elapsed than to one who -examined it the day after it was committed. And in the same way every -action of an insane, intoxicated, or highly excited man appears less -free and more inevitable to one who knows the mental condition of him -who committed the action, and seems more free and less inevitable to one -who does not know it. In all these cases the conception of freedom -is increased or diminished and the conception of compulsion is -correspondingly decreased or increased, according to the point of view -from which the action is regarded. So that the greater the conception of -necessity the smaller the conception of freedom and vice versa. - -Religion, the common sense of mankind, the science of jurisprudence, -and history itself understand alike this relation between necessity and -freedom. - -All cases without exception in which our conception of freedom and -necessity is increased and diminished depend on three considerations: - -(1) The relation to the external world of the man who commits the deeds. - -(2) His relation to time. - -(3) His relation to the causes leading to the action. - -The first consideration is the clearness of our perception of the man’s -relation to the external world and the greater or lesser clearness -of our understanding of the definite position occupied by the man -in relation to everything coexisting with him. This is what makes it -evident that a drowning man is less free and more subject to necessity -than one standing on dry ground, and that makes the actions of a man -closely connected with others in a thickly populated district, or of one -bound by family, official, or business duties, seem certainly less free -and more subject to necessity than those of a man living in solitude and -seclusion. - -If we consider a man alone, apart from his relation to everything around -him, each action of his seems to us free. But if we see his relation -to anything around him, if we see his connection with anything -whatever—with a man who speaks to him, a book he reads, the work on -which he is engaged, even with the air he breathes or the light that -falls on the things about him—we see that each of these circumstances -has an influence on him and controls at least some side of his activity. -And the more we perceive of these influences the more our conception of -his freedom diminishes and the more our conception of the necessity that -weighs on him increases. - -The second consideration is the more or less evident time relation of -the man to the world and the clearness of our perception of the place -the man’s action occupies in time. That is the ground which makes the -fall of the first man, resulting in the production of the human race, -appear evidently less free than a man’s entry into marriage today. It is -the reason why the life and activity of people who lived centuries ago -and are connected with me in time cannot seem to me as free as the life -of a contemporary, the consequences of which are still unknown to me. - -The degree of our conception of freedom or inevitability depends in this -respect on the greater or lesser lapse of time between the performance -of the action and our judgment of it. - -If I examine an act I performed a moment ago in approximately the same -circumstances as those I am in now, my action appears to me undoubtedly -free. But if I examine an act performed a month ago, then being in -different circumstances, I cannot help recognizing that if that act had -not been committed much that resulted from it—good, agreeable, and even -essential—would not have taken place. If I reflect on an action still -more remote, ten years ago or more, then the consequences of my action -are still plainer to me and I find it hard to imagine what would have -happened had that action not been performed. The farther I go back -in memory, or what is the same thing the farther I go forward in my -judgment, the more doubtful becomes my belief in the freedom of my -action. - -In history we find a very similar progress of conviction concerning -the part played by free will in the general affairs of humanity. A -contemporary event seems to us to be indubitably the doing of all the -known participants, but with a more remote event we already see its -inevitable results which prevent our considering anything else possible. -And the farther we go back in examining events the less arbitrary do -they appear. - -The Austro-Prussian war appears to us undoubtedly the result of the -crafty conduct of Bismarck, and so on. The Napoleonic wars still seem -to us, though already questionably, to be the outcome of their heroes’ -will. But in the Crusades we already see an event occupying its definite -place in history and without which we cannot imagine the modern history -of Europe, though to the chroniclers of the Crusades that event appeared -as merely due to the will of certain people. In regard to the migration -of the peoples it does not enter anyone’s head today to suppose that -the renovation of the European world depended on Attila’s caprice. The -farther back in history the object of our observation lies, the more -doubtful does the free will of those concerned in the event become and -the more manifest the law of inevitability. - -The third consideration is the degree to which we apprehend that -endless chain of causation inevitably demanded by reason, in which each -phenomenon comprehended, and therefore man’s every action, must have -its definite place as a result of what has gone before and as a cause of -what will follow. - -The better we are acquainted with the physiological, psychological, and -historical laws deduced by observation and by which man is controlled, -and the more correctly we perceive the physiological, psychological, -and historical causes of the action, and the simpler the action we are -observing and the less complex the character and mind of the man in -question, the more subject to inevitability and the less free do our -actions and those of others appear. - -When we do not at all understand the cause of an action, whether a -crime, a good action, or even one that is simply nonmoral, we ascribe a -greater amount of freedom to it. In the case of a crime we most urgently -demand the punishment for such an act; in the case of a virtuous act we -rate its merit most highly. In an indifferent case we recognize in it -more individuality, originality, and independence. But if even one of -the innumerable causes of the act is known to us we recognize a certain -element of necessity and are less insistent on punishment for the crime, -or the acknowledgment of the merit of the virtuous act, or the freedom -of the apparently original action. That a criminal was reared among male -factors mitigates his fault in our eyes. The self-sacrifice of a father -or mother, or self-sacrifice with the possibility of a reward, is more -comprehensible than gratuitous self-sacrifice, and therefore seems less -deserving of sympathy and less the result of free will. The founder of a -sect or party, or an inventor, impresses us less when we know how or by -what the way was prepared for his activity. If we have a large range -of examples, if our observation is constantly directed to seeking the -correlation of cause and effect in people’s actions, their actions -appear to us more under compulsion and less free the more correctly we -connect the effects with the causes. If we examined simple actions and -had a vast number of such actions under observation, our conception of -their inevitability would be still greater. The dishonest conduct of the -son of a dishonest father, the misconduct of a woman who had fallen -into bad company, a drunkard’s relapse into drunkenness, and so on are -actions that seem to us less free the better we understand their cause. -If the man whose actions we are considering is on a very low stage of -mental development, like a child, a madman, or a simpleton—then, -knowing the causes of the act and the simplicity of the character and -intelligence in question, we see so large an element of necessity and so -little free will that as soon as we know the cause prompting the action -we can foretell the result. - -On these three considerations alone is based the conception of -irresponsibility for crimes and the extenuating circumstances admitted -by all legislative codes. The responsibility appears greater or less -according to our greater or lesser knowledge of the circumstances in -which the man was placed whose action is being judged, and according -to the greater or lesser interval of time between the commission of the -action and its investigation, and according to the greater or lesser -understanding of the causes that led to the action. - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -Thus our conception of free will and inevitability gradually diminishes -or increases according to the greater or lesser connection with the -external world, the greater or lesser remoteness of time, and the -greater or lesser dependence on the causes in relation to which we -contemplate a man’s life. - -So that if we examine the case of a man whose connection with the -external world is well known, where the time between the action and -its examination is great, and where the causes of the action are most -accessible, we get the conception of a maximum of inevitability and a -minimum of free will. If we examine a man little dependent on external -conditions, whose action was performed very recently, and the causes of -whose action are beyond our ken, we get the conception of a minimum of -inevitability and a maximum of freedom. - -In neither case—however we may change our point of view, however plain -we may make to ourselves the connection between the man and the external -world, however inaccessible it may be to us, however long or short the -period of time, however intelligible or incomprehensible the causes -of the action may be—can we ever conceive either complete freedom or -complete necessity. - -(1) To whatever degree we may imagine a man to be exempt from the -influence of the external world, we never get a conception of freedom -in space. Every human action is inevitably conditioned by what surrounds -him and by his own body. I lift my arm and let it fall. My action seems -to me free; but asking myself whether I could raise my arm in every -direction, I see that I raised it in the direction in which there was -least obstruction to that action either from things around me or from -the construction of my own body. I chose one out of all the possible -directions because in it there were fewest obstacles. For my action -to be free it was necessary that it should encounter no obstacles. To -conceive of a man being free we must imagine him outside space, which is -evidently impossible. - -(2) However much we approximate the time of judgment to the time of the -deed, we never get a conception of freedom in time. For if I examine -an action committed a second ago I must still recognize it as not -being free, for it is irrevocably linked to the moment at which it was -committed. Can I lift my arm? I lift it, but ask myself: could I have -abstained from lifting my arm at the moment that has already passed? To -convince myself of this I do not lift it the next moment. But I am -not now abstaining from doing so at the first moment when I asked the -question. Time has gone by which I could not detain, the arm I then -lifted is no longer the same as the arm I now refrain from lifting, -nor is the air in which I lifted it the same that now surrounds me. The -moment in which the first movement was made is irrevocable, and at that -moment I could make only one movement, and whatever movement I made -would be the only one. That I did not lift my arm a moment later does -not prove that I could have abstained from lifting it then. And since I -could make only one movement at that single moment of time, it could not -have been any other. To imagine it as free, it is necessary to imagine -it in the present, on the boundary between the past and the future—that -is, outside time, which is impossible. - -(3) However much the difficulty of understanding the causes may be -increased, we never reach a conception of complete freedom, that is, -an absence of cause. However inaccessible to us may be the cause of the -expression of will in any action, our own or another’s, the first demand -of reason is the assumption of and search for a cause, for without a -cause no phenomenon is conceivable. I raise my arm to perform an action -independently of any cause, but my wish to perform an action without a -cause is the cause of my action. - -But even if—imagining a man quite exempt from all influences, examining -only his momentary action in the present, unevoked by any cause—we were -to admit so infinitely small a remainder of inevitability as equaled -zero, we should even then not have arrived at the conception of complete -freedom in man, for a being uninfluenced by the external world, standing -outside of time and independent of cause, is no longer a man. - -In the same way we can never imagine the action of a man quite devoid of -freedom and entirely subject to the law of inevitability. - -(1) However we may increase our knowledge of the conditions of space -in which man is situated, that knowledge can never be complete, for the -number of those conditions is as infinite as the infinity of space. And -therefore so long as not all the conditions influencing men are defined, -there is no complete inevitability but a certain measure of freedom -remains. - -(2) However we may prolong the period of time between the action we are -examining and the judgment upon it, that period will be finite, while -time is infinite, and so in this respect too there can never be absolute -inevitability. - -(3) However accessible may be the chain of causation of any action, we -shall never know the whole chain since it is endless, and so again we -never reach absolute inevitability. - -But besides this, even if, admitting the remaining minimum of freedom to -equal zero, we assumed in some given case—as for instance in that of a -dying man, an unborn babe, or an idiot—complete absence of freedom, by -so doing we should destroy the very conception of man in the case we are -examining, for as soon as there is no freedom there is also no man. And -so the conception of the action of a man subject solely to the law of -inevitability without any element of freedom is just as impossible as -the conception of a man’s completely free action. - -And so to imagine the action of a man entirely subject to the law of -inevitability without any freedom, we must assume the knowledge of an -infinite number of space relations, an infinitely long period of time, -and an infinite series of causes. - -To imagine a man perfectly free and not subject to the law of -inevitability, we must imagine him all alone, beyond space, beyond time, -and free from dependence on cause. - -In the first case, if inevitability were possible without freedom -we should have reached a definition of inevitability by the laws of -inevitability itself, that is, a mere form without content. - -In the second case, if freedom were possible without inevitability we -should have arrived at unconditioned freedom beyond space, time, and -cause, which by the fact of its being unconditioned and unlimited would -be nothing, or mere content without form. - -We should in fact have reached those two fundamentals of which man’s -whole outlook on the universe is constructed—the incomprehensible -essence of life, and the laws defining that essence. - -Reason says: (1) space with all the forms of matter that give it -visibility is infinite, and cannot be imagined otherwise. (2) Time is -infinite motion without a moment of rest and is unthinkable otherwise. -(3) The connection between cause and effect has no beginning and can -have no end. - -Consciousness says: (1) I alone am, and all that exists is but me, -consequently I include space. (2) I measure flowing time by the fixed -moment of the present in which alone I am conscious of myself as living, -consequently I am outside time. (3) I am beyond cause, for I feel myself -to be the cause of every manifestation of my life. - -Reason gives expression to the laws of inevitability. Consciousness -gives expression to the essence of freedom. - -Freedom not limited by anything is the essence of life, in man’s -consciousness. Inevitability without content is man’s reason in its -three forms. - -Freedom is the thing examined. Inevitability is what examines. Freedom -is the content. Inevitability is the form. - -Only by separating the two sources of cognition, related to one another -as form to content, do we get the mutually exclusive and separately -incomprehensible conceptions of freedom and inevitability. - -Only by uniting them do we get a clear conception of man’s life. - -Apart from these two concepts which in their union mutually define one -another as form and content, no conception of life is possible. - -All that we know of the life of man is merely a certain relation of free -will to inevitability, that is, of consciousness to the laws of reason. - -All that we know of the external world of nature is only a certain -relation of the forces of nature to inevitability, or of the essence of -life to the laws of reason. - -The great natural forces lie outside us and we are not conscious of -them; we call those forces gravitation, inertia, electricity, animal -force, and so on, but we are conscious of the force of life in man and -we call that freedom. - -But just as the force of gravitation, incomprehensible in itself but -felt by every man, is understood by us only to the extent to which we -know the laws of inevitability to which it is subject (from the first -knowledge that all bodies have weight, up to Newton’s law), so too the -force of free will, incomprehensible in itself but of which everyone is -conscious, is intelligible to us only in as far as we know the laws of -inevitability to which it is subject (from the fact that every man dies, -up to the knowledge of the most complex economic and historic laws). - -All knowledge is merely a bringing of this essence of life under the -laws of reason. - -Man’s free will differs from every other force in that man is directly -conscious of it, but in the eyes of reason it in no way differs from -any other force. The forces of gravitation, electricity, or chemical -affinity are only distinguished from one another in that they are -differently defined by reason. Just so the force of man’s free will -is distinguished by reason from the other forces of nature only by the -definition reason gives it. Freedom, apart from necessity, that is, -apart from the laws of reason that define it, differs in no way from -gravitation, or heat, or the force that makes things grow; for reason, -it is only a momentary undefinable sensation of life. - -And as the undefinable essence of the force moving the heavenly bodies, -the undefinable essence of the forces of heat and electricity, or -of chemical affinity, or of the vital force, forms the content of -astronomy, physics, chemistry, botany, zoology, and so on, just in the -same way does the force of free will form the content of history. -But just as the subject of every science is the manifestation of this -unknown essence of life while that essence itself can only be the -subject of metaphysics, even the manifestation of the force of free will -in human beings in space, in time, and in dependence on cause forms -the subject of history, while free will itself is the subject of -metaphysics. - -In the experimental sciences what we know we call the laws of -inevitability, what is unknown to us we call vital force. Vital force is -only an expression for the unknown remainder over and above what we know -of the essence of life. - -So also in history what is known to us we call laws of inevitability, -what is unknown we call free will. Free will is for history only an -expression for the unknown remainder of what we know about the laws of -human life. - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -History examines the manifestations of man’s free will in connection -with the external world in time and in dependence on cause, that is, it -defines this freedom by the laws of reason, and so history is a science -only in so far as this free will is defined by those laws. - -The recognition of man’s free will as something capable of influencing -historical events, that is, as not subject to laws, is the same for -history as the recognition of a free force moving the heavenly bodies -would be for astronomy. - -That assumption would destroy the possibility of the existence of laws, -that is, of any science whatever. If there is even a single body -moving freely, then the laws of Kepler and Newton are negatived and no -conception of the movement of the heavenly bodies any longer exists. If -any single action is due to free will, then not a single historical law -can exist, nor any conception of historical events. - -For history, lines exist of the movement of human wills, one end -of which is hidden in the unknown but at the other end of which a -consciousness of man’s will in the present moves in space, time, and -dependence on cause. - -The more this field of motion spreads out before our eyes, the more -evident are the laws of that movement. To discover and define those laws -is the problem of history. - -From the standpoint from which the science of history now regards its -subject on the path it now follows, seeking the causes of events in -man’s free will, a scientific enunciation of those laws is impossible, -for however man’s free will may be restricted, as soon as we recognize -it as a force not subject to law, the existence of law becomes -impossible. - -Only by reducing this element of free will to the infinitesimal, that -is, by regarding it as an infinitely small quantity, can we convince -ourselves of the absolute inaccessibility of the causes, and then -instead of seeking causes, history will take the discovery of laws as -its problem. - -The search for these laws has long been begun and the new methods of -thought which history must adopt are being worked out simultaneously -with the self-destruction toward which—ever dissecting and dissecting -the causes of phenomena—the old method of history is moving. - -All human sciences have traveled along that path. Arriving at -infinitesimals, mathematics, the most exact of sciences, abandons the -process of analysis and enters on the new process of the integration -of unknown, infinitely small, quantities. Abandoning the conception -of cause, mathematics seeks law, that is, the property common to all -unknown, infinitely small, elements. - -In another form but along the same path of reflection the other sciences -have proceeded. When Newton enunciated the law of gravity he did not say -that the sun or the earth had a property of attraction; he said that all -bodies from the largest to the smallest have the property of attracting -one another, that is, leaving aside the question of the cause of the -movement of the bodies, he expressed the property common to all bodies -from the infinitely large to the infinitely small. The same is done by -the natural sciences: leaving aside the question of cause, they seek for -laws. History stands on the same path. And if history has for its object -the study of the movement of the nations and of humanity and not the -narration of episodes in the lives of individuals, it too, setting -aside the conception of cause, should seek the laws common to all the -inseparably interconnected infinitesimal elements of free will. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -From the time the law of Copernicus was discovered and proved, the mere -recognition of the fact that it was not the sun but the earth that moves -sufficed to destroy the whole cosmography of the ancients. By disproving -that law it might have been possible to retain the old conception of -the movements of the bodies, but without disproving it, it would seem -impossible to continue studying the Ptolemaic worlds. But even after -the discovery of the law of Copernicus the Ptolemaic worlds were still -studied for a long time. - -From the time the first person said and proved that the number of births -or of crimes is subject to mathematical laws, and that this or that -mode of government is determined by certain geographical and economic -conditions, and that certain relations of population to soil produce -migrations of peoples, the foundations on which history had been built -were destroyed in their essence. - -By refuting these new laws the former view of history might have been -retained; but without refuting them it would seem impossible to continue -studying historic events as the results of man’s free will. For if a -certain mode of government was established or certain migrations -of peoples took place in consequence of such and such geographic, -ethnographic, or economic conditions, then the free will of those -individuals who appear to us to have established that mode of government -or occasioned the migrations can no longer be regarded as the cause. - -And yet the former history continues to be studied side by side with the -laws of statistics, geography, political economy, comparative philology, -and geology, which directly contradict its assumptions. - -The struggle between the old views and the new was long and stubbornly -fought out in physical philosophy. Theology stood on guard for the -old views and accused the new of violating revelation. But when truth -conquered, theology established itself just as firmly on the new -foundation. - -Just as prolonged and stubborn is the struggle now proceeding between -the old and the new conception of history, and theology in the same way -stands on guard for the old view, and accuses the new view of subverting -revelation. - -In the one case as in the other, on both sides the struggle provokes -passion and stifles truth. On the one hand there is fear and regret for -the loss of the whole edifice constructed through the ages, on the other -is the passion for destruction. - -To the men who fought against the rising truths of physical philosophy, -it seemed that if they admitted that truth it would destroy faith in -God, in the creation of the firmament, and in the miracle of Joshua the -son of Nun. To the defenders of the laws of Copernicus and Newton, to -Voltaire for example, it seemed that the laws of astronomy destroyed -religion, and he utilized the law of gravitation as a weapon against -religion. - -Just so it now seems as if we have only to admit the law of -inevitability, to destroy the conception of the soul, of good and evil, -and all the institutions of state and church that have been built up on -those conceptions. - -So too, like Voltaire in his time, uninvited defenders of the law of -inevitability today use that law as a weapon against religion, though -the law of inevitability in history, like the law of Copernicus in -astronomy, far from destroying, even strengthens the foundation on which -the institutions of state and church are erected. - -As in the question of astronomy then, so in the question of history -now, the whole difference of opinion is based on the recognition or -nonrecognition of something absolute, serving as the measure of visible -phenomena. In astronomy it was the immovability of the earth, in history -it is the independence of personality—free will. - -As with astronomy the difficulty of recognizing the motion of the earth -lay in abandoning the immediate sensation of the earth’s fixity and of -the motion of the planets, so in history the difficulty of recognizing -the subjection of personality to the laws of space, time, and cause -lies in renouncing the direct feeling of the independence of one’s own -personality. But as in astronomy the new view said: “It is true that we -do not feel the movement of the earth, but by admitting its immobility -we arrive at absurdity, while by admitting its motion (which we do not -feel) we arrive at laws,” so also in history the new view says: “It is -true that we are not conscious of our dependence, but by admitting our -free will we arrive at absurdity, while by admitting our dependence on -the external world, on time, and on cause, we arrive at laws.” - -In the first case it was necessary to renounce the consciousness of an -unreal immobility in space and to recognize a motion we did not feel; -in the present case it is similarly necessary to renounce a freedom -that does not exist, and to recognize a dependence of which we are not -conscious. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR AND PEACE *** - -***** This file should be named 2600-0.txt or 2600-0.zip ***** This and -all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/0/2600/ - -An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be -renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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