War And Peace

Leo Tolstoy

　　BOOK ONE: 1805

　　CHAPTER I

　　"Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of theBuonapartes. 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 bythat Antichrist- I really believe he is Antichrist- I will havenothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longermy 'faithful slave,' as you call yourself! But how do you do? I seeI have frightened you- sit down and tell me all the news."

　　It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known AnnaPavlovna Scherer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress MaryaFedorovna. With these words she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a manof high rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at herreception. Anna Pavlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, asshe said, suffering from la grippe; grippe being then a new word inSt. Petersburg, used only by the elite.

　　All her invitations without exception, written in French, anddelivered by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:

　　"If you have nothing better to do, Count [or Prince], and if theprospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not tooterrible, I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10-Annette Scherer."

　　"Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied the prince, not in theleast disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearingan embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and hadstars on his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spokein that refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke butthought, and with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to aman of importance who had grown old in society and at court. He wentup to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald,scented, and shining head, and complacently seated himself on thesofa.

　　"First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend'smind at rest," said he without altering his tone, beneath thepoliteness and affected sympathy of which indifference and evenirony could be discerned.

　　"Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in timeslike these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna. "You arestaying the whole evening, I hope?"

　　"And the fete at the English ambassador's? Today is Wednesday. Imust put in an appearance there," said the prince. "My daughter iscoming for me to take me there."

　　"I thought today's fete had been canceled. I confess all thesefestivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome."

　　"If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment wouldhave been put off," said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, byforce of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed.

　　"Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosiltsev'sdispatch? You know everything."

　　"What can one say about it?" replied the prince in a cold,listless tone. "What has been decided? They have decided thatBuonaparte has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready toburn ours."

　　Prince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating astale part. Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her fortyyears, overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be anenthusiast had become her social vocation and, sometimes even when shedid not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not todisappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smilewhich, though it did not suit her faded features, always playedround her lips expressed, as in a spoiled child, a continualconsciousness of her charming defect, which she neither wished, norcould, nor considered it necessary, to correct.

　　In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovnaburst out:

　　"Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understandthings, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war.She is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracioussovereign recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That isthe one thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has toperform the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noblethat God will not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation andcrush the hydra of revolution, which has become more terrible thanever in the person of this murderer and villain! We alone mustavenge the blood of the just one.... Whom, I ask you, can we relyon?... England with her commercial spirit will not and cannotunderstand the Emperor Alexander's loftiness of soul. She hasrefused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find, and still seeks, somesecret motive in our actions. What answer did Novosiltsev get? None.The English have not understood and cannot understand theself-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for himself, but onlydesires the good of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing! Andwhat little they have promised they will not perform! Prussia hasalways declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and that all Europeis powerless before him.... And I don't believe a word that Hardenburgsays, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian neutrality is just atrap. I have faith only in God and the lofty destiny of our adoredmonarch. He will save Europe!"

　　She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.

　　"I think," said the prince with a smile, "that if you had beensent instead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured theKing of Prussia's consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will yougive me a cup of tea?"

　　"In a moment. A propos," she added, becoming calm again, "I amexpecting two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart,who is connected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one ofthe best French families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the goodones. And also the Abbe Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? Hehas 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 occurredto him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief motiveof his visit, "is it true that the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funketo be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all accountsis a poor creature."

　　Prince Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but otherswere trying through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure itfor the baron.

　　Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither shenor anyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired orwas pleased with.

　　"Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by hersister," was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.

　　As she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly assumed anexpression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled withsadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustriouspatroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show BaronFunke beaucoup d'estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.

　　The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with thewomanly and courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, AnnaPavlovna wished both to rebuke him (for daring to speak he had done ofa 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 cameout everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazinglybeautiful."

　　The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.

　　"I often think," she continued after a short pause, drawing nearerto the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show thatpolitical and social topics were ended and the time had come forintimate conversation- "I often think how unfairly sometimes thejoys of life are distributed. Why has fate given you two such splendidchildren? I don't speak of Anatole, your youngest. I don't likehim," she added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising hereyebrows. "Two such charming children. And really you appreciatethem 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 Ilack the bump of paternity."

　　"Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know Iam dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves" (and herface assumed its melancholy expression), "he was mentioned at HerMajesty'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 alla father could for their education, and they have both turned outfools. Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an activeone. That is the only difference between them." He said this smilingin a way more natural and animated than usual, so that the wrinklesround his mouth very clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarseand unpleasant.

　　"And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not afather there would be nothing I could reproach you with," said AnnaPavlovna, looking up pensively.

　　"I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that mychildren are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. Thatis how I explain it to myself. It can't be helped!"

　　He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by agesture. Anna Pavlovna meditated.

　　"Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?"she asked. "They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, andthough I don't feel that weakness in myself as yet,I know a littleperson who is very unhappy with her father. She is a relation ofyours, Princess Mary Bolkonskaya."

　　Prince Vasili did not reply, though, with the quickness of memoryand perception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by amovement of the head that he was considering this information.

　　"Do you know," he said at last, evidently unable to check the sadcurrent of his thoughts, "that Anatole is costing me forty thousandrubles a year? And," he went on after a pause, "what will it be infive years, if he goes on like this?" Presently he added: "That's whatwe fathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours rich?"

　　"Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. Heis the well-known Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the armyunder the late Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He isvery clever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is veryunhappy. She has a brother; I think you know him, he married LiseMeinen lately. He is an aide-de-camp of Kutuzov's and will be heretonight."

　　"Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, suddenly taking AnnaPavlovna's hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrangethat affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slave-slafe wigh an f, as a village elder of mine writes in his reports. Sheis rich and of good family and that's all I want."

　　And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raisedthe maid of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to andfro as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.

　　"Attendez," said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, "I'll speak to Lise,young Bolkonski's wife, this very evening, and perhaps the thing canbe arranged. It shall be on your family's behalf that I'll start myapprenticeship as old maid."BK1|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　Anna Pavlovna's drawing room was gradually filling. The highestPetersburg society was assembled there: people differing widely in ageand character but alike in the social circle to which they belonged.Prince Vasili's daughter, the beautiful Helene, came to take herfather to the ambassador's entertainment; she wore a ball dress andher badge as maid of honor. The youthful little PrincessBolkonskaya, known as la femme la plus seduisante de Petersbourg,* wasalso there. She had been married during the previous winter, and beingpregnant did not go to any large gatherings, but only to smallreceptions. Prince Vasili's son, Hippolyte, had come with Mortemart,whom he introduced. The Abbe Morio and many others had also come.

　　*The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.

　　To each new arrival Anna Pavlovna said, "You have not yet seen myaunt," or "You do not know my aunt?" and very gravely conducted him orher to a little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in her cap, whohad come sailing in from another room as soon as the guests began toarrive; and slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her aunt, AnnaPavlovna mentioned each one's name and then left them.

　　Each visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whomnot one of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one ofthem cared about; Anna Pavlovna observed these greetings with mournfuland solemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each ofthem in the same words, about their health and her own, and the healthof Her Majesty, "who, thank God, was better today." And eachvisitor, though politeness prevented his showing impatience, leftthe old woman with a sense of relief at having performed a vexatiousduty and did not return to her the whole evening.

　　The young Princess Bolkonskaya had brought some work in agold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which adelicate dark down was just perceptible, was too short for herteeth, but it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially charmingwhen she occasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is alwaysthe case with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defect- the shortnessof her upper lip and her half-open mouth- seemed to be her own specialand peculiar form of beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight ofthis pretty young woman, so soon to become a mother, so full of lifeand health, and carrying her burden so lightly. Old men and dulldispirited young ones who looked at her, after being in her companyand talking to her a little while, felt as if they too werebecoming, 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 herwhite teeth, thought that they were in a specially amiable mood thatday.

　　The little princess went round the table with quick, short,swaying steps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out herdress sat down on a sofa near the silver samovar, as if all she wasdoing was a pleasure to herself and to all around her. "I have broughtmy work," said she in French, displaying her bag and addressing allpresent. "Mind, Annette, I hope you have not played a wicked trickon me," she added, turning to her hostess. "You wrote that it was tobe 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 anyoneelse," replied Anna Pavlovna.

　　"You know," said the princess in the same tone of voice and still inFrench, turning to a general, "my husband is deserting me? He is goingto get himself killed. Tell me what this wretched war is for?" sheadded, addressing Prince Vasili, and without waiting for an answer sheturned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Helene.

　　"What a delightful woman this little princess is!" said PrinceVasili to Anna Pavlovna.

　　One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man withclose-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionableat that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stoutyoung man was an illegitimate son of Count Bezukhov, a well-knowngrandee of Catherine's time who now lay dying in Moscow. The young manhad not yet entered either the military or civil service, as he hadonly just returned from abroad where he had been educated, and thiswas his first appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him withthe nod she accorded to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room.But in spite of this lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety andfear, as at the sight of something too large and unsuited to theplace, came over her face when she saw Pierre enter. Though he wascertainly rather bigger than the other men in the room, her anxietycould only have reference to the clever though shy, but observantand natural, expression which distinguished him from everyone elsein that drawing room.

　　"It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come and visit a poorinvalid," said Anna Pavlovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with heraunt as she conducted him to her.

　　Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued to lookround as if in search of something. On his way to the aunt he bowed tothe little princess with a pleased smile, as to an intimateacquaintance.

　　Anna Pavlovna's alarm was justified, for Pierre turned away from theaunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majesty's health.Anna Pavlovna in dismay detained him with the words: "Do you knowthe Abbe Morio? He is a most interesting man."

　　"Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it is veryinteresting but hardly feasible."

　　"You think so?" rejoined Anna Pavlovna in order to say something andget away to attend to her duties as hostess. But Pierre nowcommitted a reverse act of impoliteness. First he had left a ladybefore she had finished speaking to him, and now he continued to speakto another who wished to get away. With his head bent, and his bigfeet spread apart, he began explaining his reasons for thinking theabbe's plan chimerical.

　　"We will talk of it later," said Anna Pavlovna 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 toflag. As the foreman of a spinning mill, when he has set the handsto work, goes round and notices here a spindle that has stopped orthere one that creaks or makes more noise than it should, andhastens to check the machine or set it in proper motion, so AnnaPavlovna moved about her drawing room, approaching now a silent, now atoo-noisy group, and by a word or slight rearrangement kept theconversational machine in steady, proper, and regular motion. But amidthese cares her anxiety about Pierre was evident. She kept ananxious watch on him when he approached the group round Mortemart tolisten to what was being said there, and again when he passed toanother group whose center was the abbe.

　　Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at AnnaPavlovna's was the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that allthe intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, likea child in a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid ofmissing any clever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing theself-confident and refined expression on the faces of those present hewas always expecting to hear something very profound. At last hecame up to Morio. Here the conversation seemed interesting and hestood waiting for an opportunity to express his own views, as youngpeople are fond of doing.BK1|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　Anna Pavlovna's reception was in full swing. The spindles hummedsteadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt,beside whom sat only one elderly lady, who with her thin careworn facewas rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole companyhad settled into three groups. One, chiefly masculine, had formedround the abbe. Another, of young people, was grouped round thebeautiful Princess Helene, Prince Vasili's daughter, and the littlePrincess Bolkonskaya, very pretty and rosy, though rather too plumpfor her age. The third group was gathered round Mortemart and AnnaPavlovna.

　　The vicomte was a nice-looking young man with soft features andpolished manners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity but outof politeness modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle inwhich he found himself. Anna Pavlovna was obviously serving him upas a treat to her guests. As a clever maitre d'hotel serves up as aspecially choice delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had seenit in the kitchen would have cared to eat, so Anna Pavlovna servedup to her guests, first the vicomte and then the abbe, as peculiarlychoice morsels. The group about Mortemart immediately began discussingthe murder of the Duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Ducd'Enghien had perished by his own magnanimity, and that there wereparticular reasons for Buonaparte's hatred of him.

　　"Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte," said Anna Pavlovna,with a pleasant feeling that there was something a la Louis XV inthe sound of that sentence: "Contez nous cela, Vicomte."

　　The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingnessto comply. Anna Pavlovna arranged a group round him, inviting everyoneto listen to his tale.

　　"The vicomte knew the duc personally," whispered Anna Pavlovna to ofthe guests. "The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur," said she toanother. "How evidently he belongs to the best society," said she to athird; and the vicomte was served up to the company in the choicestand most advantageous style, like a well-garnished joint of roast beefon a hot dish.

　　The vicomte wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile.

　　"Come over here, Helene, dear," said Anna Pavlovna to thebeautiful young princess who was sitting some way off, the center ofanother group.

　　The princess smiled. She rose with the same unchanging smile withwhich she had first entered the room- the smile of a perfectlybeautiful woman. With a slight rustle of her white dress trimmedwith moss and ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, andsparkling diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her,not looking at any of them but smiling on all, as if graciouslyallowing each the privilege of admiring her beautiful figure andshapely shoulders, back, and bosom- which in the fashion of those dayswere very much exposed- and she seemed to bring the glamour of aballroom with her as she moved toward Anna Pavlovna. Helene was solovely that not only did she not show any trace of coquetry, but onthe contrary she even appeared shy of her unquestionable and all toovictorious beauty. She seemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminishits effect.

　　"How lovely!" said everyone who saw her; and the vicomte liftedhis shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by somethingextraordinary when she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him alsowith 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 andconsidered a reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All the time thestory was being told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautifulround arm, altered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at herstill more beautiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamondnecklace. From time to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, andwhenever the story produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pavlovna, atonce adopted just the expression she saw on the maid of honor'sface, and again relapsed into her radiant smile.

　　The little princess had also left the tea table and followed Helene.

　　"Wait a moment, I'll get my work.... Now then, what are you thinkingof?" she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyte. "Fetch me my workbag."

　　There was a general movement as the princess, smiling and talkingmerrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself inher seat.

　　"Now I am all right," she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, shetook up her work.

　　Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circleand moving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her.

　　Le charmant Hippolyte was surprising by his extraordinaryresemblance to his beautiful sister, but yet more by the fact thatin spite of this resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His featureswere like his sister's, but while in her case everything was lit up bya joyous, self-satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation,and by the wonderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on thecontrary was dulled by imbecility and a constant expression ofsullen 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 besidethe princess and hastily adjusting his lorgnette, as if without thisinstrument he could not begin to speak.

　　"Why no, my dear fellow," said the astonished narrator, shrugginghis shoulders.

　　"Because I hate ghost stories," said Prince Hippolyte in a tonewhich showed that he only understood the meaning of his words after hehad uttered them.

　　He spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers could not besure whether what he said was very witty or very stupid. He wasdressed in a dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of the color ofcuisse de nymphe effrayee, as he called it, shoes, and silk stockings.

　　The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, thencurrent, to the effect that the Duc d'Enghien had gone secretly toParis to visit Mademoiselle George; that at her house he came uponBonaparte, who also enjoyed the famous actress' favors, and that inhis presence Napoleon happened to fall into one of the fainting fitsto which he was subject, and was thus at the duc's mercy. The latterspared him, and this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid bydeath.

　　The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the pointwhere the rivals suddenly recognized one another; and the ladieslooked agitated.

　　"Charming!" said Anna Pavlovna with an inquiring glance at thelittle princess.

　　"Charming!" whispered the little princess, sticking the needleinto her work as if to testify that the interest and fascination ofthe story prevented her from going on with it.

　　The vicomte appreciated this silent praise and smiling gratefullyprepared to continue, but just then Anna Pavlovna, who had kept awatchful eye on the young man who so alarmed her, noticed that hewas talking too loudly and vehemently with the abbe, so she hurried tothe rescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation with the abbeabout the balance of power, and the latter, evidently interested bythe young man's simple-minded eagerness, was explaining his pettheory. Both were talking and listening too eagerly and too naturally,which was why Anna Pavlovna disapproved.

　　"The means are... the balance of power in Europe and the rights ofthe people," the abbe was saying. "It is only necessary for onepowerful nation like Russia- barbaric as she is said to be- to placeherself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for itsobject the maintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it wouldsave the world!"

　　"But how are you to get that balance?" Pierre was beginning.

　　At that moment Anna Pavlovna came up and, looking severely atPierre, asked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. TheItalian's face instantly changed and assumed an offensivelyaffected, sugary expression, evidently habitual to him when conversingwith women.

　　"I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of thesociety, more especially of the feminine society, in which I havehad the honor of being received, that I have not yet had time to thinkof the climate," said he.

　　Not letting the abbe and Pierre escape, Anna Pavlovna, the moreconveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into thelarger circle.BK1|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Just them another visitor entered the drawing room: Prince AndrewBolkonski, the little princess' husband. He was a very handsomeyoung 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, littlewife. It was evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawingroom, but had found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to lookat or listen to them. And among all these faces that he found sotedious, none seemed to bore him so much as that of his pretty wife.He turned away from her with a grimace that distorted his handsomeface, kissed Anna Pavlovna's hand, and screwing up his eyes scannedthe whole company.

　　"You are off to the war, Prince?" said Anna Pavlovna.

　　"General Kutuzov," said Bolkonski, speaking French and stressing thelast syllable of the general's name like a Frenchman, "has beenpleased 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?"

　　"Andre," said his wife, addressing her husband in the samecoquettish manner in which she spoke to other men, "the vicomte hasbeen telling us such a tale about Mademoiselle George and Buonaparte!"

　　Prince Andrew screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, whofrom the moment Prince Andrew entered the room had watched him withglad, affectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Before helooked round Prince Andrew frowned again, expressing his annoyancewith whoever was touching his arm, but when he saw Pierre's beamingface he gave him an unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.

　　"There now!... So you, too, are in the great world?" said he toPierre.

　　"I knew you would be here," replied Pierre. "I will come to supperwith you. May I?" he added in a low voice so as not to disturb thevicomte who was continuing his story.

　　"No, impossible!" said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing Pierre'shand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He wishedto say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasili and hisdaughter got up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass.

　　"You must excuse me, dear Vicomte," said Prince Vasili to theFrenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to preventhis rising. "This unfortunate fete at the ambassador's deprives meof a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry toleave your enchanting party," said he, turning to Anna Pavlovna.

　　His daughter, Princess Helene, passed between the chairs, lightlyholding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone still moreradiantly 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 Vasili seized Pierre's hand and said to AnnaPavlovna: "Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me awhole 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 cleverwomen."

　　Anna Pavlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knewhis father to be a connection of Prince Vasili's. The elderly lady whohad been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtookPrince Vasili in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she hadassumed had left her kindly and tearworn face and it now expressedonly anxiety and fear.

　　"How about my son Boris, Prince?" said she, hurrying after himinto the anteroom. "I can't remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell mewhat news I may take back to my poor boy."

　　Although Prince Vasili listened reluctantly and not very politely tothe elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him aningratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he mightnot go away.

　　"What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then hewould be transferred to the Guards at once?" said she.

　　"Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can," answeredPrince Vasili, "but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. Ishould advise you to appeal to Rumyantsev through Prince Golitsyn.That would be the best way."

　　The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskaya, belonging to one of thebest families in Russia, but she was poor, and having long been out ofsociety had lost her former influential connections. She had nowcome to Petersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for heronly son. It was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasili that she hadobtained an invitation to Anna Pavlovna's reception and had satlistening to the vicomte's story. Prince Vasili's words frightenedher, an embittered look clouded her once handsome face, but only for amoment; then she smiled again and dutched Prince Vasili's arm moretightly.

　　"Listen to me, Prince," said she. "I have never yet asked you foranything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of myfather's friendship for you; but now I entreat you for God's sake todo 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 askedGolitsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you alwayswere," she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.

　　"Papa, we shall be late," said Princess Helene, turning herbeautiful head and looking over her classically molded shoulder as shestood waiting by the door.

　　Influence in society, however, is a capital which has to beeconomized if it is to last. Prince Vasili knew this, and havingonce 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 usinghis influence. But in Princess Drubetskaya's case he felt, after hersecond appeal, something like qualms of conscience. She had remindedhim of what was quite true; he had been indebted to her father for thefirst steps in his career. Moreover, he could see by her mannersthat she was one of those women- mostly mothers- who, having once madeup their minds, will not rest until they have gained their end, andare prepared if necessary to go on insisting day after day and hourafter hour, and even to make scenes. This last consideration movedhim.

　　"My dear Anna Mikhaylovna," said he with his usual familiarity andweariness 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'smemory, I will do the impossible- your son shall be transferred to theGuards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?"

　　"My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from you- I knew yourkindness!" 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 IlarionovichKutuzov... recommend Boris to him as adjutant! Then I shall be atrest, and then..."

　　Prince Vasili smiled.

　　"No, I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov is pesteredsince his appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself thatall the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons asadjutants."

　　"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 Kutuzov, I don't promise."

　　"Do promise, do promise, Vasili!" cried Anna Mikhaylovna as he went,with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably camenaturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn face.

　　Apparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habitemployed all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince had goneher face resumed its former cold, artificial expression. Shereturned to the group where the vicomte was still talking, and againpretended to listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Hertask was accomplished.BK1|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　"And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation atMilan?" asked Anna Pavlovna, "and of the comedy of the people of Genoaand Lucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, andMonsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitionsof the nations? Adorable! It is enough to make one's head whirl! It isas if the whole world had gone crazy."

　　Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with asarcastic smile.

　　"'Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!'* They say he was veryfine when he said that," he remarked, repeating the words inItalian: "'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 runover," Anna Pavlovna continued. "The sovereigns will not be able toendure this man who is a menace to everything."

　　"The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia," said the vicomte, politebut hopeless: "The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for LouisXVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!" and hebecame more animated. "And believe me, they are reaping the rewardof their betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, theyare 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 timethrough his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward thelittle princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Condecoat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as muchgravity as if she had asked him to do it.

　　"Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d' azur- maison Conde," saidhe.

　　The princess listened, smiling.

　　"If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer," thevicomte continued, with the air of a man who, in a matter with whichhe is better acquainted than anyone else, does not listen to othersbut follows the current of his own thoughts, "things will have gonetoo far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, Frenchsociety- I mean good French society- will have been forever destroyed,and then..."

　　He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished tomake a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pavlovna,who had him under observation, interrupted:

　　"The Emperor Alexander," said she, with the melancholy whichalways accompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family,"has declared that he will leave it to the French people themselves tochoose their own form of government; and I believe that once free fromthe usurper, the whole nation will certainly throw itself into thearms of its rightful king," she concluded, trying to be amiable to theroyalist emigrant.

　　"That is doubtful," said Prince Andrew. "Monsieur le Vicomte quiterightly supposes that matters have already gone too far. I think itwill be difficult to return to the old regime."

　　"From what I have heard," said Pierre, blushing and breaking intothe conversation, "almost all the aristocracy has already gone over toBonaparte's side."

　　"It is the Buonapartists who say that," replied the vicomtewithout looking at Pierre. "At the present time it is difficult toknow the real state of French public opinion.

　　"Bonaparte has said so," remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcasticsmile.

　　It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming hisremarks 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 quotingNapoleon's words. "'I opened my antechambers and they crowded in.' Ido not know how far he was justified in saying so."

　　"Not in the least," replied the vicomte. "After the murder of theduc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to somepeople," he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, "he ever was a hero,after the murder of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven andone hero less on earth."

　　Before Anna Pavlovna and the others had time to smile theirappreciation of the vicomte's epigram, Pierre again broke into theconversation, and though Anna Pavlovna felt sure he would saysomething inappropriate, she was unable to stop him.

　　"The execution of the Duc d'Enghien," declared Monsieur Pierre, "wasa political necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showedgreatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the wholeresponsibility of that deed."

　　"Dieu! Mon Dieu!" muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper.

　　"What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination showsgreatness of soul?" said the little princess, smiling and drawingher work nearer to her.

　　"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices.

　　"Capital!" said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slappinghis knee with the palm of his hand.

　　The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnly athis audience over his spectacles and continued.

　　"I say so," he continued desperately, "because the Bourbons fledfrom the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleonalone understood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for the generalgood, he could not stop short for the sake of one man's life."

　　"Won't you come over to the other table?" suggested Anna Pavlovna.

　　But Pierre continued his speech without heeding her.

　　"No," cried he, becoming more and more eager, "Napoleon is greatbecause he rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abuses,preserved all that was good in it- equality of citizenship and freedomof speech and of the press- and only for that reason did he obtainpower."

　　"Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself of it tocommit murder he had restored it to the rightful king, I should havecalled him a great man," remarked the vicomte.

　　"He could not do that. The people only gave him power that hemight rid them of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was agreat man. The Revolution was a grand thing!" continued MonsieurPierre, betraying by this desperate and provocative proposition hisextreme 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 Pavlovna.

　　"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 interjectedan ironical voice.

　　"Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is mostimportant. What is important are the rights of man, emancipationfrom prejudices, and equality of citizenship, and all these ideasNapoleon has retained in full force."

　　"Liberty and equality," said the vicomte contemptuously, as if atlast deciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his wordswere, "high-sounding words which have long been discredited. Whodoes not love liberty and equality? Even our Saviour preachedliberty 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 thevicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first momentof Pierre's outburst Anna Pavlovna, despite her social experience, washorror-struck. But when she saw that Pierre's sacrilegious words hadnot exasperated the vicomte, and had convinced herself that it wasimpossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined thevicomte in a vigorous attack on the orator.

　　"But, my dear Monsieur Pierre," said she, "how do you explain thefact of a great man executing a duc- or even an ordinary man who- isinnocent and untried?"

　　"I should like," said the vicomte, "to ask how monsieur explains the18th Brumaire; was not that an imposture? It was a swindle, and not atall like the conduct of a great man!"

　　"And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horrible!" said thelittle 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 byanother- a childlike, kindly, even rather silly look, which seemedto ask forgiveness.

　　The vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw clearlythat 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 PrinceAndrew. "Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguishbetween 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 ofthis reinforcement.

　　"One must admit," continued Prince Andrew, "that Napoleon as a manwas great on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaffawhere he gave his hand to the plague-stricken; but... but there areother acts which it is difficult to justify."

　　Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down the awkwardnessof Pierre's remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it was timeto go.

　　Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone toattend, and asking them all to be seated began:

　　"I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you toit. Excuse me, Vicomte- I must tell it in Russian or the point will belost...." And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in such Russianas a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia.Everyone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand theirattention to his story.

　　"There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. Shemust have two footmen behind her carriage, and very big ones. That washer taste. And she had a lady's maid, also big. She said..."

　　Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his ideas withdifficulty.

　　"She said... Oh yes! She said, 'Girl,' to the maid, 'put on alivery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while I make somecalls.'"

　　Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing longbefore his audience, which produced an effect unfavorable to thenarrator. Several persons, among them the elderly lady and AnnaPavlovna, did however smile.

　　"She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl lost her hatand her long hair came down...." Here he could contain himself nolonger and went on, between gasps of laughter: "And the whole worldknew...."

　　And so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligible why he hadtold it, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pavlovnaand the others appreciated Prince Hippolyte's social tact in soagreeably ending Pierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After theanecdote the conversation broke up into insignificant small talk aboutthe last and next balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom,and when and where.BK1|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Having thanked Anna Pavlovna for her charming soiree, the guestsbegan to take their leave.

　　Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, withhuge red hands; he did not know, as the saying is, to enter adrawing room and still less how to leave one; that is, how to saysomething particularly agreeable before going away. Besides this hewas absent-minded. When he rose to go, he took up instead of hisown, the general's three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at theplume, till the general asked him to restore it. All hisabsent-mindedness and inability to enter a room and converse in itwas, however, redeemed by his kindly, simple, and modest expression.Anna Pavlovna turned toward him and, with a Christian mildness thatexpressed forgiveness of his indiscretion, nodded and said: "I hope tosee you again, but I also hope you will change your opinions, mydear Monsieur Pierre."

　　When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but againeverybody saw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, "Opinionsare opinions, but you see what a capital, good-natured fellow I am."And everyone, including Anna Pavlovna, felt this.

　　Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning his shouldersto the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listenedindifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had alsocome 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 littleprincess, taking leave of Anna Pavlovna. "It is settled," she added ina low voice.

　　Anna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the matchshe contemplated between Anatole and the little princess'sister-in-law.

　　"I rely on you, my dear," said Anna Pavlovna, also in a low tone."Write to her and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Aurevoir!"- and she left the hall.

　　Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending hisface close to her, began to whisper something.

　　Two footmen, the princess' and his own, stood holding a shawl anda cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened tothe French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air ofunderstanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess asusual spoke smilingly and listened with a laugh.

　　"I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador's," said PrinceHippolyte "-so dull-. It has been a delightful evening, has it not?Delightful!"

　　"They say the ball will be very good," replied the princess, drawingup her downy little lip. "All the pretty women in society will bethere."

　　"Not all, for you will not be there; not all," said Prince Hippolytesmiling joyfully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, whom heeven pushed aside, he began wrapping it round the princess. Eitherfrom awkwardness or intentionally (no one could have said which) afterthe shawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a longtime, as though embracing her.

　　Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and glancing ather husband. Prince Andrew's eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy didhe seem.

　　"Are you ready?" he asked his wife, looking past her.

　　Prince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in the latestfashion reached to his very heels, and, stumbling in it, ran outinto the porch following the princess, whom a footman was helping intothe carriage.

　　"Princesse, au revoir," cried he, stumbling with his tongue aswell as with his feet.

　　The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in thedark carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber; PrinceHippolyte, 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 andaffectionately.

　　The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolytelaughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomtewhom he had promised to take home.

　　"Well, mon cher," said the vicomte, having seated himself besideHippolyte in the carriage, "your little princess is very nice, verynice 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 officerwho gives himself the airs of a monarch."

　　Hippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, "And youwere saying that the Russian ladies are not equal to the French? Onehas to know how to deal with them."

　　Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew's study likeone 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 wasCaesar's Commentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading itin the middle.

　　"What have you done to Mlle Scherer? She will be quite ill now,"said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small whitehands.

　　Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted hiseager face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.

　　"That abbe is very interesting but he does not see the thing inthe right light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is possible but- Ido not know how to express it... not by a balance of politicalpower...."

　　It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in suchabstract conversation.

　　"One can't everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well, have youat last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or adiplomatist?" 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 theother."

　　"But you must decide on something! Your father expects it."

　　Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbe as tutor,and had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscowhis father dismissed the abbe and said to the young man, "Now go toPetersburg, look round, and choose your profession. I will agree toanything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasili, and here is money.Write to me all about it, and I will help you in everything." Pierrehad already been choosing a career for three months, and had notdecided on anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew wasspeaking. Pierre rubbed his forehead.

　　"But he must be a Freemason," said he, referring to the abbe whom hehad met that evening.

　　"That is all nonsense." Prince Andrew again interrupted him, "let ustalk business. Have you been to the Horse Guards?"

　　"No, I have not; but this is what I have been thinking and wanted totell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it were a war forfreedom I could understand it and should be the first to enter thearmy; but to help England and Austria against the greatest man inthe world is not right."

　　Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childishwords. He put on the air of one who finds it impossible to reply tosuch nonsense, but it would in fact have been difficult to give anyother answer than the one Prince Andrew gave to this naive question.

　　"If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be nowars," 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..." Hepaused. "I am going because the life I am leading here does not suitme!"BK1|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　The rustle of a woman's dress was heard in the next room. PrinceAndrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look ithad had in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room. Pierre removed his feetfrom the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown for ahouse dress as fresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew roseand politely placed a chair for her.

　　"How is it," she began, as usual in French, settling down brisklyand 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 forsaying so, but you have no sense about women. What an argumentativefellow you are, Monsieur Pierre!"

　　"And I am still arguing with your husband. I can't understand why hewants to go to the war," replied Pierre, addressing the princesswith none of the embarrassment so commonly shown by young men in theirintercourse with young women.

　　The princess started. Evidently Pierre's words touched her to thequick.

　　"Ah, that is just what I tell him!" said she. "I don't understandit; 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 needit? Now you shall judge between us. I always tell him: Here he isUncle's aide-de-camp, a most brilliant position. He is so wellknown, so much appreciated by everyone. The other day at theApraksins' I heard a lady asking, 'Is that the famous PrinceAndrew?' I did indeed." She laughed. "He is so well receivedeverywhere. He might easily become aide-de-camp to the Emperor. Youknow the Emperor spoke to him most graciously. Annette and I werespeaking of how to arrange it. What do you think?"

　　Pierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not like theconversation, 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 hadspoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was so plainlyill-suited to the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member."Today when I remembered that all these delightful associations mustbe broken off... and then you know, Andre..." (she lookedsignificantly 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 someonebesides Pierre and himself was in the room, and addressed her in atone 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 awhim of his own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me and locks me upalone 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 tobe afraid."

　　Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving her not ajoyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as ifshe felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, thoughthe gist of the matter lay in that.

　　"I still can't understand what you are afraid of," said PrinceAndrew 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 lipquivered. Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked aboutthe room.

　　Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now at himand now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.

　　"Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?" exclaimed the littleprincess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by atearful grimace. "I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why youhave changed so to me? What have I done to you? You are going to thewar and have no pity for me. Why is it?"

　　"Lise!" was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed anentreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herselfregret her words. But she went on hurriedly:

　　"You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did youbehave like that six months ago?"

　　"Lise, I beg you to desist," said Prince Andrew still moreemphatically.

　　Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listenedto all this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable tobear the sight of tears and was ready to cry himself.

　　"Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because... I assure youI myself have experienced... and so... because... No, excuse me! Anoutsider 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 ofthe pleasure of spending the evening with you."

　　"No, he thinks only of himself," muttered the princess withoutrestraining her angry tears.

　　"Lise!" said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitchwhich indicates that patience is exhausted.

　　Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess' prettyface changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautifuleyes glanced askance at her husband's face, and her own assumed thetimid, deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wagsits drooping tail.

　　"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she muttered, and lifting her dress with onehand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.

　　"Good night, Lise," said he, rising and courteously kissing her handas he would have done to a stranger.BK1|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. Pierrecontinually glanced at Prince Andrew; Prince Andrew rubbed hisforehead 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 diningroom. Everything from the table napkins to the silver, china, andglass bore that imprint of newness found in the households of thenewly married. Halfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned hiselbows on the table and, with a look of nervous agitation such asPierre had never before seen on his face, began to talk- as one whohas long had something on his mind and suddenly determines to speakout.

　　"Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That's my advice: never marrytill you can say to yourself that you have done all you are capableof, and until you have ceased to love the woman of your choice andhave seen her plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel andirrevocable mistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothing- orall that is good and noble in you will be lost. It will all bewasted on trifles. Yes! Yes! Yes! Don't look at me with such surprise.If you marry expecting anything from yourself in the future, youwill feel at every step that for you all is ended, all is closedexcept the drawing room, where you will be ranged side by side witha court lackey and an idiot!... But what's the good?..." and hewaved his arm.

　　Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem differentand the good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed athis friend in amazement.

　　"My wife," continued Prince Andrew, "is an excellent woman, one ofthose rare women with whom a man's honor is safe; but, O God, whatwould I not give now to be unmarried! You are the first and only oneto whom I mention this, because I like you."

　　As he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Bolkonskiwho had lolled in Anna Pavlovna's easy chairs and with half-closedeyes had uttered French phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of histhin face was now quivering with nervous excitement; his eyes, inwhich the fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed withbrilliant light. It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed atordinary times, the more impassioned he became in these moments ofalmost morbid irritation.

　　"You don't understand why I say this," he continued, "but it isthe whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career," saidhe (though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte), "but Bonaparte when heworked went step by step toward his goal. He was free, he hadnothing but his aim to consider, and he reached it. But tie yourselfup with a woman and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom! Andall you have of hope and strength merely weighs you down andtorments you with regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, andtriviality- these are the enchanted circle I cannot escape from. Iam now going to the war, the greatest war there ever was, and I knownothing and am fit for nothing. I am very amiable and have a causticwit," continued Prince Andrew, "and at Anna Pavlovna's they listento me. And that stupid set without whom my wife cannot exist, andthose women... If you only knew what those society women are, andwomen in general! My father is right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivialin everything- that's what women are when you see them in their truecolors! When you meet them in society it seems as if there weresomething in them, but there's nothing, nothing, nothing! No, don'tmarry, my dear fellow; don't marry!" concluded Prince Andrew.

　　"It seems funny to me," said Pierre, "that you, you shouldconsider yourself incapable and your life a spoiled life. You haveeverything before you, everything. And you..."

　　He did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly hethought of his friend and how much he expected of him in the future.

　　"How can he talk like that?" thought Pierre. He considered hisfriend a model of perfection because Prince Andrew possessed in thehighest degree just the very qualities Pierre lacked, and whichmight be best described as strength of will. Pierre was alwaysastonished at Prince Andrew's calm manner of treating everybody, hisextraordinary memory, his extensive reading (he had read everything,knew everything, and had an opinion about everything), but above allat his capacity for work and study. And if Pierre was often struckby Andrew's lack of capacity for philosophical meditation (to which hehimself was particularly addicted), he regarded even this not as adefect 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 necessaryto wheels that they may run smoothly.

　　"My part is played out," said Prince Andrew. "What's the use oftalking 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 facerelaxing into a careless, merry smile. "What am I? An illegitimateson!" He suddenly blushed crimson, and it was plain that he had made agreat effort to say this. "Without a name and without means... Andit really..." But he did not say what "it really" was. "For thepresent I am free and am all right. Only I haven't the least idea whatI am to do; I wanted to consult you seriously."

　　Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glance- friendly andaffectionate as it was- expressed a sense of his own superiority.

　　"I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man amongour whole set. Yes, you're all right! Choose what you will; it's allthe same. You'll be all right anywhere. But look here: give upvisiting those Kuragins and leading that sort of life. It suits you sobadly- all this debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of it!"

　　"What would you have, my dear fellow?" answered Pierre, shrugginghis shoulders. "Women, my dear fellow; women!"

　　"I don't understand it," replied Prince Andrew. "Women who are commeil faut, that's a different matter; but the Kuragins' set of women,'women and wine' I don't understand!"

　　Pierre was staying at Prince Vasili Kuragin's and sharing thedissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning toreform by marrying him to Prince Andrew's sister.

　　"Do you know?" said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happythought, "seriously, I have long been thinking of it.... Leadingsuch a life I can't decide or think properly about anything. One'shead 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!"BK1|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend. It was acloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab intendingto drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the morehe felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It waslight enough to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemedmore like morning or evening than night. On the way Pierreremembered that Anatole Kuragin was expecting the usual set forcards 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 Kuragin's," thought he.

　　But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to gothere. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired sopassionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was soaccustomed to that he decided to go. The thought immediatelyoccurred to him that his promise to Prince Andrew was of no account,because before he gave it he had already promised Prince Anatole tocome to his gathering; "besides," thought he, "all such 'words ofhonor' are conventional things with no definite meaning, especially ifone considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, or something soextraordinary may happen to one that honor and dishonor will be allthe same!" Pierre often indulged in reflections of this sort,nullifying all his decisions and intentions. He went to Kuragin's.

　　Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards' barracks, in whichAnatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended thestairs, and went in at the open door. There was no one in theanteroom; empty bottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about; therewas a smell of alcohol, and sounds of voices and shouting in thedistance.

　　Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yetdispersed. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room, inwhich were the remains of supper. A footman, thinking no one sawhim, was drinking on the sly what was left in the glasses. From thethird room came sounds of laughter, the shouting of familiar voices,the growling of a bear, and general commotion. Some eight or nineyoung men were crowding anxiously round an open window. Three otherswere romping with a young bear, one pulling him by the chain andtrying to set him at the others.

　　"I bet a hundred on Stevens!" shouted one.

　　"Mind, no holding on!" cried another.

　　"I bet on Dolokhov!" cried a third. "Kuragin, 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 fellowwho stood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his finelinen shirt unfastened in front. "Wait a bit, you fellows.... Hereis Petya! 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 soberring, cried from the window: "Come here; part the bets!" This wasDolokhov, an officer of the Semenov regiment, a notorious gamblerand duelist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking abouthim merrily.

　　"I don't understand. What's it all about?"

　　"Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here," said Anatole,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 browsat the tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, andlistening to their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glasswhile explaining that Dolokhov was betting with Stevens, an Englishnaval officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on theouter ledge of the third floor window with his legs hanging out.

　　"Go on, you must drink it all," said Anatole, giving Pierre the lastglass, "or I won't let you go!"

　　"No, I won't," said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up tothe window.

　　Dolokhov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly anddistinctly repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himselfparticularly to Anatole and Pierre.

　　Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blueeyes. He was about twenty-five. Like all infantry officers he woreno mustache, so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face,was clearly seen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finelycurved. The middle of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closedfirmly on the firm lower one, and something like two distinct smilesplayed 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.Dolokhov was a man of small means and no connections. Yet, thoughAnatole spent tens of thousands of rubles, Dolokhov lived with him andhad placed himself on such a footing that all who knew them, includingAnatole himself, respected him more than they did Anatole. Dolokhovcould play all games and nearly always won. However much he drank,he never lost his clearheadedness. Both Kuragin and Dolokhov were atthat time notorious among the rakes and scapegraces of Petersburg.

　　The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which preventedanyone from sitting on the outer sill was being forced out by twofootmen, who were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directionsand shouts of the gentlemen around.

　　Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window. He wantedto 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 frameout with a crash.

　　"Take it right out, or they'll think I'm holding on," said Dolokhov.

　　"Is the Englishman bragging?... Eh? Is it all right?" said Anatole.

　　"First-rate," said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a bottle ofrum in his hand was approaching the window, from which the light ofthe sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.

　　Dolokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto thewindow sill. "Listen!" cried he, standing there and addressing thosein the room. All were silent.

　　"I bet fifty imperials"- he spoke French that the Englishman mightunderstand him, but he did, not speak it very well- "I bet fiftyimperials... 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 ofrum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window onthis spot" (he stooped and pointed to the sloping ledge outside thewindow) "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 thebuttons 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 Dolokhov, hammering with the bottle on the window sillto attract attention. "Wait a bit, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone elsedoes the same, I will pay him a hundred imperials. Do you understand?"

　　The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended toaccept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, andthough he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went ontranslating Dolokhov's words into English. A thin young lad, an hussarof the Life Guards, who had been losing that evening, climbed on thewindow sill, leaned over, and looked down.

　　"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he muttered, looking down from the window at thestones of the pavement.

　　"Shut up!" cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the window. The ladjumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs.

　　Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach iteasily, Dolokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the window andlowered his legs. Pressing against both sides of the window, headjusted himself on his seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to theright and then to the left, and took up the bottle. Anatole broughttwo candles and placed them on the window sill, though it wasalready quite light. Dolokhov's back in his white shirt, and his curlyhead, were lit up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, theEnglishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One man, olderthan the others present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared andangry look and wanted to seize hold of Dolokhov's shirt.

　　"I say, this is folly! He'll be killed," said this more sensibleman.

　　Anatole stopped him.

　　"Don't touch him! You'll startle him and then he'll be killed.Eh?... What then?... Eh?"

　　Dolokhov turned round and, again holding on with both hands,arranged himself on his seat.

　　"If anyone comes meddling again," said he, emitting the wordsseparately through his thin compressed lips, "I will throw him downthere. Now then!"

　　Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took thebottle and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head, and raisedhis free hand to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stoopedto pick up some broken glass remained in that position withouttaking his eyes from the window and from Dolokhov's back. Anatolestood erect with staring eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways,pursing up his lips. The man who had wished to stop the affair ranto a corner of the room and threw himself on a sofa with his face tothe wall. Pierre hid his face, from which a faint smile forgot to fadethough his features now expressed horror and fear. All were still.Pierre took his hands from his eyes. Dolokhov still sat in the sameposition, only his head was thrown further back till his curly hairtouched his shirt collar, and the hand holding the bottle was liftedhigher and higher and trembled with the effort. The bottle wasemptying perceptibly and rising still higher and his head tiltingyet further back. "Why is it so long?" thought Pierre. It seemed tohim that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly Dolokhov madea backward movement with his spine, and his arm trembled nervously;this was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as he sat on thesloping ledge. As he began slipping down, his head and arm waveredstill more with the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch thewindow sill, but refrained from touching it. Pierre again coveredhis eyes and thought he would never never them again. Suddenly hewas aware of a stir all around. He looked up: Dolokhov was standing onthe window sill, with a pale but radiant face.

　　"It's empty."

　　He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly.Dolokhov jumped down. He smelt strongly of rum.

　　"Well done!... Fine fellow!... There's a bet for you!... Deviltake you!" came from different sides.

　　The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out themoney. Dolokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped uponthe window sill.

　　"Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll do the same thing!" hesuddenly cried. "Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me abottle. I'll do it.... Bring a bottle!"

　　"Let him do it, let him do it," said Dolokhov, 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, bangingthe table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to climbout of the window.

　　They seized him by his arms; but he was so strong that everyonewho touched him was sent flying.

　　"No, you'll never manage him that way," said Anatole. "Wait a bitand I'll get round him.... Listen! I'll take your bet tomorrow, butnow we are all going to -'s."

　　"Come on then," cried Pierre. "Come on!... And we'll take Bruin withus."

　　And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from theground, and began dancing round the room with it.BK1|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Prince Vasili kept the promise he had given to PrincessDrubetskaya who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Boris onthe evening of Anna Pavlovna's soiree. The matter was mentioned to theEmperor, an exception made, and Boris transferred into the regiment ofSemenov Guards with the rank of cornet. He received, however, noappointment to Kutuzov's staff despite all Anna Mikhaylovna'sendeavors and entreaties. Soon after Anna Pavlovna's reception AnnaMikhaylovna returned to Moscow and went straight to her richrelations, the Rostovs, with whom she stayed when in the town andwhere and where her darling Bory, who had only just entered a regimentof the line and was being at once transferred to the Guards as acornet, had been educated from childhood and lived for years at atime. The Guards had already left Petersburg on the tenth of August,and her son, who had remained in Moscow for his equipment, was to jointhem on the march to Radzivilov.

　　It was St. Natalia's day and the name day of two of the Rostovs- themother and the youngest daughter- both named Nataly. Ever since themorning, carriages with six horses had been coming and goingcontinually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostova's big houseon the Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The countess herselfand her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing-room with thevisitors who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded oneanother in relays.

　　The countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin Orientaltype of face, evidently worn out with childbearing- she had hadtwelve. A languor of motion and speech, resulting from weakness,gave her a distinguished air which inspired respect. Princess AnnaMikhaylovna Drubetskaya, who as a member of the household was alsoseated in the drawing room, helped to receive and entertain thevisitors. The young people were in one of the inner rooms, notconsidering it necessary to take part in receiving the visitors. Thecount met the guests and saw them off, inviting them all to dinner.

　　"I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher," or "ma chere"- hecalled everyone without exception and without the slightestvariation in his tone, "my dear," whether they were above or below himin rank- "I thank you for myself and for our two dear ones whosename day we are keeping. But mind you come to dinner or I shall beoffended, ma chere! On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come,mon cher!" These words he repeated to everyone without exception orvariation, and with the same expression on his full, cheerful,clean-shaven face, the same firm pressure of the hand and the samequick, repeated bows. As soon as he had seen a visitor off he returnedto one of those who were still in the drawing room, drew a chairtoward him or her, and jauntily spreading out his legs and putting hishands on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys life and knows howto live, he swayed to and fro with dignity, offered surmises about theweather, or touched on questions of health, sometimes in Russian andsometimes in very bad but self-confident French; then again, like aman weary but unflinching in the fulfillment of duty, he rose to seesome visitors off and, stroking his scanty gray hairs over his baldpatch, also asked them to dinner. Sometimes on his way back from theanteroom he would pass through the conservatory and pantry into thelarge marble dining hall, where tables were being set out for eightypeople; and looking at the footmen, who were bringing in silver andchina, moving tables, and unfolding damask table linen, he wouldcall Dmitri Vasilevich, a man of good family and the manager of allhis affairs, and while looking with pleasure at the enormous tablewould say: "Well, Dmitri, you'll see that things are all as theyshould 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.

　　"Marya Lvovna Karagina and her daughter!" announced the countess'gigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the drawing room. Thecountess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold snuffbox withher husband's portrait on it.

　　"I'm quite worn out by these callers. However, I'll see her and nomore. She is so affected. Ask her in," she said to the footman in asad voice, as if saying: "Very well, finish me off."

　　A tall, stout, and proud-looking woman, with a round-faced smilingdaughter, entered the drawing room, their dresses rustling.

　　"Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up, poor child...at the Razumovski's ball... and Countess Apraksina... I was sodelighted..." came the sounds of animated feminine voices,interrupting one another and mingling with the rustling of dresses andthe scraping of chairs. Then one of those conversations began whichlast out until, at the first pause, the guests rise with a rustle ofdresses and say, "I am so delighted... Mamma's health... andCountess Apraksina... and then, again rustling, pass into theanteroom, put on cloaks or mantles, and drive away. The conversationwas on the chief topic of the day: the illness of the wealthy andcelebrated beau of Catherine's day, Count Bezukhov, and about hisillegitimate son Pierre, the one who had behaved so improperly at AnnaPavlovna's reception.

　　"I am so sorry for the poor count," said the visitor. "He is in suchbad health, and now this vexation about his son is enough to killhim!"

　　"What is that?" asked the countess as if she did not know what thevisitor alluded to, though she had already heard about the cause ofCount Bezukhov'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 ashe liked, now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terriblethings that he has been expelled by the police."

　　"You don't say so!" replied the countess.

　　"He chose his friends badly," interposed Anna Mikhaylovna. "PrinceVasili's son, he, and a certain Dolokhov have, it is said, been upto heaven only knows what! And they have had to suffer for it.Dolokhov has been degraded to the ranks and Bezukhov's son sent backto Moscow. Anatole Kuragin's father managed somehow to get his son'saffair 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 Dolokhov," replied thevisitor. "He is a son of Marya Ivanovna Dolokhova, such a worthywoman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bearsomewhere, put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit someactresses! The police tried to interfere, and what did the young mendo? They tied a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bearinto the Moyka Canal. And there was the bear swimming about with thepoliceman on his back!"

　　"What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear!" shoutedthe 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 thevisitor. "And to think it is Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov's son whoamuses himself in this sensible manner! And he was said to be sowell educated and clever. This is all that his foreign education hasdone for him! I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him, inspite of his money. They wanted to introduce him to me, but I quitedeclined: 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 ofinattention. "His children are all illegitimate. I think Pierre alsois illegitimate."

　　The visitor made a gesture with her hand.

　　"I should think he has a score of them."

　　Princess Anna Mikhaylovna intervened in the conversation,evidently wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what wenton in society.

　　"The fact of the matter is," said she significantly, and also in ahalf whisper, "everyone knows Count Cyril's reputation.... He has lostcount of his children, but this Pierre was his favorite."

　　"How handsome the old man still was only a year ago!" remarked thecountess. "I have never seen a handsomer man."

　　"He is very much altered now," said Anna Mikhaylovna. "Well, as Iwas saying, Prince Vasili is the next heir through his wife, but thecount is very fond of Pierre, looked after his education, and wrote tothe Emperor about him; so that in the case of his death- and he isso ill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorrain has come fromPetersburg- no one knows who will inherit his immense fortune,Pierre or Prince Vasili. Forty thousand serfs and millions ofrubles! I know it all very well for Prince Vasili told me himself.Besides, Cyril Vladimirovich is my mother's second cousin. He's alsomy Bory's godfather," she added, as if she attached no importance atall to the fact.

　　"Prince Vasili arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he has come onsome inspection business," remarked the visitor.

　　"Yes, but between ourselves," said the princess, that is apretext. The fact is he has come to see Count Cyril Vladimirovich,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 tothe young ladies. "I can just imagine what a funny figure thatpoliceman cut!"

　　And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portlyform again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one whoalways eats well and, in particular, drinks well. "So do come and dinewith us!" he said.BK1|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling affably,but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if theynow rose and took their leave. The visitor's daughter was alreadysmoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, whensuddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girlsrunning to the door and the noise of a chair falling over, and agirl of thirteen, hiding something in the folds of her short muslinfrock, darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It wasevident that she had not intended her flight to bring her so far.Behind her in the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coatcollar, an officer of the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a plumprosy-faced boy in a short jacket.

　　The count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread hisarms wide and threw them round the little girl who had run in.

　　"Ah, here she is!" he exclaimed laughing. "My pet, whose name day itis. My dear pet!"

　　"Ma chere, there is a time for everything," said the countess withfeigned severity. "You spoil her, Ilya," she added, turning to herhusband.

　　"How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of yourname 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 shookher bodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, littlelegs in lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slippers- was just atthat charming age when a girl is no longer a child, though the childis not yet a young woman. Escaping from her father she ran to hide herflushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla- not paying theleast attention to her severe remark- and began to laugh. She laughed,and in fragmentary sentences tried to explain about a doll which sheproduced from the folds of her frock.

　　"Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see..." was all Natashamanaged to utter (to her everything seemed funny). She leanedagainst her mother and burst into such a loud, ringing fit of laughterthat even the prim visitor could not help joining in.

　　"Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you," said themother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, andturning to the visitor she added: "She is my youngest girl."

　　Natasha, 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 itnecessary to take some part in it.

　　"Tell me, my dear," said she to Natasha, "is Mimi a relation ofyours? A daughter, I suppose?"

　　Natasha did not like the visitor's tone of condescension to childishthings. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously.

　　Meanwhile the younger generation: Boris, the officer, AnnaMikhaylovna's son; Nicholas, the undergraduate, the count's eldestson; Sonya, the count's fifteen-year-old niece, and little Petya,his youngest boy, had all settled down in the drawing room and wereobviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum theexcitement and mirth that shone in all their faces. Evidently in theback rooms, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, theconversation had been more amusing than the drawing-room talk ofsociety scandals, the weather, and Countess Apraksina. Now and thenthey glanced at one another, hardly able to suppress their laughter.

　　The two young men, the student and the officer, friends fromchildhood, were of the same age and both handsome fellows, thoughnot alike. Boris was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face hadregular, delicate features. Nicholas was short with curly hair andan open expression. Dark hairs were already showing on his upperlip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicholasblushed when he entered the drawing room. He evidently tried to findsomething to say, but failed. Boris on the contrary at once foundhis footing, and related quietly and humorously how he had know thatdoll Mimi when she was still quite a young lady, before her nose wasbroken; how she had aged during the five years he had known her, andhow her head had cracked right across the skull. Having said this heglanced at Natasha. She turned away from him and glanced at heryounger brother, who was screwing up his eyes and shaking withsuppressed laughter, and unable to control herself any longer, shejumped up and rushed from the room as fast as her nimble little feetwould carry her. Boris did not laugh.

　　"You were meaning to go out, weren't you, Mamma? Do you want thecarriage?" he asked his mother with a smile.

　　"Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready," she answered,returning his smile.

　　Boris quietly left the room and went in search of Natasha. The plumpboy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program had beendisturbed.BK1|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　The only young people remaining in the drawing room, not countingthe young lady visitor and the countess' eldest daughter (who was fouryears older than her sister and behaved already like a grown-upperson), were Nicholas and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slenderlittle brunette with a tender look in her eyes which were veiled bylong lashes, thick black plaits coiling twice round her head, and atawny tint in her complexion and especially in the color of herslender but graceful and muscular arms and neck. By the grace of hermovements, by the softness and flexibility of her small limbs, andby a certain coyness and reserve of manner, she reminded one of apretty, half-grown kitten which promises to become a beautifullittle cat. She evidently considered it proper to show an interestin the general conversation by smiling, but in spite of herself hereyes under their thick long lashes watched her cousin who was going tojoin the army, with such passionate girlish adoration that her smilecould not for a single instant impose upon anyone, and it was clearthat the kitten had settled down only to spring up with more energyand again play with her cousin as soon as they too could, like Natashaand Boris, escape from the drawing room.

　　"Ah yes, my dear," said the count, addressing the visitor andpointing to Nicholas, "his friend Boris has become an officer, andso for friendship's sake he is leaving the university and me, hisold father, and entering the military service, my dear. And therewas 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, "andthey'll say so again and again, and that will be the end of it. Mydear, there's friendship for you," he repeated. "He's joining thehussars."

　　The visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head.

　　"It's not at all from friendship," declared Nicholas, flaring up andturning away as if from a shameful aspersion. "It is not fromfriendship at all; I simply feel that the army is my vocation."

　　He glanced at his cousin and the young lady visitor; and they wereboth regarding him with a smile of approbation.

　　"Schubert, the colonel of the Pavlograd Hussars, is dining with ustoday. He has been here on leave and is taking Nicholas back with him.It can't be helped!" said the count, shrugging his shoulders andspeaking playfully of a matter that evidently distressed him.

　　"I have already told you, Papa," said his son, "that if you don'twish to let me go, I'll stay. But I know I am no use anywhere exceptin the army; I am not a diplomat or a government clerk.- I don'tknow how to hide what I feel." As he spoke he kept glancing with theflirtatiousness of a handsome youth at Sonya and the young ladyvisitor.

　　The little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, seemed ready at anymoment 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 herose 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 Karagina turned toyoung Rostov.

　　"What a pity you weren't at the Arkharovs' on Thursday. It was sodull without you," said she, giving him a tender smile.

　　The young man, flattered, sat down nearer to her with a coquettishsmile, and engaged the smiling Julie in a confidential conversationwithout at all noticing that his involuntary smile had stabbed theheart of Sonya, who blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst ofhis talk he glanced round at her. She gave him a passionately angryglance, and hardly able to restrain her tears and maintain theartificial smile on her lips, she got up and left the room. AllNicholas' animation vanished. He waited for the first pause in theconversation, and then with a distressed face left the room to findSonya.

　　"How plainly all these young people wear their hearts on theirsleeves!" said Anna Mikhaylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he wentout. "Cousinage- dangereux voisinage;"* she added.

　　*Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.

　　"Yes," said the countess when the brightness these young peoplehad brought into the room had vanished; and as if answering a questionno one had put but which was always in her mind, "and how muchsuffering, how much anxiety one has had to go through that we mightrejoice in them now! And yet really the anxiety is greater now thanthe 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 Ihave always, thank God, been my children's friend and had their fullconfidence," said she, repeating the mistake of so many parents whoimagine that their children have no secrets from them. "I know I shallalways be my daughters' first confidante, and that if Nicholas, withhis impulsive nature, does get into mischief (a boy can't help it), hewill all the same never be like those Petersburg young men."

　　"Yes, they are splendid, splendid youngsters," chimed in thecount, who always solved questions that seemed to him perplexing bydeciding that everything was splendid. "Just fancy: wants to be anhussar. 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! Andwhat a voice she has; though she's my daughter, I tell the truthwhen I say she'll be a singer, a second Salomoni! We have engaged anItalian to give her lessons."

　　"Isn't she too young? I have heard that it harms the voice totrain it at that age."

　　"Oh no, not at all too young!" replied the count. "Why, ourmothers used to be married at twelve or thirteen."

　　"And she's in love with Boris already. Just fancy!" said thecountess with a gentle smile, looking at Boris' and went on, evidentlyconcerned with a thought that always occupied her: "Now you see if Iwere to be severe with her and to forbid it... goodness knows whatthey might be up to on the sly" (she meant that they would bekissing), "but as it is, I know every word she utters. She will comerunning 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 herelder sister I was stricter."

　　"Yes, I was brought up quite differently," remarked the handsomeelder daughter, Countess Vera, with a smile.

　　But the smile did not enhance Vera's beauty as smiles generallydo; on the contrary it gave her an unnatural, and thereforeunpleasant, expression. Vera was good-looking, not at all stupid,quick at learning, was well brought up, and had a pleasant voice; whatshe said was true and appropriate, yet, strange to say, everyone-the visitors and countess alike- turned to look at her as if wonderingwhy she had said it, and they all felt awkward.

　　"People are always too clever with their eldest children and tryto make something exceptional of them," said the visitor.

　　"What's the good of denying it, my dear? Our dear countess was tooclever with Vera," said the count. "Well, what of that? She's turnedout splendidly all the same," he added, winking at Vera.

　　The guests got up and took their leave, promising to return todinner.

　　"What manners! I thought they would never go," said the countess,when she had seen her guests out.BK1|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　When Natasha ran out of the drawing room she only went as far as theconservatory. There she paused and stood listening to the conversationin the drawing room, waiting for Boris to come out. She was alreadygrowing impatient, and stamped her foot, ready to cry at his notcoming at once, when she heard the young man's discreet stepsapproaching neither quickly nor slowly. At this Natasha dashed swiftlyamong the flower tubs and hid there.

　　Boris paused in the middle of the room, looked round, brushed alittle dust from the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to a mirrorexamined his handsome face. Natasha, very still, peered out from herambush, waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little whilebefore the glass, smiled, and walked toward the other door. Natashawas about to call him but changed her mind. "Let him look for me,"thought she. Hardly had Boris gone than Sonya, flushed, in tears,and muttering angrily, came in at the other door. Natasha checkedher 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. Sonya, mutteringto herself, kept looking round toward the drawing-room door. It openedand Nicholas came in.

　　"Sonya, what is the matter with you? How can you?" said he,running up to her.

　　"It's nothing, nothing; leave me alone!" sobbed Sonya.

　　"Ah, I know what it is."

　　"Well, if you do, so much the better, and you can go back to her!"

　　"So-o-onya! Look here! How can you torture me and yourself likethat, for a mere fancy?" said Nicholas taking her hand.

　　Sonya did not pull it away, and left off crying. Natasha, notstirring and scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush withsparkling eyes. "What will happen now?" thought she.

　　"Sonya! What is anyone in the world to me? You alone areeverything!" 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, Sonya!" He drew her to himand kissed her.

　　"Oh, how nice," thought Natasha; and when Sonya and Nicholas hadgone out of the conservatory she followed and called Boris to her.

　　"Boris, come here," said she with a sly and significant look. "Ihave something to tell you. Here, here!" and she led him into theconservatory to the place among the tubs where she had been hiding.

　　Boris followed her, smiling.

　　"What is the something?" asked he.

　　She grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she hadthrown down on one of the tubs, picked it up.

　　"Kiss the doll," said she.

　　Boris looked attentively and kindly at her eager face, but did notreply.

　　"Don't you want to? Well, then, come here," said she, and wentfurther 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 solemnityand 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 cryingfrom excitement.

　　Boris blushed.

　　"How funny you are!" he said, bending down to her and blushing stillmore, but he waited and did nothing.

　　Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced himso 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 ofthe tubs and stood, hanging her head.

　　"Natasha," he said, "you know that I love you, but..."

　　"You are in love with me?" Natasha broke in.

　　"Yes, I am, but please don't let us do like that.... In another fouryears... then I will ask for your hand."

　　Natasha considered.

　　"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen," she counted on her slenderlittle fingers. "All right! Then it's settled?"

　　A smile of joy and satisfaction lit up her eager face.

　　"Settled!" replied Boris.

　　"Forever?" said the little girl. "Till death itself?"

　　She took his arm and with a happy face went with him into theadjoining sitting room.BK1|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　After receiving her visitors, the countess was so tired that shegave orders to admit no more, but the porter was told to be sure toinvite to dinner all who came "to congratulate." The countess wishedto have a tete-a-tete talk with the friend of her childhood,Princess Anna Mikhaylovna, whom she had not seen properly since shereturned from Petersburg. Anna Mikhaylovna, with her tear-worn butpleasant face, drew her chair nearer to that of the countess.

　　"With you I will be quite frank," said Anna Mikhaylovna. "Thereare not many left of us old friends! That's why I so value yourfriendship."

　　Anna Mikhaylovna looked at Vera and paused. The countess pressed herfriend's hand.

　　"Vera," she said to her eldest daughter who was evidently not afavorite, "how is it you have so little tact? Don't you see you arenot wanted here? Go to the other girls, or..."

　　The handsome Vera smiled contemptuously but did not seem at allhurt.

　　"If you had told me sooner, Mamma, I would have gone," she repliedas she rose to go to her own room.

　　But as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couplessitting, one pair at each window. She stopped and smiled scornfully.Sonya was sitting close to Nicholas who was copying out some versesfor her, the first he had ever written. Boris and Natasha were atthe other window and ceased talking when Vera entered. Sonya andNatasha looked at Vera 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 Vera.

　　"How often have I asked you not to take my things?" she said. "Youhave 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," continuedVera. "You came rushing into the drawing room so that everyone feltashamed of you."

　　Though what she said was quite just, perhaps for that very reason noone replied, and the four simply looked at one another. She lingeredin the room with the inkstand in her hand.

　　"And at your age what secrets can there be between Natasha andBoris, or between you two? It's all nonsense!"

　　"Now, Vera, what does it matter to you?" said Natasha in defense,speaking very gently.

　　She seemed that day to be more than ever kind and affectionate toeveryone.

　　"Very silly," said Vera. "I am ashamed of you. Secrets indeed!"

　　"All have secrets of their own," answered Natasha, getting warmer."We don't interfere with you and Berg."

　　"I should think not," said Vera, "because there can never beanything wrong in my behavior. But I'll just tell Mamma how you arebehaving with Boris."

　　"Natalya Ilynichna behaves very well to me," remarked Boris. "I havenothing to complain of."

　　"Don't, Boris! You are such a diplomat that it is reallytiresome," said Natasha in a mortified voice that trembled slightly.(She used the word "diplomat," which was just then much in vogue amongthe children, in the special sense they attached to it.) "Why does shebother me?" And she added, turning to Vera, "You'll never understandit, because you've never loved anyone. You have no heart! You are aMadame de Genlis and nothing more" (this nickname, bestowed on Vera byNicholas, was considered very stinging), "and your greatest pleasureis to be unpleasant to people! Go and flirt with Berg as much as youplease," 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- "saidunpleasant things to everyone and upset them. Let's go to thenursery."

　　All four, like a flock of scared birds, got up and left the room.

　　"The unpleasant things were said to me," remarked Vera, "I said noneto anyone."

　　"Madame de Genlis! Madame de Genlis!" shouted laughing voicesthrough the door.

　　The handsome Vera, who produced such an irritating and unpleasanteffect on everyone, smiled and, evidently unmoved by what had beensaid to her, went to the looking glass and arranged her hair andscarf. Looking at her own handsome face she seemed to become stillcolder and calmer.

　　In the drawing room the conversation was still going on.

　　"Ah, my dear," said the countess, "my life is not all roseseither. Don't I know that at the rate we are living our means won'tlast long? It's all the Club and his easygoing nature. Even in thecountry do we get any rest? Theatricals, hunting, and heaven knowswhat besides! But don't let's talk about me; tell me how you managedeverything. I often wonder at you, Annette- how at your age you canrush off alone in a carriage to Moscow, to Petersburg, to thoseministers and great people, and know how to deal with them all! It'squite astonishing. How did you get things settled? I couldn't possiblydo it."

　　"Ah, my love," answered Anna Mikhaylovna, "God grant you neverknow what it is to be left a widow without means and with a son youlove to distraction! One learns many things then," she added with acertain pride. "That lawsuit taught me much. When I want to see one ofthose big people I write a note: 'Princess So-and-So desires aninterview 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 theythink of me."

　　"Well, and to whom did you apply about Bory?" asked the countess."You see yours is already an officer in the Guards, while myNicholas is going as a cadet. There's no one to interest himself forhim. To whom did you apply?"

　　"To Prince Vasili. He was so kind. He at once agreed toeverything, and put the matter before the Emperor," said Princess AnnaMikhaylovna enthusiastically, quite forgetting all the humiliation shehad endured to gain her end.

　　"Has Prince Vasili aged much?" asked the countess. "I have notseen him since we acted together at the Rumyantsovs' theatricals. Iexpect he has forgotten me. He paid me attentions in those days," saidthe countess, with a smile.

　　"He is just the same as ever," replied Anna Mikhaylovna,"overflowing with amiability. His position has not turned his headat all. He said to me, 'I am sorry I can do so little for you, dearPrincess. I am at your command.' Yes, he is a fine fellow and a verykind relation. But, Nataly, you know my love for my son: I would doanything for his happiness! And my affairs are in such a bad waythat my position is now a terrible one," continued Anna Mikhaylovna,sadly, dropping her voice. "My wretched lawsuit takes all I have andmakes no progress. Would you believe it, I have literally not apenny and don't know how to equip Boris." She took out herhandkerchief and began to cry. "I need five hundred rubles, and haveonly one twenty-five-ruble note. I am in such a state.... My only hopenow is in Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov. If he will not assisthis godson- you know he is Bory's godfather- and allow him somethingfor his maintenance, all my trouble will have been thrown away.... Ishall 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 Vladimirovich Bezukhov so rich, allalone... that tremendous fortune... and what is his life worth? It's aburden to him, and Bory's life is only just beginning...."

　　"Surely he will leave something to Boris," said the countess.

　　"Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees are so selfish.Still, I will take Boris and go to see him at once, and I shallspeak to him straight out. Let people think what they will of me, it'sreally all the same to me when my son's fate is at stake." Theprincess rose. "It's now two o'clock and you dine at four. Therewill just be time."

　　And like a practical Petersburg lady who knows how to make themost of time, Anna Mikhaylovna sent someone to call her son, andwent into the anteroom with him.

　　"Good-by, my dear," said she to the countess who saw her to thedoor, and added in a whisper so that her son should not hear, "Wish megood luck."

　　"Are you going to Count Cyril Vladimirovich, my dear?" said thecount 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 thehouse, you know, and danced with the children. Be sure to invitehim, my dear. We will see how Taras distinguishes himself today. Hesays Count Orlov never gave such a dinner as ours will be!"BK1|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　"My dear Boris," said Princess Anna Mikhaylovna to her son asCountess Rostova's carriage in which they were seated drove over thestraw covered street and turned into the wide courtyard of Count CyrilVladimirovich Bezukhov's house. "My dear Boris," said the mother,drawing her hand from beneath her old mantle and laying it timidly andtenderly on her son's arm, "be affectionate and attentive to him.Count Cyril Vladimirovich is your godfather after all, your futuredepends on him. Remember that, my dear, and be nice to him, as youso well know how to be."

　　"If only I knew that anything besides humiliation would come ofit..." answered her son coldly. "But I have promised and will do itfor your sake."

　　Although the hall porter saw someone's carriage standing at theentrance, after scrutinizing the mother and son (who without asking tobe announced had passed straight through the glass porch between therows of statues in niches) and looking significantly at the lady's oldcloak, he asked whether they wanted the count or the princesses,and, hearing that they wished to see the count, said his excellencywas 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 handon his arm as if that touch might soothe or rouse him.

　　Boris said no more, but looked inquiringly at his mother withouttaking off his cloak.

　　"My friend," said Anna Mikhaylovna in gentle tones, addressing thehall porter, I know Count Cyril Vladimirovich is very ill... that'swhy I have come... I am a relation. I shall not disturb him, myfriend... I only need see Prince Vasili Sergeevich: he is stayinghere, is he not? Please announce me."

　　The hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs, andturned away.

　　"Princess Drubetskaya to see Prince Vasili Sergeevich," he called toa 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 alarge Venetian mirror in the wall, and in her trodden-down shoesbriskly ascended the carpeted stairs.

　　"My dear," she said to her son, once more stimulating him by atouch, "you promised me!"

　　The son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly.

　　They entered the large hall, from which one of the doors led tothe apartments assigned to Prince Vasili.

　　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 asthey entered, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned andPrince Vasili came out- wearing a velvet coat with a single star onhis breast, as was his custom when at home- taking leave of agood-looking, dark-haired man. This was the celebrated Petersburgdoctor, Lorrain.

　　"Then it is certain?" said the prince.

　　"Prince, humanum est errare,* but..." replied the doctor, swallowinghis r's, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French accent.

　　*To err is human.

　　"Very well, very well..."

　　Seeing Anna Mikhaylovna and her son, Prince Vasili dismissed thedoctor with a bow and approached them silently and with a look ofinquiry. The son noticed that an expression of profound sorrowsuddenly clouded his mother's face, and he smiled slightly.

　　"Ah, Prince! In what sad circumstances we meet again! And how is ourdear invalid?" said she, as though unaware of the cold offensivelook fixed on her.

　　Prince Vasili stared at her and at Boris questioningly andperplexed. Boris bowed politely. Prince Vasili without acknowledgingthe bow turned to Anna Mikhaylovna, answering her query by amovement of the head and lips indicating very little hope for thepatient.

　　"Is it possible?" exclaimed Anna Mikhaylovna. "Oh, how awful! Itis terrible to think.... This is my son," she added, indicating Boris."He wanted to thank you himself."

　　Boris bowed again politely.

　　"Believe me, Prince, a mother's heart will never forget what youhave done for us."

　　"I am glad I was able to do you a service, my dear AnnaMikhaylovna," said Prince Vasili, arranging his lace frill, and intone and manner, here in Moscow to Anna Mikhaylovna whom he had placedunder an obligation, assuming an air of much greater importance thanhe had done in Petersburg at Anna Scherer's reception.

　　"Try to serve well and show yourself worthy," added he, addressingBoris with severity. "I am glad.... Are you here on leave?" he went onin his usual tone of indifference.

　　"I am awaiting orders to join my new regiment, your excellency,"replied Boris, betraying neither annoyance at the prince's brusquemanner nor a desire to enter into conversation, but speaking soquietly and respectfully that the prince gave him a searching glance.

　　"Are you living with your mother?"

　　"I am living at Countess Rostova's," replied Boris, again adding,"your excellency."

　　"That is, with Ilya Rostov who married Nataly Shinshina," saidAnna Mikhaylovna.

　　"I know, I know," answered Prince Vasili in his monotonous voice. "Inever could understand how Nataly made up her mind to marry thatunlicked bear! A perfectly absurd and stupid fellow, and a gamblertoo, I am told."

　　"But a very kind man, Prince," said Anna Mikhaylovna with a patheticsmile, as though she too knew that Count Rostov deserved this censure,but asked him not to be too hard on the poor old man. "What do thedoctors say?" asked the princess after a pause, her worn face againexpressing deep sorrow.

　　"They give little hope," replied the prince.

　　"And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his kindness to meand Boris. He is his godson," she added, her tone suggesting that thisfact ought to give Prince Vasili much satisfaction.

　　Prince Vasili became thoughtful and frowned. Anna Mikhaylovna sawthat he was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezukhov'sfortune, 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 onewith him except the young princesses.... They are still young...." Shebent her head and continued in a whisper: "Has he performed hisfinal duty, Prince? How priceless are those last moments! It canmake things no worse, and it is absolutely necessary to prepare him ifhe is so ill. We women, Prince," and she smiled tenderly, "always knowhow to say these things. I absolutely must see him, however painful itmay be for me. I am used to suffering."

　　Evidently the prince understood her, and also understood, as hehad done at Anna Pavlovna's, that it would be difficult to get ridof Anna Mikhaylovna.

　　"Would not such a meeting be too trying for him, dear AnnaMikhaylovna?" said he. "Let us wait until evening. The doctors areexpecting a crisis."

　　"But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a moment! Consider that thewelfare of his soul is at stake. Ah, it is awful: the duties of aChristian..."

　　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 ofher body was strikingly out of proportion to her short legs. PrinceVasili turned to her.

　　"Well, how is he?"

　　"Still the same; but what can you expect, this noise..." said theprincess, looking at Anna Mikhaylovna as at a stranger.

　　"Ah, my dear, I hardly knew you," said Anna Mikhaylovna with a happysmile, ambling lightly up to the count's niece. "I have come, and amat your service to help you nurse my uncle. I imagine what you havegone through," and she sympathetically turned up her eyes.

　　The princess gave no reply and did not even smile, but left the roomat Anna Mikhaylovna took off her gloves and, occupying the positionshe had conquered, settled down in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasilito take a seat beside her.

　　"Boris," she said to her son with a smile, "I shall go in to see thecount, my uncle; but you, my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhileand don't forget to give him the Rostovs' invitation. They ask himto dinner. I suppose he won't go?" she continued, turning to theprince.

　　"On the contrary," replied the prince, who had plainly becomedepressed, "I shall be only too glad if you relieve me of that youngman.... Here he is, and the count has not once asked for him."

　　He shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted Boris down one flightof stairs and up another, to Pierre's rooms.BK1|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Pierre, after all, had not managed to choose a career for himself inPetersburg, and had been expelled from there for riotous conduct andsent to Moscow. The story told about him at Count Rostov's was true.Pierre had taken part in tying a policeman to a bear. He had nowbeen for some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at hisfather's house. Though he expected that the story of his escapadewould be already known in Moscow and that the ladies about his father-who were never favorably disposed toward him- would have used it toturn the count against him, he nevertheless on the day of hisarrival went to his father's part of the house. Entering the drawingroom, where the princesses spent most of their time, he greeted theladies, two of whom were sitting at embroidery frames while a thirdread aloud. It was the eldest who was reading- the one who had metAnna Mikhaylovna. The two younger ones were embroidering: both wererosy and pretty and they differed only in that one had a little moleon her lip which made her much prettier. Pierre was received as ifhe were a corpse or a leper. The eldest princess paused in her readingand silently stared at him with frightened eyes; the second assumedprecisely the same expression; while the youngest, the one with themole, who was of a cheerful and lively disposition, bent over herframe to hide a smile probably evoked by the amusing scene sheforesaw. She drew her wool down through the canvas and, scarcelyable to refrain from laughing, stooped as if trying to make out thepattern.

　　"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 apparentlyyou 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 seehim... Olga, go and see whether Uncle's beef tea is ready- it isalmost time," she added, giving Pierre to understand that they werebusy, 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 bowedand said: "Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I cansee him."

　　And he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter ofthe sister with the mole.

　　Next day Prince Vasili had arrived and settled in the count's house.He sent for Pierre and said to him: "My dear fellow, if you aregoing to behave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end verybadly; that is all I have to say to you. The count is very, veryill, and you must not see him at all."

　　Since then Pierre had not been disturbed and had spent the wholetime in his rooms upstairs.

　　When Boris appeared at his door Pierre was pacing up and down hisroom, stopping occasionally at a corner to make menacing gestures atthe wall, as if running a sword through an invisible foe, andglaring savagely over his spectacles, and then again resuming hiswalk, muttering indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders andgesticulating.

　　"England is done for," said he, scowling and pointing his fingerat someone unseen. "Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to therights of man, is sentenced to..." But before Pierre- who at thatmoment imagined himself to be Napoleon in person and to have justeffected the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and capturedLondon- could pronounce Pitt's sentence, he saw a well-built andhandsome young officer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had leftMoscow when Boris was a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgottenhim, but in his usual impulsive and hearty way he took Boris by thehand with a friendly smile.

　　"Do you remember me?" asked Boris quietly with a pleasant smile."I have come with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is notwell."

　　"Yes, it seems he is ill. People are always disturbing him,"answered Pierre, trying to remember who this young man was.

　　Boris felt that Pierre did not recognize him but did not consider itnecessary to introduce himself, and without experiencing the leastembarrassment looked Pierre straight in the face.

　　"Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner today," said he, after aconsiderable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.

　　"Ah, Count Rostov!" exclaimed Pierre joyfully. "Then you are hisson, Ilya? Only fancy, I didn't know you at first. Do you remember howwe went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot?... It's such anage..."

　　"You are mistaken," said Boris deliberately, with a bold andslightly sarcastic smile. "I am Boris, son of Princess AnnaMikhaylovna Drubetskaya. Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son isNicholas. 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. Onehas so many relatives in Moscow! So you are Boris? Of course. Well,now we know where we are. And what do you think of the Boulogneexpedition? The English will come off badly, you know, if Napoleongets across the Channel. I think the expedition is quite feasible.If only Villeneuve doesn't make a mess of things!

　　Boris knew nothing about the Boulogne expedition; he did not readthe papers and it was the first time he had heard Villeneuve's name.

　　"We here in Moscow are more occupied with dinner parties and scandalthan with politics," said he in his quiet ironical tone. "I knownothing about it and have not thought about it. Moscow is chiefly busywith gossip," he continued. "Just now they are talking about you andyour father."

　　Pierre smiled in his good-natured way as if afraid for hiscompanion's sake that the latter might say something he wouldafterwards regret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly,looking straight into Pierre's eyes.

　　"Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip," Boris 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 saysomething disconcerting to himself.

　　"And it must seem to you," said Boris flushing slightly, but notchanging his tone or attitude, "it must seem to you that everyone istrying to get something out of the rich man?"

　　"So it does," thought Pierre.

　　"But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you arequite mistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people. We arevery poor, but for my own part at any rate, for the very reason thatyour father is rich, I don't regard myself as a relation of his, andneither I nor my mother would ever ask or take anything from him."

　　For a long time Pierre could not understand, but when he did, hejumped up from the sofa, seized Boris under the elbow in his quick,clumsy way, and, blushing far more than Boris, began to speak with afeeling of mingled shame and vexation.

　　"Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I... who could think?... Iknow very well..."

　　But Boris again interrupted him.

　　"I am glad I have spoken out fully. Perhaps you did not like it? Youmust excuse me," said he, putting Pierre at ease instead of beingput at ease by him, "but I hope I have not offended you. I always makeit a rule to speak out... Well, what answer am I to take? Will youcome to dinner at the Rostovs'?"

　　And Boris, having apparently relieved himself of an onerous duty andextricated 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 wonderfulfellow! What you have just said is good, very good. Of course youdon't know me. We have not met for such a long time... not since wewere children. You might think that I... I understand, quiteunderstand. I could not have done it myself, I should not have had thecourage, but it's splendid. I am very glad to have made youracquaintance. It's queer," he added after a pause, "that you shouldhave suspected me!" He began to laugh. "Well, what of it! I hope we'llget better acquainted," and he pressed Boris' hand. "Do you know, Ihave not once been in to see the count. He has not sent for me.... Iam sorry for him as a man, but what can one do?"

　　"And so you think Napoleon will manage to get an army across?" askedBoris with a smile.

　　Pierre saw that Boris wished to change the subject, and being of thesame mind he began explaining the advantages and disadvantages ofthe Boulogne expedition.

　　A footman came in to summon Boris- the princess was going. Pierre,in order to make Boris' better acquaintance, promised to come todinner, and warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately over hisspectacles into Boris' eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacingup and down the room for a long time, no longer piercing animaginary foe with his imaginary sword, but smiling at the remembranceof that pleasant, intelligent, and resolute young man.

　　As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads alonely life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young manand made up his mind that they would be friends.

　　Prince Vasili saw the princess off. She held a handkerchief to hereyes and her face was tearful.

　　"It is dreadful, dreadful!" she was saying, "but cost me what it mayI shall do my duty. I will come and spend the night. He must not beleft like this. Every moment is precious. I can't think why his niecesput it off. Perhaps God will help me to find a way to preparehim!... Adieu, Prince! May God support you..."

　　"Adieu, ma bonne," answered Prince Vasili turning away from her.

　　"Oh, he is in a dreadful state," said the mother to her son whenthey were in the carriage. "He hardly recognizes anybody."

　　"I don't understand, Mamma- what is his attitude to Pierre?" askedthe 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.BK1|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　After Anna Mikhaylovna had driven off with her son to visit CountCyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov, Countess Rostova sat for a long time allalone applying her handkerchief to her eyes. At last she rang.

　　"What is the matter with you, my dear?" she said crossly to the maidwho kept her waiting some minutes. "Don't you wish to serve me? ThenI'll find you another place."

　　The countess was upset by her friend's sorrow and humiliatingpoverty, and was therefore out of sorts, a state of mind which withher always found expression in calling her maid "my dear" and speakingto 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 lookas usual.

　　"Well, little countess? What a saute of game au madere we are tohave, my dear! I tasted it. The thousand rubles I paid for Taraswere not ill-spent. He is worth it!"

　　He sat down by his wife, his elbows on his knees and his handsruffling his gray hair.

　　"What are your commands, little countess?"

　　"You see, my dear... What's that mess?" she said, pointing to hiswaistcoat. "It's, the saute, 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 outhis pocketbook.

　　"I want a great deal, Count! I want five hundred rubles," and takingout her cambric handkerchief she began wiping her husband's waistcoat.

　　"Yes, immediately, immediately! Hey, who's there?" he called outin a tone only used by persons who are certain that those they callwill rush to obey the summons. "Send Dmitri to me!"

　　Dmitri, a man of good family who had been brought up in thecount's house and now managed all his affairs, stepped softly into theroom.

　　"This is what I want, my dear fellow," said the count to thedeferential young man who had entered. "Bring me..." he reflected amoment, "yes, bring me seven hundred rubles, yes! But mind, don'tbring me such tattered and dirty notes as last time, but nice cleanones for the countess."

　　"Yes, Dmitri, clean ones, please," said the countess, sighingdeeply.

　　"When would you like them, your excellency?" asked Dmitri. "Allow meto inform you... But, don't be uneasy," he added, noticing that thecount was beginning to breathe heavily and quickly which was alwaysa sign of approaching anger. "I was forgetting... Do you wish itbrought at once?"

　　"Yes, yes; just so! Bring it. Give it to the countess."

　　"What a treasure that Dmitri is," added the count with a smilewhen the young man had departed. "There is never any 'impossible' withhim. 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 thecount, and having kissed his wife's hand he went back to his study.

　　When Anna Mikhaylovna returned from Count Bezukhov's the money,all in clean notes, was lying ready under a handkerchief on thecountess' little table, and Anna Mikhaylovna noticed that somethingwas agitating her.

　　"Well, my dear?" asked the countess.

　　"Oh, what a terrible state he is in! One would not know him, he isso 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 Mikhaylovna instantly guessed her intention and stooped to beready to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.

　　"This is for Boris from me, for his outfit."

　　Anna Mikhaylovna was already embracing her and weeping. The countesswept too. They wept because they were friends, and because they werekindhearted, and because they- friends from childhood- had to thinkabout such a base thing as money, and because their youth was over....But those tears were pleasant to them both.BK1|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　Countess Rostova, with her daughters and a large number of guests,was already seated in the drawing room. The count took the gentlemeninto 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 wereexpecting Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, known in society as leterrible dragon, a lady distinguished not for wealth or rank, butfor common sense and frank plainness of speech. Marya Dmitrievna wasknown to the Imperial family as well as to all Moscow andPetersburg, and both cities wondered at her, laughed privately ather rudenesses, and told good stories about her, while none the lessall without exception respected and feared her.

　　In the count's room, which was full of tobacco smoke, they talked ofwar that had been announced in a manifesto, and about therecruiting. None of them had yet seen the manifesto, but they all knewit had appeared. The count sat on the sofa between two guests who weresmoking and talking. He neither smoked nor talked, but bending hishead first to one side and then to the other watched the smokerswith evident pleasure and listened to the conversation of his twoneighbors, whom he egged on against each other.

　　One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin andwrinkled face, already growing old, though he was dressed like amost fashionable young man. He sat with his legs up on the sofa asif quite at home and, having stuck an amber mouthpiece far into hismouth, was inhaling the smoke spasmodically and screwing up hiseyes. This was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the countess', aman with "a sharp tongue" as they said in Moscow society. He seemed tobe condescending to his companion. The latter, a fresh, rosy officerof the Guards, irreproachably washed, brushed, and buttoned, heldhis pipe in the middle of his mouth and with red lips gently inhaledthe smoke, letting it escape from his handsome mouth in rings. Thiswas Lieutenant Berg, an officer in the Semenov regiment with whomBoris was to travel to join the army, and about whom Natasha had,teased her elder sister Vera, speaking of Berg as her "intended."The count sat between them and listened attentively. His favoriteoccupation when not playing boston, a card game he was very fond of,was that of listener, especially when he succeeded in setting twoloquacious talkers at one another.

　　"Well, then, old chap, mon tres honorable Alphonse Karlovich,"said Shinshin, laughing ironically and mixing the most ordinaryRussian expressions with the choicest French phrases- which was apeculiarity of his speech. "Vous comptez vous faire des rentes surl'etat;* you want to make something out of your company?"

　　*You expect to make an income out of the government.

　　"No, Peter Nikolaevich; I only want to show that in the cavalrythe advantages are far less than in the infantry. Just consider my ownposition now, Peter Nikolaevich..."

　　Berg always spoke quietly, politely, and with great precision. Hisconversation always related entirely to himself; he would remaincalm and silent when the talk related to any topic that had nodirect bearing on himself. He could remain silent for hours withoutbeing at all put out of countenance himself or making othersuncomfortable, but as soon as the conversation concerned himself hewould begin to talk circumstantially and with evident satisfaction.

　　"Consider my position, Peter Nikolaevich. Were I in the cavalry Ishould get not more than two hundred rubles every four months, evenwith the rank of lieutenant; but as it is I receive two hundred andthirty," said he, looking at Shinshin and the count with a joyful,pleasant smile, as if it were obvious to him that his success mustalways be the chief desire of everyone else.

　　"Besides that, Peter Nikolaevich, by exchanging into the Guards Ishall be in a more prominent position," continued Berg, "and vacanciesoccur much more frequently in the Foot Guards. Then just think whatcan be done with two hundred and thirty rubles! I even manage to put alittle aside and to send something to my father," he went on, emittinga smoke ring.

　　"La balance y est...* A German knows how to skin a flint, as theproverb says," remarked Shinshin, moving his pipe to the other side ofhis mouth and winking at the count.

　　*So that squares matters.

　　The count burst out laughing. The other guests seeing thatShinshin was talking came up to listen. Berg, oblivious of irony orindifference, continued to explain how by exchanging into the Guardshe had already gained a step on his old comrades of the Cadet Corps;how in wartime the company commander might get killed and he, assenior in the company, might easily succeed to the post; how popularhe was with everyone in the regiment, and how satisfied his father waswith him. Berg evidently enjoyed narrating all this, and did notseem to suspect that others, too, might have their own interests.But all he said was so prettily sedate, and the naivete of hisyouthful egotism was so obvious, that he disarmed his hearers.

　　"Well, my boy, you'll get along wherever you go- foot or horse- thatI'll warrant," said Shinshin, patting him on the shoulder and takinghis feet off the sofa.

　　Berg smiled joyously. The count, by his guests, went into thedrawing room.

　　It was just the moment before a big dinner when the assembledguests, expecting the summons to zakuska,* avoid engaging in anylong conversation but think it necessary to move about and talk, inorder to show that they are not at all impatient for their food. Thehost and hostess look toward the door, and now and then glance atone another, and the visitors try to guess from these glances who,or what, they are waiting for- some important relation who has not yetarrived, or a dish that is not yet ready.

　　*Hors d'oeuvres.

　　Pierre had come just at dinnertime and was sitting awkwardly inthe middle of the drawing room on the first chair he had comeacross, blocking the way for everyone. The countess tried to makehim talk, but he went on naively looking around through his spectaclesas if in search of somebody and answered all her questions inmonosyllables. He was in the way and was the only one who did notnotice the fact. Most of the guests, knowing of the affair with thebear, looked with curiosity at this big, stout, quiet man, wonderinghow such a clumsy, modest fellow could have played such a prank on apoliceman.

　　"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 veryinteresting."

　　"Very interesting."

　　The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mikhaylovna. The latterunderstood that she was being asked to entertain this young man, andsitting down beside him she began to speak about his father; but heanswered her, as he had the countess, only in monosyllables. The otherguests were all conversing with one another. "The Razumovskis... Itwas charming... You are very kind... Countess Apraksina..." washeard on all sides. The countess rose and went into the ballroom.

　　"Marya Dmitrievna?" came her voice from there.

　　"Herself," came the answer in a rough voice, and Marya Dmitrievnaentered the room.

　　All the unmarried ladies and even the married ones except the veryoldest rose. Marya Dmitrievna paused at the door. Tall and stout,holding high her fifty-year-old head with its gray curls, she stoodsurveying the guests, and leisurely arranged her wide sleeves as ifrolling them up. Marya Dmitrievna always spoke in Russian.

　　"Health and happiness to her whose name day we are keeping and toher children," she said, in her loud, full-toned voice which drownedall others. "Well, you old sinner," she went on, turning to thecount who was kissing her hand, "you're feeling dull in Moscow, Idaresay? Nowhere to hunt with your dogs? But what is to be done, oldman? Just see how these nestlings are growing up," and she pointedto the girls. "You must look for husbands for them whether you like itor not...."

　　Well," said she, "how's my Cossack?" (Marya Dmitrievna always calledNatasha a Cossack) and she stroked the child's arm as she came upfearless 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 hugereticule and, having given them to the rosy Natasha, who beamed withthe pleasure of her saint's-day fete, turned away at once andaddressed herself to Pierre.

　　"Eh, eh, friend! Come here a bit," said she, assuming a soft hightone of voice. "Come here, my friend..." and she ominously tucked upher sleeves still higher. Pierre approached, looking at her in achildlike way through his spectacles.

　　"Come nearer, come nearer, friend! I used to be the only one to tellyour father the truth when he was in favor, and in your case it's myevident duty." She paused. All were silent, expectant of what was tofollow, for this was dearly only a prelude.

　　"A fine lad! My word! A fine lad!... His father lies on his deathbedand 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 hardlykeep from laughing.

　　"Well, I suppose it is time we were at table?" said MaryaDmitrievna.

　　The count went in first with Marya Dmitrievna, the countess followedon the arm of a colonel of hussars, a man of importance to thembecause Nicholas was to go with him to the regiment; then came AnnaMikhaylovna with Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera. The smilingJulie Karagina went in with Nicholas. After them other couplesfollowed, filling the whole dining hall, and last of all the children,tutors, and governesses followed singly. The footmen began movingabout, chairs scraped, the band struck up in the gallery, and theguests settled down in their places. Then the strains of the count'shousehold band were replaced by the clatter of knives and forks, thevoices of visitors, and the soft steps of the footmen. At one end ofthe table sat the countess with Marya Dmitrievna on her right and AnnaMikhaylovna on her left, the other lady visitors were farther down. Atthe other end sat the count, with the hussar colonel on his left andShinshin and the other male visitors on his right. Midway down thelong table on one side sat the grownup young people: Vera beside Berg,and Pierre beside Boris; and on the other side, the children,tutors, and governesses. From behind the crystal decanters and fruitvases the count kept glancing at his wife and her tall cap with itslight-blue ribbons, and busily filled his neighbors' glasses, notneglecting his own. The countess in turn, without omitting herduties as hostess, threw significant glances from behind thepineapples at her husband whose face and bald head seemed by theirredness 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 endthe voices sounded louder and louder, especially that of the colonelof hussars who, growing more and more flushed, ate and drank so muchthat the count held him up as a pattern to the other guests. Berg withtender smiles was saying to Vera that love is not an earthly but aheavenly feeling. Boris was telling his new friend Pierre who theguests were and exchanging glances with Natasha, who was sittingopposite. Pierre spoke little but examined the new faces, and ate agreat deal. Of the two soups he chose turtle with savory patties andwent on to the game without omitting a single dish or one of thewines. These latter the butler thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped ina napkin, from behind the next man's shoulders and whispered: "DryMadeira"... "Hungarian"... or "Rhine wine" as the case might be. Ofthe four crystal glasses engraved with the count's monogram that stoodbefore his plate, Pierre held out one at random and drank withenjoyment, gazing with ever-increasing amiability at the other guests.Natasha, who sat opposite, was looking at Boris as girls of thirteenlook at the boy they are in love with and have just kissed for thefirst time. Sometimes that same look fell on Pierre, and that funnylively little girl's look made him inclined to laugh without knowingwhy.

　　Nicholas sat at some distance from Sonya, beside Julie Karagina,to whom he was again talking with the same involuntary smile. Sonyawore a company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy; nowshe turned pale, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear whatNicholas and Julie were saying to one another. The governess keptlooking round uneasily as if preparing to resent any slight that mightbe put upon the children. The German tutor was trying to rememberall the dishes, wines, and kinds of dessert, in order to send a fulldescription of the dinner to his people in Germany; and he feltgreatly offended when the butler with a bottle wrapped in a napkinpassed him by. He frowned, trying to appear as if he did not wantany of that wine, but was mortified because no one would understandthat it was not to quench his thirst or from greediness that he wantedit, but simply from a conscientious desire for knowledge.BK1|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　At the men's end of the table the talk grew more and moreanimated. The colonel told them that the declaration of war hadalready appeared in Petersburg and that a copy, which he had himselfseen, had that day been forwarded by courier to the commander inchief.

　　"And why the deuce are we going to fight Bonaparte?" remarkedShinshin. "He has stopped Austria's cackle and I fear it will be ourturn next."

　　The colonel was a stout, tall, plethoric German, evidently devotedto the service and patriotically Russian. He resented Shinshin'sremark.

　　"It is for the reasson, my goot sir," said he, speaking with aGerman accent, "for the reasson zat ze Emperor knows zat. Hedeclares in ze manifessto zat he cannot fiew wiz indifference zedanger vreatening Russia and zat ze safety and dignity of ze Empire asvell as ze sanctity of its alliances..." he spoke this last wordwith particular emphasis as if in it lay the gist of the matter.

　　Then with the unerring official memory that characterized him herepeated from the opening words of the manifesto:

　　... and the wish, which constitutes the Emperor's sole andabsolute aim- to establish peace in Europe on firm foundations- hasnow decided him to despatch part of the army abroad and to create anew condition for the attainment of that purpose.

　　"Zat, my dear sir, is vy..." he concluded, drinking a tumbler ofwine with dignity and looking to the count for approval.

　　"Connaissez-vous le Proverbe:* 'Jerome, Jerome, do not roam, butturn spindles at home!'?" said Shinshin, puckering his brows andsmiling. "Cela nous convient a merveille.*[2] Suvorov now- he knewwhat he was about; yet they beat him a plate couture,*[3] and whereare we to find Suvorovs 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 thecolonel, thumping the table; "and ve must tie for our Emperor, and zenall 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," heended, again turning to the count. "Zat is how ve old hussars lookat it, and zere's an end of it! And how do you, a young man and ayoung hussar, how do you judge of it?" he added, addressingNicholas, who when he heard that the war was being discussed hadturned 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 asmuch decision and desperation as though he were at that momentfacing some great danger. "I am convinced that we Russians must die orconquer," he concluded, conscious- as were others- after the wordswere uttered that his remarks were too enthusiastic and emphatic forthe occasion and were therefore awkward.

　　"What you said just now was splendid!" said his partner Julie.

　　Sonya trembled all over and blushed to her ears and behind themand 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 thumpingthe table.

　　"What are you making such a noise about over there?" MaryaDmitrievna's deep voice suddenly inquired from the other end of thetable. "What are you thumping the table for?" she demanded of thehussar, "and why are you exciting yourself? Do you think the Frenchare here?"

　　"I am speaking ze truce," replied the hussar with a smile.

　　"It's all about the war," the count shouted down the table. "Youknow my son's going, Marya Dmitrievna? My son is going."

　　"I have four sons in the army but still I don't fret. It is all inGod's hands. You may die in your bed or God may spare you in abattle," replied Marya Dmitrievna's deep voice, which easily carriedthe whole length of the table.

　　"That's true!"

　　Once more the conversations concentrated, the ladies' at the one endand the men's at the other.

　　"You won't ask," Natasha's little brother was saying; "I know youwon't ask!"

　　"I will," replied Natasha.

　　Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. Shehalf rose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen towhat 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 herdaughter's face that it was only mischief, she shook a finger at hersternly with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.

　　The conversation was hushed.

　　"Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?" and Natasha's voicesounded still more firm and resolute.

　　The countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitrievna shookher fat finger.

　　"Cossack!" she said threateningly.

　　Most of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked atthe elders.

　　"You had better take care!" said the countess.

　　"Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?" Natasha again criedboldly, with saucy gaiety, confident that her prank would be takenin good part.

　　Sonya and fat little Petya doubled up with laughter.

　　"You see! I have asked," whispered Natasha to her little brother andto Pierre, glancing at him again.

　　"Ice pudding, but you won't get any," said Marya Dmitrievna.

　　Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of and so she braved evenMarya Dmitrievna.

　　"Marya Dmitrievna! What kind of ice pudding? I don't like icecream."

　　"Carrot ices."

　　"No! What kind, Marya Dmitrievna? What kind?" she almost screamed;"I want to know!"

　　Marya Dmitrievna and the countess burst out laughing, and all theguests joined in. Everyone laughed, not at Marya Dmitrievna's answerbut at the incredible boldness and smartness of this little girl whohad dared to treat Marya Dmitrievna in this fashion.

　　Natasha only desisted when she had been told that there would bepineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was served round. The bandagain struck up, the count and countess kissed, and the guests,leaving their seats, went up to "congratulate" the countess, andreached across the table to clink glasses with the count, with thechildren, and with one another. Again the footmen rushed about, chairsscraped, and in the same order in which they had entered but withredder faces, the guests returned to the drawing room and to thecount's study.BK1|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　The card tables were drawn out, sets made up for boston, and thecount'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 difficultyfrom dropping into his usual after-dinner nap, and laughed ateverything. The young people, at the countess' instigation, gatheredround the clavichord and harp. Julie by general request playedfirst. After she had played a little air with variations on theharp, she joined the other young ladies in begging Natasha andNicholas, who were noted for their musical talent, to singsomething. Natasha, who was treated as though she were grown up, wasevidently 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. Boris, come here," said Natasha. "Butwhere is Sonya?"

　　She looked round and seeing that her friend was not in the roomran to look for her.

　　Running into Sonya's room and not finding her there, Natasha ranto the nursery, but Sonya was not there either. Natasha concluded thatshe must be on the chest in the passage. The chest in the passagewas the place of mourning for the younger female generation in theRostov household. And there in fact was Sonya lying face downward onNurse's dirty feather bed on the top of the chest, crumpling her gauzypink dress under her, hiding her face with her slender fingers, andsobbing so convulsively that her bare little shoulders shook.Natasha's face, which had been so radiantly happy all that saint'sday, suddenly changed: her eyes became fixed, and then a shiver passeddown her broad neck and the corners of her mouth drooped.

　　"Sonya! What is it? What is the matter?... Oo... Oo... Oo...!" AndNatasha's large mouth widened, making her look quite ugly, and shebegan to wail like a baby without knowing why, except that Sonya wascrying. Sonya tried to lift her head to answer but could not, andhid her face still deeper in the bed. Natasha wept, sitting on theblue-striped feather bed and hugging her friend. With an effortSonya sat up and began wiping her eyes and explaining.

　　"Nicholas is going away in a week's time, his... papers... havecome... he told me himself... but still I should not cry," and sheshowed a paper she held in her hand- with the verses Nicholas hadwritten, "still, I should not cry, but you can't... no one canunderstand... 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 andBoris 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 itcan't be done. And besides, if she tells Mamma" (Sonya looked upon thecountess as her mother and called her so) "that I am spoilingNicholas' career and am heartless and ungrateful, while truly... Godis my witness," and she made the sign of the cross, "I love her somuch, and all of you, only Vera... And what for? What have I done toher? I am so grateful to you that I would willingly sacrificeeverything, only I have nothing...."

　　Sonya could not continue, and again hid her face in her hands and inthe feather bed. Natasha began consoling her, but her face showed thatshe understood all the gravity of her friend's trouble.

　　"Sonya," she suddenly exclaimed, as if she had guessed the truereason of her friend's sorrow, "I'm sure Vera has said something toyou since dinner? Hasn't she?"

　　"Yes, these verses Nicholas wrote himself and I copied someothers, and she found them on my table and said she'd show them toMamma, and that I was ungrateful, and that Mamma would never allow himto marry me, but that he'll marry Julie. You see how he's been withher all day... Natasha, what have I done to deserve it?..."

　　And again she began to sob, more bitterly than before. Natashalifted her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, begancomforting her.

　　"Sonya, don't believe her, darling! Don't believe her! Do youremember how we and Nicholas, all three of us, talked in the sittingroom after supper? Why, we settled how everything was to be. I don'tquite remember how, but don't you remember that it could all bearranged and how nice it all was? There's Uncle Shinshin's brother hasmarried his first cousin. And we are only second cousins, you know.And Boris says it is quite possible. You know I have told him allabout it. And he is so clever and so good!" said Natasha. "Don't youcry, Sonya, dear love, darling Sonya!" and she kissed her and laughed."Vera's spiteful; never mind her! And all will come right and shewon't say anything to Mamma. Nicholas will tell her himself, and hedoesn't care at all for Julie."

　　Natasha kissed her on the hair.

　　Sonya sat up. The little kitten brightened, its eyes shone, and itseemed ready to lift its tail, jump down on its soft paws, and beginplaying with the ball of worsted as a kitten should.

　　"Do you think so?... Really? Truly?" she said, quickly smoothing herfrock and hair.

　　"Really, truly!" answered Natasha, pushing in a crisp lock thathad 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!" saidNatasha, stopping suddenly. "I feel so happy!"

　　And she set off at a run along the passage.

　　Sonya, shaking off some down which clung to her and tucking away theverses in the bosom of her dress close to her bony little chest, ranafter Natasha down the passage into the sitting room with flushed faceand light, joyous steps. At the visitors' request the young peoplesang 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 music 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 beganto get ready to dance in the large hall, and the sound of the feet andthe coughing of the musicians were heard from the gallery.

　　Pierre was sitting in the drawing-room where Shinshin had engagedhim, as a man recently returned from abroad, in a politicalconversation in which several others joined but which bored Pierre.When the music began Natasha came in and walking straight up to Pierresaid, laughing and blushing:

　　"Mamma told me to ask you to join the dancers."

　　"I am afraid of mixing the figures," Pierre replied; "but if youwill be my teacher..." And lowering his big arm he offered it to theslender little girl.

　　While the couples were arranging themselves and the musicians tuningup, Pierre sat down with his little partner. Natasha was perfectlyhappy; she was dancing with a grown-up man, who had been abroad. Shewas sitting in a conspicuous place and talking to him like agrown-up lady. She had a fan in her hand that one of the ladies hadgiven her to hold. Assuming quite the pose of a society woman(heaven knows when and where she had learned it) she talked with herpartner, fanning herself and smiling over the fan.

　　"Dear, dear! Just look at her!" exclaimed the countess as shecrossed the ballroom, pointing to Natasha.

　　Natasha blushed and laughed.

　　"Well, really, Mamma! Why should you? What is there to besurprised at?"

　　In the midst of the third ecossaise there was a clatter of chairsbeing pushed back in the sitting room where the count and MaryaDmitrievna had been playing cards with the majority of the moredistinguished and older visitors. They now, stretching themselvesafter sitting so long, and replacing their purses and pocketbooks,entered the ballroom. First came Marya Dmitrievna and the count,both with merry countenances. The count, with playful ceremonysomewhat in ballet style, offered his bent arm to Marya Dmitrievna. Hedrew himself up, a smile of debonair gallantry lit up his face andas soon as the last figure of the ecossaise was ended, he clappedhis hands to the musicians and shouted up to their gallery, addressingthe first violin:

　　"Semen! Do you know the Daniel Cooper?"

　　This was the count's favorite dance, which he had danced in hisyouth. (Strictly speaking, Daniel Cooper was one figure of theanglaise.)

　　"Look at Papa!" shouted Natasha to the whole company, and quiteforgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner she bent hercurly head to her knees and made the whole room ring with herlaughter.

　　And indeed everybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasureat the jovial old gentleman, who standing beside his tall and stoutpartner, Marya Dmitrievna, curved his arms, beat time, straightenedhis 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 theprovocatively gay strains of Daniel Cooper (somewhat resemblingthose of a merry peasant dance) began to sound, all the doorways ofthe ballroom were suddenly filled by the domestic serfs- the men onone side and the women on the other- who with beaming faces had cometo see their master making merry.

　　"Just look at the master! A regular eagle he is!" loudly remarkedthe nurse, as she stood in one of the doorways.

　　The count danced well and knew it. But his partner could not and didnot want to dance well. Her enormous figure stood erect, herpowerful arms hanging down (she had handed her reticule to thecountess), and only her stern but handsome face really joined in thedance. What was expressed by the whole of the count's plump figure, inMarya Dmitrievna found expression only in her more and more beamingface and quivering nose. But if the count, getting more and moreinto the swing of it, charmed the spectators by the unexpectednessof his adroit maneuvers and the agility with which he capered about onhis light feet, Marya Dmitrievna produced no less impression by slightexertions- the least effort to move her shoulders or bend her armswhen turning, or stamp her foot- which everyone appreciated in view ofher size and habitual severity. The dance grew livelier andlivelier. The other couples could not attract a moment's attentionto their own evolutions and did not even try to do so. All werewatching the count and Marya Dmitrievna. Natasha kept pulling everyoneby sleeve or dress, urging them to "look at Papa!" though as it wasthey never took their eyes off the couple. In the intervals of thedance the count, breathing deeply, waved and shouted to themusicians to play faster. Faster, faster, and faster; lightly, morelightly, and yet more lightly whirled the count, flying round MaryaDmitrievna, now on his toes, now on his heels; until, turning hispartner round to her seat, he executed the final pas, raising his softfoot backwards, bowing his perspiring head, smiling and making awide sweep with his arm, amid a thunder of applause and laughter ledby Natasha. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily and wipingtheir faces with their cambric handkerchiefs.

　　"That's how we used to dance in our time, ma chere," said the count.

　　"That was a Daniel Cooper!" exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna, tucking upher sleeves and puffing heavily.BK1|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　While in the Rostovs' ballroom the sixth anglaise was beingdanced, to a tune in which the weary musicians blundered, and whiletired footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezukhov hada sixth stroke. The doctors pronounced recovery impossible. After amute confession, communion was administered to the dying man,preparations made for the sacrament of unction, and in his house therewas the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outsidethe house, beyond the gates, a group of undertakers, who hidwhenever a carriage drove up, waited in expectation of an importantorder for an expensive funeral. The Military Governor of Moscow, whohad been assiduous in sending aides-de-camp to inquire after thecount's health, came himself that evening to bid a last farewell tothe celebrated grandee of Catherine's court, Count Bezukhov.

　　The magnificent reception room was crowded. Everyone stood uprespectfully when the Military Governor, having stayed about half anhour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly acknowledgingtheir bows and trying to escape as quickly as from the glances fixedon him by the doctors, clergy, and relatives of the family. PrinceVasili, who had grown thinner and paler during the last few days,escorted him to the door, repeating something to him several timesin low tones.

　　When the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasili sat down allalone on a chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over theother, leaning his elbow on his knee and covering his face with hishand. After sitting so for a while he rose, and, looking about himwith frightened eyes, went with unusually hurried steps down thelong corridor leading to the back of the house, to the room of theeldest princess.

　　Those who were in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervouswhispers, and, whenever anyone went into or came from the dyingman's room, grew silent and gazed with eyes full of curiosity orexpectancy 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 waslistening naively to his words.

　　"I wonder, is it not too late to administer unction?" asked thelady, adding the priest's clerical title, as if she had no opinionof her own on the subject.

　　"Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament, "replied the priest, passinghis hand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across hisbald head.

　　"Who was that? The Military Governor himself?" was being asked atthe other side of the room. "How young-looking he is!"

　　"Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count no longer recognizesanyone. 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 eyesred from weeping and sat down beside Dr. Lorrain, who was sitting in agraceful pose under a portrait of Catherine, leaning his elbow on atable.

　　"Beautiful," said the doctor in answer to a remark about theweather. "The weather is beautiful, Princess; and besides, in Moscowone feels as if one were in the country."

　　"Yes, indeed," replied the princess with a sigh. "So he may havesomething 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 anaide-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 secondprincess went in with the drink she had prepared according toLorrain'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 fingerbefore his nose.

　　"Tonight, not later," said he in a low voice, and he moved away witha decorous smile of self-satisfaction at being able clearly tounderstand and state the patient's condition.

　　Meanwhile Prince Vasili had opened the door into the princess' room.

　　In this room it was almost dark; only two tiny lamps were burningbefore the icons and there was a pleasant scent of flowers and burntpastilles. The room was crowded with small pieces of furniture,whatnots, cupboards, and little tables. The quilt of a high, whitefeather bed was just visible behind a screen. A small dog began tobark.

　　"Ah, is it you, cousin?"

　　She rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremelysmooth that it seemed to be made of one piece with her head andcovered with varnish.

　　"Has anything happened?" she asked. "I am so terrified."

　　"No, there is no change. I only came to have a talk aboutbusiness, Catiche,"* muttered the prince, seating himself wearily onthe chair she had just vacated. "You have made the place warm, Imust say," he remarked. "Well, sit down: let's have a talk."

　　*Catherine.

　　"I thought perhaps something had happened," she said with herunchanging stonily severe expression; and, sitting down opposite theprince, she prepared to listen.

　　"I wished to get a nap, mon cousin, but I can't."

　　"Well, my dear?" said Prince Vasili, taking her hand and bendingit downwards as was his habit.

　　It was plain that this "well?" referred to much that they bothunderstood without naming.

　　The princess, who had a straight, rigid body, abnormally long forher legs, looked directly at Prince Vasili with no sign of emotionin her prominent gray eyes. Then she shook her head and glanced upat the icons with a sigh. This might have been taken as anexpression of sorrow and devotion, or of weariness and hope of restingbefore long. Prince Vasili understood it as an expression ofweariness.

　　"And I?" he said; "do you think it is easier for me? I am as wornout as a post horse, but still I must have a talk with you, Catiche, avery serious talk."

　　Prince Vasili said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously,now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasantexpression which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room. Hiseyes too seemed strange; at one moment they looked impudently slyand at the next glanced round in alarm.

　　The princess, holding her little dog on her lap with her thin bonyhands, looked attentively into Prince Vasili's eyes evidently resolvednot to be the first to break silence, if she had to wait till morning.

　　"Well, you see, my dear princess and cousin, Catherine Semenovna,"continued Prince Vasili, returning to his theme, apparently notwithout an inner struggle; "at such a moment as this one must think ofeverything. One must think of the future, of all of you... I loveyou all, like children of my own, as you know."

　　The princess continued to look at him without moving, and with thesame dull expression.

　　"And then of course my family has also to be considered," PrinceVasili went on, testily pushing away a little table without looking ather. "You know, Catiche, that we- you three sisters, Mamontov, andmy wife- are the count's only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard itis 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 foranything. Do you know I have sent for Pierre? The count," pointingto his portrait, "definitely demanded that he should be called."

　　Prince Vasili looked questioningly at the princess, but could notmake out whether she was considering what he had just said orwhether she was simply looking at him.

　　"There is one thing I constantly pray God to grant, mon cousin," shereplied, "and it is that He would be merciful to him and would allowhis noble soul peacefully to leave this..."

　　"Yes, yes, of course," interrupted Prince Vasili impatiently,rubbing his bald head and angrily pulling back toward him the littletable that he had pushed away. "But... in short, the fact is... youknow yourself that last winter the count made a will by which heleft all his property, not to us his direct heirs, but to Pierre."

　　"He has made wills enough!" quietly remarked the princess. "But hecannot leave the estate to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate."

　　"But, my dear," said Prince Vasili suddenly, clutching the littletable and becoming more animated and talking more rapidly: "what ifa letter has been written to the Emperor in which the count asks forPierre's legitimation? Do you understand that in consideration ofthe count's services, his request would be granted?..."

　　The princess smiled as people do who think they know more aboutthe subject under discussion than those they are talking with.

　　"I can tell you more," continued Prince Vasili, seizing her hand,"that letter was written, though it was not sent, and the Emperor knewof it. The only question is, has it been destroyed or not? If not,then as soon as all is over," and Prince Vasili sighed to intimatewhat he meant by the words all is over, "and the count's papers areopened, the will and letter will be delivered to the Emperor, andthe petition will certainly be granted. Pierre will get everythingas the legitimate son."

　　"And our share?" asked the princess smiling ironically, as ifanything might happen, only not that.

　　"But, my poor Catiche, it is as clear as daylight! He will then bethe legal heir to everything and you won't get anything. You mustknow, my dear, whether the will and letter were written, and whetherthey have been destroyed or not. And if they have somehow beenoverlooked, you ought to know where they are, and must find them,because..."

　　"What next?" the princess interrupted, smiling sardonically andnot changing the expression of her eyes. "I am a woman, and youthink we are all stupid; but I know this: an illegitimate son cannotinherit... un batard!"* she added, as if supposing that thistranslation of the word would effectively prove to Prince Vasili theinvalidity of his contention.

　　*A bastard.

　　"Well, really, Catiche! Can't you understand! You are sointelligent, how is it you don't see that if the count has written aletter to the Emperor begging him to recognize Pierre as legitimate,it follows that Pierre will not be Pierre but will become CountBezukhov, and will then inherit everything under the will? And ifthe will and letter are not destroyed, then you will have nothingbut 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; andyou, mon cousin, seem to consider me a perfect fool," said theprincess with the expression women assume when they suppose they aresaying something witty and stinging.

　　"My dear Princess Catherine Semenovna," began Prince Vasiliimpatiently, "I came here not to wrangle with you, but to talk aboutyour interests as with a kinswoman, a good, kind, true relation. And Itell you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor andthe will in Pierre's favor are among the count's papers, then, my deargirl, you and your sisters are not heiresses! If you don't believe me,then believe an expert. I have just been talking to Dmitri Onufrich"(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 hervoice when she began to speak passed through such transitions as sheherself evidently did not expect.

　　"That would be a fine thing!" said she. "I never wanted anything andI 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 havesacrificed 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 Vasili.

　　But the princess did not listen to him.

　　"Yes, I knew it long ago but had forgotten. I knew that I couldexpect nothing but meanness, deceit, envy, intrigue, andingratitude- the blackest ingratitude- in this house..."

　　"Do you or do you not know where that will is?" insisted PrinceVasili, his cheeks twitching more than ever.

　　"Yes, I was a fool! I still believed in people, loved them, andsacrificed myself. But only the base, the vile succeed! I know who hasbeen intriguing!"

　　The princees wished to rise, but the prince held her by the hand.She had the air of one who has suddenly lost faith in the wholehuman race. She gave her companion an angry glance.

　　"There is still time, my dear. You must remember, Catiche, that itwas all done casually in a moment of anger, of illness, and wasafterwards forgotten. Our duty, my dear, is to rectify his mistake, toease his last moments by not letting him commit this injustice, andnot to let him die feeling that he is rendering unhappy those who..."

　　"Who sacrificed everything for him," chimed in the princess, whowould again have risen had not the prince still held her fast, "thoughhe never could appreciate it. No, mon cousin," she added with asigh, "I shall always remember that in this world one must expect noreward, that in this world there is neither honor nor justice. In thisworld 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 friendshipand 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 orbe it but an hour.... Tell me all you know about the will, and aboveall where it is. You must know. We will take it at once and show it tothe count. He has, no doubt, forgotten it and will wish to destroy it.You understand that my sole desire is conscientiously to carry out hiswishes; that is my only reason for being here. I came simply to helphim and you."

　　"Now I see it all! I know who has been intriguing- I know!" criedthe princess.

　　"That's not the point, my dear."

　　"It's that protege of yours, that sweet Princess Drubetskaya, thatAnna Mikhaylovna whom I would not take for a housemaid... theinfamous, vile woman!"

　　"Do not let us lose any time..."

　　"Ah, don't talk to me! Last winter she wheedled herself in hereand told the count such vile, disgraceful things about us,especially about Sophie- I can't repeat them- that it made the countquite ill and he would not see us for a whole fortnight. I know it wasthen he wrote this vile, infamous paper, but I thought the thing wasinvalid."

　　"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 Ihave a sin, a great sin, it is hatred of that vile woman!" almostshrieked the princess, now quite changed. "And what does she comeworming herself in here for? But I will give her a piece of my mind.The time will come!"BK1|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　While these conversations were going on in the reception room andthe princess' room, a carriage containing Pierre (who had been sentfor) and Anna Mikhaylovna (who found it necessary to accompany him)was driving into the court of Count Bezukhov's house. As the wheelsrolled softly over the straw beneath the windows, Anna Mikhaylovna,having turned with words of comfort to her companion, realized that hewas asleep in his corner and woke him up. Rousing himself, Pierrefollowed Anna Mikhaylovna out of the carriage, and only then beganto think of the interview with his dying father which awaited him.He noticed that they had not come to the front entrance but to theback door. While he was getting down from the carriage steps twomen, who looked like tradespeople, ran hurriedly from the entrance andhid in the shadow of the wall. Pausing for a moment, Pierre noticedseveral other men of the same kind hiding in the shadow of the houseon both sides. But neither Anna Mikhaylovna nor the footman nor thecoachman, who could not help seeing these people, took any notice ofthem. "It seems to be all right," Pierre concluded, and followedAnna Mikhaylovna. She hurriedly ascended the narrow dimly lit stonestaircase, calling to Pierre, who was lagging behind, to follow.Though he did not see why it was necessary for him to go to thecount at all, still less why he had to go by the back stairs, yetjudging by Anna Mikhaylovna's air of assurance and haste, Pierreconcluded that it was all absolutely necessary. Halfway up thestairs they were almost knocked over by some men who, carryingpails, came running downstairs, their boots clattering. These menpressed close to the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mikhaylovna passand did not evince the least surprise at seeing them there.

　　"Is this the way to the princesses' apartments?" asked AnnaMikhaylovna of one of them.

　　"Yes," replied a footman in a bold loud voice, as if anything werenow permissible; "the door to the left, ma'am."

　　"Perhaps the count did not ask for me," said Pierre when hereached the landing. "I'd better go to my own room."

　　Anna Mikhaylovna paused and waited for him to come up.

　　"Ah, my friend!" she said, touching his arm as she had done herson's when speaking to him that afternoon, "believe me I suffer noless than you do, but be a man!"

　　"But really, hadn't I better go away?" he asked, looking kindly ather over his spectacles.

　　"Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have been doneyou. Think that he is your father... perhaps in the agony of death."She sighed. "I have loved you like a son from the first. Trustyourself to me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests."

　　Pierre did not understand a word, but the conviction that all thishad to be grew stronger, and he meekly followed Anna Mikhaylovna whowas already opening a door.

　　This door led into a back anteroom. An old man, a servant of theprincesses, sat in a corner knitting a stocking. Pierre had never beenin this part of the house and did not even know of the existence ofthese rooms. Anna Mikhaylovna, addressing a maid who was hurrying pastwith a decanter on a tray as "my dear" and "my sweet," asked about theprincess' health and then led Pierre along a stone passage. Thefirst door on the left led into the princesses' apartments. The maidwith the decanter in her haste had not closed the door (everythingin the house was done in haste at that time), and Pierre and AnnaMikhaylovna in passing instinctively glanced into the room, wherePrince Vasili and the eldest princess were sitting close togethertalking. Seeing them pass, Prince Vasili drew back with obviousimpatience, while the princess jumped up and with a gesture ofdesperation slammed the door with all her might.

　　This action was so unlike her usual composure and the feardepicted on Prince Vasili's face so out of keeping with his dignitythat Pierre stopped and glanced inquiringly over his spectacles at hisguide. Anna Mikhaylovna evinced no surprise, she only smiled faintlyand 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 inreply 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 thesethings had to be. From the passage they went into a large, dimly litroom adjoining the count's reception room. It was one of thosesumptuous but cold apartments known to Pierre only from the frontapproach, but even in this room there now stood an empty bath, andwater had been spilled on the carpet. They were met by a deacon with acenser and by a servant who passed out on tiptoe without heeding them.They went into the reception room familiar to Pierre, with two Italianwindows opening into the conservatory, with its large bust and fulllength portrait of Catherine the Great. The same people were stillsitting here in almost the same positions as before, whispering to oneanother. All became silent and turned to look at the pale tear-wornAnna Mikhaylovna as she entered, and at the big stout figure of Pierrewho, hanging his head, meekly followed her.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna's face expressed a consciousness that thedecisive moment had arrived. With the air of a practical Petersburglady she now, keeping Pierre close beside her, entered the room evenmore boldly than that afternoon. She felt that as she brought with herthe person the dying man wished to see, her own admission was assured.Casting a rapid glance at all those in the room and noticing thecount's confessor there, she glided up to him with a sort of amble,not exactly bowing yet seeming to grow suddenly smaller, andrespectfully received the blessing first of one and then of anotherpriest.

　　"God be thanked that you are in time," said she to one of thepriests; "all we relatives have been in such anxiety. This young manis 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. Isthere any hope?"

　　The doctor cast a rapid glance upwards and silently shrugged hisshoulders. Anna Mikhaylovna with just the same movement raised hershoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, sighed, and movedaway from the doctor to Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectfuland tenderly sad voice, she said:

　　"Trust in His mercy!" and pointing out a small sofa for him to sitand wait for her, she went silently toward the door that everyonewas watching and it creaked very slightly as she disappeared behindit.

　　Pierre, having made up his mind to obey his monitress implicitly,moved toward the sofa she had indicated. As soon as Anna Mikhaylovnahad disappeared he noticed that the eyes of all in the room turnedto him with something more than curiosity and sympathy. He noticedthat they whispered to one another, casting significant looks at himwith a kind of awe and even servility. A deference such as he hadnever before received was shown him. A strange lady, the one who hadbeen talking to the priests, rose and offered him her seat; anaide-de-camp picked up and returned a glove Pierre had dropped; thedoctors became respectfully silent as he passed by, and moved tomake way for him. At first Pierre wished to take another seat so asnot to trouble the lady, and also to pick up the glove himself andto pass round the doctors who were not even in his way; but all atonce he felt that this would not do, and that tonight he was aperson obliged to perform some sort of awful rite which everyoneexpected of him, and that he was therefore bound to accept theirservices. He took the glove in silence from the aide-de-camp, andsat down in the lady's chair, placing his huge hands symmetricallyon his knees in the naive attitude of an Egyptian statue, anddecided in his own mind that all was as it should be, and that inorder not to lose his head and do foolish things he must not act onhis own ideas tonight, but must yield himself up entirely to thewill of those who were guiding him.

　　Not two minutes had passed before Prince Vasili with head erectmajestically entered the room. He was wearing his long coat with threestars on his breast. He seemed to have grown thinner since themorning; his eyes seemed larger than usual when he glanced round andnoticed Pierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he neverused to do), and drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertainwhether it was firmly fixed on.

　　"Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to see you. That iswell!" 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 "thecount," yet ashamed to call him "father."

　　"He had another stroke about half an hour ago. Courage, myfriend..."

　　Pierre's mind was in such a confused state that the word "stroke"suggested to him a blow from something. He looked at Prince Vasiliin perplexity, and only later grasped that a stroke was an attack ofillness. Prince Vasili said something to Lorrain in passing and wentthrough the door on tiptoe. He could not walk well on tiptoe and hiswhole body jerked at each step. The eldest princess followed him,and the priests and deacons and some servants also went in at thedoor. Through that door was heard a noise of things being moved about,and at last Anna Mikhaylovna, still with the same expression, pale butresolute in the discharge of duty, ran out and touching Pierre lightlyon the arm said:

　　"The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unction is about to beadministered. Come."

　　Pierre went in at the door, stepping on the soft carpet, and noticedthat the strange lady, the aide-de-camp, and some of the servants, allfollowed him in, as if there were now no further need for permissionto enter that room.BK1|CH23

　　CHAPTER XXIII

　　Pierre well knew this large room divided by columns and an arch, itswalls hung round with Persian carpets. The part of the room behind thecolumns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one sideand on the other an immense case containing icons, was brightlyilluminated with red light like a Russian church during eveningservice. Under the gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and inthat chair on snowy-white smooth pillows, evidently freshly changed,Pierre saw- covered to the waist by a bright green quilt- thefamiliar, majestic figure of his father, Count Bezukhov, with thatgray mane of hair above his broad forehead which reminded one of alion, and the deep characteristically noble wrinkles of hishandsome, ruddy face. He lay just under the icons; his large thickhands outside the quilt. Into the right hand, which was lying palmdownwards, a wax taper had been thrust between forefinger and thumb,and an old servant, bending over from behind the chair, held it inposition. By the chair stood the priests, their long hair falling overtheir magnificent glittering vestments, with lighted tapers in theirhands, slowly and solemnly conducting the service. A little behindthem stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to theireyes, and just in front of them their eldest sister, Catiche, with avicious and determined look steadily fixed on the icons, as thoughdeclaring to all that she could not answer for herself should sheglance round. Anna Mikhaylovna, with a meek, sorrowful, andall-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door near thestrange lady. Prince Vasili in front of the door, near the invalidchair, a wax taper in his left hand, was leaning his left arm on thecarved back of a velvet chair he had turned round for the purpose, andwas crossing himself with his right hand, turning his eyes upward eachtime he touched his forehead. His face wore a calm look of piety andresignation to the will of God. "If you do not understand thesesentiments," 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 silentlycrossing themselves, and the reading of the church service, thesubdued chanting of deep bass voices, and in the intervals sighs andthe shuffling of feet were the only sounds that could be heard. AnnaMikhaylovna, with an air of importance that showed that she felt shequite knew what she was about, went across the room to where Pierrewas standing and gave him a taper. He lit it and, distracted byobserving those around him, began crossing himself with the handthat held the taper.

　　Sophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest princess with themole, watched him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, andremained with it hidden for awhile; then looking up and seeingPierre she again began to laugh. She evidently felt unable to lookat him without laughing, but could not resist looking at him: so to beout of temptation she slipped quietly behind one of the columns. Inthe midst of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased,they whispered to one another, and the old servant who was holding thecount's hand got up and said something to the ladies. Anna Mikhaylovnastepped forward and, stooping over the dying man, beckoned toLorrain from behind her back. The French doctor held no taper; hewas leaning against one of the columns in a respectful attitudeimplying that he, a foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith,understood the full importance of the rite now being performed andeven approved of it. He now approached the sick man with the noiselessstep of one in full vigor of life, with his delicate white fingersraised from the green quilt the hand that was free, and turningsideways felt the pulse and reflected a moment. The sick man was givensomething to drink, there was a stir around him, then the peopleresumed their places and the service continued. During this intervalPierre noticed that Prince Vasili left the chair on which he hadbeen leaning, and- with air which intimated that he knew what he wasabout and if others did not understand him it was so much the worsefor them- did not go up to the dying man, but passed by him, joinedthe eldest princess, and moved with her to the side of the roomwhere stood the high bedstead with its silken hangings. On leaving thebed both Prince Vasili and the princess passed out by a back door, butreturned to their places one after the other before the service wasconcluded. Pierre paid no more attention to this occurrence than tothe rest of what went on, having made up his mind once for all thatwhat he saw happening around him that evening was in some wayessential.

　　The chanting of the service ceased, and the voice of the priestwas heard respectfully congratulating the dying man on having receivedthe sacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable asbefore. Around him everyone began to stir: steps were audible andwhispers, among which Anna Mikhaylovna's was the most distinct.

　　Pierre heard her say:

　　"Certainly he must be moved onto the bed; here it will beimpossible..."

　　The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses, andservants that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow facewith its gray mane- which, though he saw other faces as well, he hadnot lost sight of for a single moment during the whole service. Hejudged by the cautious movements of those who crowded round theinvalid 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 theservants say in a frightened whisper. "Catch hold from underneath.Here!" exclaimed different voices; and the heavy breathing of thebearers and the shuffling of their feet grew more hurried, as if theweight they were carrying were too much for them.

　　As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mikhaylovna, passed the youngman he caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of thedying man's high, stout, uncovered chest and powerful shoulders,raised by those who were holding him under the armpits, and of hisgray, curly, leonine head. This head, with its remarkably broad browand cheekbones, its handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majesticexpression, was not disfigured by the approach of death. It was thesame as Pierre remembered it three months before, when the count hadsent him to Petersburg. But now this head was swaying helplesslywith the uneven movements of the bearers, and the cold listless gazefixed itself upon nothing.

　　After a few minutes' bustle beside the high bedstead, those whohad carried the sick man dispersed. Anna Mikhaylovna touchedPierre's hand and said, "Come." Pierre went with her to the bed onwhich the sick man had been laid in a stately pose in keeping with theceremony just completed. He lay with his head propped high on thepillows. His hands were symmetrically placed on the green silkquilt, the palms downward. When Pierre came up the count was gazingstraight at him, but with a look the significance of which could notbe understood by mortal man. Either this look meant nothing but thatas long as one has eyes they must look somewhere, or it meant toomuch. Pierre hesitated, not knowing what to do, and glancedinquiringly at his guide. Anna Mikhaylovna made a hurried sign withher eyes, glancing at the sick man's hand and moving her lips as if tosend it a kiss. Pierre, carefully stretching his neck so as not totouch the quilt, followed her suggestion and pressed his lips to thelarge boned, fleshy hand. Neither the hand nor a single muscle ofthe count's face stirred. Once more Pierre looked questioningly atAnna Mikhaylovna to see what he was to do next. Anna Mikhaylovnawith her eyes indicated a chair that stood beside the bed. Pierreobediently sat down, his eyes asking if he were doing right. AnnaMikhaylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the naivelysymmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently distressed thathis stout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing his utmost tolook as small as possible. He looked at the count, who still gazedat the spot where Pierre's face had been before he sat down. AnnaMikhaylovna indicated by her attitude her consciousness of thepathetic importance of these last moments of meeting between thefather and son. This lasted about two minutes, which to Pierreseemed an hour. Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the count'sface began to twitch. The twitching increased, the handsome mouthwas drawn to one side (only now did Pierre realize how near deathhis father was), and from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct,hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked attentively at the sick man'seyes, trying to guess what he wanted; she pointed first to Pierre,then to some drink, then named Prince Vasili in an inquiringwhisper, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the sickman showed impatience. He made an effort to look at the servant whostood constantly at the head of the bed.

　　"Wants to turn on the other side," whispered the servant, and got upto 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 backhelplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pull it forward.Whether he noticed the look of terror with which Pierre regardedthat lifeless arm, or whether some other thought flitted across hisdying brain, at any rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre'sterror-stricken face, and again at the arm, and on his face afeeble, piteous smile appeared, quite out of keeping with hisfeatures, that seemed to deride his own helplessness. At sight of thissmile Pierre felt an unexpected quivering in his breast and a ticklingin his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned onto his side with his face to the wall. He sighed.

　　"He is dozing," said Anna Mikhaylovna, observing that one of theprincesses was coming to take her turn at watching. "Let us go."

　　Pierre went out.BK1|CH24

　　CHAPTER XXIV

　　There was now no one in the reception room except Prince Vasiliand the eldest princess, who were sitting under the portrait ofCatherine the Great and talking eagerly. As soon as they saw Pierreand his companion they became silent, and Pierre thought he saw theprincess hide something as she whispered:

　　"I can't bear the sight of that woman."

　　"Catiche has had tea served in the small drawing room," saidPrince Vasili to Anna Mikhaylovna. "Go and take something, my poorAnna Mikhaylovna, or you will not hold out."

　　To Pierre he said nothing, merely giving his arm a sympatheticsqueeze below the shoulder. Pierre went with Anna Mikhaylovna into thesmall drawing room.

　　"There is nothing so refreshing after a sleepless night as a cupof this delicious Russian tea," Lorrain was saying with an air ofrestrained animation as he stood sipping tea from a delicate Chinesehandleless cup before a table on which tea and a cold supper were laidin the small circular room. Around the table all who were at CountBezukhov's house that night had gathered to fortify themselves. Pierrewell remembered this small circular drawing room with its mirrorsand little tables. During balls given at the house Pierre, who did notknow how to dance, had liked sitting in this room to watch theladies who, as they passed through in their ball dresses with diamondsand pearls on their bare shoulders, looked at themselves in thebrilliantly lighted mirrors which repeated their reflections severaltimes. Now this same room was dimly lighted by two candles. On onesmall table tea things and supper dishes stood in disorder, and in themiddle of the night a motley throng of people sat there, notmerrymaking, but somberly whispering, and betraying by every wordand movement that they none of them forgot what was happening and whatwas about to happen in the bedroom. Pierre did not eat anything thoughhe would very much have liked to. He looked inquiringly at hismonitress and saw that she was again going on tiptoe to thereception room where they had left Prince Vasili and the eldestprincess. Pierre concluded that this also was essential, and after ashort interval followed her. Anna Mikhaylovna was standing besidethe princess, and they were both speaking in excited whispers.

　　"Permit me, Princess, to know what is necessary and what is notnecessary," said the younger of the two speakers, evidently in thesame state of excitement as when she had slammed the door of her room.

　　"But, my dear princess," answered Anna Mikhaylovna blandly butimpressively, blocking the way to the bedroom and preventing the otherfrom passing, "won't this be too much for poor Uncle at a momentwhen he needs repose? Worldly conversation at a moment when his soulis already prepared..."

　　Prince Vasili was seated in an easy chair in his familiarattitude, with one leg crossed high above the other. His cheeks, whichwere so flabby that they looked heavier below, were twitchingviolently; but he wore the air of a man little concerned in what thetwo ladies were saying.

　　"Come, my dear Anna Mikhaylovna, 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 thetwo ladies, addressing Prince Vasili and pointing to an inlaidportfolio she held in her hand. "All I know is that his real will isin his writing table, and this is a paper he has forgotten...."

　　She tried to pass Anna Mikhaylovna, but the latter sprang so as tobar her path.

　　"I know, my dear, kind princess," said Anna Mikhaylovna, seizing theportfolio so firmly that it was plain she would not let go easily."Dear princess, I beg and implore you, have some pity on him! Jevous en conjure..."

　　The princess did not reply. Their efforts in the struggle for theportfolio were the only sounds audible, but it was evident that if theprincess did speak, her words would not be flattering to AnnaMikhaylovna. Though the latter held on tenaciously, her voice lostnone of its honeyed firmness and softness.

　　"Pierre, my dear, come here. I think he will not be out of placein a family consultation; is it not so, Prince?"

　　"Why don't you speak, cousin?" suddenly shrieked the princess soloud that those in the drawing room heard her and were startled."Why do you remain silent when heaven knows who permits herself tointerfere, making a scene on the very threshold of a dying man's room?Intriguer!" she hissed viciously, and tugged with all her might at theportfolio.

　　But Anna Mikhaylovna went forward a step or two to keep her holdon the portfolio, and changed her grip.

　　Prince Vasili 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 Mikhaylovna did not obey him.

　　"Let go, I tell you! I will take the responsibility. I myself willgo and ask him, I!... does that satisfy you?"

　　"But, Prince," said Anna Mikhaylovna, "after such a solemnsacrament, allow him a moment's peace! Here, Pierre, tell them youropinion," said she, turning to the young man who, having come quiteclose, was gazing with astonishment at the angry face of theprincess which had lost all dignity, and at the twitching cheeks ofPrince Vasili.

　　"Remember that you will answer for the consequences," said PrinceVasili severely. "You don't know what you are doing."

　　"Vile woman!" shouted the princess, darting unexpectedly at AnnaMikhaylovna and snatching the portfolio from her.

　　Prince Vasili bent his head and spread out his hands.

　　At this moment that terrible door, which Pierre had watched solong and which had always opened so quietly, burst noisily open andbanged against the wall, and the second of the three sisters rushedout wringing her hands.

　　"What are you doing!" she cried vehemently. "He is dying and youleave me alone with him!"

　　Her sister dropped the portfolio. Anna Mikhaylovna, stooping,quickly caught up the object of contention and ran into the bedroom.The eldest princess and Prince Vasili, recovering themselves, followedher. A few minutes later the eldest sister came out with a pale hardface, again biting her underlip. At sight of Pierre her expressionshowed an irrepressible hatred.

　　"Yes, now you may be glad!" said she; "this is what you have beenwaiting for." And bursting into tears she hid her face in herhandkerchief and rushed from the room.

　　Prince Vasili came next. He staggered to the sofa on which Pierrewas sitting and dropped onto it, covering his face with his hand.Pierre noticed that he was pale and that his jaw quivered and shook asif in an ague.

　　"Ah, my friend!" said he, taking Pierre by the elbow; and therewas in his voice a sincerity and weakness Pierre had never observed init before. "How often we sin, how much we deceive, and all for what? Iam near sixty, dear friend... I too... All will end in death, all!Death is awful..." and he burst into tears.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna 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 hisforehead, 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 astears."

　　She led him into the dark drawing room and Pierre was glad no onecould see his face. Anna Mikhaylovna left him, and when she returnedhe was fast asleep with his head on his arm.

　　In the morning Anna Mikhaylovna 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, incommand of an immense fortune. The will has not yet been opened. Iknow you well enough to be sure that this will not turn your head, butit 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 notbeen there, God only knows what would have happened! You know, Unclepromised me only the day before yesterday not to forget Boris. Buthe had no time. I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out yourfather's wish?"

　　Pierre understood nothing of all this and coloring shyly looked insilence at Princess Anna Mikhaylovna. After her talk with Pierre, AnnaMikhaylovna returned to the Rostovs' and went to bed. On waking in themorning she told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the detailsof Count Bezukhov's death. She said the count had died as she wouldherself wish to die, that his end was not only touching butedifying. As to the last meeting between father and son, it was sotouching that she could not think of it without tears, and did notknow which had behaved better during those awful moments- the fatherwho so remembered everything and everybody at last and last and hadspoken such pathetic words to the son, or Pierre, whom it had beenpitiful to see, so stricken was he with grief, though he tried hard tohide it in order not to sadden his dying father. "It is painful, butit does one good. It uplifts the soul to see such men as the old countand his worthy son," said she. Of the behavior of the eldestprincess and Prince Vasili she spoke disapprovingly, but in whispersand as a great secret.BK1|CH25

　　CHAPTER XXV

　　At Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Andreevich Bolkonski's estate, thearrival of young Prince Andrew and his wife was daily expected, butthis expectation did not upset the regular routine of life in theold prince's household. General in Chief Prince Nicholas Andreevich(nicknamed in society, "the King of Prussia") ever since the EmperorPaul had exiled him to his country estate had lived there continuouslywith his daughter, Princess Mary, and her companion, MademoiselleBourienne. Though in the new reign he was free to return to thecapitals, he still continued to live in the country, remarking thatanyone who wanted to see him could come the hundred miles fromMoscow to Bald Hills, while he himself needed no one and nothing. Heused to say that there are only two sources of human vice- idlenessand superstition, and only two virtues- activity and intelligence.He himself undertook his daughter's education, and to develop thesetwo cardinal virtues in her gave her lessons in algebra and geometrytill she was twenty, and arranged her life so that her whole timewas 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 wasalways going on at his estate. As regularity is a prime conditionfacilitating activity, regularity in his household was carried tothe highest point of exactitude. He always came to table underprecisely the same conditions, and not only at the same hour but atthe same minute. With those about him, from his daughter to his serfs,the prince was sharp and invariably exacting, so that without beinga hardhearted man he inspired such fear and respect as few hardheartedmen would have aroused. Although he was in retirement and had now noinfluence in political affairs, every high official appointed to theprovince in which the prince's estate lay considered it his duty tovisit him and waited in the lofty antechamber ante chamber just as thearchitect, gardener, or Princess Mary did, till the prince appearedpunctually to the appointed hour. Everyone sitting in this antechamberexperienced the same feeling of respect and even fear when theenormously high study door opened and showed the figure of a rathersmall old man, with powdered wig, small withered hands, and bushy grayeyebrows which, when he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of hisshrewd, 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 appointedfor the morning greeting, crossing herself with trepidation andrepeating a silent prayer. Every morning she came in like that, andevery morning prayed that the daily interview might pass off well.

　　An old powdered manservant who was sitting in the antechamber rosequietly and said in a whisper: "Please walk in."

　　Through the door came the regular hum of a lathe. The princesstimidly opened the door which moved noiselessly and easily. She pausedat the entrance. The prince was working at the lathe and afterglancing round continued his work.

　　The enormous study was full of things evidently in constant use. Thelarge table covered with books and plans, the tall glass-frontedbookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk for writing whilestanding up, on which lay an open exercise book, and the lathe withtools laid ready to hand and shavings scattered around- allindicated continuous, varied, and orderly activity. The motion ofthe small foot shod in a Tartar boot embroidered with silver, andthe firm pressure of the lean sinewy hand, showed that the princestill possessed the tenacious endurance and vigor of hardy old age.After a few more turns of the lathe he removed his foot from thepedal, wiped his chisel, dropped it into a leather pouch attached tothe lathe, and, approaching the table, summoned his daughter. He nevergave his children a blessing, so he simply held out his bristlycheek (as yet unshaven) and, regarding her tenderly and attentively,said severely:

　　"Quite well? All right then, sit down." He took the exercise bookcontaining lessons in geometry written by himself and drew up achair with his foot.

　　"For tomorrow!" said he, quickly finding the page and making ascratch 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 abovethe table, onto which he threw it.

　　At the sight of the letter red patches showed themselves on theprincess' face. She took it quickly and bent her head over it.

　　"From Heloise?" asked the prince with a cold smile that showed hisstill sound, yellowish teeth.

　　"Yes, it's from Julie," replied the princess with a timid glance anda timid smile.

　　"I'll let two more letters pass, but the third I'll read," saidthe prince sternly; "I'm afraid you write much nonsense. I'll read thethird!"

　　"Read this if you like, Father," said the princess, blushing stillmore and holding out the letter.

　　"The third, I said the third!" cried the prince abruptly, pushingthe letter away, and leaning his elbows on the table he drew towardhim the exercise book containing geometrical figures.

　　"Well, madam," he began, stooping over the book close to hisdaughter 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 ofold age and tobacco, which she had known so long. "Now, madam, thesetriangles are equal; please note that the angle ABC..."

　　The princess looked in a scared way at her father's eyesglittering close to her; the red patches on her face came and went,and it was plain that she understood nothing and was so frightenedthat her fear would prevent her understanding any of her father'sfurther explanations, however clear they might be. Whether it wasthe teacher's fault or the pupil's, this same thing happened everyday: the princess' eyes grew dim, she could not see and could not hearanything, but was only conscious of her stern father's withered faceclose to her, of his breath and the smell of him, and could think onlyof how to get away quickly to her own room to make out the problemin peace. The old man was beside himself: moved the chair on whichhe was sitting noisily backward and forward, made efforts to controlhimself and not become vehement, but almost always did becomevehement, 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 bookaside and turning sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced upand 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'slesson, was about to leave: "Mathematics are most important, madam!I don't want to have you like our silly ladies. Get used to it andyou'll like it," and he patted her cheek. "It will drive all thenonsense out of your head."

　　She turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture and took anuncut book from the high desk.

　　"Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries that your Heloise hassent you. Religious! I don't interfere with anyone's belief... Ihave 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, scaredexpression that rarely left her and which made her plain, sicklyface yet plainer. She sat down at her writing table, on which stoodminiature portraits and which was littered with books and papers.The princess was as untidy as her father was tidy. She put down thegeometry book and eagerly broke the seal of her letter. It was fromher most intimate friend from childhood; that same Julie Karaginawho had been at the Rostovs' name-day party.

　　Julie wrote in French:

　　Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a thing isseparation! Though I tell myself that half my life and half myhappiness are wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distanceseparating us our hearts are united by indissoluble bonds, my heartrebels against fate and in spite of the pleasures and distractionsaround me I cannot overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been inmy heart ever since we parted. Why are we not together as we were lastsummer, in your big study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa?Why cannot I now, as three months ago, draw fresh moral strengthfrom your look, so gentle, calm, and penetrating, a look I loved sowell and seem to see before me as I write?

　　Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed and glanced into themirror which stood on her right. It reflected a weak, ungracefulfigure and thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked with particularhopelessness at her reflection in the glass. "She flatters me,"thought the princess, turning away and continuing to read. But Juliedid not flatter her friend, the princess' eyes- large, deep andluminous (it seemed as if at times there radiated from them shaftsof warm light)- were so beautiful that very often in spite of theplainness of her face they gave her an attraction more powerful thanthat of beauty. But the princess never saw the beautiful expression ofher own eyes- the look they had when she was not thinking ofherself. As with everyone, her face assumed a forced unnaturalexpression as soon as she looked in a glass. She went on reading:

　　All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers isalready abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting ontheir march to the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburgand it is thought intends to expose his precious person to the chancesof war. God grant that the Corsican monster who is destroying thepeace of Europe may be overthrown by the angel whom it has pleased theAlmighty, in His goodness, to give us as sovereign! To say nothingof my brothers, this war has deprived me of one of the associationsnearest my heart. I mean young Nicholas Rostov, who with hisenthusiasm could not bear to remain inactive and has left theuniversity to join the army. I will confess to you, dear Mary, that inspite of his extreme youth his departure for the army was a greatgrief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you last summer, is sonoble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which one seldom findsnowadays among our old men of twenty and, particularly, he is so frankand has so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that my relations withhim, transient as they were, have been one of the sweetest comforts tomy poor heart, which has already suffered so much. Someday I will tellyou about our parting and all that was said then. That is still toofresh. Ah, dear friend, you are happy not to know these poignantjoys and sorrows. You are fortunate, for the latter are generallythe stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too young everto be more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poeticand pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But enough of this!The chief news, about which all Moscow gossips, is the death of oldCount Bezukhov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three princesseshave received very little, Prince Vasili nothing, and it is MonsieurPierre who has inherited all the property and has besides beenrecognized as legitimate; so that he is now Count Bezukhov andpossessor of the finest fortune in Russia. It is rumored that PrinceVasili played a very despicable part in this affair and that hereturned to Petersburg quite crestfallen.

　　I confess I understand very little about all these matters ofwills and inheritance; but I do know that since this young man, whomwe all used to know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become CountBezukhov and the owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, Iam much amused to watch the change in the tone and manners of themammas burdened by marriageable daughters, and of the young ladiesthemselves, toward him, though, between you and me, he always seemedto me a poor sort of fellow. As for the past two years people haveamused themselves by finding husbands for me (most of whom I don'teven know), the matchmaking chronicles of Moscow now speak of me asthe future Countess Bezukhova. But you will understand that I haveno desire for the post. A propos of marriages: do you know that awhile ago that universal auntie Anna Mikhaylovna told me, under theseal of strict secrecy, of a plan of marriage for you. It is neithermore nor less than with Prince Vasili's son Anatole, whom they wish toreform by marrying him to someone rich and distinguee, and it is onyou that his relations' choice has fallen. I don't know what youwill 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 isall 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 Apraksins'. Read themystical book I am sending you; it has an enormous success here.Though there are things in it difficult for the feeble human mind tograsp, it is an admirable book which calms and elevates the soul.Adieu! Give my respects to monsieur your father and my complimentsto 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 herluminous eyes lit up so that her face was entirely transformed. Thenshe suddenly rose and with her heavy tread went up to the table. Shetook a sheet of paper and her hand moved rapidly over it. This isthe reply she wrote, also in French:

　　Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 13th has given me greatdelight. So you still love me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of whichyou say so much that is bad, does not seem to have had its usualeffect 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. Whydo you suppose that I should look severely on your affection forthat young man? On such matters I am only severe with myself. Iunderstand such feelings in others, and if never having felt them Icannot approve of them, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems to methat Christian love, love of one's neighbor, love of one's enemy, isworthier, sweeter, and better than the feelings which the beautifuleyes of a young man can inspire in a romantic and loving young girllike yourself.

　　The news of Count Bezukhov's death reached us before your letter andmy father was much affected by it. He says the count was the lastrepresentative but one of the great century, and that it is his ownturn now, but that he will do all he can to let his turn come aslate as possible. God preserve us from that terrible misfortune!

　　I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. Healways seemed to me to have an excellent heart, and that is thequality I value most in people. As to his inheritance and the partplayed by Prince Vasili, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dearfriend, our divine Saviour's words, that it is easier for a camel togo through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter theKingdom of God, are terribly true. I pity Prince Vasili but am stillmore sorry for Pierre. So young, and burdened with such riches- towhat temptations he will be exposed! If I were asked what I desiremost on earth, it would be to be poorer than the poorest beggar. Athousand thanks, dear friend, for the volume you have sent me andwhich has such success in Moscow. Yet since you tell me that amongsome good things it contains others which our weak human understandingcannot grasp, it seems to me rather useless to spend time in readingwhat is unintelligible and can therefore bear no fruit. I nevercould understand the fondness some people have for confusing theirminds by dwelling on mystical books that merely awaken their doubtsand excite their imagination, giving them a bent for exaggerationquite contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us rather read theEpistles and Gospels. Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries theycontain; for how can we, miserable sinners that we are, know theterrible and holy secrets of Providence while we remain in thisflesh which forms an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Letus rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime rules whichour divine Saviour has left for our guidance here below. Let us try toconform to them and follow them, and let us be persuaded that the lesswe 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 weseek to fathom what He has been pleased to conceal from us, the soonerwill He vouchsafe its revelation to us through His divine Spirit.

　　My father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but has only told methat he has received a letter and is expecting a visit from PrinceVasili. In regard to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you,dear sweet friend, that I look on marriage as a divine institutionto which we must conform. However painful it may be to me, shouldthe Almighty lay the duties of wife and wife and mother upon me Ishall try to perform them as faithfully as I can, withoutdisquieting myself by examining my feelings toward him whom He maygive me for husband.

　　I have had a letter from my brother, who announces his speedyarrival at Bald Hills with his wife. This pleasure will be but a briefone, however, for he will leave, us again to take part in this unhappywar into which we have been drawn, God knows how or why. Not onlywhere you are- at the heart of affairs and of the world- is the talkall of war, even here amid fieldwork and the calm of nature- whichtownsfolk consider characteristic of the country- rumors of war areheard and painfully felt. My father talks of nothing but marches andcountermarches, things of which I understand nothing; and the daybefore yesterday during my daily walk through the village Iwitnessed a heartrending scene.... It was a convoy of conscriptsenrolled from our people and starting to join the army. You shouldhave seen the state of the mothers, wives, and children of the men whowere going and should have heard the sobs. It seems as thoughmankind has forgotten the laws of its divine Saviour, Who preachedlove and forgiveness of injuries- and that men attribute thegreatest merit to skill in killing one another.

　　Adieu, dear and kind friend; may our divine Saviour and His mostHoly Mother keep you in their holy and all-powerful care!

　　MARY

　　"Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I have alreadydispatched mine. I have written to my poor mother," said the smilingMademoiselle Bourienne rapidly, in her pleasant mellow tones andwith 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 andevidently listening to herself with pleasure, and speaking withexaggerated grasseyement, "the prince has been scolding MichaelIvanovich. He is in a very bad humor, very morose. Be prepared."

　　"Ah, dear friend," replied Princess Mary, "I have asked you never towarn me of the humor my father is in. I do not allow myself to judgehim and would not have others do so."

　　The princess glanced at her watch and, seeing that she was fiveminutes late in starting her practice on the clavichord, went into thesitting room with a look of alarm. Between twelve and two o'clock,as the day was mapped out, the prince rested and the princess playedthe clavichord.BK1|CH26

　　CHAPTER XXVI

　　The gray-haired valet was sitting drowsily listening to thesnoring of the prince, who was in his large study. From the far sideof the house through the closed doors came the sound of difficultpassages- twenty times repeated- of a sonata by Dussek.

　　Just then a closed carriage and another with a hood drove up tothe porch. Prince Andrew got out of the carriage, helped his littlewife to alight, and let her pass into the house before him. OldTikhon, wearing a wig, put his head out of the door of theantechamber, reported in a whisper that the prince was sleeping, andhastily closed the door. Tikhon knew that neither the son's arrivalnor any other unusual event must be allowed to disturb the appointedorder of the day. Prince Andrew apparently knew this as well asTikhon; he looked at his watch as if to ascertain whether his father'shabits had changed since he was at home last, and, having assuredhimself 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 eyesand her short, downy, smiling lip lifted when she began to speakjust as merrily and prettily as ever.

　　"Why, this is a palace!" she said to her husband, looking aroundwith the expression with which people compliment their host at a ball."Let's come, quick, quick!" And with a glance round, she smiled atTikhon, at her husband, and at the footman who accompanied them.

　　"Is that Mary practicing? Let's go quietly and take her bysurprise."

　　Prince Andrew followed her with a courteous but sad expression.

　　"You've grown older, Tikhon," he said in passing to the old man, whokissed his hand.

　　Before they reached the room from which the sounds of the clavichordcame, 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 lether know."

　　"No, no, please not... You are Mademoiselle Bourienne," said thelittle princess, kissing her. "I know you already through mysister-in-law's friendship for you. She was not expecting us?"

　　They went up to the door of the sitting room from which came thesound of the oft-repeated passage of the sonata. Prince Andrew stoppedand made a grimace, as if expecting something unpleasant.

　　The little princess entered the room. The passage broke off in themiddle, a cry was heard, then Princess Mary's heavy tread and thesound of kissing. When Prince Andrew went in the two princesses, whohad only met once before for a short time at his wedding, were in eachother's arms warmly pressing their lips to whatever place theyhappened to touch. Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them pressing herhand to her heart, with a beatific smile and obviously equally readyto cry or to laugh. Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders andfrowned, as lovers of music do when they hear a false note. The twowomen 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, andagain began kissing each other on the face, and then to PrinceAndrew's surprise both began to cry and kissed again. MademoiselleBourienne also began to cry. Prince Andrew evidently felt ill at ease,but to the two women it seemed quite natural that they should cry, andapparently it never entered their heads that it could have beenotherwise at this meeting.

　　"Ah! my dear!... Ah! Mary!" they suddenly exclaimed, and thenlaughed. "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, Idid 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. PrincessMary had turned toward her brother, and through her tears theloving, warm, gentle look of her large luminous eyes, very beautifulat that moment, rested on Prince Andrew's face.

　　The little princess talked incessantly, her short, downy upper lipcontinually and rapidly touching her rosy nether lip when necessaryand drawing up again next moment when her face broke into a smile ofglittering teeth and sparkling eyes. She told of an accident theyhad had on the Spasski Hill which might have been serious for her inher condition, and immediately after that informed them that she hadleft all her clothes in Petersburg and that heaven knew what she wouldhave to dress in here; and that Andrew had quite changed, and thatKitty Odyntsova had married an old man, and that there was a suitorfor Mary, a real one, but that they would talk of that later. PrincessMary was still looking silently at her brother and her beautifuleyes were full of love and sadness. It was plain that she wasfollowing a train of thought independent of her sister-in-law's words.In the midst of a description of the last Petersburg fete sheaddressed 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 hadpromotion..."

　　Princess Mary did not listen to the end, but continuing her train ofthought turned to her sister-in-law with a tender glance at herfigure.

　　"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'sand 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 thesame?"

　　"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 thelathe?" asked Prince Andrew with a scarcely perceptible smile whichshowed that, in spite of all his love and respect for his father, hewas aware of his weaknesses.

　　"The hours are the same, and the lathe, and also the mathematics andmy geometry lessons," said Princess Mary gleefully, as if herlessons in geometry were among the greatest delights of her life.

　　When the twenty minutes had elapsed and the time had come for theold prince to get up, Tikhon came to call the young prince to hisfather. The old man made a departure from his usual routine in honorof his son's arrival: he gave orders to admit him to his apartmentswhile he dressed for dinner. The old prince always dressed inold-fashioned style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair; andwhen Prince Andrew entered his father's dressing room (not with thecontemptuous look and manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with theanimated face with which he talked to Pierre), the old man was sittingon a large leather-covered chair, wrapped in a powdering mantle,entrusting his head to Tikhon.

　　"Ah! here's the warrior! Wants to vanquish Buonaparte?" said the oldman, shaking his powdered head as much as the tail, which Tikhon washolding fast to plait, would allow.

　　"You at least must tackle him properly, or else if he goes on likethis he'll soon have us, too, for his subjects! How are you?" And heheld out his cheek.

　　The old man was in a good temper after his nap before dinner. (Heused to say that a nap "after dinner was silver- before dinner,golden.") He cast happy, sidelong glances at his son from under histhick, bushy eyebrows. Prince Andrew went up and kissed his fatheron the spot indicated to him. He made no reply on his father'sfavorite topic- making fun of the military men of the day, and moreparticularly of Bonaparte.

　　"Yes, Father, I have come come to you and brought my wife who ispregnant," said Prince Andrew, following every movement of hisfather'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 busyfrom 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 tofight Bonaparte by this new science you call 'strategy.'"

　　Prince Andrew smiled.

　　"Give me time to collect my wits, Father," said he, with a smilethat showed that his father's foibles did not prevent his son fromloving and honoring him. "Why, I have not yet had time to settledown!"

　　"Nonsense, nonsense!" cried the old man, shaking his pigtail tosee whether it was firmly plaited, and grasping his by the hand."The house for your wife is ready. Princess Mary will take her thereand show her over, and they'll talk nineteen to the dozen. That'stheir woman's way! I am glad to have her. Sit down and talk. AboutMikhelson's army I understand- Tolstoy's too... a simultaneousexpedition.... But what's the southern army to do? Prussia isneutral... I know that. What about Austria?" said he, rising fromhis chair and pacing up and down the room followed by Tikhon, whoran after him, handing him different articles of clothing. "What ofSweden? How will they cross Pomerania?"

　　Prince Andrew, seeing that his father insisted, began- at firstreluctantly, but gradually with more and more animation, and fromhabit changing unconsciously from Russian to French as he went on-to explain the plan of operation for the coming campaign. He explainedhow an army, ninety thousand strong, was to threaten Prussia so asto bring her out of her neutrality and draw her into the war; how partof that army was to join some Swedish forces at Stralsund; how twohundred and twenty thousand Austrians, with a hundred thousandRussians, were to operate in Italy and on the Rhine; how fiftythousand Russians and as many English were to land at Naples, andhow a total force of five hundred thousand men was to attack theFrench from different sides. The old prince did not evince the leastinterest during this explanation, but as if he were not listening toit continued to dress while walking about, and three timesunexpectedly interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouting: "The whiteone, the white one!"

　　This meant that Tikhon was not handing him the waistcoat hewanted. Another time he interrupted, saying:

　　"And will she soon be confined?" and shaking his headreproachfully said: "That's bad! Go on, go on."

　　The third interruption came when Prince Andrew was finishing hisdescription. The old man began to sing, in the cracked voice of oldage: "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 onlytelling 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."BK1|CH27

　　CHAPTER XXVII

　　At the appointed hour the prince, powdered and shaven, entered thedining room where his daughter-in-law, Princess Mary, and MademoiselleBourienne were already awaiting him together with his architect, whoby a strange caprice of his employer's was admitted to table thoughthe position of that insignificant individual was such as couldcertainly not have caused him to expect that honor. The prince, whogenerally kept very strictly to social distinctions and rarelyadmitted even important government officials to his table, hadunexpectedly selected Michael Ivanovich (who always went into a cornerto blow his nose on his checked handkerchief) to illustrate the theorythat all men are equals, and had more than once impressed on hisdaughter that Michael Ivanovich was "not a whit worse than you orI." At dinner the prince usually spoke to the taciturn MichaelIvanovich more often than to anyone else.

　　In the dining room, which like all the rooms in the house wasexceedingly lofty, the members of the household and the footmen- onebehind each chair- stood waiting for the prince to enter. The headbutler, napkin on arm, was scanning the setting of the table, makingsigns to the footmen, and anxiously glancing from the clock to thedoor by which the prince was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking ata large gilt frame, new to him, containing the genealogical tree ofthe Princes Bolkonski, opposite which hung another such frame with abadly painted portrait (evidently by the hand of the artistbelonging to the estate) of a ruling prince, in a crown- an allegeddescendant of Rurik and ancestor of the Bolkonskis. Prince Andrew,looking again at that genealogical tree, shook his head, laughing as aman laughs who looks at a portrait so characteristic of the originalas to be amusing.

　　"How thoroughly like him that is!" he said to Princess Mary, who hadcome up to him.

　　Princess Mary looked at her brother in surprise. She did notunderstand what he was laughing at. Everything her father did inspiredher 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'scriticism and was about to reply, when the expected footsteps wereheard coming from the study. The prince walked in quickly and jauntilyas was his wont, as if intentionally contrasting the briskness ofhis manners with the strict formality of his house. At that moment thegreat clock struck two and another with a shrill tone joined in fromthe drawing room. The prince stood still; his lively glittering eyesfrom under their thick, bushy eyebrows sternly scanned all present andrested on the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do when the Tsarenters, the sensation of fear and respect which the old man inspiredin all around him. He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardlyon the back of her neck.

　　"I'm glad, glad, to see you," he said, looking attentively intoher eyes, and then quickly went to his place and sat down. "Sitdown, sit down! Sit down, Michael Ianovich!"

　　He indicated a place beside him to his daughter-in-law. A footmanmoved the chair for her.

　　"Ho, ho!" said the old man, casting his eyes on her roundedfigure. "You've been in a hurry. That's bad!"

　　He laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleasant way, with his lipsonly and not with his eyes.

　　"You must walk, walk as much as possible, as much as possible," hesaid.

　　The little princess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words. Shewas silent and seemed confused. The prince asked her about her father,and she began to smile and talk. He asked about mutualacquaintances, and she became still more animated and chattered awaygiving him greetings from various people and retailing the towngossip.

　　"Countess Apraksina, poor thing, has lost her husband and she hascried her eyes out," she said, growing more and more lively.

　　As she became animated the prince looked at her more and moresternly, and suddenly, as if he had studied her sufficiently and hadformed a definite idea of her, he turned away and addressed MichaelIvanovich.

　　"Well, Michael Ivanovich, our Bonaparte will be having a bad time ofit. Prince Andrew" (he always spoke thus of his son) "has been tellingme what forces are being collected against him! While you and Inever thought much of him."

　　Michael Ivanovich did not at all know when "you and I" had said suchthings about Bonaparte, but understanding that he was wanted as apeg on which to hang the prince's favorite topic, he lookedinquiringly at the young prince, wondering what would follow.

　　"He is a great tactician!" said the prince to his son, pointing tothe architect.

　　And the conversation again turned on the war, on Bonaparte, andthe generals and statesmen of the day. The old prince seemed convincednot only that all the men of the day were mere babies who did not knowthe A B C of war or of politics, and that Bonaparte was aninsignificant little Frenchy, successful only because there were nolonger any Potemkins or Suvorovs left to oppose him; but he was alsoconvinced that there were no political difficulties in Europe and noreal war, but only a sort of puppet show at which the men of the daywere playing, pretending to do something real. Prince Andrew gailybore with his father's ridicule of the new men, and drew him on andlistened to him with evident pleasure.

　　"The past always seems good," said he, "but did not Suvorovhimself fall into a trap Moreau set him, and from which he did notknow how to escape?"

　　"Who told you that? Who?" cried the prince. "Suvorov!" And he jerkedaway his plate, which Tikhon briskly caught. "Suvorov!... Consider,Prince Andrew. Two... Frederick and Suvorov; Moreau!... Moreau wouldhave been a prisoner if Suvorov had had a free hand; but he had theHofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-Rath on his hands. It would have puzzledthe devil himself! When you get there you'll find out what thoseHofs-kriegs-wurst-Raths are! Suvorov couldn't manage them so whatchance has Michael Kutuzov? No, my dear boy," he continued, "you andyour generals won't get on against Buonaparte; you'll have to callin the French, so that birds of a feather may fight together. TheGerman, Pahlen, has been sent to New York in America, to fetch theFrenchman, Moreau," he said, alluding to the invitation made that yearto Moreau to enter the Russian service.... "Wonderful!... Were thePotemkins, Suvorovs, and Orlovs Germans? No, lad, either you fellowshave all lost your wits, or I have outlived mine. May God help you,but we'll see what will happen. Buonaparte has become a greatcommander among them! Hm!..."

　　"I don't at all say that all the plans are good," said PrinceAndrew, "I am only surprised at your opinion of Bonaparte. You maylaugh as much as you like, but all the same Bonaparte is a greatgenerall"

　　"Michael Ivanovich!" cried the old prince to the architect who, busywith his roast meat, hoped he had been forgotten: "Didn't I tell youBuonaparte was a great tactician? Here, he says 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 gotsplendid soldiers. Besides he began by attacking Germans. And onlyidlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since the world beganeverybody has beaten the Germans. They beat no one- except oneanother. He made his reputation fighting them."

　　And the prince began explaining all the blunders which, according tohim, Bonaparte had made in his campaigns and even in politics. His sonmade no rejoinder, but it was evident that whatever arguments werepresented he was as little able as his father to change his opinion.He listened, refraining from a reply, and involuntarily wondered howthis old man, living alone in the country for so many years, couldknow and discuss so minutely and acutely all the recent Europeanmilitary and political events.

　　"You think I'm an old man and don't understand the present stateof affairs?" concluded his father. "But it troubles me. I don'tsleep at night. Come now, where has this great commander of yoursshown his skill?" he concluded.

　　"That would take too long to tell," answered the son.

　　"Well, then go to your Buonaparte! Mademoiselle Bourienne, here'sanother admirer of that powder-monkey emperor of yours," heexclaimed 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 ofthe dinner sat silent, glancing with a frightened look now at herfather-in-law and now at Princess Mary. When they left the table shetook 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 Iam afraid of him."

　　"Oh, he is so kind!" answered Princess Mary.BK1|CH28

　　CHAPTER XXVIII

　　Prince Andrew was to leave next evening. The old prince, notaltering his routine, retired as usual after dinner. The littleprincess was in her sister-in-law's room. Prince Andrew in a travelingcoat without epaulettes had been packing with his valet in the roomsassigned to him. After inspecting the carriage himself and seeingthe trunks put in, he ordered the horses to be harnessed. Only thosethings he always kept with him remained in his room; a small box, alarge canteen fitted with silver plate, two Turkish pistols and asaber- a present from his father who had brought it from the siegeof Ochakov. All these traveling effects of Prince Andrew's were invery good order: new, clean, and in cloth covers carefully tied withtapes.

　　When starting on a journey or changing their mode of life, mencapable of reflection are generally in a serious frame of mind. Atsuch moments one reviews the past and plans for the future. PrinceAndrew's face looked very thoughtful and tender. With his hands behindhim he paced briskly from corner to corner of the room, lookingstraight before him and thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he feargoing 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 hearingfootsteps in the passage he hurriedly unclasped his hands, stoppedat a table as if tying the cover of the small box, and assumed hisusual tranquil and impenetrable expression. It was the heavy treadof Princess Mary that he heard.

　　"I hear you have given orders to harness," she cried, panting (shehad apparently been running), "and I did so wish to have anothertalk with you alone! God knows how long we may again be parted. Youare not angry with me for coming? You have changed so, Andrusha,"she added, as if to explain such a question.

　　She smiled as she uttered his pet name, "Andrusha." It was obviouslystrange to her to think that this stern handsome man should beAndrusha- the slender mischievous boy who had been her playfellow inchildhood.

　　"And where is Lise?" he asked, answering her question only by asmile.

　　"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, sittingdown on the sofa, facing her brother. "She is quite a child: such adear, merry child. I have grown so fond of her."

　　Prince Andrew was silent, but the princess noticed the ironicaland contemptuous look that showed itself on his face.

　　"One must be indulgent to little weaknesses; who is free fromthem, Andrew? Don't forget that she has grown up and been educatedin society, and so her position now is not a rosy one. We should enterinto everyone's situation. Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.*Think it must be for her, poor thing, after what she has been used to,to be parted from her husband and be left alone the country, in hercondition! It's very hard."

　　*To understand all is to forgive all.

　　Prince Andrew smiled as he looked at his sister, as we smile atthose we think we thoroughly understand.

　　"You live in the country and don't think the life terrible," hereplied.

　　"I... that's different. Why speak of me? I don't want any otherlife, and can't, for I know no other. But think, Andrew: for a youngsociety woman to be buried in the country during the best years of herlife, all alone- for Papa is always busy, and I... well, you know whatpoor resources I have for entertaining a woman used to the bestsociety. There is only Mademoiselle Bourienne...."

　　"I don't like your Mademoiselle Bourienne at all," said PrinceAndrew.

　　"No? She is very nice and kind and, above all, she's much to bepitied. 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 ameven more so. I like being alone.... Father likes her very much. Sheand Michael Ivanovich are the two people to whom he is always gentleand kind, because he has been a benefactor to them both. As Sternesays: 'We don't love people so much for the good they have done us, asfor the good we have done them.' Father took her when she was homelessafter losing her own father. She is very good-natured, and my fatherlikes her way of reading. She reads to him in the evenings and readssplendidly."

　　"To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Father's character sometimesmakes things trying for you, doesn't it?" Prince Andrew askedsuddenly.

　　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 gettingvery trying," said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly of theirfather in order to puzzle or test his sister.

　　"You are good in every way, Andrew, but you have a kind ofintellectual pride," said the princess, following the train of her ownthoughts rather than the trend of the conversation- "and that's agreat sin. How can one judge Father? But even if one might, whatfeeling except veneration could such a man as my father evoke? And Iam so contented and happy with him. I only wish you were all ashappy 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'tunderstand how a man of his immense intellect can fail to see whatis as clear as day, and can go so far astray. That is the only thingthat makes me unhappy. But even in this I can see lately a shade ofimprovement. His satire has been less bitter of late, and there wasa monk he received and had a long talk with."

　　"Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your monk are wasting yourpowder," 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 agreat favor to ask of you."

　　"What is it, dear?"

　　"No- promise that you will not refuse! It will give you no troubleand is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise,Andrusha!..." said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yettaking out what she was holding inside it, as if what she held werethe subject of her request and must not be shown before the requestwas 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 asyou please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Father's father, ourgrandfather, wore it in all his wars." (She still did not take outwhat 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 willnever 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 thepained expression his joke had brought to his sister's face, herepented and added: "I am glad; really, dear, I am very glad."

　　"Against your will He will save and have mercy on you and bringyou to Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace," said she in avoice trembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands beforeher brother a small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the Saviourin 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 eyeslit up the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Herbrother would have taken the icon, but she stopped him. Andrewunderstood, crossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look oftenderness, 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 downagain on the sofa. They were silent for a while.

　　"As I was saying to you, Andrew, be kind and generous as youalways used to be. Don't judge Lise harshly," she began. "She is sosweet, so good-natured, and her position now is a very hard one."

　　"I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Masha, orblamed her. Why do you say all this to me?"

　　Red patches appeared on Princess Mary's face and she was silent asif 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 triedto say something but could not. Her brother had guessed right: thelittle princess had been crying after dinner and had spoken of herforebodings about her confinement, and how she dreaded it, and hadcomplained of her fate, her father-in-law, and her husband. Aftercrying she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrew felt sorry for his sister.

　　"Know this, Masha: I can't reproach, have not reproached, andnever shall reproach my wife with anything, and I cannot reproachmyself with anything in regard to her; and that always will be so inwhatever circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know thetruth... 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, kissedher forehead. His fine eyes lit up with a thoughtful, kindly, andunaccustomed brightness, but he was looking not at his sister but overher 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 comein a moment. Petrushka!" he called to his valet: "Come here, takethese 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 Himto give you the love you do not feel, and your prayer would havebeen answered."

　　"Well, may be!" said Prince Andrew. "Go, Masha; I'll comeimmediately."

　　On the way to his sister's room, in the passage which connectedone wing with the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bouriennesmiling sweetly. It was the third time that day that, with an ecstaticand artless smile, she had met him in secluded passages.

　　"Oh! I thought you were in your room," she said, for some reasonblushing and dropping her eyes.

　　Prince Andrew looked sternly at her and an expression of angersuddenly came over his face. He said nothing to her but looked ather forehead and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contemptthat the Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word. When hereached his sister's room his wife was already awake and her merryvoice, hurrying one word after another, came through the open door.She was speaking as usual in French, and as if after longself-restraint she wished to make up for lost time.

　　"No, but imagine the old Countess Zubova, with false curls and hermouth full of false teeth, as if she were trying to cheat oldage.... Ha, ha, ha! Mary!"

　　This very sentence about Countess Zubova and this same laughPrince Andrew had already heard from his wife in the presence ofothers some five times. He entered the room softly. The littleprincess, plump and rosy, was sitting in an easy chair with her workin her hands, talking incessantly, repeating Petersburgreminiscences and even phrases. Prince Andrew came up, stroked herhair, and asked if she felt rested after their journey. She answeredhim and continued her chatter.

　　The coach with six horses was waiting at the porch. It was an autumnnight, so dark that the coachman could not see the carriage pole.Servants with lanterns were bustling about in the porch. The immensehouse was brilliant with lights shining through its lofty windows. Thedomestic serfs were crowding in the hall, waiting to bid good-by tothe young prince. The members of the household were all gathered inthe reception hall: Michael Ivanovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne,Princess Mary, and the little princess. Prince Andrew had beencalled to his father's study as the latter wished to say good-by tohim alone. All were waiting for them to come out.

　　When Prince Andrew entered the study the old man in his old-agespectacles and white dressing gown, in which he received no one buthis 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 apronstrings. The Service before everything. Thanks, thanks!" And he wenton writing, so that his quill spluttered and squeaked. "If you haveanything to say, say it. These two things can be done together," headded.

　　"About my wife... I am ashamed as it is to leave her on yourhands..."

　　"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, fixedhis stern eyes on his son.

　　"I know that no one can help if nature does not do her work," saidPrince Andrew, evidently confused. "I know that out of a million casesonly one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and mine. They have beentelling her things. She has had a dream and is frightened."

　　"Hm... Hm..." muttered the old prince to himself, finishing whathe was writing. "I'll do it."

　　He signed with a flourish and suddenly turning to his son began tolaugh.

　　"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 likethat; one can't unmarry. Don't be afraid; I won't tell anyone, but youknow 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 seethrough 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 andthrowing down the wax, the seal, and the paper, with his accustomedrapidity.

　　"What's to be done? She's pretty! I will do everything. Make yourmind easy," said he in abrupt sentences while sealing his letter.

　　Andrew did not speak; he was both pleased and displeased that hisfather understood him. The old man got up and gave the letter to hisson.

　　"Listen!" said he; "don't worry about your wife: what can be doneshall be. Now listen! Give this letter to Michael Ilarionovich.* Ihave written that he should make use of you in proper places and notkeep you long as an adjutant: a bad position! Tell him I rememberand like him. Write and tell me how he receives you. If he is allright- serve him. Nicholas Bolkonski's son need not serve under anyoneif he is in disfavor. Now come here."

　　*Kutuzov.

　　He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but hisson was accustomed to understand him. He led him to the desk, raisedthe lid, drew out a drawer, and took out an exercise book filledwith 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 bondand a letter; it is a premium for the man who writes a history ofSuvorov's wars. Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings for youto read when I am gone. You will find them useful."

　　Andrew did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a longtime 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 embracedhim. "Remember this, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurtme, your old father..." he paused unexpectedly, and then in aquerulous voice suddenly shrieked: "but if I hear that you have notbehaved like a son of Nicholas Bolkonski, I shall be ashamed!"

　　"You need not have said that to me, Father," said the son with asmile.

　　The old man was silent.

　　"I also wanted to ask you," continued Prince Andrew, "if I'mkilled 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 werefixed straight on his son's. Something twitched in the lower part ofthe old prince's face.

　　"We've said good-by. Go!" he suddenly shouted in a loud, angryvoice, opening his door.

　　"What is it? What?" asked both princesses when they saw for a momentat the door Prince Andrew and the figure of the old man in a whitedressing 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 andlooking 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 herface, and carefully placed her in an easy chair.

　　"Adieu, Mary," said he gently to his sister, taking her by thehand and kissing her, and then he left the room with rapid steps.

　　The little princess lay in the armchair, Mademoiselle Bouriennechafing her temples. Princess Mary, supporting her sister-in-law,still looked with her beautiful eyes full of tears at the door throughwhich Prince Andrew had gone and made the sign of the cross in hisdirection. From the study, like pistol shots, came the frequentsound of the old man angrily blowing his nose. Hardly had PrinceAndrew gone when the study door opened quickly and the stern figure ofthe old man in the white dressing gown looked out.

　　"Gone? That's all right!" said he; and looking angrily at theunconscious little princess, he shook his head reprovingly and slammedthe door.

　　BOOK TWO: 1805

　　CHAPTER I

　　In October, 1805, a Russian army was occupying the villages andtowns of the Archduchy of Austria, and yet other regiments freshlyarriving from Russia were settling near the fortress of Braunau andburdening the inhabitants on whom they were quartered. Braunau was theheadquarters of the commander-in-chief, Kutuzov.

　　On October 11, 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had justreached Braunau had halted half a mile from the town, waiting to beinspected by the commander in chief. Despite the un-Russian appearanceof the locality and surroundings- fruit gardens, stone fences, tiledroofs, and hills in the distance- and despite the fact that theinhabitants (who gazed with curiosity at the soldiers) were notRussians, the regiment had just the appearance of any Russian regimentpreparing for an inspection anywhere in the heart of Russia.

　　On the evening of the last day's march an order had been receivedthat the commander in chief would inspect the regiment on the march.Though the words of the order were not clear to the regimentalcommander, and the question arose whether the troops were to be inmarching order or not, it was decided at a consultation between thebattalion commanders to present the regiment in parade order, on theprinciple that it is always better to "bow too low than not bow lowenough." So the soldiers, after a twenty-mile march, were kept mendingand cleaning all night long without closing their eyes, while theadjutants and company commanders calculated and reckoned, and bymorning the regiment- instead of the straggling, disorderly crowd ithad been on its last march the day before- presented a well-orderedarray 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 thecommander in chief to look under the uniforms he would have found onevery man a clean shirt, and in every knapsack the appointed number ofarticles, "awl, soap, and all," as the soldiers say. There was onlyone circumstance concerning which no one could be at ease. It wasthe state of the soldiers' boots. More than half the men's bootswere in holes. But this defect was not due to any fault of theregimental commander, for in spite of repeated demands boots had notbeen issued by the Austrian commissariat, and the regiment had marchedsome seven hundred miles.

　　The commander of the regiment was an elderly, choleric, stout, andthick-set general with grizzled eyebrows and whiskers, and widerfrom chest to back than across the shoulders. He had on a brand-newuniform showing the creases where it had been folded and thick goldepaulettes which seemed to stand rather than lie down on his massiveshoulders. He had the air of a man happily performing one of themost solemn duties of his life. He walked about in front of the lineand at every step pulled himself up, slightly arching his back. It wasplain that the commander admired his regiment, rejoiced in it, andthat his whole mind was engrossed by it, yet his strut seemed toindicate that, besides military matters, social interests and the fairsex occupied no small part of his thoughts.

　　"Well, Michael Mitrich, sir?" he said, addressing one of thebattalion commanders who smilingly pressed forward (it was plainthat 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 Tsaritsin Meadow."

　　"What?" asked the commander.

　　At that moment, on the road from the town on which signalers hadbeen posted, two men appeared on horse back. They were anaide-decamp followed by a Cossack.

　　The aide-de-camp was sent to confirm the order which had not beenclearly worded the day before, namely, that the commander in chiefwished to see the regiment just in the state in which it had been onthe march: in their greatcoats, and packs, and without any preparationwhatever.

　　A member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had come to Kutuzov theday before with proposals and demands for him to join up with the armyof the Archduke Ferdinand and Mack, and Kutuzov, not consideringthis junction advisable, meant, among other arguments in support ofhis view, to show the Austrian general the wretched state in which thetroops arrived from Russia. With this object he intended to meet theregiment; so the worse the condition it was in, the better pleased thecommander in chief would be. Though the aide-de-camp did not knowthese circumstances, he nevertheless delivered the definite order thatthe men should be in their greatcoats and in marching order, andthat the commander in chief would otherwise be dissatisfied. Onhearing this the regimental commander hung his head, silently shruggedhis 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 Mitrich, that if it wassaid 'on the march' it meant in greatcoats?" said he reproachfullyto the battalion commander. "Oh, my God!" he added, steppingresolutely forward. "Company commanders!" he shouted in a voiceaccustomed to command. "Sergeants major!... How soon will he be here?"he asked the aide-de-camp with a respectful politeness evidentlyrelating 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, orderedthe soldiers to change into their greatcoats. The company commandersran off to their companies, the sergeants major began bustling (thegreatcoats were not in very good condition), and instantly the squaresthat had up to then been in regular order and silent began to sway andstretch and hum with voices. On all sides soldiers were running to andfro, throwing up their knapsacks with a jerk of their shoulders andpulling the straps over their heads, unstrapping their overcoats anddrawing the sleeves on with upraised arms.

　　In half an hour all was again in order, only the squares hadbecome gray instead of black. The regimental commander walked with hisjerky steps to the front of the regiment and examined it from adistance.

　　"Whatever is this? This!" he shouted and stood still. "Commanderof the third company!"

　　"Commander of the third company wanted by the general!...commander to the general... third company to the commander." The wordspassed along the lines and an adjutant ran to look for the missingofficer.

　　When the eager but misrepeated words had reached their destinationin a cry of: "The general to the third company," the missing officerappeared from behind his company and, though he was a middle-agedman and not in the habit of running, trotted awkwardly stumbling onhis toes toward the general. The captain's face showed theuneasiness of a schoolboy who is told to repeat a lesson he has notlearned. Spots appeared on his nose, the redness of which wasevidently due to intemperance, and his mouth twitched nervously. Thegeneral 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 andpointing at a soldier in the ranks of the third company in a greatcoatof bluish cloth, which contrasted with the others. "What have you beenafter? 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 thispressure lay his only hope of salvation.

　　"Well, why don't you speak? Whom have you got there dressed up asa Hungarian?" said the commander with an austere gibe.

　　"Your excellency..."

　　"Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But what about yourexcellency?... nobody knows."

　　"Your excellency, it's the officer Dolokhov, who has been reduced tothe 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 theothers."

　　"Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself, on the march."

　　"Gave him leave? Leave? That's just like you young men," said theregimental commander cooling down a little. "Leave indeed.... One saysa word to you and you... What?" he added with renewed irritation, "Ibeg you to dress your men decently."

　　And the commander, turning to look at the adjutant, directed hisjerky steps down the line. He was evidently pleased at his own displayof anger and walking up to the regiment wished to find a furtherexcuse for wrath. Having snapped at an officer for an unpolishedbadge, at another because his line was not straight, he reached thethird company.

　　"H-o-o-w are you standing? Where's your leg? Your leg?" shoutedthe commander with a tone of suffering in his voice, while therewere still five men between him and Dolokhov with his bluish-grayuniform.

　　Dolokhov slowly straightened his bent knee, looking straight withhis clear, insolent eyes in the general's face.

　　"Why a blue coat? Off with it... Sergeant major! Change hiscoat... the ras..." he did not finish.

　　"General, I must obey orders, but I am not bound to endure..."Dolokhov hurriedly interrupted.

　　"No talking in the ranks!... No talking, no talking!"

　　"Not bound to endure insults," Dolokhov concluded in loud, ringingtones.

　　The eyes of the general and the soldier met. The general becamesilent, angrily pulling down his tight scarf.

　　"I request you to have the goodness to change your coat," he said ashe turned away.BK2|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　"He's coming!" shouted the signaler at that moment.

　　The regimental commander, flushing, ran to his horse, seized thestirrup with trembling hands, threw his body across the saddle,righted himself, drew his saber, and with a happy and resolutecountenance, opening his mouth awry, prepared to shout. The regimentfluttered like a bird preening its plumage and became motionless.

　　"Att-ention!" shouted the regimental commander in a soul-shakingvoice 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 ahigh, light blue Viennese caleche, slightly creaking on its springsand drawn by six horses at a smart trot. Behind the caleche gallopedthe suite and a convoy of Croats. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austriangeneral, in a white uniform that looked strange among the Russianblack ones. The caleche stopped in front of the regiment. Kutuzovand the Austrian general were talking in low voices and Kutuzov smiledslightly as treading heavily he stepped down from the carriage just asif those two thousand men breathlessly gazing at him and theregimental commander did not exist.

　　The word of command rang out, and again the regiment quivered, aswith a jingling sound it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silencethe feeble voice of the commander in chief was heard. The regimentroared, "Health to your ex... len... len... lency!" and again allbecame silent. At first Kutuzov stood still while the regimentmoved; 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 chiefand devoured him with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, andfrom the way he walked through the ranks behind the generals,bending forward and hardly able to restrain his jerky movements, andfrom the way he darted forward at every word or gesture of thecommander in chief, it was evident that he performed his duty as asubordinate with even greater zeal than his duty as a commander.Thanks to the strictness and assiduity of its commander theregiment, in comparison with others that had reached Braunau at thesame time, was in splendid condition. There were only 217 sick andstragglers. Everything was in good order except the boots.

　　Kutuzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a fewfriendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war,sometimes also to the soldiers. Looking at their boots he severaltimes shook his head sadly, pointing them out to the Austriangeneral with an expression which seemed to say that he was not blaminganyone, but could not help noticing what a bad state of things it was.The regimental commander ran forward on each such occasion, fearing tomiss a single word of the commander in chief's regarding the regiment.Behind Kutuzov, at a distance that allowed every softly spoken word tobe heard, followed some twenty men of his suite. These gentlementalked among themselves and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to thecommander in chief walked a handsome adjutant. This was PrinceBolkonski. Beside him was his comrade Nesvitski, a tall staff officer,extremely stout, with a kindly, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes.Nesvitski could hardly keep from laughter provoked by a swarthy hussarofficer who walked beside him. This hussar, with a grave face andwithout a smile or a change in the expression of his fixed eyes,watched the regimental commander's back and mimicked his everymovement. Each time the commander started and bent forward, the hussarstarted and bent forward in exactly the same manner. Nesvitski laughedand nudged the others to make them look at the wag.

　　Kutuzov walked slowly and languidly past thousands of eyes whichwere starting from their sockets to watch their chief. On reaching thethird company he suddenly stopped. His suite, not having expectedthis, involuntarily came closer to him.

　　"Ah, Timokhin!" said he, recognizing the red-nosed captain who hadbeen reprimanded on account of the blue greatcoat.

　　One would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himselfmore than Timokhin had done when he was reprimanded by theregimental commander, but now that the commander in chief addressedhim he drew himself up to such an extent that it seemed he could nothave sustained it had the commander in chief continued to look at him,and so Kutuzov, who evidently understood his case and wished himnothing but good, quickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smileflitting over his scarred and puffy face.

　　"Another Ismail comrade," said he. "A brave officer! Are yousatisfied with him?" he asked the regimental commander.

　　And the latter- unconscious that he was being reflected in thehussar officer as in a looking glass- started, moved forward, andanswered: "Highly satisfied, your excellency!"

　　"We all have our weaknesses," said Kutuzov smiling and walkingaway from him. "He used to have a predilection for Bacchus."

　　The regimental commander was afraid he might be blamed for thisand did not answer. The hussar at that moment noticed the face ofthe red-nosed captain and his drawn-in stomach, and mimicked hisexpression and pose with such exactitude that Nesvitski could not helplaughing. Kutuzov turned round. The officer evidently had completecontrol of his face, and while Kutuzov was turning managed to make agrimace and then assume a most serious, deferential, and innocentexpression.

　　The third company was the last, and Kutuzov pondered, apparentlytrying to recollect something. Prince Andrew stepped forward fromamong the suite and said in French:

　　"You told me to remind you of the officer Dolokhov, reduced to theranks in this regiment."

　　"Where is Dolokhov?" asked Kutuzov.

　　Dolokhov, who had already changed into a soldier's gray greatcoat,did not wait to be called. The shapely figure of the fair-hairedsoldier, 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?" Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.

　　"This is Dolokhov," said Prince Andrew.

　　"Ah!" said Kutuzov. "I hope this will be a lesson to you. Do yourduty. The Emperor is gracious, and I shan't forget you if youdeserve well."

　　The clear blue eyes looked at the commander in chief just asboldly as they had looked at the regimental commander, seeming bytheir expression to tear open the veil of convention that separatesa commander in chief so widely from a private.

　　"One thing I ask of your excellency," Dolokhov said in his firm,ringing, deliberate voice. "I ask an opportunity to atone for my faultand prove my devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!"

　　Kutuzov turned away. The same smile of the eyes with which he hadturned from Captain Timokhin again flitted over his face. He turnedaway with a grimace as if to say that everything Dolokhov had saidto him and everything he could say had long been known to him, that hewas weary of it and it was not at all what he wanted. He turned awayand went to the carriage.

　　The regiment broke up into companies, which went to theirappointed quarters near Braunau, where they hoped to receive boots andclothes and to rest after their hard marches.

　　"You won't bear me a grudge, Prokhor Ignatych?" said theregimental commander, overtaking the third company on its way to itsquarters and riding up to Captain Timokhin who was walking in front.(The regimental commander's face now that the inspection was happilyover beamed with irrepressible delight.) "It's in the Emperor'sservice... it can't be helped... one is sometimes a bit hasty onparade... I am the first to apologize, you know me!... He was verypleased!" And he held out his hand to the captain.

　　"Don't mention it, General, as if I'd be so bold!" replied thecaptain, his nose growing redder as he gave a smile which showed wheretwo front teeth were missing that had been knocked out by the butt endof a gun at Ismail.

　　"And tell Mr. Dolokhov that I won't forget him- he may be quiteeasy. And tell me, please- I've been meaning to ask- how is to ask-how is he behaving himself, and in general..."

　　"As far as the service goes he is quite punctilious, yourexcellency; but his character..." said Timokhin.

　　"And what about his character?" asked the regimental commander.

　　"It's different on different days," answered the captain. "One dayhe is sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next he's awild beast.... In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a Jew."

　　"Oh, well, well!" remarked the regimental commander. "Still, onemust have pity on a young man in misfortune. You know he has importantconnections... Well, then, you just..."

　　"I will, your excellency," said Timokhin, showing by his smilethat he understood his commander's wish.

　　"Well, of course, of course!"

　　The regimental commander sought out Dolokhov in the ranks and,reining in his horse, said to him:

　　"After the next affair... epaulettes."

　　Dolokhov looked round but did not say anything, nor did themocking smile on his lips change.

　　"Well, that's all right," continued the regimental commander. "A cupof vodka for the men from me," he added so that the soldiers couldhear. "I thank you all! God be praised!" and he rode past that companyand overtook the next one.

　　"Well, he's really a good fellow, one can serve under him," saidTimokhin to the subaltern beside him.

　　"In a word, a hearty one..." said the subaltern, laughing (theregimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts).

　　The cheerful mood of their officers after the inspection infectedthe soldiers. The company marched on gaily. The soldiers' voices couldbe heard on every side.

　　"And they said Kutuzov 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 weresmeared with chalk- as white as flour! I suppose they polish him up asthey do the guns."

　　"I say, Fedeshon!... Did he say when the battles are to begin? Youwere near him. Everybody said that Buonaparte himself was at Braunau."

　　"Buonaparte himself!... Just listen to the fool, what he doesn'tknow! The Prussians are up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, areputting them down. When they've been put down, the war with Buonapartewill 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 isturning into the village already... they will have their buckwheatcooked 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 fourmiles without eating."

　　"Wasn't it fine when those Germans gave us lifts! You just sit stilland are drawn along."

　　"And here, friend, the people are quite beggarly. There they allseemed to be Poles- all under the Russian crown- but here they'reall regular Germans."

　　"Singers to the front " came the captain's order.

　　And from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. Adrummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, andflourishing his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers' song, commencingwith the words: "Morning dawned, the sun was rising," andconcluding: "On then, brothers, on to glory, led by FatherKamenski." This song had been composed in the Turkish campaign and nowbeing sung in Austria, the only change being that the words "FatherKamenski" were replaced by "Father Kutuzov."

　　Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his armsas if flinging something to the ground, the drummer- a lean,handsome soldier of forty- looked sternly at the singers and screwedup his eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed onhim, he raised both arms as if carefully lifting some invisible butprecious 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 castanetplayer, in spite of the burden of his equipment, rushed out to thefront and, walking backwards before the company, jerked hisshoulders 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, thecreaking of springs, and the tramp of horses' hoofs were heard.Kutuzov and his suite were returning to the town. The commander inchief made a sign that the men should continue to march at ease, andhe and all his suite showed pleasure at the sound of the singing andthe sight of the dancing soldier and the gay and smartly marching men.In the second file from the right flank, beside which the carriagepassed the company, a blue-eyed soldier involuntarily attractednotice. It was Dolokhov marching with particular grace and boldness intime to the song and looking at those driving past as if he pitied allwho were not at that moment marching with the company. The hussarcornet of Kutuzov's suite who had mimicked the regimental commander,fell back from the carriage and rode up to Dolokhov.

　　Hussar cornet Zherkov had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged tothe wild set led by Dolokhov. Zherkov had met Dolokhov abroad as aprivate and had not seen fit to recognize him. But now that Kutuzovhad spoken to the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with thecordiality of an old friend.

　　"My dear fellow, how are you?" said he through the singing, makinghis horse keep pace with the company.

　　"How am I?" Dolokhov answered coldly. "I am as you see."

　　The lively song gave a special flavor to the tone of free and easygaiety with which Zherkov spoke, and to the intentional coldness ofDolokhov's reply.

　　"And how do you get on with the officers?" inquired Zherkov.

　　"All right. They are good fellows. And how have you wriggled ontothe staff?"

　　"I was attached; I'm on duty."

　　Both were silent.

　　"She let the hawk fly upward from her wide right sleeve," went thesong, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness.Their conversation would probably have been different but for theeffect of that song.

　　"Is it true that Austrians have been beaten?" asked Dolokhov.

　　"The devil only knows! They say so."

　　"I'm glad," answered Dolokhov briefly and clearly, as the songdemanded.

　　"I say, come round some evening and we'll have a game of faro!" saidZherkov.

　　"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 getreinstated."

　　"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 thestaff..."

　　Dolokhov 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..."

　　Zherkov touched his horse with the spurs; it pranced excitedlyfrom foot to foot uncertain with which to start, then settled down,galloped past the company, and overtook the carriage, still keepingtime to the song.BK2|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　On returning from the review, Kutuzov took the Austrian general intohis private room and, calling his adjutant, asked for some papersrelating to the condition of the troops on their arrival, and theletters that had come from the Archduke Ferdinand, who was incommand of the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolkonski came into theroom with the required papers. Kutuzov and the Austrian member ofthe Hofkriegsrath were sitting at the table on which a plan was spreadout.

　　"Ah!..." said Kutuzov glancing at Bolkonski as if by thisexclamation he was asking the adjutant to wait, and he went on withthe conversation in French.

　　"All I can say, General," said he with a pleasant elegance ofexpression and intonation that obliged one to listen to eachdeliberately spoken word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listenedwith pleasure to his own voice. "All I can say, General, is that ifthe matter depended on my personal wishes, the will of His Majesty theEmperor Francis would have been fulfilled long ago. I should longago have joined the archduke. And believe me on my honour that to mepersonally it would be a pleasure to hand over the supreme commandof the army into the hands of a better informed and more skillfulgeneral- of whom Austria has so many- and to lay down all this heavyresponsibility. But circumstances are sometimes too strong for us,General."

　　And Kutuzov smiled in a way that seemed to say, "You are quite atliberty 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 wholepoint."

　　The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but had no option but toreply in the same tone.

　　"On the contrary," he said, in a querulous and angry tone thatcontrasted with his flattering words, "on the contrary, yourexcellency's participation in the common action is highly valued byHis Majesty; but we think the present delay is depriving thesplendid Russian troops and their commander of the laurels they havebeen accustomed to win in their battles," he concluded his evidentlyprearranged sentence.

　　Kutuzov bowed with the same smile.

　　"But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter withwhich His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imaginethat the Austrian troops, under the direction of so skillful aleader as General Mack, have by now already gained a decisivevictory and no longer need our aid," said Kutuzov.

　　The general frowned. Though there was no definite news of anAustrian defeat, there were many circumstances confirming theunfavorable rumors that were afloat, and so Kutuzov's suggestion of anAustrian victory sounded much like irony. But Kutuzov went onblandly smiling with the same expression, which seemed to say thathe had a right to suppose so. And, in fact, the last letter he hadreceived from Mack's army informed him of a victory and statedstrategically the position of the army was very favorable.

　　"Give me that letter," said Kutuzov turning to Prince Andrew."Please have a look at it"- and Kutuzov with an ironical smile aboutthe corners of his mouth read to the Austrian general the followingpassage, in German, from the Archduke Ferdinand's letter:

　　We have fully concentrated forces of nearly seventy thousand menwith 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 advantageof commanding both sides of the Danube, so that should the enemy notcross the Lech, we can cross the Danube, throw ourselves on his lineof communications, recross the river lower down, and frustrate hisintention should he try to direct his whole force against our faithfulally. We shall therefore confidently await the moment when theImperial Russian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, inconjunction with it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy thefate he deserves.

　　Kutuzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked atthe member of the Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively.

　　"But you know the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expectthe worst," said the Austrian general, evidently wishing to havedone with jests and to come to business. He involuntarily looked roundat the aide-de-camp.

　　"Excuse me, General," interrupted Kutuzov, also turning to PrinceAndrew. "Look here, my dear fellow, get from Kozlovski all the reportsfrom our scouts. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and here isone from His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are these," hesaid, handing him several papers, "make a neat memorandum in Frenchout of all this, showing all the news we have had of the movementsof the Austrian army, and then give it to his excellency."

　　Prince Andrew bowed his head in token of having understood fromthe first not only what had been said but also what Kutuzov would haveliked 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 hisface, in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left ofhis former affected languor and indolence. He now looked like a manwho has time to think of the impression he makes on others, but isoccupied with agreeable and interesting work. His face expressedmore satisfaction with himself and those around him, his smile andglance were brighter and more attractive.

　　Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him verykindly, promised not to forget him, distinguished him above theother adjutants, and had taken him to Vienna and given him the moreserious commissions. From Vienna Kutuzov wrote to his old comrade,Prince Andrew's father.

　　Your son bids fair to become an officer distinguished by hisindustry, firmness, and expedition. I consider myself fortunate tohave such a subordinate by me.

　　On Kutuzov's staff, among his fellow officers and in the armygenerally, Prince Andrew had, as he had had in Petersburg society, twoquite opposite reputations. Some, a minority, acknowledged him to bedifferent from themselves and from everyone else, expected greatthings of him, listened to him, admired, and imitated him, and withthem Prince Andrew was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority,disliked him and considered him conceited, cold, and disagreeable. Butamong these people Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so thatthey respected and even feared him.

　　Coming out of Kutuzov's room into the waiting room with the papersin his hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the aide-de-campon duty, Kozlovski, who was sitting at the window with a book.

　　"Well, Prince?" asked Kozlovski.

　　"I am ordered to write a memorandum explaining why we are notadvancing."

　　"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 theorder 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 Kutuzov?" said the newly arrived generalspeaking quickly with a harsh German accent, looking to both sides andadvancing straight toward the inner door.

　　"The commander in chief is engaged," said Kozlovski, going hurriedlyup to the unknown general and blocking his way to the door. "Whomshall I announce?"

　　The unknown general looked disdainfully down at Kozlovski, who wasrather short, as if surprised that anyone should not know him.

　　"The commander in chief is engaged," repeated Kozlovski calmly.

　　The general's face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled. Hetook out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore outthe leaf, gave it to Kozlovski, stepped quickly to the window, andthrew himself into a chair, gazing at those in the room as ifasking, "Why do they look at me?" Then he lifted his head, stretchedhis neck as if he intended to say something, but immediately, withaffected indifference, began to hum to himself, producing a queersound which immediately broke off. The door of the private room openedand Kutuzov appeared in the doorway. The general with the bandagedhead bent forward as though running away from some danger, and, makinglong, quick strides with his thin legs, went up to Kutuzov.

　　"Vous voyez le malheureux Mack," he uttered in a broken voice.

　　Kutuzov's face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectlyimmobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like awave and his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his headrespectfully, closed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room beforehim, and closed the door himself behind him.

　　The report which had been circulated that the Austrians had beenbeaten and that the whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to becorrect. Within half an hour adjutants had been sent in variousdirections with orders which showed that the Russian troops, who hadhitherto been inactive, would also soon have to meet the enemy.

　　Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chiefinterest lay in the general progress of the war. When he saw Mackand heard the details of his disaster he understood that half thecampaign was lost, understood all the difficulties of the Russianarmy's position, and vividly imagined what awaited it and the parthe would have to play. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at thethought of the humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week'stime he might, perhaps, see and take part in the first Russianencounter with the French since Suvorov met them. He feared thatBonaparte's genius might outweigh all the courage of the Russiantroops, and at the same time could not admit the idea of his herobeing disgraced.

　　Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went towardhis room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In thecorridor he met Nesvitski, with whom he shared a room, and the wagZherkov; they were as usual laughing.

　　"Why are you so glum?" asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew's paleface and glittering eyes.

　　"There's nothing to be gay about," answered Bolkonski.

　　Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvitski and Zherkov, there came towardthem from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austriangeneral who on Kutuzov's staff in charge of the provisioning of theRussian army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrivedthe previous evening. There was room enough in the wide corridor forthe generals to pass the three officers quite easily, but Zherkov,pushing Nesvitski aside with his arm, said in a breathless voice,

　　"They're coming!... they're coming!... Stand aside, make way, pleasemake way!"

　　The generals were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoidembarrassing attentions. On the face of the wag Zherkov there suddenlyappeared a stupid smile of glee which he seemed unable to suppress.

　　"Your excellency," said he in German, stepping forward andaddressing the Austrian general, "I have the honor to congratulateyou."

　　He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then withthe other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.

　　The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeingthe seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moment'sattention. 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, pointingwith 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!"

　　Nesvitski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, butBolkonski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look andturned to Zherkov. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance ofMack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before theRussian army found vent in anger at Zherkov's untimely jest.

　　"If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself," he saidsharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, "I can't preventyour doing so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool inmy presence, I will teach you to behave yourself."

　　Nesvitski and Zherkov were so surprised by this outburst that theygazed at Bolkonski silently with wide-open eyes.

　　"What's the matter? I only congratulated them," said Zherkov.

　　"I am not jesting with you; please be silent!" cried Bolkonski,and taking Nesvitski's arm he left Zherkov, who did not know what tosay.

　　"Come, what's the matter, old fellow?" said Nesvitski trying tosoothe him.

　　"What's the matter?" exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in hisexcitement. "Don't you understand that either we are officersserving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes andgrieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merelylackeys who care nothing for their master's business. Quarante millehommes massacres et l'armee de nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez lale mot pour rire,"* he said, as if strengthening his views by thisFrench sentence. "C' est bien pour un garcon de rein comme cetindividu dont vous avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas pourvous.*[2] Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himself in this way," headded in Russian- but pronouncing the word with a French accent-having noticed that Zherkov 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 whomyou have made a friend, but not for you, not for you."

　　He waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but heturned and went out of the corridor.BK2|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　The Pavlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. Thesquadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered inthe German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village wereassigned to cavalry-captain Denisov, the squadron commander, knownthroughout the whole cavalry division as Vaska Denisov. CadetRostov, ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, hadlived with the squadron commander.

　　On October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over thenews of Mack's defeat, the camp life of the officers of thissquadron was proceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been losing atcards all night, had not yet come home when Rostov rode back earlyin the morning from a foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadetuniform, with a jerk to his horse, rode up to the porch, swung his legover the saddle with a supple youthful movement, stood for a moment inthe stirrup as if loathe to part from his horse, and at last sprangdown and called to his orderly.

　　"Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend!" said he to the hussar who rushed upheadlong to the horse. "Walk him up and down, my dear fellow," hecontinued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodheartedyoung people show to everyone when they are happy.

　　"Yes, your excellency," answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing hishead.

　　"Mind, walk him up and down well!"

　　Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarenko hadalready thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horse'shead. It was evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and thatit paid to serve him. Rostov patted the horse's neck and then hisflank, and lingered for a moment.

　　"Splendid! What a horse he will be!" he thought with a smile, andholding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of theporch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchforkin hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and hisface immediately brightened on seeing Rostov. "Schon gut Morgen! Schongut Morgen!"* he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased togreet the young man.

　　*"A very good morning! A very good morning!"

　　"Schon fleissig?"* said Rostov with the same gay brotherly smilewhich did not leave his eager face. "Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen!Kaiser Alexander hoch!"*[2] said he, quoting words often repeated bythe German landlord.

　　*"Busy already?"

　　*[2] "Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians! Hurrahfor Emperor Alexander!"

　　The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, andwaving it above his head cried:

　　"Und die ganze Welt hoch!"*

　　*"And hurrah for the whole world!"

　　Rostov waved his cap above his head like the German and ctiedlaughing, "Und vivat die ganze Welt!" Though neither the Germancleaning his cowshed nor Rostov back with his platoon from foragingfor hay had any reason for rejoicing, they looked at each other withjoyful delight and brotherly love, wagged their heads in token oftheir mutual affection, and parted smiling, the German returning tohis cowshed and Rostov going to the cottage he occupied with Denisov.

　　"What about your master?" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's orderly,whom all the regiment knew for a rogue.

　　"Hasn't been in since the evening. Must have been losing,"answered Lavrushka. "I know by now, if he wins he comes back earlyto brag about it, but if he stays out till morning it means he'slost and will come back in a rage. Will you have coffee?"

　　"Yes, bring some."

　　Ten minutes later Lavrushka brought the coffee. "He's coming!"said he. "Now for trouble!" Rostov looked out of the window and sawDenisov coming home. Denisov was a small man with a red face,sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He worean unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases, and acrumpled shako on the back of his head. He came up to the porchgloomily, hanging his head.

　　"Lavwuska!" he shouted loudly and angrily, "take it off, blockhead!"

　　"Well, I am taking it off," replied Lavrushka's voice.

　　"Ah, you're up already," said Denisov, entering the room.

　　"Long ago," answered Rostov, "I have already been for the hay, andhave seen Fraulein Mathilde."

　　"Weally! And I've been losing, bwother. I lost yesterday like adamned fool!" cried Denisov, not pronouncing his r's. "Such illluck! 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 strongteeth, he began with stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up histhick 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 bothhands. "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 inhis fist, and tapped it on the floor, making the sparks fly, whilehe continued to shout.

　　"He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as one doublesit; gives the singles and snatches the doubles!"

　　He scattered the burning tobacco, smashed the pipe, and threw itaway. Then he remained silent for a while, and all at once lookedcheerfully with his glittering, black eyes at Rostov.

　　"If at least we had some women here; but there's nothing foh oneto do but dwink. If we could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, who'sthere?" he said, turning to the door as he heard a tread of heavyboots and the clinking of spurs that came to a stop, and arespectful cough.

　　"The squadron quartermaster!" said Lavrushka.

　　Denisov's face puckered still more.

　　"Wetched!" he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold init. "Wostov, deah fellow, just see how much there is left and shovethe purse undah the pillow," he said, and went out to thequartermaster.

　　Rostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and newcoins in separate piles, began counting them.

　　"Ah! Telyanin! How d'ye do? They plucked me last night," cameDenisov's voice from the next room.

　　"Where? At Bykov's, at the rat's... I knew it," replied a pipingvoice, and Lieutenant Telyanin, a small officer of the samesquadron, entered the room.

　　Rostov thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp littlehand which was offered him. Telyanin for some reason had beentransferred from the Guards just before this campaign. He behaved verywell in the regiment but was not liked; Rostov especially detested himand was unable to overcome or conceal his groundless antipathy tothe man.

　　"Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook behaving?" he asked. (Rookwas a young horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.)

　　The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight inthe 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 Rostov, though thehorse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth halfthat sum. "He's begun to go a little lame on the left foreleg," headded.

　　"The hoof's cracked! That's nothing. I'll teach you what to do andshow you what kind of rivet to use."

　　"Yes, please do," said Rostov.

　　"I'll show you, I'll show you! It's not a secret. And it's a horseyou'll thank me for."

　　"Then I'll have it brought round," said Rostov wishing to avoidTelyanin, and he went out to give the order.

　　In the passage Denisov, with a pipe, was squatting on thethreshold facing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeingRostov, Denisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulderwith his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frownedand gave a shudder of disgust.

　　"Ugh! I don't like that fellow"' he said, regardless of thequartermaster's presence.

　　Rostov shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: "Nor do I, butwhat's one to do?" and, having given his order, he returned toTelyanin.

　　Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov hadleft him, rubbing his small white hands.

　　"Well there certainly are disgusting people," thought Rostov as heentered.

　　"Have you told them to bring the horse?" asked Telyanin, gettingup and looking carelessly about him.

　　"I have."

　　"Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Denisov aboutyesterday's order. Have you got it, Denisov?"

　　"Not yet. But where are you off to?"

　　"I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse," said Telyanin.

　　They went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenantexplained how to rivet the hoof and went away to his own quarters.

　　When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage onthe table. Denisov was sitting there scratching with his pen on asheet of paper. He looked gloomily in Rostov's face and said: "I amwiting 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 towrite, told Rostov the contents of his letter.

　　"You see, my fwiend," he said, "we sleep when we don't love. Weare childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God,one is pua' as on the first day of cweation... Who's that now? Sendhim to the devil, I'm busy!" he shouted to Lavrushka, who went up tohim not in the least abashed.

　　"Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. It's thequartermaster for the money."

　　Denisov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped.

　　"Wetched business," he muttered to himself. "How much is left in thepuhse?" he asked, turning to Rostov.

　　"Seven new and three old imperials."

　　"Oh, it's wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, yousca'cwow? Call the quahtehmasteh," he shouted to Lavrushka.

　　"Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know," saidRostov, blushing.

　　"Don't like bowwowing from my own fellows, I don't," growledDenisov.

　　"But if you won't accept money from me like a comrade, you willoffend me. Really I have some," Rostov repeated.

　　"No, I tell you."

　　And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.

　　"Where have you put it, Wostov?"

　　"Under the lower pillow."

　　"It's not there."

　　Denisov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.

　　"That's a miwacle."

　　"Wait, haven't you dropped it?" said Rostov, picking up thepillows 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 youkept it under your head like a treasure," said Rostov. "I put itjust here. Where is it?" he asked, turning to Lavrushka.

　　"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 forgetit. Feel in your pockets."

　　"No, if I hadn't thought of it being a treasure," said Rostov,"but I remember putting it there."

　　Lavrushka turned all the bedding over, looked under the bed andunder the table, searched everywhere, and stood still in the middle ofthe room. Denisov silently watched Lavrushka's movements, and when thelatter threw up his arms in surprise saying it was nowhere to be foundDenisov glanced at Rostov.

　　"Wostov, you've not been playing schoolboy twicks..."

　　Rostov felt Denisov's gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, andinstantly dropped them again. All the blood which had seemed congestedsomewhere below his throat rushed to his face and eyes. He could notdraw breath.

　　"And there hasn't been anyone in the room except the lieutenantand yourselves. It must be here somewhere," said Lavrushka.

　　"Now then, you devil's puppet, look alive and hunt for it!"shouted Denisov, suddenly, turning purple and rushing at the manwith a threatening gesture. "If the purse isn't found I'll flog you,I'll flog you all."

　　Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning his coat, buckledon his saber, and put on his cap.

　　"I must have that purse, I tell you," shouted Denisov, shaking hisorderly by the shoulders and knocking him against the wall.

　　"Denisov, let him alone, I know who has taken it," said Rostov,going toward the door without raising his eyes. Denisov paused,thought a moment, and, evidently understanding what Rostov hintedat, seized his arm.

　　"Nonsense!" he cried, and the veins on his forehead and neck stoodout like cords. "You are mad, I tell you. I won't allow it. Thepurse is here! I'll flay this scoundwel alive, and it will be found."

　　"I know who has taken it," repeated Rostov in an unsteady voice, andwent to the door.

　　"And I tell you, don't you dahe to do it!" shouted Denisov,rushing at the cadet to restrain him.

　　But Rostov pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as thoughDenisov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on hisface.

　　"Do you understand what you're saying?" he said in a tremblingvoice. "There was no one else in the room except myself. So that if itis not so, then..."

　　He could not finish, and ran out of the room.

　　"Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody," were the last wordsRostov heard.

　　Rostov went to Telyanin's quarters.

　　"The master is not in, he's gone to headquarters," said Telyanin'sorderly. "Has something happened?" he added, surprised at thecadet's troubled face.

　　"No, nothing."

　　"You've only just missed him," said the orderly.

　　The headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, andRostov, without returning home, took a horse and rode there. There wasan inn in the village which the officers frequented. Rostov rode up toit and saw Telyanin's horse at the porch.

　　In the second room of the inn the lieutenant was sitting over a dishof sausages and a bottle of wine.

　　"Ah, you've come here too, young man!" he said, smiling andraising his eyebrows.

　　"Yes," said Rostov 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 inthe room. No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatter ofknives and the munching of the lieutenant.

　　When Telyanin had finished his lunch he took out of his pocket adouble purse and, drawing its rings aside with his small, white,turned-up fingers, drew out a gold imperial, and lifting hiseyebrows gave it to the waiter.

　　"Please be quick," he said.

　　The coin was a new one. Rostov rose and went up to Telyanin.

　　"Allow me to look at your purse," he said in a low, almostinaudible, voice.

　　With shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin handed himthe purse.

　　"Yes, it's a nice purse. Yes, yes," he said, growing suddenlypale, and added, "Look at it, young man."

　　Rostov took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money init, and looked at Telyanin. The lieutenant was looking about in hisusual way and suddenly seemed to grow very merry.

　　"If we get to Vienna I'll get rid of it there but in thesewretched little towns there's nowhere to spend it," said he. "Well,let me have it, young man, I'm going."

　　Rostov did not speak.

　　"And you? Are you going to have lunch too? They feed you quitedecently here," continued Telyanin. "Now then, let me have it."

　　He stretched out his hand to take hold of the purse. Rostov let goof it. Telyanin took the purse and began carelessly slipping it intothe pocket of his riding breeches, with his eyebrows lifted and hismouth slightly open, as if to say, "Yes, yes, I am putting my purse inmy pocket and that's quite simple and is no else's business."

　　"Well, young man?" he said with a sigh, and from under his liftedbrows he glanced into Rostov's eyes.

　　Some flash as of an electric spark shot from Telyanin's eyes toRostov's and back, and back again and again in an instant.

　　"Come here," said Rostov, catching hold of Telyanin's arm and almostdragging him to the window. "That money is Denisov's; you tookit..." he whispered just above Telyanin's ear.

　　"What? What? How dare you? What?" said Telyanin.

　　But these words came like a piteous, despairing cry and anentreaty for pardon. As soon as Rostov heard them, an enormous load ofdoubt fell from him. He was glad, and at the same instant began topity the miserable man who stood before him, but the task he had begunhad to be completed.

　　"Heaven only knows what the people here may imagine," mutteredTelyanin, taking up his cap and moving toward a small empty room."We must have an explanation..."

　　"I know it and shall prove it," said Rostov.

　　"I..."

　　Every muscle of Telyanin's pale, terrified face began to quiver, hiseyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look notrising to Rostov'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 andmother!..."

　　Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and went out of theroom without a word. But at the door he stopped and then retracedhis steps. "O God," he said with tears in his eyes, "how could youdo it?"

　　"Count..." said Telyanin drawing nearer to him.

　　"Don't touch me," said Rostov, drawing back. "If you need it, takethe money," and he threw the purse to him and ran out of the inn.BK2|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　That same evening there was an animated discussion among thesquadron's officers in Denisov's quarters.

　　"And I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologize to the colonel!"said a tall, grizzly-haired staff captain, with enormous mustaches andmany wrinkles on his large features, to Rostov who was crimson withexcitement.

　　The staff captain, Kirsten, had twice been reduced to the ranksfor affairs of honor and had twice regained his commission.

　　"I will allow no one to call me a liar!" cried Rostov. "He told me Ilied, and I told him he lied. And there it rests. He may keep me onduty every day, or may place me under arrest, but no one can make meapologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, thinks itbeneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then..."

　　"You just wait a moment, my dear fellow, and listen," interruptedthe staff captain in his deep bass, calmly stroking his long mustache."You tell the colonel in the presence of other officers that anofficer has stolen..."

　　"I'm not to blame that the conversation began in the presence ofother officers. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken before them, butI am not a diplomatist. That's why I joined the hussars, thinking thathere one would not need finesse; and he tells me that I am lying- solet him give me satisfaction..."

　　"That's all right. No one thinks you a coward, but that's not thepoint. Ask Denisov whether it is not out of the question for a cadetto demand satisfaction of his regimental commander?"

　　Denisov sat gloomily biting his mustache and listening to theconversation, evidently with no wish to take part in it. He answeredthe staff captain's question by a disapproving shake of his head.

　　"You speak to the colonel about this nasty business before otherofficers," continued the staff captain, "and Bogdanich" (the colonelwas called Bogdanich) "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 andmust apologize."

　　"Not on any account!" exclaimed Rostov.

　　"I did not expect this of you," said the staff captain seriously andseverely. "You don't wish to apologize, but, man, it's not only to himbut to the whole regiment- all of us- you're to blame all round. Thecase is this: you ought to have thought the matter over and takenadvice; but no, you go and blurt it all straight out before theofficers. Now what was the colonel to do? Have the officer tried anddisgrace the whole regiment? Disgrace the whole regiment because ofone scoundrel? Is that how you look at it? We don't see it likethat. And Bogdanich was a brick: he told you you were saying whatwas not true. It's not pleasant, but what's to be done, my dearfellow? You landed yourself in it. And now, when one wants to smooththe thing over, some conceit prevents your apologizing, and you wishto make the whole affair public. You are offended at being put on dutya bit, but why not apologize to an old and honorable officer? WhateverBogdanich may be, anyway he is an honorable and brave old colonel!You're quick at taking offense, but you don't mind disgracing thewhole regiment!" The staff captain's voice began to tremble. "You havebeen in the regiment next to no time, my lad, you're here today andtomorrow you'll be appointed adjutant somewhere and can snap yourfingers when it is said 'There are thieves among the Pavlogradofficers!' But it's not all the same to us! Am I not right, Denisov?It's not the same!"

　　Denisov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally lookedwith his glittering black eyes at Rostov.

　　"You value your own pride and don't wish to apologize," continuedthe 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 ofthe regiment, and Bogdanich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, oldfellow! And all this is not right, it's not right! You may takeoffense or not but I always stick to mother truth. It's not right!"

　　And the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostov.

　　"That's twue, devil take it" shouted Denisov, jumping up. "Now then,Wostov, now then!"

　　Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at oneofficer 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 ofthe regiment I'd... Ah well, I'll show that in action, and for methe 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, turninground and clapping Rostov on the shoulder with his big hand.

　　"I tell you," shouted Denisov, "he's a fine fellow."

　　"That's better, Count," said the staff captain, beginning to addressRostov by his title, as if in recognition of his confession. "Go andapologize, your excellency. Yes, go!"

　　"Gentlemen, I'll do anything. No one shall hear a word from me,"said Rostov in an imploring voice, "but I can't apologize, by God Ican't, do what you will! How can I go and apologize like a littleboy asking forgiveness?"

　　Denisov began to laugh.

　　"It'll be worse for you. Bogdanich is vindictive and you'll payfor your obstinacy," said Kirsten.

　　"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 hasbecome of that scoundrel?" he asked Denisov.

　　"He has weported himself sick, he's to be stwuck off the listtomowwow," muttered Denisov.

　　"It is an illness, there's no other way of explaining it," saidthe staff captain.

　　"Illness or not, he'd better not cwoss my path. I'd kill him!"shouted Denisov in a bloodthirsty tone.

　　Just then Zherkov 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 hiswhole 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 howdid 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 onMack's arrival... What's the matter, Rostov? You look as if you'd justcome 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 byZherkov. They were under orders to advance next day.

　　"We're going into action, gentlemen!"

　　"Well, thank God! We've been sitting here too long!"BK2|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Kutuzov fell back toward Vienna, destroying behind him the bridgesover the rivers Inn (at Braunau) and Traun (near Linz). On October23 the Russian troops were crossing the river Enns. At midday theRussian baggage train, the artillery, and columns of troops weredefiling through the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge.

　　It was a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide expanse that opened outbefore the heights on which the Russian batteries stood guarding thebridge was at times veiled by a diaphanous curtain of slanting rain,and then, suddenly spread out in the sunlight, far-distant objectscould be clearly seen glittering as though freshly varnished. Downbelow, the little town could be seen with its white, red-roofedhouses, its cathedral, and its bridge, on both sides of which streamedjostling masses of Russian troops. At the bend of the Danube, vessels,an island, and a castle with a park surrounded by the waters of theconfluence of the Enns and the Danube became visible, and the rockyleft bank of the Danube covered with pine forests, with a mysticbackground of green treetops and bluish gorges. The turrets of aconvent stood out beyond a wild virgin pine forest, and far away onthe other side of the Enns the enemy's horse patrols could bediscerned.

　　Among the field guns on the brow of the hill the general incommand of the rearguard stood with a staff officer, scanning thecountry through his fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvitski, whohad been sent to the rearguard by the commander in chief, wassitting on the trail of a gun carriage. A Cossack who accompaniedhim had handed him a knapsack and a flask, and Nesvitski wastreating some officers to pies and real doppelkummel. The officersgladly gathered round him, some on their knees, some squatting Turkishfashion on the wet grass.

　　"Yes, the Austrian prince who built that castle was no fool. It'sa fine place! Why are you not eating anything, gentlemen?" Nesvitskiwas saying.

　　"Thank you very much, Prince," answered one of the officers, pleasedto be talking to a staff officer of such importance. "It's a lovelyplace! We passed close to the park and saw two deer... and what asplendid house!"

　　"Look, Prince," said another, who would have dearly liked to takeanother pie but felt shy, and therefore pretended to be examiningthe countryside- "See, our infantrymen have already got there. Lookthere in the meadow behind the village, three of them are draggingsomething. They'll ransack that castle," he remarked with evidentapproval.

　　"So they will," said Nesvitski. "No, but what I should like,"added he, munching a pie in his moist-lipped handsome mouth, "would beto slip in over there."

　　He pointed with a smile to a turreted nunnery, and his eyes narrowedand gleamed.

　　"That would be fine, gentlemen!"

　　The officers laughed.

　　"Just to flutter the nuns a bit. They say there are Italian girlsamong 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 outsomething to the general, who looked through his field glass.

　　"Yes, so it is, so it is," said the general angrily, lowering thefield glass and shrugging his shoulders, "so it is! They'll be firedon at the crossing. And why are they dawdling there?"

　　On the opposite side the enemy could be seen by the naked eye, andfrom their battery a milk-white cloud arose. Then came the distantreport of a shot, and our troops could be seen hurrying to thecrossing.

　　Nesvitski 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 Nesvitski.

　　"Yes, please do," answered the general, and he repeated the orderthat had already once been given in detail: "and tell the hussars thatthey are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I ordered; and theinflammable material on the bridge must be reinspected."

　　"Very good," answered Nesvitski.

　　He called the Cossack with his horse, told him to put away theknapsack and flask, and swung his heavy person easily into the saddle.

　　"I'll really call in on the nuns," he said to the officers whowatched him smilingly, and he rode off by the winding path down thehill.

　　"Now then, let's see how far it will carry, Captain. Just try!" saidthe general, turning to an artillery officer. "Have a little fun topass the time."

　　"Crew, to your guns!" commanded the officer.

　　In a moment the men came running gaily from their campfires andbegan loading.

　　"One!" came the command.

　　Number one jumped briskly aside. The gun rang out with a deafeningmetallic roar, and a whistling grenade flew above the heads of ourtroops below the hill and fell far short of the enemy, a littlesmoke showing the spot where it burst.

　　The faces of officers and men brightened up at the sound. Everyonegot up and began watching the movements of our troops below, asplainly visible as if but a stone's throw away, and the movements ofthe approaching enemy farther off. At the same instant the sun camefully out from behind the clouds, and the clear sound of thesolitary shot and the brilliance of the bright sunshine merged in asingle joyous and spirited impression.BK2|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Two of the enemy's shots had already flown across the bridge,where there was a crush. Halfway across stood Prince Nesvitski, whohad alighted from his horse and whose big body was body was jammedagainst the railings. He looked back laughing to the Cossack who stooda few steps behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Eachtime Prince Nesvitski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushedhim back again and pressed him against the railings, and all hecould do was to smile.

　　"What a fine fellow you are, friend!" said the Cossack to a convoysoldier with a wagon, who was pressing onto the infantrymen who werecrowded 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 shoutedat the soldiers who were blocking his way. "Hi there, boys! Keep tothe left! Wait a bit." But the soldiers, crowded together shoulderto shoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in adense mass. Looking down over the rails Prince Nesvitski saw therapid, noisy little waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddyinground the piles of the bridge chased each other along. Looking onthe bridge he saw equally uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulderstraps, covered shakos, knapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and,under the shakos, faces with broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, andlistless tired expressions, and feet that moved through the sticky mudthat covered the planks of the bridge. Sometimes through themonotonous waves of men, like a fleck of white foam on the waves ofthe Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with a type of face differentfrom that of the men, squeezed his way along; sometimes like a chip ofwood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot, an orderly, or atownsman was carried through the waves of infantry; and sometimes likea log floating down the river, an officers' or company's baggagewagon, 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. "Arethere 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 toscratch yourself."

　　That soldier passed on, and after him came another sitting on acart.

　　"Where the devil have the leg bands been shoved to?" said anorderly, running behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it.

　　And he also passed on with the wagon. Then came some merrysoldiers who had evidently been drinking.

　　"And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the buttend of his gun..." a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up saidgaily, with a wide swing of his arm.

　　"Yes, the ham was just delicious..." answered another with a loudlaugh. And they, too, passed on, so that Nesvitski did not learn whohad 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'llall be killed," a sergeant was saying angrily and reproachfully.

　　"As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean," said a youngsoldier with an enormous mouth, hardly refraining from laughing, "Ifelt like dying of fright. I did, 'pon my word, I got thatfrightened!" said he, as if bragging of having been frightened.

　　That one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any that hadgone before. It was a German cart with a pair of horses led by aGerman, and seemed loaded with a whole houseful of effects. A finebrindled cow with a large udder was attached to the cart behind. Awoman with an unweaned baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girlwith bright red cheeks were sitting on some feather beds. Evidentlythese fugitives were allowed to pass by special permission. The eyesof all the soldiers turned toward the women, and while the vehicle waspassing at foot pace all the soldiers' remarks related to the twoyoung ones. Every face bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemlythoughts 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 downcasteyes.

　　"See how smart she's made herself! Oh, the devils!"

　　"There, Fedotov, 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 anapple, 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. Nesvitski like the rest of the men onthe bridge did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed.When they had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, withthe same kind of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens,the horses of a convoy wagon became restive at the end of thebridge, and the whole crowd had to wait.

　　"And why are they stopping? There's no proper order!" said thesoldiers. "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 jammedin too"- different voices were saying in the crowd, as the menlooked at one another, and all pressed toward the exit from thebridge.

　　Looking down at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvitskisuddenly 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. Nesvitski realized that it was a cannonball.

　　"Hey, Cossack, my horse!" he said. "Now, then, you there! get out ofthe way! Make way!"

　　With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shoutingcontinually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to makeway for him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, andthose nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressedstill harder from behind.

　　"Nesvitski, Nesvitski! you numskull!" came a hoarse voice frombehind him.

　　Nesvitski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away butseparated by the living mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denisov, redand shaggy, with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloakhanging jauntily over his shoulder.

　　"Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!" shouted Denisovevidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshotwhites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in asmall bare hand as red as his face.

　　"Ah, Vaska!" joyfully replied Nesvitski. "What's up with you?"

　　"The squadwon can't pass," shouted Vaska Denisov, showing hiswhite teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, whichtwitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurtingwhite foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with hishoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had his riderlet him. "What is this? They're like sheep! Just like sheep! Out ofthe way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart!I'll hack you with my saber!" he shouted, actually drawing his saberfrom its scabbard and flourishing it

　　The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, andDenisov joined Nesvitski.

　　"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when the other hadridden up to him.

　　"They don't even give one time to dwink!" answered Vaska Denisov."They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they mean tofight, let's fight. But the devil knows what this is."

　　"What a dandy you are today!" said Nesvitski, looking at Denisov'snew cloak and saddlecloth.

　　Denisov smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief thatdiffused a smell of perfume, and put it to Nesvitski's nose.

　　"Of course. I'm going into action! I've shaved, bwushed my teeth,and scented myself."

　　The imposing figure of Nesvitski followed by his Cossack, and thedetermination of Denisov who flourished his sword and shoutedfrantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze throughto the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside thebridge Nesvitski found the colonel to whom he had to deliver theorder, and having done this he rode back.

　　Having cleared the way Denisov stopped at the end of the bridge.Carelessly holding in his stallion that was neighing and pawing theground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched his squadron drawnearer. Then the clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping,resounded on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers infront and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and began toemerge on his side of it.

　　The infantry who had been stopped crowded near the bridge in thetrampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will,estrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usuallyencounter one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved pastthem in regular order.

　　"Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!" said one.

　　"What good are they? They're led about just for show!" remarkedanother.

　　"Don't kick up the dust, you infantry!" jested an hussar whoseprancing horse had splashed mud over some foot soldiers.

　　"I'd like to put you on a two days' march with a knapsack! Your finecords would soon get a bit rubbed," said an infantryman, wiping themud off his face with his sleeve. "Perched up there, you're morelike a bird than a man."

　　"There now, Zikin, they ought to put you on a horse. You'd lookfine," said a corporal, chaffing a thin little soldier who bentunder the weight of his knapsack.

　　"Take a stick between your legs, that'll suit you for a horse!"the hussar shouted back.BK2|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　The last of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezingtogether as they approached it as if passing through a funnel. At lastthe baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was less, and the lastbattalion came onto the bridge. Only Denisov's squadron of hussarsremained on the farther side of the bridge facing the enemy, who couldbe seen from the hill on the opposite bank but was not yet visiblefrom the bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley through whichthe river flowed was formed by the rising ground only half a mileaway. At the foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few groups ofour Cossack scouts were moving. Suddenly on the road at the top of thehigh ground, artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen. Thesewere the French. A group of Cossack scouts retired down the hill ata trot. All the officers and men of Denisov's squadron, though theytried to talk of other things and to look in other directions, thoughtonly of what was there on the hilltop, and kept constantly lookingat the patches appearing on the skyline, which they knew to be theenemy's troops. The weather had cleared again since noon and the sunwas descending brightly upon the Danube and the dark hills aroundit. It was calm, and at intervals the bugle calls and the shouts ofthe enemy could be heard from the hill. There was no one now betweenthe squadron and the enemy except a few scattered skirmishers. Anempty 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 themore clearly felt.

　　"One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the linedividing the living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, anddeath. And what is there? Who is there?- there beyond that field, thattree, that roof lit up by the sun? No one knows, but one wants toknow. You fear and yet long to cross that line, and know that sooneror later it must be crossed and you will have to find out what isthere, just as you will inevitably have to learn what lies the otherside of death. But you are strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, andare surrounded by other such excitedly animated and healthy men." Sothinks, or at any rate feels, anyone who comes in sight of theenemy, and that feeling gives a particular glamour and glad keennessof impression to everything that takes place at such moments.

　　On the high ground where the enemy was, the smoke of a cannonrose, and a ball flew whistling over the heads of the hussar squadron.The officers who had been standing together rode off to theirplaces. The hussars began carefully aligning their horses. Silencefell on the whole squadron. All were looking at the enemy in front andat the squadron commander, awaiting the word of command. A secondand a third cannon ball flew past. Evidently they were firing at thehussars, but the balls with rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the headsof the horsemen and fell somewhere beyond them. The hussars did notlook round, but at the sound of each shot, as at the word ofcommand, the whole squadron with its rows of faces so alike yet sodifferent, holding its breath while the ball flew past, rose in thestirrups and sank back again. The soldiers without turning their headsglanced at one another, curious to see their comrades' impression.Every face, from Denisov's to that of the bugler, showed one commonexpression of conflict, irritation, and excitement, around chin andmouth. The quartermaster frowned, looking at the soldiers as ifthreatening to punish them. Cadet Mironov ducked every time a ballflew past. Rostov on the left flank, mounted on his Rook- a handsomehorse despite its game leg- had the happy air of a schoolboy called upbefore a large audience for an examination in which he feels sure hewill distinguish himself. He was glancing at everyone with a clear,bright expression, as if asking them to notice how calmly he sat underfire. But despite himself, on his face too that same indication ofsomething new and stern showed round the mouth.

　　"Who's that curtseying there? Cadet Miwonov! That's not wight!Look at me," cried Denisov who, unable to keep still on one spot, keptturning his horse in front of the squadron.

　　The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vaska Denisov, and his wholeshort sturdy figure with the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers inwhich he held the hilt of his naked saber, looked just as it usuallydid, especially toward evening when he had emptied his secondbottle; he was only redder than usual. With his shaggy head thrownback like birds when they drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly intothe sides of his good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as though fallingbackwards in the saddle, he galloped to the other flank of thesquadron and shouted in a hoarse voice to the men to look to theirpistols. He rode up to Kirsten. The staff captain on his broad-backed,steady mare came at a walk to meet him. His face with its longmustache was serious as always, only his eyes were brighter thanusual.

　　"Well, what about it?" said he to Denisov. "It won't come to afight. You'll see- we shall retire."

　　"The devil only knows what they're about!" muttered Denisov. "Ah,Wostov," he cried noticing the cadet's bright face, "you've got itat last."

　　And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased with the cadet.Rostov felt perfectly happy. Just then the commander appeared on thebridge. Denisov 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 hisface as if driving off a troublesome fly. "And why are you stoppinghere? Don't you see the skirmishers are retreating? Lead thesquadron back."

　　The squadron crossed the bridge and drew out of range of firewithout having lost a single man. The second squadron that had been inthe front line followed them across and the last Cossacks quittedthe farther side of the river.

　　The two Pavlograd squadrons, having crossed the bridge, retired upthe hill one after the other. Their colonel, Karl BogdanichSchubert, came up to Denisov's squadron and rode at a footpace not farfrom Rostov, without taking any notice of him although they were nowmeeting for the first time since their encounter concerningTelyanin. Rostov, feeling that he was at the front and in the power ofa man toward whom he now admitted that he had been to blame, did notlift his eyes from the colonel's athletic back, his nape coveredwith light hair, and his red neck. It seemed to Rostov thatBogdanich was only pretending not to notice him, and that his wholeaim now was to test the cadet's courage, so he drew himself up andlooked around him merrily; then it seemed to him that Bogdanich rodeso near in order to show him his courage. Next he thought that hisenemy would send the squadron on a desperate attack just to punishhim- Rostov. Then he imagined how, after the attack, Bogdanich wouldcome up to him as he lay wounded and would magnanimously extend thehand of reconciliation.

　　The high-shouldered figure of Zherkov, familiar to the Pavlograds ashe had but recently left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. Afterhis dismissal from headquarters Zherkov had not remained in theregiment, saying he was not such a fool as to slave at the frontwhen he could get more rewards by doing nothing on the staff, andhad succeeded in attaching himself as an orderly officer to PrinceBagration. He now came to his former chief with an order from thecommander of the rear guard.

　　"Colonel," he said, addressing Rostov's enemy with an air ofgloomy gravity and glancing round at his comrades, "there is anorder 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 serioustone, "but the prince told me to 'go and tell the colonel that thehussars must return quickly and fire the bridge.'"

　　Zherkov was followed by an officer of the suite who rode up to thecolonel of hussars with the same order. After him the stoutNesvitski came galloping up on a Cossack horse that could scarcelycarry his weight.

　　"How's this, Colonel?" he shouted as he approached. "I told you tofire the bridge, and now someone has gone and blundered; they areall beside themselves over there and one can't make anything out."

　　The colonel deliberately stopped the regiment and turned toNesvitski.

　　"You spoke to me of inflammable material," said he, "but you saidnothing about firing it."

　　"But, my dear sir," said Nesvitski as he drew up, taking off his capand smoothing his hair wet with perspiration with his plump hand,"wasn't I telling you to fire the bridge, when inflammable materialhad been put in position?"

　　"I am not your 'dear sir,' Mr. Staff Officer, and you did not tellme to burn the bridge! I know the service, and it is my habit ordersstrictly to obey. You said the bridge would be burned, but who wouldit burn, I could not know by the holy spirit!"

　　"Ah, that's always the way!" said Nesvitski with a wave of the hand."How did you get here?" said he, turning to Zherkov.

　　"On the same business. But you are damp! Let me wring you out!"

　　"You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer..." continued the colonel inan offended tone.

　　"Colonel," interrupted the officer of the suite, "You must bequick or the enemy will bring up his guns to use grapeshot."

　　The colonel looked silently at the officer of the suite, at thestout staff officer, and at Zherkov, and he frowned.

　　"I will the bridge fire," he said in a solemn tone as if to announcethat in spite of all the unpleasantness he had to endure he wouldstill do the right thing.

　　Striking his horse with his long muscular legs as if it were toblame for everything, the colonel moved forward and ordered the secondsquadron, that in which Rostov was serving under Denisov, to return tothe bridge.

　　"There, it's just as I thought," said Rostov to himself. "Hewishes to test me!" His heart contracted and the blood rushed to hisface. "Let him see whether I am a coward!" he thought.

　　Again on all the bright faces of the squadron the serious expressionappeared that they had worn when under fire. Rostov watched his enemy,the colonel, closely- to find in his face confirmation of his ownconjecture, but the colonel did not once glance at Rostov, andlooked as he always did when at the front, solemn and stern. Then camethe word of command.

　　"Look sharp! Look sharp!" several voices repeated around him.

　　Their sabers catching in the bridles and their spurs jingling, thehussars hastily dismounted, not knowing what they were to do. Themen were crossing themselves. Rostov no longer looked at thecolonel, he had no time. He was afraid of falling behind thehussars, so much afraid that his heart stood still. His handtrembled as he gave his horse into an orderly's charge, and he feltthe blood rush to his heart with a thud. Denisov rode past him,leaning back and shouting something. Rostov saw nothing but thehussars running all around him, their spurs catching and theirsabers clattering.

　　"Stretchers!" shouted someone behind him.

　　Rostov 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, notlooking 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 atriumphant, cheerful face.

　　Rostov wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemyand was about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to thefront the better. But Bogdanich, without looking at or recognizingRostov, 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 Denisov, 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 Vaska Denisov, turningin his saddle.

　　Meanwhile Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite werestanding together out of range of the shots, watching, now the smallgroup of men with yellow shakos, dark-green jackets braided with cord,and blue riding breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, andthen at what was approaching in the distance from the opposite side-the blue uniforms and groups with horses, easily recognizable asartillery.

　　"Will they burn the bridge or not? Who'll get there first? Will theyget there and fire the bridge or will the French get withingrapeshot range and wipe them out?" These were the questions eachman of the troops on the high ground above the bridge involuntarilyasked himself with a sinking heart- watching the bridge and thehussars in the bright evening light and the blue tunics advancing fromthe other side with their bayonets and guns.

　　"Ugh. The hussars will get it hot!" said Nesvitski; "they are withingrapeshot range now."

　　"He shouldn't have taken so many men," said the officer of thesuite.

　　"True enough," answered Nesvitski; "two smart fellows could havedone the job just as well."

　　"Ah, your excellency," put in Zherkov, his eyes fixed on thehussars, but still with that naive air that made it impossible to knowwhether 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 theVladimir 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 Bogdanich 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 beingdetached and hurriedly removed.

　　On the French side, amid the groups with cannon, a cloud of smokeappeared, then a second and a third almost simultaneously, and atthe moment when the first report was heard a fourth was seen. Then tworeports one after another, and a third.

　　"Oh! Oh!" groaned Nesvitski as if in fierce pain, seizing theofficer 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 Nesvitski, turningaway.

　　The French guns were hastily reloaded. The infantry in their blueuniforms advanced toward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared again butat irregular intervals, and grapeshot cracked and rattled onto thebridge. But this time Nesvitski could not see what was happeningthere, as a dense cloud of smoke arose from it. The hussars hadsucceeded in setting it on fire and the French batteries were nowfiring at them, no longer to hinder them but because the guns weretrained and there was someone to fire at.

　　The French had time to fire three rounds of grapeshot before thehussars got back to their horses. Two were misdirected and the shotwent too high, but the last round fell in the midst of a group ofhussars and knocked three of them over.

　　Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused onthe bridge not knowing what to do. There was no one to hew down (as hehad always imagined battles to himself), nor could he help to fire thebridge because he had not brought any burning straw with him likethe other soldiers. He stood looking about him, when suddenly he hearda rattle on the bridge as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussarnearest to him fell against the rails with a groan. Rostov ran up tohim with the others. Again someone shouted, "Stretchers!" Four menseized the hussar and began lifting him.

　　"Oooh! For Christ's sake let me alone!" cried the wounded man, butstill he was lifted and laid on the stretcher.

　　Nicholas Rostov 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 whatsoft glitter the waters of the distant Danube shone. And fairerstill were the faraway blue mountains beyond the river, the nunnery,the mysterious gorges, and the pine forests veiled in the mist oftheir summits... There was peace and happiness... "I should wishingfor nothing else, nothing, if only I were there," thought Rostov."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 backsomewhere, and I shall run with them, and it, death, is here aboveme and around... Another instant and I shall never again see thesun, this water, that gorge!..."

　　At that instant the sun began to hide behind the clouds, and otherstretchers came into view before Rostov. And the fear of death andof the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged intoone feeling of sickening agitation.

　　"O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, save, forgive, and protectme!" Rostov whispered.

　　The hussars ran back to the men who held their horses; theirvoices sounded louder and calmer, the stretchers disappeared fromsight.

　　"Well, fwiend? So you've smelt powdah!" shouted Vaska Denisov justabove his ear.

　　"It's all over; but I am a coward- yes, a coward!" thought Rostov,and sighing deeply he took Rook, his horse, which stood resting onefoot, from the orderly and began to mount.

　　"Was that grapeshot?" he asked Denisov.

　　"Yes and no mistake!" cried Denisov. "You worked like wegular bwicksand it's nasty work! An attack's pleasant work! Hacking away at thedogs! But this sort of thing is the very devil, with them shootingat you like a target."

　　And Denisov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostov,composed of the colonel, Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer fromthe suite.

　　"Well, it seems that no one has noticed," thought Rostov. And thiswas true. No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensationwhich the cadet under fire for the first time had experienced.

　　"Here's something for you to report," said Zherkov. "See if Idon't get promoted to a sublieutenancy."

　　"Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!" said the coloneltriumphantly and gaily.

　　"And if he asks about the losses?"

　　"A trifle," said the colonel in his bass voice: "two hussarswounded, and one knocked out," he added, unable to restrain a happysmile, and pronouncing the phrase "knocked out" with ringingdistinctness.BK2|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Pursued by the French army of a hundred thousand men under thecommand of Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriendly toit, losing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness ofsupplies, and compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anythingthat had been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand mencommanded by Kutuzov was hurriedly retreating along the Danube,stopping where overtaken by the enemy and fighting rearguard actionsonly as far as necessary to enable it to retreat without losing itsheavy equipment. There had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, andMelk; but despite the courage and endurance- acknowledged even bythe enemy- with which the Russians fought, the only consequence ofthese actions was a yet more rapid retreat. Austrian troops that hadescaped capture at Ulm and had joined Kutuzov at Braunau now separatedfrom the Russian army, and Kutuzov was left with only his own weak andexhausted forces. The defense of Vienna was no longer to be thoughtof. Instead of an offensive, the plan of which, carefully preparedin accord with the modern science of strategics, had been handed toKutuzov when he was in Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, thesole and almost unattainable aim remaining for him was to effect ajunction with the forces that were advancing from Russia, withoutlosing his army as Mack had done at Ulm.

　　On the twenty-eighth of October Kutuzov with his army crossed to theleft bank of the Danube and took up a position for the first time withthe river between himself and the main body of the French. On thethirtieth he attacked Mortier's division, which was on the leftbank, and broke it up. In this action for the first time trophies weretaken: banners, cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first time,after a fortnight's retreat, the Russian troops had halted and after afight had not only held the field but had repulsed the French.Though the troops were ill-clad, exhausted, and had lost a third oftheir number in killed, wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a numberof sick and wounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danubewith a letter in which Kutuzov entrusted them to the humanity of theenemy; and though the big hospitals and the houses in Kremsconverted into military hospitals could no longer accommodate allthe sick and wounded, yet the stand made at Krems and the victory overMortier raised the spirits of the army considerably. Throughout thewhole army and at headquarters most joyful though erroneous rumorswere rife of the imaginary approach of columns from Russia, of somevictory gained by the Austrians, and of the retreat of thefrightened Bonaparte.

　　Prince Andrew during the battle had been in attendance on theAustrian General Schmidt, who was killed in the action. His horsehad been wounded under him and his own arm slightly grazed by abullet. As a mark of the commander in chief's special favor he wassent with the news of this victory to the Austrian court, now nolonger at Vienna (which was threatened by the French) but at Brunn.Despite his apparently delicate build Prince Andrew could endurephysical fatigue far better than many very muscular men, and on thenight of the battle, having arrived at Krems excited but not weary,with dispatches from Dokhturov to Kutuzov, he was sent immediatelywith a special dispatch to Brunn. To be so sent meant not only areward but an important step toward promotion.

　　The night was dark but starry, the road showed black in the snowthat had fallen the previous day- the day of the battle. Reviewing hisimpressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himselfthe impression his news of a victory would create, or recalling thesend-off given him by the commander in chief and his fellowofficers, Prince Andrew was galloping along in a post chaiseenjoying the feelings of a man who has at length begun to attain along-desired happiness. As soon as he closed his eyes his earsseemed filled with the rattle of the wheels and the sensation ofvictory. Then he began to imagine that the Russians were runningaway and that he himself was killed, but he quickly roused himselfwith a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that this was not sobut that on the contrary the French had run away. He again recalledall the details of the victory and his own calm courage during thebattle, and feeling reassured he dozed off.... The dark starry nightwas followed by a bright cheerful morning. The snow was thawing in thesunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides of the roadwere 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 thefront cart, shouting and scolding a soldier with coarse abuse. In eachof the long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men werebeing jolted over the stony road. Some of them were talking (heheard Russian words), others were eating bread; the more severelywounded 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 whataction they had been wounded. "Day before yesterday, on the Danube,"answered the soldier. Prince Andrew took out his purse and gave thesoldier 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 aconversation.

　　"Good news!... Go on!" he shouted to the driver, and they gallopedon.

　　It was already quite dark when Prince Andrew rattled over thepaved streets of Brunn and found himself surrounded by high buildings,the lights of shops, houses, and street lamps, fine carriages, and allthat atmosphere of a large and active town which is always soattractive to a soldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey andsleepless night, Prince Andrew when he drove up to the palace felteven more vigorous and alert than he had done the day before. Only hiseyes gleamed feverishly and his thoughts followed one another withextraordinary clearness and rapidity. He again vividly recalled thedetails of the battle, no longer dim, but definite and in theconcise form concise form in which he imagined himself stating them tothe Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual questions thatmight be put to him and the answers he would give. He expected to beat once presented to the Emperor. At the chief entrance to the palace,however, an official came running out to meet him, and learning thathe was a special messenger led him to another entrance.

　　"To the right from the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren! There you willfind the adjutant on duty," said the official. "He will conduct you tothe 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 andbowing with particular courtesy ushered Prince Andrew before him alonga corridor to the cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. Theadjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off anyattempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger.

　　Prince Andrew's joyous feeling was considerably weakened as heapproached the door of the minister's room. He felt offended, andwithout his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately turned intoone of disdain which was quite uncalled for. His fertile mindinstantly suggested to him a point of view which gave him a right todespise the adjutant and the minister. "Away from the smell of powder,they probably think it easy to gain victories!" he thought. His eyesnarrowed disdainfully, he entered the room of the Minister of War withpeculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of disdain was heightenedwhen he saw the minister seated at a large table reading some papersand making pencil notes on them, and for the first two or threeminutes taking no notice of his arrival. A wax candle stood at eachside of the minister's bent bald head with its gray temples. He wenton reading to the end, without raising his eyes at the opening ofthe door and the sound of footsteps.

　　"Take this and deliver it," said he to his adjutant, handing him thepapers and still taking no notice of the special messenger.

　　Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kutuzov's armyinterested the Minister of War less than any of the other matters hewas concerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messengerthat 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 intellectualand distinctive head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew thefirm, intelligent expression on his face changed in a way evidentlydeliberate and habitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificialsmile (which does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a manwho is continually receiving many petitioners one after another.

　　"From General Field Marshal Kutuzov?" he asked. "I hope it is goodnews? There has been an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was hightime!"

　　He took the dispatch which was addressed to him and began to read itwith a mournful expression.

　　"Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!" he exclaimed in German. "What acalamity! What a calamity!"

　　Having glanced through the dispatch he laid it on the table andlooked at Prince Andrew, evidently considering something.

　　"Ah what a calamity! You say the affair was decisive? But Mortier isnot captured." Again he pondered. "I am very glad you have broughtgood news, though Schmidt's death is a heavy price to pay for thevictory. His Majesty will no doubt wish to see you, but not today. Ithank you! You must have a rest. Be at the levee tomorrow after theparade. 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 tosee you," he added, bowing his head.

　　When Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the interest andhappiness the victory had afforded him had been now left in theindifferent hands of the Minister of War and the polite adjutant.The whole tenor of his thoughts instantaneously changed; the battleseemed the memory of a remote event long past.BK2|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Prince Andrew stayed at Brunn with Bilibin, a Russian acquaintanceof his in the diplomatic service.

　　"Ah, my dear prince! I could not have a more welcome visitor,"said Bilibin as he came out to meet Prince Andrew. "Franz, put theprince's things in my bedroom," said he to the servant who wasushering Bolkonski 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'sluxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilibinsettled down comfortably beside the fire.

　　After his journey and the campaign during which he had been deprivedof all the comforts of cleanliness and all the refinements of life,Prince Andrew felt a pleasant sense of repose among luxurioussurroundings such as he had been accustomed to from childhood. Besidesit was pleasant, after his reception by the Austrians, to speak if notin Russian (for they were speaking French) at least with a Russian whowould, he supposed, share the general Russian antipathy to theAustrians which was then particularly strong.

　　Bilibin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor, and of the same circleas Prince Andrew. They had known each other previously inPetersburg, but had become more intimate when Prince Andrew was inVienna with Kutuzov. Just as Prince Andrew was a young man who gavepromise of rising high in the military profession, so to an evengreater extent Bilibin gave promise of rising in his diplomaticcareer. He still a young man but no longer a young diplomat, as he hadentered the service at the age of sixteen, had been in Paris andCopenhagen, and now held a rather important post in Vienna. Both theforeign minister and our ambassador in Vienna knew him and valued him.He was not one of those many diplomats who are esteemed because theyhave certain negative qualities, avoid doing certain things, and speakFrench. He was one of those, who, liking work, knew how to do it,and despite his indolence would sometimes spend a whole night at hiswriting table. He worked well whatever the import of his work. Itwas not the question "What for?" but the question "How?" thatinterested him. What the diplomatic matter might be he did not care,but it gave him great pleasure to prepare a circular, memorandum, orreport, skillfully, pointedly, and elegantly. Bilibin's serviceswere valued not only for what he wrote, but also for his skill indealing and conversing with those in the highest spheres.

　　Bilibin liked conversation as he liked work, only when it could bemade elegantly witty. In society he always awaited an opportunity tosay something striking and took part in a conversation only whenthat was possible. His conversation was always sprinkled withwittily original, finished phrases of general interest. Thesesayings were prepared in the inner laboratory of his mind in aportable form as if intentionally, so that insignificant societypeople might carry them from drawing room to drawing room. And, infact, Bilibin's witticisms were hawked about in the Viennese drawingrooms and often had an influence on matters considered important.

　　His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with deep wrinkles, whichalways looked as clean and well washed as the tips of one's fingersafter a Russian bath. The movement of these wrinkles formed theprincipal play of expression on his face. Now his forehead wouldpucker into deep folds and his eyebrows were lifted, then his eyebrowswould 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.

　　Bolkonski, 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 ofskittles," said he in conclusion.

　　Bilibin smiled and the wrinkles on his face disappeared.

　　"Cependant, mon cher," he remarked, examining his nails from adistance and puckering the skin above his left eye, "malgre la hauteestime que je professe pour the Orthodox Russian army, j'avoue quevotre victoire n'est pas des plus victorieuses."*

　　*"But my dear fellow, with all my respect for the Orthodox Russianarmy, I must say that your victory was not particularly victorious."

　　He went on talking in this way in French, uttering only thosewords in Russian on which he wished to put a contemptuous emphasis.

　　"Come now! You with all your forces fall on the unfortunateMortier and his one division, and even then Mortier slips through yourfingers! Where's the victory?"

　　"But seriously," said Prince Andrew, "we can at any rate say withoutboasting 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 thesmoothness of a parade. We had expected, as I told you, to get attheir rear by seven in the morning but had not reached it by five inthe afternoon."

　　"And why didn't you do it at seven in the morning? You ought to havebeen there at seven in the morning," returned Bilibin with a smile."You ought to have been there at seven in the morning."

　　"Why did you not succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomaticmethods that he had better leave Genoa alone?" retorted PrinceAndrew in the same tone.

　　"I know," interrupted Bilibin, "you're thinking it's very easy totake marshals, sitting on a sofa by the fire! That is true, butstill why didn't you capture him? So don't be surprised if not onlythe Minister of War but also his Most August Majesty the Emperor andKing Francis is not much delighted by your victory. Even I, a poorsecretary of the Russian Embassy, do not feel any need in token ofmy joy to give my Franz a thaler, or let him go with his Liebchen tothe Prater... True, we have no Prater here..."

　　He looked straight at Prince Andrew and suddenly unwrinkled hisforehead.

　　"It is now my turn to ask you 'why?' mon cher," said Bolkonski. "Iconfess I do not understand: perhaps there are diplomatic subtletieshere beyond my feeble intelligence, but I can't make it out. Mackloses a whole army, the Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduke Karlgive no signs of life and make blunder after blunder. Kutuzov alone atlast gains a real victory, destroying the spell of the invincibilityof the French, and the Minister of War does not even care to hearthe 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, butwhat do we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your victories?Bring us nice news of a victory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (onearchduke's as good as another, as you know) and even if it is onlyover a fire brigade of Bonaparte's, that will be another story andwe'll fire off some cannon! But this sort of thing seems done onpurpose to vex us. The Archduke Karl does nothing, the ArchdukeFerdinand disgraces himself. You abandon Vienna, give up itsdefense- as much as to say: 'Heaven is with us, but heaven help youand your capital!' The one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, youexpose to a bullet, and then you congratulate us on the victory! Admitthat more irritating news than yours could not have been conceived.It's as if it had been done on purpose, on purpose. Besides, supposeyou did gain a brilliant victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained avictory, what effect would that have on the general course ofevents? It's too late now when Vienna is occupied by the French army!"

　　"What? Occupied? Vienna occupied?"

　　"Not only occupied, but Bonaparte is at Schonbrunn, 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, Bolkonski felt that he could nottake in the full significance of the words he heard.

　　"Count Lichtenfels was here this morning," Bilibin continued, "andshowed me a letter in which the parade of the French in Vienna wasfully described: Prince Murat et tout le tremblement... You see thatyour victory is not a matter for great rejoicing and that you can't bereceived as a savior."

　　"Really I don't care about that, I don't care at all," said PrinceAndrew, beginning to understand that his news of the battle beforeKrems was really of small importance in view of such events as thefall of Austria's capital. "How is it Vienna was taken? What of thebridge and its celebrated bridgehead and Prince Auersperg? We heardreports that Prince Auersperg was defending Vienna?" he said.

　　"Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of the river, and isdefending us- doing it very badly, I think, but still he isdefending us. But Vienna is on the other side. No, the bridge hasnot yet been taken and I hope it will not be, for it is mined andorders have been given to blow it up. Otherwise we should long agohave been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army wouldhave spent a bad quarter of an hour between two fires."

　　"But still this does not mean that the campaign is over," saidPrince Andrew.

　　"Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think so too, but theydaren't say so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign,it won't be your skirmishing at Durrenstein, or gunpowder at all, thatwill decide the matter, but those who devised it," said Bilibinquoting one of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead,and pausing. "The only question is what will come of the meetingbetween the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia in Berlin? IfPrussia joins the Allies, Austria's hand will be forced and there willbe war. If not it is merely a question of settling where thepreliminaries 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 whatluck the man has!"

　　"Buonaparte?" said Bilibin inquiringly, puckering up his forehead toindicate that he was about to say something witty. "Buonaparte?" herepeated, accentuating the u: "I think, however, now that he lays downlaws for Austria at Schonbrunn, il faut lui faire grace de l'u!* Ishall 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 thecampaign is over?"

　　"This is what I think. Austria has been made a fool of, and she isnot used to it. She will retaliate. And she has been fooled in thefirst place because her provinces have been pillaged- they say theHoly Russian army loots terribly- her army is destroyed, her capitaltaken, and all this for the beaux yeux* of His Sardinian Majesty.And therefore- this is between ourselves- I instinctively feel that weare being deceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations with Franceand 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 Bilibin, his face againbecoming smooth as a sign that the conversation was at an end.

　　When Prince Andrew reached the room prepared for him and lay down ina 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, faraway from him. The alliance with Prussia, Austria's treachery,Bonaparte's new triumph, tomorrow's levee and parade, and the audiencewith the Emperor Francis occupied his thoughts.

　　He closed his eyes, and immediately a sound of cannonading, ofmusketry and the rattling of carriage wheels seemed to fill hisears, and now again drawn out in a thin line the musketeers weredescending the hill, the French were firing, and he felt his heartpalpitating as he rode forward beside Schmidt with the bullets merrilywhistling all around, and he experienced tenfold the joy of living, ashe had not done since childhood.

　　He woke up...

　　"Yes, that all happened!" he said, and, smiling happily to himselflike a child, he fell into a deep, youthful slumber.BK2|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Next day he woke late. Recalling his recent impressions, the firstthought that came into his mind was that today he had to bepresented to the Emperor Francis; he remembered the Minister of War,the polite Austrian adjutant, Bilibin, and last night'sconversation. Having dressed for his attendance at court in fullparade uniform, which he had not worn for a long time, he went intoBilibin's study fresh, animated, and handsome, with his hand bandaged.In the study were four gentlemen of the diplomatic corps. WithPrince Hippolyte Kuragin, who was a secretary to the embassy,Bolkonski was already acquainted. Bilibin introduced him to theothers.

　　The gentlemen assembled at Bilibin's were young, wealthy, gaysociety men, who here, as in Vienna, formed a special set whichBilibin, their leader, called les notres.* This set, consisting almostexclusively of diplomats, evidently had its own interests which hadnothing to do with war or politics but related to high society, tocertain women, and to the official side of the service. Thesegentlemen received Prince Andrew as one of themselves, an honor theydid not extend to many. From politeness and to start conversation,they asked him a few questions about the army and the battle, and thenthe talk went off into merry jests and gossip.

　　*Ours.

　　"But the best of it was," said one, telling of the misfortune of afellow diplomat, "that the Chancellor told him flatly that hisappointment 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 Kuragin away to you- isthat that man suffers, and this Don Juan, wicked fellow, is takingadvantage of it!"

　　Prince Hippolyte was lolling in a lounge chair with his legs overits arm. He began to laugh.

　　"Tell me about that!" he said.

　　"Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!" cried several voices.

　　"You, Bolkonski, don't know," said Bilibin turning to Prince Andrew,"that all the atrocities of the French army (I nearly said of theRussian army) are nothing compared to what this man has been doingamong the women!"

　　"La femme est la compagne de l'homme,"* announced PrinceHippolyte, and began looking through a lorgnette at his elevated legs.

　　*"Woman is man's companion."

　　Bilibin and the rest of "ours" burst out laughing in Hippolyte'sface, and Prince Andrew saw that Hippolyte, of whom- he had toadmit- he had almost been jealous on his wife's account, was thebutt of this set.

　　"Oh, I must give you a treat," Bilibin whispered to Bolkonski."Kuragin is exquisite when he discusses politics- you should see hisgravity!"

　　He sat down beside Hippolyte and wrinkling his forehead begantalking to him about politics. Prince Andrew and the others gatheredround these two.

　　"The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feeling of alliance," beganHippolyte gazing round with importance at the others, "withoutexpressing... as in its last note... you understand... Besides, unlessHis Majesty the Emperor derogates from the principle of ouralliance...

　　"Wait, I have not finished..." he said to Prince Andrew, seizing himby the arm, "I believe that intervention will be stronger thannonintervention. And..." he paused. "Finally one cannot impute thenonreceipt of our dispatch of November 18. That is how it will end."And he released Bolkonski's arm to indicate that he had now quitefinished.

　　"Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secretest in thy goldenmouth!" said Bilibin, and the mop of hair on his head moved withsatisfaction.

　　Everybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder than anyone. He wasevidently distressed, and breathed painfully, but could not restrainthe wild laughter that convulsed his usually impassive features.

　　"Well now, gentlemen," said Bilibin, "Bolkonski is my guest inthis house and in Brunn itself. I want to entertain him as far as Ican, with all the pleasures of life here. If we were in Vienna itwould be easy, but here, in this wretched Moravian hole, it is moredifficult, and I beg you all to help me. Brunn's attractions must beshown 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 humaneinterests," said Bilibin.

　　"I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of your hospitality,gentlemen, it is already time for me to go," replied Prince Andrewlooking at his watch.

　　"Where to?"

　　"To the Emperor."

　　"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Well, au revoir, Bolkonski! Au revoir, Prince! Comeback 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 theway that provisions are supplied and the routes indicated," saidBilibin, accompanying him to the hall.

　　"I should like to speak well of them, but as far as I the facts, Ican't," replied Bolkonski, smiling.

　　"Well, talk as much as you can, anyway. He has a passion forgiving audiences, but he does not like talking himself and can't doit, as you will see."BK2|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　At the levee Prince Andrew stood among the Austrian officers as hehad been told to, and the Emperor Francis merely looked fixedly intohis face and just nodded to him with to him with his long head. Butafter it was over, the adjutant he had seen the previous dayceremoniously informed Bolkonski that the Emperor desired to givehim an audience. The Emperor Francis received him standing in themiddle of the room. Before the conversation began Prince Andrew wasstruck by the fact that the Emperor seemed confused and blushed asif 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 Kutuzov well? When had he left Krems?" and so on. The Emperorspoke as if his sole aim were to put a given number of questions-the answers to these questions, as was only too evident, did notinterest him.

　　"At what o'clock did the battle begin?" asked the Emperor.

　　"I cannot inform Your Majesty at what o'clock the battle began atthe front, but at Durrenstein, where I was, our attack began afterfive in the afternoon," replied Bolkonski growing more animated andexpecting 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 theEmperor smiled and interrupted him.

　　"How many miles?"

　　"From where to where, Your Majesty?"

　　"From Durrenstein 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 duringthe 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 Andrewwithdrew and was immediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides.Everywhere he saw friendly looks and heard friendly words. Yesterday'sadjutant reproached him for not having stayed at the palace, andoffered him his own house. The Minister of War came up andcongratulated him on the Maria Theresa Order of the third grade, whichthe Emperor was conferring on him. The Empress' chamberlain invitedhim to see Her Majesty. The archduchess also wished to see him. He didnot know whom to answer, and for a few seconds collected his thoughts.Then the Russian ambassador took him by the shoulder, led him to thewindow, and began to talk to him.

　　Contrary to Bilibin's forecast the news he had brought wasjoyfully received. A thanksgiving service was arranged, Kutuzov wasawarded the Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, and the whole armyreceived rewards. Bolkonski was invited everywhere, and had to spendthe whole morning calling on the principal Austrian dignitaries.Between four and five in the afternoon, having made all his calls,he was returning to Bilibin's house thinking out a letter to hisfather about the battle and his visit to Brunn. At the door he found avehicle half full of luggage. Franz, Bilibin's man, was dragging aportmanteau with some difficulty out of the front door.

　　Before returning to Bilibin's Prince Andrew had gone to bookshopto provide himself with some books for the campaign, and had spentsome time in the shop.

　　"What is it?" he asked.

　　"Oh, your excellency!" said Franz, with difficulty rolling theportmanteau into the vehicle, "we are to move on still farther. Thescoundrel is again at our heels!"

　　"Eh? What?" asked Prince Andrew.

　　Bilibin came out to meet him. His usually calm face showedexcitement.

　　"There now! Confess that this is delightful," said he. "Thisaffair of the Thabor Bridge, at Vienna.... They have crossed withoutstriking a blow!"

　　Prince Andrew could not understand.

　　"But where do you come from not to know what every coachman in thetown 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 Andrewimpatiently.

　　"What's it all about? Why, the French have crossed the bridge thatAuersperg was defending, and the bridge was not blown up: so Muratis now rushing along the road to Brunn and will be here in a day ortwo."

　　"What? Here? But why did they not blow up the bridge, if it wasmined?"

　　"That is what I ask you. No one, not even Bonaparte, knows why."

　　Bolkonski shrugged his shoulders.

　　"But if the bridge is crossed it means that the army too is lost? Itwill be cut off," said he.

　　"That's just it," answered Bilibin. "Listen! The French enteredVienna as I told you. Very well. Next day, which was yesterday,those gentlemen, messieurs les marechaux,* Murat, Lannes,and Belliard,mount and ride to bridge. (Observe that all three are Gascons.)'Gentlemen,' says one of them, 'you know the Thabor Bridge is minedand doubly mined and that there are menacing fortifications at itshead and an army of fifteen thousand men has been ordered to blow upthe bridge and not let us cross? But it will please our sovereignthe Emperor Napoleon if we take this bridge, so let us three go andtake it!' 'Yes, let's!' say the others. And off they go and take thebridge, cross it, and now with their whole army are on this side ofthe Danube, marching on us, you, and your lines of communication."

　　*The marshalls.

　　"Stop jesting," said Prince Andrew sadly and seriously. This newsgrieved him and yet he was pleased.

　　As soon as he learned that the Russian army was in such a hopelesssituation it occurred to him that it was he who was destined to leadit out of this position; that here was the Toulon that would lifthim from the ranks of obscure officers and offer him the first step tofame! Listening to Bilibin he was already imagining how on reachingthe army he would give an opinion at the war council which would bethe only one that could save the army, and how he alone would beentrusted with the executing of the plan.

　　"Stop this jesting," he said

　　"I am not jesting," Bilibin went on. "Nothing is truer or sadder.These gentlemen ride onto the bridge alone and wave whitehandkerchiefs; they assure the officer on duty that they, themarshals, are on their way to negotiate with Prince Auersperg. He letsthem enter the tete-de-pont.* They spin him a thousand gasconades,saying that the war is over, that the Emperor Francis is arranging ameeting with Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg,and so on. The officer sends for Auersperg; these gentlemen embracethe officers, crack jokes, sit on the cannon, and meanwhile a Frenchbattalion gets to the bridge unobserved, flings the bags of incendiarymaterial into the water, and approaches the tete-de-pont. At lengthappears the lieutenant general, our dear Prince Auersperg vonMautern himself. 'Dearest foe! Flower of the Austrian army, hero ofthe Turkish wars Hostilities are ended, we can shake one another'shand.... The Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience to make PrinceAuersperg's acquaintance.' In a word, those gentlemen, Gascons indeed,so bewildered him with fine words, and he is so flattered by hisrapidly established intimacy with the French marshals, and sodazzled by the sight of Murat's mantle and ostrich plumes, qu'il n'yvoit que du feu, et oublie celui qu'il devait faire faire surl'ennemi!"*[2] In spite of the animation of his speech, Bilibin didnot forget to pause after this mot to give time for its dueappreciation. "The French battalion rushes to the bridgehead, spikesthe guns, and the bridge is taken! But what is best of all," he wenton, his excitement subsiding under the delightful interest of hisown story, "is that the sergeant in charge of the cannon which wasto give the signal to fire the mines and blow up the bridge, thissergeant, seeing that the French troops were running onto thebridge, was about to fire, but Lannes stayed his hand. The sergeant,who was evidently wiser than his general, goes up to Auersperg andsays: 'Prince, you are being deceived, here are the French!' Murat,seeing that all is lost if the sergeant is allowed to speak, turnsto Auersperg with feigned astonishment (he is a true Gascon) and says:'I don't recognize the world-famous Austrian discipline, if youallow a subordinate to address you like that!' It was a stroke ofgenius. Prince Auersperg feels his dignity at stake and orders thesergeant to be arrested. Come, you must own that this affair of theThabor Bridge is delightful! It is not exactly stupidity, norrascality...."

　　*Bridgehead.

　　*[2] That their fire gets into his eyes and he forgets that he oughtto be firing at the enemy.

　　"It may be treachery," said Prince Andrew, vividly imagining thegray overcoats, wounds, the smoke of gunpowder, the sounds offiring, and the glory that awaited him.

　　"Not that either. That puts the court in too bad a light," repliedBilibin."It's not treachery nor rascality nor stupidity: it is just asat Ulm... it is..."- he seemed to be trying to find the rightexpression. "C'est... c'est du Mack. Nous sommes mackes [It is... itis a bit of Mack. We are Macked]," he concluded, feeling that he hadproduced a good epigram, a fresh one that would be repeated. Hishitherto puckered brow became smooth as a sign of pleasure, and with aslight smile he began to examine his nails.

　　"Where are you off to?" he said suddenly to Prince Andrew who hadrisen 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 wentto his room.

　　"Do you know, mon cher," said Bilibin following him, "I have beenthinking about you. Why are you going?"

　　And in proof of the conclusiveness of his opinion all the wrinklesvanished 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 backto 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 theother side of the question and you will see that your duty, on thecontrary, is to take care of yourself. Leave it to those who are nolonger fit for anything else.... You have not been ordered to returnand have not been dismissed from here; therefore, you can stay andgo with us wherever our ill luck takes us. They say we are going toOlmutz, and Olmutz is a very decent town. You and I will travelcomfortably in my caleche."

　　"Do stop joking, Bilibin," cried Bolkonski.

　　"I am speaking sincerely as a friend! Consider! Where and why areyou going, when you might remain here? You are faced by one of twothings," and the skin over his left temple puckered, "either youwill not reach your regiment before peace is concluded, or you willshare defeat and disgrace with Kutuzov's whole army."

　　And Bilibin unwrinkled his temple, feeling that the dilemma wasinsoluble.

　　"I cannot argue about it," replied Prince Andrew coldly, but hethought: "I am going to save the army."

　　"My dear fellow, you are a hero!" said Bilibin.BK2|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　That same night, having taken leave of the Minister of War,Bolkonski set off to rejoin the army, not knowing where he wouldfind it and fearing to be captured by the French on the way to Krems.

　　In Brunn everybody attached to the court was packing up, and theheavy baggage was already being dispatched to Olmutz. Near HetzelsdorfPrince Andrew struck the high road along which the Russian army wasmoving with great haste and in the greatest disorder. The road wasso obstructed with carts that it was impossible to get by in acarriage. Prince Andrew took a horse and a Cossack from a Cossackcommander, and hungry and weary, making his way past the baggagewagons, rode in search of the commander in chief and of his ownluggage. Very sinister reports of the position of the army reached himas he went along, and the appearance of the troops in their disorderlyflight confirmed these rumors.

　　"Cette armee russe que l'or de l'Angleterre a transportee desextremites de l'univers, nous allons lui faire eprouver le memesort- (le sort de l'armee d'Ulm)."* He remembered these words inBonaparte's address to his army at the beginning of the campaign,and they awoke in him astonishment at the genius of his hero, afeeling of wounded pride, and a hope of glory. "And should there benothing left but to die?" he thought. "Well, if need be, I shall do itno worse than others."

　　*"That Russian army which has been brought from the ends of theearth by English gold, we shall cause to share the same fate- (thefate of the army at Ulm)."

　　He looked with disdain at the endless confused mass ofdetachments, carts, guns, artillery, and again baggage wagons andvehicles of all kinds overtaking one another and blocking the muddyroad, three and sometimes four abreast. From all sides, behind andbefore, as far as ear could reach, there were the rattle of wheels,the creaking of carts and gun carriages, the tramp of horses, thecrack of whips, shouts, the urging of horses, and the swearing ofsoldiers, orderlies, and officers. All along the sides of the roadfallen horses were to be seen, some flayed, some not, andbroken-down carts beside which solitary soldiers sat waiting forsomething, and again soldiers straggling from their companies,crowds of whom set off to the neighboring villages, or returned fromthem dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks. At each ascentor descent of the road the crowds were yet denser and the din ofshouting more incessant. Soldiers floundering knee-deep in mudpushed the guns and wagons themselves. Whips cracked, hoofs slipped,traces broke, and lungs were strained with shouting. The officersdirecting the march rode backward and forward between the carts. Theirvoices were but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw by theirfaces that they despaired of the possibility of checking thisdisorder.

　　"Here is our dear Orthodox Russian army," thought Bolkonski,recalling Bilibin's words.

　　Wishing to find out where the commander in chief was, he rode upto a convoy. Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horsevehicle, evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any availablematerials and looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet,and a caleche. A soldier was driving, and a woman enveloped inshawls sat behind the apron under the leather hood of the vehicle.Prince Andrew rode up and was just putting his question to a soldierwhen his attention was diverted by the desperate shrieks of thewoman in the vehicle. An officer in charge of transport was beatingthe soldier who was driving the woman's vehicle for trying to getahead of others, and the strokes of his whip fell on the apron ofthe equipage. The woman screamed piercingly. Seeing Prince Andrewshe leaned out from behind the apron and, waving her thin arms fromunder the woolen shawl, cried:

　　"Mr. Aide-de-camp! Mr. Aide-de-camp!... For heaven's sake... Protectme! What will become of us? I am the wife of the doctor of the SeventhChasseurs.... They won't let us pass, we are left behind and have lostour people..."

　　"I'll flatten you into a pancake!" shouted the angry officer tothe soldier. "Turn back with your slut!"

　　"Mr. Aide-de-camp! Help me!... What does it all mean?" screamedthe doctor's wife.

　　"Kindly let this cart pass. Don't you see it's a woman?" said PrinceAndrew riding up to the officer.

　　The officer glanced at him, and without replying turned again to thesoldier. "I'll teach you to push on!... Back!"

　　"Let them pass, I tell you!" repeated Prince Andrew, compressing hislips.

　　"And who are you?" cried the officer, turning on him with tipsyrage, "who are you? Are you in command here? Eh? I am commanderhere, not you! Go back or I'll flatten you into a pancake," repeatedhe. This expression evidently pleased him.

　　"That was a nice snub for the little aide-de-camp," came a voicefrom 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 hischampionship of the doctor's wife in her queer trap might expose himto what he dreaded more than anything in the world- to ridicule; buthis instinct urged him on. Before the officer finished his sentencePrince Andrew, his face distorted with fury, rode up to him and raisedhis 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'sthis disorder," he muttered. "Do as you like."

　　Prince Andrew without lifting his eyes rode hastily away from thedoctor's wife, who was calling him her deliverer, and recalling with asense of disgust the minutest details of this humiliating scene hegalloped on to the village where he was told that the commander inchief 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 tosort out the stinging and tormenting thoughts that confused hismind. "This is a mob of scoundrels and not an army," he was thinkingas he went up to the window of the first house, when a familiarvoice called him by name.

　　He turned round. Nesvitski's handsome face looked out of thelittle window. Nesvitski, moving his moist lips as he chewedsomething, and flourishing his arm, called him to enter.

　　"Bolkonski! Bolkonski!... Don't you hear? Eh? Come quick..." heshouted.

　　Entering the house, Prince Andrew saw Nesvitski and another adjutanthaving something to eat. They hastily turned round to him asking if hehad any news. On their familiar faces he read agitation and alarm.This was particularly noticeable on Nesvitski's usually laughingcountenance.

　　"Where is the commander in chief?" asked Bolkonski.

　　"Here, in that house," answered the adjutant.

　　"Well, is it true that it's peace and capitulation?" askedNesvitski.

　　"I was going to ask you. I know nothing except that it was all Icould 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 Nesvitski. "But sit down andhave 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 otheradjutant.

　　"Where are headquarters?"

　　"We are to spend the night in Znaim."

　　"Well, I have got all I need into packs for two horses," saidNesvitski. "They've made up splendid packs for me- fit to cross theBohemian mountains with. It's a bad lookout, old fellow! But what'sthe 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 wifeand the convoy officer.

　　"What is the commander in chief doing here?" he asked.

　　"I can't make out at all," said Nesvitski.

　　"Well, all I can make out is that everything is abominable,abominable, quite abominable!" said Prince Andrew, and he went offto the house where the commander in chief was.

　　Passing by Kutuzov's carriage and the exhausted saddle horses of hissuite, with their Cossacks who were talking loudly together, PrinceAndrew entered the passage. Kutuzov himself, he was told, was in thehouse with Prince Bagration and Weyrother. Weyrother was theAustrian general who had succeeded Schmidt. In the passage littleKozlovski was squatting on his heels in front of a clerk. The clerk,with cuffs turned up, was hastily writing at a tub turned bottomupwards. Kozlovski's face looked worn- he too had evidently notslept all night. He glanced at Prince Andrew and did not even nod tohim.

　　"Second line... have you written it?" he continued dictating tothe clerk. "The Kiev Grenadiers, Podolian..."

　　"One can't write so fast, your honor," said the clerk, glancingangrily and disrespectfully at Kozlovski.

　　Through the door came the sounds of Kutuzov's voice, excited anddissatisfied, interrupted by another, an unfamiliar voice. From thesound of these voices, the inattentive way Kozlovski looked at him,the disrespectful manner of the exhausted clerk, the fact that theclerk and Kozlovski were squatting on the floor by a tub so near tothe commander in chief, and from the noisy laughter of the Cossacksholding the horses near the window, Prince Andrew felt thatsomething important and disastrous was about to happen.

　　He turned to Kozlovski with urgent questions.

　　"Immediately, Prince," said Kozlovski. "Dispositions for Bagration."

　　"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 Kutuzov with his eagle nose and puffy face appeared in thedoorway. Prince Andrew stood right in front of Kutuzov but theexpression of the commander in chief's one sound eye showed him tobe so preoccupied with thoughts and anxieties as to be oblivious ofhis presence. He looked straight at his adjutant's face withoutrecognizing him.

　　"Well, have you finished?" said he to Kozlovski.

　　"One moment, your excellency."

　　Bagration, a gaunt middle-aged man of medium height with a firm,impassive face of Oriental type, came out after the commander inchief.

　　"I have the honor to present myself," repeated Prince Andrewrather loudly, handing Kutuzov an envelope.

　　Ah, from Vienna? Very good. Later, later!"

　　Kutuzov went out into the porch with Bagration.

　　"Well, good-by, Prince," said he to Bagration. "My blessing, and mayChrist be with you in your great endeavor!"

　　His face suddenly softened and tears came into his eyes. With hisleft hand he drew Bagration toward him, and with his right, on whichhe wore a ring, he made the sign of the cross over him with agesture evidently habitual, offering his puffy cheek, but Bagrationkissed him on the neck instead.

　　"Christ be with you!" Kutuzov repeated and went toward his carriage."Get in with me," said he to Bolkonski.

　　"Your excellency, I should like to be of use here. Allow me toremain with Prince Bagration's detachment."

　　"Get in," said Kutuzov, and noticing that Bolkonski 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 oldman's penetration he understood all that was passing in Bolkonski'smind. "If a tenth part of his detachment returns I shall thank God,"he added as if speaking to himself.

　　Prince Andrew glanced at Kutuzov's face only a foot distant from himand involuntarily noticed the carefully washed seams of the scarnear his temple, where an Ismail bullet had pierced his skull, and theempty eye socket. "Yes, he has a right to speak so calmly of thosemen's death," thought Bolkonski.

　　"That is why I beg to be sent to that detachment," he said.

　　Kutuzov did not reply. He seemed to have forgotten what he hadbeen saying, and sat plunged in thought. Five minutes later, gentlyswaying on the soft springs of the carriage, he turned to PrinceAndrew. There was not a trace of agitation on his face. Withdelicate irony he questioned Prince Andrew about the details of hisinterview with the Emperor, about the remarks he had heard at courtconcerning the Krems affair, and about some ladies they both knew.BK2|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　On November 1 Kutuzov had received, through a spy, news that thearmy he commanded was in an almost hopeless position. The spy reportedthat the French, after crossing the bridge at Vienna, were advancingin immense force upon Kutuzov's line of communication with thetroops that were arriving from Russia. If Kutuzov decided to remain atKrems, Napoleon's army of one hundred and fifty thousand men would cuthim off completely and surround his exhausted army of fortythousand, and he would find himself in the position of Mack at Ulm. IfKutuzov decided to abandon the road connecting him with the troopsarriving from Russia, he would have to march with no road into unknownparts of the Bohemian mountains, defending himself against superiorforces of the enemy and abandoning all hope of a junction withBuxhowden. If Kutuzov decided to retreat along the road from Kremsto Olmutz, to unite with the troops arriving from Russia, he riskedbeing forestalled on that road by the French who had crossed theVienna bridge, and encumbered by his baggage and transport, havingto accept battle on the march against an enemy three times asstrong, who would hem him in from two sides.

　　Kutuzov chose this latter course.

　　The French, the spy reported, having crossed the Vienna bridge, wereadvancing by forced marches toward Znaim, which lay sixty-six milesoff on the line of Kutuzov's retreat. If he reached Znaim before theFrench, there would be great hope of saving the army; to let theFrench forestall him at Znaim meant the exposure of his whole armyto a disgrace such as that of Ulm, or to utter destruction. But toforestall the French with his whole army was impossible. The roadfor the French from Vienna to Znaim was shorter and better than theroad for the Russians from Krems to Znaim.

　　The night he received the news, Kutuzov sent Bagration's vanguard,four thousand strong, to the right across the hills from theKrems-Znaim to the Vienna-Znaim road. Bagration was to make this marchwithout resting, and to halt facing Vienna with Znaim to his rear, andif he succeeded in forestalling the French he was to delay them aslong as possible. Kutuzov himself with all his transport took the roadto Znaim.

　　Marching thirty miles that stormy night across roadless hills,with his hungry, ill-shod soldiers, and losing a third of his men asstragglers by the way, Bagration came out on the Vienna-Znaim roadat Hollabrunn a few hours ahead of the French who were approachingHollabrunn from Vienna. Kutuzov with his transport had still tomarch for some days before he could reach Znaim. Hence Bagrationwith his four thousand hungry, exhausted men would have to detainfor days the whole enemy army that came upon him at Hollabrunn,which was clearly impossible. But a freak of fate made theimpossible possible. The success of the trick that had placed theVienna bridge in the hands of the French without a fight led Muratto try to deceive Kutuzov in a similar way. Meeting Bagration's weakdetachment on the Znaim road he supposed it to be Kutuzov's wholearmy. To be able to crush it absolutely he awaited the arrival ofthe rest of the troops who were on their way from Vienna, and withthis object offered a three days' truce on condition that botharmies should remain in position without moving. Murat declared thatnegotiations for peace were already proceeding, and that hetherefore offered this truce to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. CountNostitz, the Austrian general occupying the advanced posts, believedMurat's emissary and retired, leaving Bagration's division exposed.Another emissary rode to the Russian line to announce the peacenegotiations and to offer the Russian army the three days' truce.Bagration replied that he was not authorized either to accept orrefuse a truce and sent his adjutant to Kutuzov to report the offer hehad received.

　　A truce was Kutuzov's sole chance of gaining time, givingBagration's exhausted troops some rest, and letting the transportand heavy convoys (whose movements were concealed from the French)advance if but one stage nearer Znaim. The offer of a truce gave theonly, and a quite unexpected, chance of saving the army. Onreceiving the news he immediately dispatched Adjutant GeneralWintzingerode, who was in attendance on him, to the enemy camp.Wintzingerode was not merely to agree to the truce but also to offerterms of capitulation, and meanwhile Kutuzov sent his adjutants backto hasten to the utmost the movements of the baggage trains of theentire army along the Krems-Znaim road. Bagration's exhausted andhungry detachment, which alone covered this movement of thetransport and of the whole army, had to remain stationary in face ofan enemy eight times as strong as itself.

　　Kutuzov's expectations that the proposals of capitulation (whichwere in no way binding) might give time for part of the transport topass, and also that Murat's mistake would very soon be discovered,proved correct. As soon as Bonaparte (who was at Schonbrunn, sixteenmiles from Hollabrunn) received Murat's dispatch with the proposalof a truce and a capitulation, he detected a ruse and wrote thefollowing letter to Murat:

　　Schonbrunn, 25th Brumaire, 1805,

　　at eight o'clock in the morning

　　To PRINCE MURAT,

　　I cannot find words to express to you my displeasure. You commandonly my advance guard, and have no right to arrange an armisticewithout my order. You are causing me to lose the fruits of a campaign.Break the armistice immediately and march on the enemy. Inform himthat 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, Iwill ratify it; but it is only a trick. March on, destroy theRussian army.... You are in a position to seize its baggage andartillery.

　　The Russian Emperor's aide-de-camp is an impostor. Officers arenothing when they have no powers; this one had none.... TheAustrians let themselves be tricked at the crossing of the Viennabridge, you are letting yourself be tricked by an aide-de-camp ofthe Emperor.

　　NAPOLEON

　　Bonaparte's adjutant rode full gallop with this menacing letter toMurat. Bonaparte himself, not trusting to his generals, moved with allthe Guards to the field of battle, afraid of letting a ready victimescape, and Bagration's four thousand men merrily lighted campfires,dried and warmed themselves, cooked their porridge for the firsttime for three days, and not one of them knew or imagined what wasin store for him.BK2|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　Between three and four o'clock in the afternoon Prince Andrew, whohad persisted in his request to Kutuzov, arrived at Grunth andreported himself to Bagration. Bonaparte's adjutant had not yetreached Murat's detachment and the battle had not yet begun. InBagration's detachment no one knew anything of the general position ofaffairs. They talked of peace but did not believe in itspossibility; others talked of a battle but also disbelieved in thenearness of an engagement. Bagration, knowing Bolkonski to be afavorite and trusted adjutant, received him with distinction andspecial marks of favor, explaining to him that there would probably bean engagement that day or the next, and giving him full liberty toremain with him during the battle or to join the rearguard and have aneye on the order of retreat, "which is also very important."

　　"However, there will hardly be an engagement today," saidBagration as if to reassure Prince Andrew.

　　"If he is one of the ordinary little staff dandies sent to earn amedal he can get his reward just as well in the rearguard, but if hewishes to stay with me, let him... he'll be of use here if he's abrave officer," thought Bagration. Prince Andrew, without replying,asked the prince's permission to ride round the position to see thedisposition of the forces, so as to know his bearings should he besent to execute an order. The officer on duty, a handsome, elegantlydressed man with a diamond ring on his forefinger, who was fond ofspeaking French though he spoke it badly, offered to conduct PrinceAndrew.

　　On all sides they saw rain-soaked officers with dejected faces whoseemed 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 staffofficer pointing to the soldiers. "The officers don't keep them inhand. And there," he pointed to a sutler's tent, "they crowd in andsit. 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 amoment."

　　"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 yousomething."

　　They dismounted and entered the tent. Several officers, with flushedand weary faces, were sitting at the table eating and drinking.

　　"Now what does this mean, gentlemen?" said the staff officer, in thereproachful tone of a man who has repeated the same thing more thanonce. "You know it won't do to leave your posts like this. Theprince gave orders that no one should leave his post. Now you,Captain," and he turned to a thin, dirty little artillery officerwho without his boots (he had given them to the canteen keeper todry), in only his stockings, rose when they entered, smiling notaltogether comfortably.

　　"Well, aren't you ashamed of yourself, Captain Tushin?" hecontinued. "One would think that as an artillery officer you would seta good example, yet here you are without your boots! The alarm will besounded and you'll be in a pretty position without your boots!" (Thestaff officer smiled.) "Kindly return to your posts, gentlemen, all ofyou, all!" he added in a tone of command.

　　Prince Andrew smiled involuntarily as he looked at the artilleryofficer Tushin, who silent and smiling, shifting from one stockingedfoot 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 CaptainTushin smiling shyly in his uncomfortable position, evidentlywishing to adopt a jocular tone. But before he had finished he feltthat his jest was unacceptable and had not come off. He grew confused.

　　"Kindly return to your posts," said the staff officer trying topreserve his gravity.

　　Prince Andrew glanced again at the artillery officer's small figure.There was something peculiar about it, quite unsoldierly, rathercomic, but extremely attractive.

　　The staff officer and Prince Andrew mounted their horses and rodeon.

　　Having ridden beyond the village, continually meeting and overtakingsoldiers and officers of various regiments, they saw on their leftsome entrenchments being thrown up, the freshly dug clay of whichshowed up red. Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirtsleeves despite the cold wind, swarmed in these earthworks like a hostof white ants; spadefuls of red clay were continually being thrownup from behind the bank by unseen hands. Prince Andrew and the officerrode up, looked at the entrenchment, and went on again. Just behind itthey came upon some dozens of soldiers, continually replaced byothers, who ran from the entrenchment. They had to hold their nosesand put their horses to a trot to escape from the poisonedatmosphere of these latrines.

　　"Voila l'agrement des camps, monsieur le Prince,"* said the staffofficer.

　　*"This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince."

　　They rode up the opposite hill. From there the French couldalready be seen. Prince Andrew stopped and began examining theposition.

　　"That's our battery," said the staff officer indicating thehighest point. "It's in charge of the queer fellow we saw withouthis 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, "pleasedon'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 orderlyand cheerful were the troops. The greatest disorder and depression hadbeen in the baggage train he had passed that morning on the Znaim roadseven miles away from the French. At Grunth also some apprehension andalarm could be felt, but the nearer Prince Andrew came to the Frenchlines the more confident was the appearance of our troops. Thesoldiers in their greatcoats were ranged in lines, the sergeants majorand company officers were counting the men, poking the last man ineach section in the ribs and telling him to hold his hand up. Soldiersscattered over the whole place were dragging logs and brushwood andwere building shelters with merry chatter and laughter; around thefires sat others, dressed and undressed, drying their shirts and legbands or mending boots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers andporridge cookers. In one company dinner was ready, and the soldierswere gazing eagerly at the steaming boiler, waiting till the sample,which a quartermaster sergeant was carrying in a wooden bowl to anofficer 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 pock-marked, broad-shouldered sergeant major who,tilting a keg, filled one after another the canteen lids held out tohim. The soldiers lifted the canteen lids to their lips withreverential 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 homeawaiting peaceful encampment, and not within sight of the enemy beforean 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 Kievgrenadiers- fine fellows busy with similar peaceful affairs- nearthe shelter of the regimental commander, higher than and differentfrom the others, Prince Andrew came out in front of a platoon ofgrenadiers before whom lay a naked man. Two soldiers held him whiletwo others were flourishing their switches and striking himregularly on his bare back. The man shrieked unnaturally. A stoutmajor was pacing up and down the line, and regardless of the screamskept 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 honorin him, he's a scoundrel. Go on! Go on!"

　　So the swishing sound of the strokes, and the desperate butunnatural screams, continued.

　　"Go on, go on!" said the major.

　　A young officer with a bewildered and pained expression on hisface stepped away from the man and looked round inquiringly at theadjutant as he rode by.

　　Prince Andrew, having reached the front line, rode along it. Ourfront line and that of the enemy were far apart on the right andleft flanks, but in the center where the men with a flag of trucehad passed that morning, the lines were so near together that themen could see one another's faces and speak to one another. Besidesthe soldiers who formed the picket line on either side, there weremany curious onlookers who, jesting and laughing, stared at theirstrange foreign enemies.

　　Since early morning- despite an injunction not to approach thepicket line- the officers had been unable to keep sight-seers away.The soldiers forming the picket line, like showmen exhibiting acuriosity, no longer looked at the French but paid attention to thesight-seers and grew weary waiting to be relieved. Prince Andrewhalted to have a look at the French.

　　"Look! Look there!" one soldier was saying to another, pointing to aRussian musketeer who had gone up to the picket line with an officerand was rapidly and excitedly talking to a French grenadier. "Harkto him jabbering! Fine, isn't it? It's all the Frenchy can do tokeep up with him. There now, Sidorov!"

　　"Wait a bit and listen. It's fine!" answered Sidorov, who wasconsidered an adept at French.

　　The soldier to whom the laughers referred was Dolokhov. PrinceAndrew recognized him and stopped to listen to what he was saying.Dolokhov had come from the left flank where their regiment wasstationed, with his captain.

　　"Now then, go on, go on!" incited the officer, bending forward andtrying not to lose a word of the speech which was incomprehensibleto him. "More, please: more! What's he saying?"

　　Dolokhov did not answer the captain; he had been drawn into a hotdispute with the French grenadier. They were naturally talking aboutthe campaign. The Frenchman, confusing the Austrians with theRussians, was trying to prove that the Russians had surrendered andhad fled all the way from Ulm, while Dolokhov maintained that theRussians had not surrendered but had beaten the French.

　　"We have orders to drive you off here, and we shall drive youoff," said Dolokhov.

　　"Only take care you and your Cossacks are not all captured!" saidthe French grenadier.

　　The French onlookers and listeners laughed.

　　"We'll make you dance as we did under Suvorov...,"* said Dolokhov.

　　*"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 aformer war. "The Emperor will teach your Suvara as he has taught theothers..."

　　"Bonaparte..." began Dolokhov, but the Frenchman interrupted him.

　　"Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacre nom...!" cried he angrily.

　　"The devil skin your Emperor."

　　And Dolokhov swore at him in coarse soldier's Russian andshouldering his musket walked away.

　　"Let us go, Ivan Lukich," he said to the captain.

　　"Ah, that's the way to talk French," said the picket soldiers. "Now,Sidorov, you have a try!"

　　Sidorov, turning to the French, winked, and began to jabbermeaningless sounds very fast: "Kari, mala, tafa, safi, muter,Kaska," he said, trying to give an expressive intonation to his voice.

　　"Ho! ho! ho! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Ouh! ouh!" came peals of such healthyand good-humored laughter from the soldiers that it infected theFrench involuntarily, so much so that the only thing left to do seemedto be to unload the muskets, muskets, explode the ammunition, andall return home as quickly as possible.

　　But the guns remained loaded, the loopholes in blockhouses andentrenchments looked out just as menacingly, and the unlimbered cannonconfronted one another as before.BK2|CH16

　　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 staffofficer had told him the whole field could be seen. Here hedismounted, and stopped beside the farthest of the four unlimberedcannon. Before the guns an artillery sentry was pacing up and down; hestood at attention when the officer arrived, but at a sign resumed hismeasured, monotonous pacing. Behind the guns were their limbers andstill farther back picket ropes and artillerymen's bonfires. To theleft, not far from the farthest cannon, was a small, newly constructedwattle shed from which came the sound of officers' voices in eagerconversation.

　　It was true that a view over nearly the whole Russian position andthe greater part of the enemy's opened out from this battery. Justfacing it, on the crest of the opposite hill, the village of SchonGrabern could be seen, and in three places to left and right theFrench troops amid the smoke of their campfires, the greater part ofwhom were evidently in the village itself and behind the hill. Tothe left from that village, amid the smoke, was something resembling abattery, but it was impossible to see it clearly with the naked eye.Our right flank was posted on a rather steep incline which dominatedthe French position. Our infantry were stationed there, and at thefarthest point the dragoons. In the center, where Tushin's batterystood and from which Prince Andrew was surveying the position, was theeasiest and most direct descent and ascent to the brook separatingus from Schon 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 theycould easily outflank us on both sides. Behind our position was asteep and deep dip, making it difficult for artillery and cavalry toretire. Prince Andrew took out his notebook and, leaning on thecannon, sketched a plan of the position. He made some notes on twopoints, intending to mention them to Bagration. His idea was, first,to concentrate all the artillery in the center, and secondly, towithdraw the cavalry to the other side of the dip. Prince Andrew,being always near the commander in chief, closely following the massmovements and general orders, and constantly studying historicalaccounts of battles, involuntarily pictured to himself the course ofevents in the forthcoming action in broad outline. He imagined onlyimportant possibilities: "If the enemy attacks the right flank," hesaid to himself, "the Kiev grenadiers and the Podolsk chasseurs musthold their position till reserves from the center come up. In thatcase the dragoons could successfully make a flank counterattack. Ifthey attack our center we, having the center battery on this highground, shall withdraw the left flank under its cover, and retreatto the dip by echelons." So he reasoned.... All the time he had beenbeside the gun, he had heard the voices of the officers distinctly,but as often happens had not understood a word of what they weresaying. Suddenly, however, he was struck by a voice coming from theshed, 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 whatis 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'tescape it anyhow."

　　"All the same, one is afraid! Oh, you clever people," said a thirdmanly voice interrupting them both. "Of course you artillery men arevery wise, because you can take everything along with you- vodka andsnacks."

　　And the owner of the manly voice, evidently an infantry officer,laughed.

　　"Yes, one is afraid," continued the first speaker, he of thefamiliar 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 thereis no sky but only an atmosphere."

　　The manly voice again interrupted the artillery officer.

　　"Well, stand us some of your herb vodka, Tushin," it said.

　　"Why," thought Prince Andrew, "that's the captain who stood up inthe sutler's hut without his boots." He recognized the agreeable,philosophizing voice with pleasure.

　　"Some herb vodka? Certainly!" said Tushin. "But still, to conceive afuture life..."

　　He did not finish. Just then there was a whistle in the air;nearer and nearer, faster and louder, louder and faster, a cannonball, as if it had not finished saying what was necessary, thuddedinto the ground near the shed with super human force, throwing up amass of earth. The ground seemed to groan at the terrible impact.

　　And immediately Tushin, with a short pipe in the corner of his mouthand his kind, intelligent face rather pale, rushed out of the shedfollowed by the owner of the manly voice, a dashing infantry officerwho hurried off to his company, buttoning up his coat as he ran.BK2|CH17

　　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 eyesran rapidly over the wide space, but he only saw that the hithertomotionless masses of the French now swayed and that there really was abattery to their left. The smoke above it had not yet dispersed. Twomounted Frenchmen, probably adjutants, were galloping up the hill. Asmall but distinctly visible enemy column was moving down the hill,probably to strengthen the front line. The smoke of the first shot hadnot yet dispersed before another puff appeared, followed by areport. The battle had begun! Prince Andrew turned his horse andgalloped back to Grunth to find Prince Bagration. He heard thecannonade behind him growing louder and more frequent. Evidently ourguns had begun to reply. From the bottom of the slope, where theparleys had taken place, came the report of musketry.

　　Lemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with Bonaparte's sternletter, and Murat, humiliated and anxious to expiate his fault, had atonce moved his forces to attack the center and outflank both theRussian wings, hoping before evening and before the arrival of theEmperor to crush the contemptible detachment that stood before him.

　　"It has begun. Here it is!" thought Prince Andrew, feeling the bloodrush to his heart. "But where and how will my Toulon present itself?"

　　Passing between the companies that had been eating porridge anddrinking vodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere the samerapid movement of soldiers forming ranks and getting their musketsready, and on all their faces he recognized the same eagerness thatfilled his heart. "It has begun! Here it is, dreadful butenjoyable!" was what the face of each soldier and each officerseemed 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 comingtoward him. The foremost, wearing a Cossack cloak and lambskin cap andriding a white horse, was Prince Bagration. Prince Andrew stopped,waiting for him to come up; Prince Bagration reined in his horse andrecognizing Prince Andrew nodded to him. He still looked ahead whilePrince Andrew told him what he had seen.

　　The feeling, "It has begun! Here it is!" was seen even on PrinceBagration's hard brown face with its half-closed, dull, sleepy eyes.Prince Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive faceand wished he could tell what, if anything, this man was thinkingand feeling at that moment. "Is there anything at all behind thatimpassive face?" Prince Andrew asked himself as he looked. PrinceBagration bent his head in sign of agreement with what Prince Andrewtold him, and said, "Very good!" in a tone that seemed to imply thateverything that took place and was reported to him was exactly what hehad foreseen. Prince Andrew, out of breath with his rapid ride,spoke quickly. Prince Bagration, uttering his words with an Orientalaccent, spoke particularly slowly, as if to impress the fact thatthere was no need to hurry. However, he put his horse to a trot in thedirection of Tushin's battery. Prince Andrew followed with thesuite. Behind Prince Bagration rode an officer of the suite, theprince's personal adjutant, Zherkov, an orderly officer, the staffofficer on duty, riding a fine bobtailed horse, and a civilian- anaccountant who had asked permission to be present at the battle out ofcuriosity. The accountant, a stout, full-faced man, looked aroundhim with a naive smile of satisfaction and presented a strangeappearance among the hussars, Cossacks, and adjutants, in his camletcoat, as he jolted on his horse with a convoy officer's saddle.

　　"He wants to see a battle," said Zherkov to Bolkonski, pointing tothe accountant, "but he feels a pain in the pit of his stomachalready."

　　"Oh, leave off!" said the accountant with a beaming but rathercunning smile, as if flattered at being made the subject ofZherkov's joke, and purposely trying to appear stupider than he reallywas.

　　"It is very strange, mon Monsieur Prince," said the staff officer.(He remembered that in French there is some peculiar way of addressinga prince, but could not get it quite right.)

　　By this time they were all approaching Tushin's battery, and aball struck the ground in front of them.

　　"What's that that has fallen?" asked the accountant with a naivesmile.

　　"A French pancake," answered Zherkov.

　　"So that's what they hit with?" asked the accountant. "How awful!"

　　He seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had hardly finishedspeaking when they again heard an unexpectedly violent whistling whichsuddenly ended with a thud into something soft... f-f-flop! and aCossack, riding a little to their right and behind the accountant,crashed to earth with his horse. Zherkov and the staff officer bentover their saddles and turned their horses away. The accountantstopped, facing the Cossack, and examined him with attentivecuriosity. The Cossack was dead, but the horse still struggled.

　　Prince Bagration screwed up his eyes, looked round, and, seeingthe cause of the confusion, turned away with indifference, as if tosay, "Is it worth while noticing trifles?" He reined in his horse withthe case of a skillful rider and, slightly bending over, disengagedhis saber which had caught in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned saberof a kind no longer in general use. Prince Andrew remembered the storyof Suvorov giving his saber to Bagration in Italy, and therecollection was particularly pleasant at that moment. They hadreached the battery at which Prince Andrew had been when he examinedthe battlefield.

　　"Whose company?" asked Prince Bagration of an artillerymanstanding by the ammunition wagon.

　　He asked, "Whose company?" but he really meant, "Are youfrightened here?" and the artilleryman understood him.

　　"Captain Tushin's, your excellency!" shouted the red-haired,freckled gunner in a merry voice, standing to attention.

　　"Yes, yes," muttered Bagration as if considering something, and herode past the limbers to the farthest cannon.

　　As he approached, a ringing shot issued from it deafening him andhis suite, and in the smoke that suddenly surrounded the gun theycould see the gunners who had seized it straining to roll it quicklyback to its former position. A huge, broad-shouldered gunner, NumberOne, holding a mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the wheel; whileNumber Two with a trembling hand placed a charge in the cannon'smouth. The short, round-shouldered Captain Tushin, stumbling overthe tail of the gun carriage, moved forward and, not noticing thegeneral, looked out shading his eyes with his small hand.

　　"Lift it two lines more and it will be just right," cried he in afeeble voice to which he tried to impart a dashing note, ill suited tohis weak figure. "Number Two!" he squeaked. "Fire, Medvedev!"

　　Bagration called to him, and Tushin, raising three fingers to hiscap with a bashful and awkward gesture not at all like a militarysalute but like a priest's benediction, approached the general. ThoughTushin's guns had been intended to cannonade the valley, he was firingincendiary balls at the village of Schon Grabern visible justopposite, in front of which large masses of French were advancing.

　　No one had given Tushin orders where and at what to fire, butafter consulting his sergeant major, Zakharchenko, for whom he hadgreat respect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to setfire to the village. "Very good!" said Bagration in reply to theofficer's report, and began deliberately to examine the wholebattlefield extended before him. The French had advanced nearest onour right. Below the height on which the Kiev regiment wasstationed, in the hollow where the rivulet flowed, the soul-stirringrolling and crackling of musketry was heard, and much farther to theright beyond the dragoons, the officer of the suite pointed out toBagration a French column that was outflanking us. To the left thehorizon bounded by the adjacent wood. Prince Bagration ordered twobattalions from the center to be sent to reinforce the right flank.The officer of the suite ventured to remark to the prince that ifthese battalions went away, the guns would remain without support.Prince Bagration turned to the officer and with his dull eyes lookedat him in silence. It seemed to Prince Andrew that the officer'sremark was just and that really no answer could be made to it. Butat that moment an adjutant galloped up with a message from thecommander of the regiment in the hollow and news that immense massesof the French were coming down upon them and that his regiment wasin disorder and was retreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. PrinceBagration bowed his head in sign of assent and approval. He rode offat a walk to the right and sent an adjutant to the dragoons withorders to attack the French. But this adjutant returned half an hourlater with the news that the commander of the dragoons had alreadyretreated beyond the dip in the ground, as a heavy fire had beenopened on him and he was losing men uselessly, and so had hastenedto throw some sharpshooters into the wood.

　　"Very good!" said Bagration.

　　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 gothere himself, Prince Bagration sent Zherkov to tell the general incommand (the one who had paraded his regiment before Kutuzov atBraunau) that he must retreat as quickly as possible behind the hollowin the rear, as the right flank would probably not be able towithstand the enemy's attack very long. About Tushin and the battalionthat had been in support of his battery all was forgotten. PrinceAndrew listened attentively to Bagration's colloquies with thecommanding officers and the orders he gave them and, to hissurprise, found that no orders were really given, but that PrinceBagration tried to make it appear that everything done by necessity,by accident, or by the will of subordinate commanders was done, if notby his direct command, at least in accord with his intentions.Prince Andrew noticed, however, that though what happened was due tochance and was independent of the commander's will, owing to thetact Bagration showed, his presence was very valuable. Officers whoapproached him with disturbed countenances became calm; soldiers andofficers greeted him gaily, grew more cheerful in his presence, andwere evidently anxious to display their courage before him.BK2|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　Prince Bagration, having reached the highest point of our rightflank, began riding downhill to where the roll of musketry was heardbut where on account of the smoke nothing could be seen. The nearerthey got to the hollow the less they could see but the more theyfelt the nearness of the actual battlefield. They began to meetwounded men. One with a bleeding head and no cap was being draggedalong by two soldiers who supported him under the arms. There was agurgle in his throat and he was spitting blood. A bullet had evidentlyhit him in the throat or mouth. Another was walking sturdily byhimself but without his musket, groaning aloud and swinging his armwhich had just been hurt, while blood from it was streaming over hisgreatcoat as from a bottle. He had that moment been wounded and hisface showed fear rather than suffering. Crossing a road they descendeda steep incline and saw several men lying on the ground; they also meta crowd of soldiers some of whom were unwounded. The soldiers wereascending the hill breathing heavily, and despite the general'spresence were talking loudly and gesticulating. In front of themrows of gray cloaks were already visible through the smoke, and anofficer catching sight of Bagration rushed shouting after the crowd ofretreating soldiers, ordering them back. Bagration rode up to theranks along which shots crackled now here and now there, drowningthe sound of voices and the shouts of command. The whole air reekedwith smoke. The excited faces of the soldiers were blackened withit. Some were using their ramrods, others putting powder on thetouchpans or taking charges from their pouches, while others werefiring, though who they were firing at could not be seen for the smokewhich there was no wind to carry away. A pleasant humming andwhistling of bullets were often heard. "What is this?" thoughtPrince Andrew approaching the crowd of soldiers. "It can't be anattack, for they are not moving; it can't be a square- for they arenot drawn up for that."

　　The commander of the regiment, a thin, feeble-looking old man with apleasant smile- his eyelids drooping more than half over his old eyes,giving him a mild expression, rode up to Bagration and welcomed him asa host welcomes an honored guest. He reported that his regiment hadbeen attacked by French cavalry and that, though the attack had beenrepulsed, he had lost more than half his men. He said the attack hadbeen repulsed, employing this military term to describe what hadoccurred to his regiment, but in reality he did not himself knowwhat had happened during that half-hour to the troops entrusted tohim, and could not say with certainty whether the attack had beenrepulsed or his regiment had been broken up. All he knew was that atthe commencement of the action balls and shells began flying allover his regiment and hitting men and that afterwards someone hadshouted "Cavalry!" and our men had begun firing. They were stillfiring, not at the cavalry which had disappeared, but at Frenchinfantry who had come into the hollow and were firing at our men.Prince Bagration bowed his head as a sign that this was exactly whathe had desired and expected. Turning to his adjutant he ordered him tobring down the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs whom they hadjust passed. Prince Andrew was struck by the changed expression onPrince Bagration's face at this moment. It expressed theconcentrated and happy resolution you see on the face of a man whoon a hot day takes a final run before plunging into the water. Thedull, sleepy expression was no longer there, nor the affectation ofprofound thought. The round, steady, hawk's eyes looked before himeagerly and rather disdainfully, not resting on anything althoughhis movements were still slow and measured.

　　The commander of the regiment turned to Prince Bagration, entreatinghim to go back as it was too dangerous to remain where they were."Please, your excellency, for God's sake!" he kept saying, glancingfor 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 toneof entreaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a gentleman whohas picked up an ax: "We are used to it, but you, sir, will blisteryour hands." He spoke as if those bullets could not kill him, andhis half-closed eyes gave still more persuasiveness to his words.The staff officer joined in the colonel's appeals, but Bagration didnot reply; he only gave an order to cease firing and re-form, so as togive room for the two approaching battalions. While he was speaking,the curtain of smoke that had concealed the hollow, driven by a risingwind, began to move from right to left as if drawn by an invisiblehand, and the hill opposite, with the French moving about on it,opened out before them. All eyes fastened involuntarily on this Frenchcolumn advancing against them and winding down over the uneven ground.One could already see the soldiers' shaggy caps, distinguish theofficers from the men, and see the standard flapping against itsstaff.

　　"They march splendidly," remarked someone in Bagration's suite.

　　The head of the column had already descended into the hollow. Theclash would take place on this side of it...

　　The remains of our regiment which had been in action rapidlyformed up and moved to the right; from behind it, dispersing thelaggards, came two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs in fine order.Before they had reached Bagration, the weighty tread of the mass ofmen marching in step could be heard. On their left flank, nearest toBagration, marched a company commander, a fine round-faced man, with astupid and happy expression- the same man who had rushed out of thewattle shed. At that moment he was clearly thinking of nothing but howdashing a fellow he would appear as he passed the commander.

　　With the self-satisfaction of a man on parade, he stepped lightlywith his muscular legs as if sailing along, stretching himself tohis full height without the smallest effort, his ease contrasting withthe heavy tread of the soldiers who were keeping step with him. Hecarried close to his leg a narrow unsheathed sword (small, curved, andnot like a real weapon) and looked now at the superior officers andnow back at the men without losing step, his whole powerful bodyturning flexibly. It was as if all the powers of his soul wereconcentrated on passing the commander in the best possible manner, andfeeling that he was doing it well he was happy. "Left... left...left..." he seemed to repeat to himself at each alternate step; and intime to this, with stern but varied faces, the wall of soldiersburdened with knapsacks and muskets marched in step, and each one ofthese hundreds of soldiers seemed to be repeating to himself at eachalternate step, "Left... left... left..." A fat major skirted abush, puffing and falling out of step; a soldier who had fallenbehind, 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 Bagration and his suite, and fell into thecolumn to the measure of "Left... left!" "Close up!" came thecompany commander's voice in jaunty tones. The soldiers passed in asemicircle round something where the ball had fallen, and an oldtrooper on the flank, a noncommissioned officer who had stopped besidethe dead men, ran to catch up his line and, falling into step with ahop, looked back angrily, and through the ominous silence and theregular tramp of feet beating the ground in unison, one seemed to hearleft... left... left.

　　"Well done, lads!" said Prince Bagration.

　　"Glad to do our best, your ex'len-lency!" came a confused shout fromthe ranks. A morose soldier marching on the left turned his eyes onBagration as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say: "Weknow that ourselves!" Another, without looking round, as thoughfearing to relax, shouted with his mouth wide open and passed on.

　　The order was given to halt and down knapsacks.

　　Bagration rode round the ranks that had marched past him anddismounted. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off and handed overhis felt coat, stretched his legs, and set his cap straight. Thehead of the French column, with its officers leading, appeared frombelow the hill.

　　"Forward, with God!" said Bagration, in a resolute, sonorousvoice, turning for a moment to the front line, and slightly swinginghis arms, he went forward uneasily over the rough field with theawkward gait of a cavalryman. Prince Andrew felt that an invisiblepower was leading him forward, and experienced great happiness.

　　The French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking besideBagration, 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 withdifficulty.) Prince Bagration gave no further orders and silentlycontinued to walk on in front of the ranks. Suddenly one shot afteranother rang out from the French, smoke appeared all along theiruneven ranks, and musket shots sounded. Several of our men fell, amongthem the round-faced officer who had marched so gaily andcomplacently. But at the moment the first report was heard,Bagration looked round and shouted, "Hurrah!"

　　"Hurrah- ah!- ah!" rang a long-drawn shout from our ranks, andpassing Bagration and racing one another they rushed in an irregularbut joyous and eager crowd down the hill at their disordered foe.BK2|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　The attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of our rightflank. In the center Tushin's forgotten battery, which had managedto set fire to the Schon Grabern village, delayed the Frenchadvance. The French were putting out the fire which the wind wasspreading, and thus gave us time to retreat. The retirement of thecenter to the other side of the dip in the ground at the rear washurried and noisy, but the different companies did not get mixed.But our left- which consisted of the Azov and Podolsk infantry and thePavlograd hussars- was simultaneously attacked and outflanked bysuperior French forces under Lannes and was thrown into confusion.Bagration had sent Zherkov to the general commanding that left flankwith orders to retreat immediately.

　　Zherkov, not removing his hand from his cap, turned his horseabout and galloped off. But no sooner had he left Bagration than hiscourage failed him. He was seized by panic and could not go where itwas dangerous.

　　Having reached the left flank, instead of going to the front wherethe firing was, he began to look for the general and his staff wherethey could not possibly be, and so did not deliver the order.

　　The command of the left flank belonged by seniority to the commanderof the regiment Kutuzov had reviewed at Braunau and in whichDolokhov was serving as a private. But the command of the extreme leftflank had been assigned to the commander of the Pavlograd regimentin which Rostov was serving, and a misunderstanding arose. The twocommanders were much exasperated with one another and, long afterthe action had begun on the right flank and the French were alreadyadvancing, were engaged in discussion with the sole object ofoffending one another. But the regiments, both cavalry and infantry,were by no means ready for the impending action. From privates togeneral they were not expecting a battle and were engaged inpeaceful occupations, the cavalry feeding the horses and theinfantry collecting wood.

　　"He higher iss dan I in rank," said the German colonel of thehussars, flushing and addressing an adjutant who had ridden up, "solet him do what he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my hussars...Bugler, sount ze retreat!"

　　But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon and musketry, minglingtogether, thundered on the right and in the center, while thecapotes of Lannes' sharpshooters were already seen crossing themilldam and forming up within twice the range of a musket shot. Thegeneral in command of the infantry went toward his horse with jerkysteps, and having mounted drew himself up very straight and tall androde to the Pavlograd commander. The commanders met with polite bowsbut with secret malevolence in their hearts.

　　"Once again, Colonel," said the general, "I can't leave half mymen in the wood. I beg of you, I beg of you," he repeated, "tooccupy 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 ifyou 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 sogoot to come to ze front and see dat zis position iss no goot? I don'tvish to destroy my men for your pleasure!"

　　"You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my ownpleasure and I won't allow it to be said!"

　　Taking the colonel's outburst as a challenge to his courage, thegeneral expanded his chest and rode, frowning, beside him to the frontline, as if their differences would be settled there amongst thebullets. They reached the front, several bullets sped over them, andthey halted in silence. There was nothing fresh to be seen from theline, for from where they had been before it had been evident thatit was impossible for cavalry to act among the bushes and brokenground, as well as that the French were outflanking our left. Thegeneral and colonel looked sternly and significantly at one anotherlike two fighting cocks preparing for battle, each vainly trying todetect signs of cowardice in the other. Both passed the examinationsuccessfully. As there was nothing to said, and neither wished to giveoccasion for it to be alleged that he had been the first to leavethe range of fire, they would have remained there for a long timetesting each other's courage had it not been that just then they heardthe rattle of musketry and a muffled shout almost behind them in thewood. The French had attacked the men collecting wood in the copse. Itwas no longer possible for the hussars to retreat with the infantry.They were cut off from the line of retreat on the left by theFrench. However inconvenient the position, it was now necessary toattack in order to cut away through for themselves.

　　The squadron in which Rostov was serving had scarcely time tomount before it was halted facing the enemy. Again, as at the Ennsbridge, there was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, andagain that terrible dividing line of uncertainty and fear-resembling the line separating the living from the dead- lay betweenthem. All were conscious of this unseen line, and the question whetherthey would 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 toquestions put to him by the officers, and, like a man desperatelyinsisting on having his own way, gave an order. No one said anythingdefinite, but the rumor of an attack spread through the squadron.The command to form up rang out and the sabers whizzed as they weredrawn from their scabbards. Still no one moved. The troops of the leftflank, infantry and hussars alike, felt that the commander did nothimself know what to do, and this irresolution communicated itselfto the men.

　　"If only they would be quick!" thought Rostov, feeling that atlast the time had come to experience the joy of an attack of whichhe had so often heard from his fellow hussars.

　　"Fo'ward, with God, lads!" rang out Denisov's voice. "At a twotfo'ward!"

　　The horses' croups began to sway in the front line. Rook pulled atthe reins and started of his own accord.

　　Before him, on the right, Rostov saw the front lines of hishussars and still farther ahead a dark line which he could not seedistinctly but took to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but someway off.

　　"Faster!" came the word of command, and Rostov felt Rook's flanksdrooping as he broke into a gallop.

　　Rostov anticipated his horse's movements and became more and moreelated. He had noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. This tree hadbeen in the middle of the line that had seemed so terrible- and now hehad crossed that line and not only was there nothing terrible, buteverything was becoming more and more happy and animated. "Oh, how Iwill slash at him!" thought Rostov, gripping the hilt of his saber.

　　"Hur-a-a-a-ah!" came a roar of voices. "Let anyone come my way now,"thought Rostov driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go at afull gallop so that he outstripped the others. Ahead, the enemy wasalready visible. Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweepover the squadron. Rostov raised his saber, ready to strike, but atthat instant the trooper Nikitenko, who was galloping ahead, shot awayfrom him, and Rostov felt as in a dream that he continued to becarried forward with unnatural speed but yet stayed on the samespot. From behind him Bondarchuk, an hussar he knew, jolted againsthim and looked angrily at him. Bondarchuk's horse swerved and gallopedpast.

　　"How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I am killed!" Rostovasked and answered at the same instant. He was alone in the middleof a field. Instead of the moving horses and hussars' backs, he sawnothing before him but the motionless earth and the stubble aroundhim. There was warm blood under his arm. "No, I am wounded and thehorse is killed." Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back,pinning his rider's leg. Blood was flowing from his head; he struggledbut could not rise. Rostov also tried to rise but fell back, hissabretache having become entangled in the saddle. Where our menwere, and where the French, he did not know. There was no one near.

　　Having disentangled his leg, he rose. "Where, on which side, was nowthe line that had so sharply divided the two armies?" he asked himselfand could not answer. "Can something bad have happened to me?" hewondered as he got up: and at that moment he felt that somethingsuperfluous was hanging on his benumbed left arm. The wrist felt as ifit were not his. He examined his hand carefully, vainly trying to findblood on it. "Ah, here are people coming," he thought joyfully, seeingsome men running toward him. "They will help me!" In front came aman wearing a strange shako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned,and with a hooked nose. Then came two more, and many more runningbehind. One of them said something strange, not in Russian. In amongthe 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 willtake me too? Who are these men?" thought Rostov, scarcely believinghis eyes. "Can they be French?" He looked at the approachingFrenchmen, and though but a moment before he had been galloping to getat them and hack them to pieces, their proximity now seemed so awfulthat he could not believe his eyes. "Who are they? Why are theyrunning? Can they be coming at me? And why? To kill me? Me whomeveryone is so fond of?" He remembered his mother's love for him,and his family's, and his friends', and the enemy's intention tokill him seemed impossible. "But perhaps they may do it!" For morethan ten seconds he stood not moving from the spot or realizing thesituation. The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, wasalready so close that the expression of his face could be seen. Andthe excited, alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holdinghis breath, and running so lightly, frightened Rostov. He seized hispistol and, instead of firing it, flung it at the Frenchman and ranwith all his might toward the bushes. He did not now run with thefeeling of doubt and conflict with which he had trodden the Ennsbridge, but with the feeling of a hare fleeing from the hounds. Onesingle sentiment, that of fear for his young and happy life, possessedhis whole being. Rapidly leaping the furrows, he fled across the fieldwith the impetuosity he used to show at catchplay, now and thenturning his good-natured, pale, young face to look back. A shudderof terror went through him: "No, better not look," he thought, buthaving reached the bushes he glanced round once more. The French hadfallen behind, and just as he looked round the first man changed hisrun to a walk and, turning, shouted something loudly to a comradefarther back. Rostov paused. "No, there's some mistake," thought he."They can't have wanted to kill me." But at the same time, his leftarm felt as heavy as if a seventy-pound weight were tied to it. Hecould run no more. The Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostovclosed his eyes and stooped down. One bullet and then another whistledpast him. He mustered his last remaining strength, took hold of hisleft hand with his right, and reached the bushes. Behind these weresome Russian sharpshooters.BK2|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　The infantry regiments that had been caught unawares in theoutskirts of the wood ran out of it, the different companies gettingmixed, and retreated as a disorderly crowd. One soldier, in hisfear, uttered the senseless cry, "Cut off!" that is so terrible inbattle, and that word infected the whole crowd with a feeling ofpanic.

　　"Surrounded! Cut off? We're lost!" shouted the fugitives.

　　The moment he heard the firing and the cry from behind, thegeneral realized that something dreadful had happened to his regiment,and the thought that he, an exemplary officer of many years' servicewho had never been to blame, might be held responsible at headquartersfor negligence or inefficiency so staggered him that, forgetting therecalcitrant cavalry colonel, his own dignity as a general, andabove all quite forgetting the danger and all regard forself-preservation, he clutched the crupper of his saddle and, spurringhis horse, galloped to the regiment under a hail of bullets which fellaround, but fortunately missed him. His one desire was to know whatwas happening and at any cost correct, or remedy, the mistake if hehad 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 behindthe copse across which our men, regardless of orders, were running anddescending the valley. That moment of moral hesitation which decidesthe fate of battles had arrived. Would this disorderly crowd ofsoldiers attend to the voice of their commander, or would they,disregarding him, continue their flight? Despite his desperateshouts that used to seem so terrible to the soldiers, despite hisfurious purple countenance distorted out of all likeness to his formerself, and the flourishing of his saber, the soldiers all continuedto run, talking, firing into the air, and disobeying orders. The moralhesitation which decided the fate of battles was evidently culminatingin a panic.

　　The general had a fit of coughing as a result of shouting and of thepowder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost. But atthat moment the French who were attacking, suddenly and without anyapparent reason, ran back and disappeared from the outskirts, andRussian sharpshooters showed themselves in the copse. It wasTimokhin's company, which alone had maintained its order in the woodand, having lain in ambush in a ditch, now attacked the Frenchunexpectedly. Timokhin, armed only with a sword, had rushed at theenemy with such a desperate cry and such mad, drunken determinationthat, taken by surprise, the French had thrown down their musketsand run. Dolokhov, running beside Timokhin, killed a Frenchman atclose quarters and was the first to seize the surrendering Frenchofficer by his collar. Our fugitives returned, the battalionsre-formed, and the French who had nearly cut our left flank in halfwere for the moment repulsed. Our reserve units were able to joinup, and the fight was at an end. The regimental commander and MajorEkonomov had stopped beside a bridge, letting the retreating companiespass by them, when a soldier came up and took hold of thecommander's stirrup, almost leaning against him. The man was wearing abluish coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsack or cap, his head wasbandaged, and over his shoulder a French munition pouch was slung.He had an officer's sword in his hand. The soldier was pale, hisblue eyes looked impudently into the commander's face, and his lipswere smiling. Though the commander was occupied in giving instructionsto Major Ekonomov, he could not help taking notice of the soldier.

　　"Your excellency, here are two trophies," said Dolokhov, pointing tothe French sword and pouch. "I have taken an officer prisoner. Istopped the company." Dolokhov breathed heavily from weariness andspoke in abrupt sentences. "The whole company can bear witness. Ibeg you will remember this, your excellency!"

　　"All right, all right," replied the commander, and turned to MajorEkonomov.

　　But Dolokhov did not go away; he untied the handkerchief aroundhis head, pulled it off, and showed the blood congealed on his hair.

　　"A bayonet wound. I remained at the front. Remember, yourexcellency!"

　　Tushin's battery had been forgotten and only at the very end ofthe action did Prince Bagration, still hearing the cannonade in thecenter, send his orderly staff officer, and later Prince Andrewalso, to order the battery to retire as quickly as possible. Whenthe supports attached to Tushin's battery had been moved away in themiddle of the action by someone's order, the battery had continuedfiring and was only not captured by the French because the enemy couldnot surmise that anyone could have the effrontery to continue firingfrom four quite undefended guns. On the contrary, the energetic actionof that battery led the French to suppose that here- in the center-the main Russian forces were concentrated. Twice they had attempted toattack this point, but on each occasion had been driven back bygrapeshot from the four isolated guns on the hillock.

　　Soon after Prince Bagration had left him, Tushin had succeeded insetting fire to Schon 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 thedirection of the conflagration. As if urging each other on, thesoldiers cried at each shot: "Fine! That's good! Look at it... Grand!"The fire, fanned by the breeze, was rapidly spreading. The Frenchcolumns that had advanced beyond the village went back; but asthough in revenge for this failure, the enemy placed ten guns to theright of the village and began firing them at Tushin's battery.

　　In their childlike glee, aroused by the fire and their luck insuccessfully cannonading the French, our artillerymen only noticedthis battery when two balls, and then four more, fell among ourguns, one knocking over two horses and another tearing off amunition-wagon driver's leg. Their spirits once roused were,however, not diminished, but only changed character. The horses werereplaced by others from a reserve gun carriage, the wounded werecarried away, and the four guns were turned against the ten-gunbattery. Tushin's companion officer had been killed at the beginningof the engagement and within an hour seventeen of the forty men of theguns' crews had been disabled, but the artillerymen were still asmerry and lively as ever. Twice they noticed the French appearingbelow them, and then they fired grapeshot at them.

　　Little Tushin, moving feebly and awkwardly, kept telling his orderlyto "refill my pipe for that one!" and then, scattering sparks from it,ran forward shading his eyes with his small hand to look at theFrench.

　　"Smack at 'em, lads!" he kept saying, seizing the guns by the wheelsand working the screws himself.

　　Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which alwaysmade him jump, Tushin not taking his pipe from his mouth ran fromgun to gun, now aiming, now counting the charges, now giving ordersabout 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 orwounded did he frown and turn away from the sight, shouting angrily atthe men who, as is always the case, hesitated about lifting theinjured or dead. The soldiers, for the most part handsome fellows and,as is always the case in an artillery company, a head and shoulderstaller and twice as broad as their officer- all looked at theircommander like children in an embarrassing situation, and theexpression on his face was invariably reflected on theirs.

　　Owing to the terrible uproar and the necessity for concentration andactivity, Tushin did not experience the slightest unpleasant senseof fear, and the thought that he might be killed or badly woundednever occurred to him. On the contrary, he became more and moreelated. It seemed to him that it was a very long time ago, almost aday, since he had first seen the enemy and fired the first shot, andthat the corner of the field he stood on was well-known and familiarground. Though he thought of everything, considered everything, anddid everything the best of officers could do in his position, he wasin a state akin to feverish delirium or drunkenness.

　　From the deafening sounds of his own guns around him, the whistleand thud of the enemy's cannon balls, from the flushed andperspiring faces of the crew bustling round the guns, from the sightof the blood of men and horses, from the little puffs of smoke onthe enemy's side (always followed by a ball flying past and strikingthe earth, a man, a gun, a horse), from the sight of all thesethings a fantastic world of his own had taken possession of hisbrain and at that moment afforded him pleasure. The enemy's gunswere in his fancy not guns but pipes from which occasional puffswere blown by an invisible smoker.

　　"There... he's puffing again," muttered Tushin to himself, as asmall cloud rose from the hill and was borne in a streak to the leftby the wind.

　　"Now look out for the ball... we'll throw it back."

　　"What do you want, your honor?" asked an artilleryman, standingclose by, who heard him muttering.

　　"Nothing... only a shell..." he answered.

　　"Come along, our Matvevna!" he said to himself. "Matvevna"* wasthe name his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the battery, whichwas large and of an old pattern. The French swarming round theirguns seemed to him like ants. In that world, the handsome drunkardNumber One of the second gun's crew was "uncle"; Tushin looked athim more often than at anyone else and took delight in his everymovement. The sound of musketry at the foot of the hill, nowdiminishing, now increasing, seemed like someone's breathing. Helistened 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 wasthrowing cannon balls at the French with both hands.

　　"Now then, Matvevna, dear old lady, don't let me down!" he wassaying as he moved from the gun, when a strange, unfamiliar voicecalled above his head: "Captain Tushin! Captain!"

　　Tushin turned round in dismay. It was the staff officer who hadturned him out of the booth at Grunth. He was shouting in a gaspingvoice:

　　"Are you mad? You have twice been ordered to retreat, and you..."

　　"Why are they down on me?" thought Tushin, looking in alarm at hissuperior.

　　"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 cannonball, 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, anotherball 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 thesame order.

　　It was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw on riding up to thespace where Tushin's guns were stationed was an unharnessed horse witha broken leg, that lay screaming piteously beside the harnessedhorses. Blood was gushing from its leg as from a spring. Among thelimbers lay several dead men. One ball after another passed over as heapproached and he felt a nervous shudder run down his spine. But themere thought of being afraid roused him again. "I cannot be afraid,"thought he, and dismounted slowly among the guns. He delivered theorder and did not leave the battery. He decided to have the gunsremoved from their positions and withdrawn in his presence. Togetherwith Tushin, stepping across the bodies and under a terrible fire fromthe French, he attended to the removal of the guns.

　　"A staff officer was here a minute ago, but skipped off," said anartilleryman to Prince Andrew. "Not like your honor!"

　　Prince Andrew said nothing to Tushin. They were both so busy as toseem not to notice one another. When having limbered up the only twocannon that remained uninjured out of the four, they began moving downthe hill (one shattered gun and one unicorn were left behind),Prince Andrew rode up to Tushin.

　　"Well, till we meet again..." he said, holding out his hand toTushin.

　　"Good-by, my dear fellow," said Tushin. "Dear soul! Good-by, my dearfellow!" and for some unknown reason tears suddenly filled his eyes.BK2|CH21

　　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 growingdark and the glow of two conflagrations was the more conspicuous.The cannonade was dying down, but the rattle of musketry behind and onthe right sounded oftener and nearer. As soon as Tushin with his guns,continually driving round or coming upon wounded men, was out of rangeof fire and had descended into the dip, he was met by some of thestaff, among them the staff officer and Zherkov, who had been twicesent to Tushin's battery but had never reached it. Interrupting oneanother, they all gave, and transmitted, orders as to how toproceed, reprimanding and reproaching him. Tushin gave no orders, and,silently- fearing to speak because at every word he felt ready to weepwithout knowing why- rode behind on his artillery nag. Though theorders were to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged themselvesafter troops and begged for seats on the gun carriages. The jauntyinfantry officer who just before the battle had rushed out of Tushin'swattle shed was laid, with a bullet in his stomach, on "Matvevna's"carriage. At the foot of the hill, a pale hussar cadet, supporting onehand with the other, came up to Tushin and asked for a seat.

　　"Captain, for God's sake! I've hurt my arm," he said timidly. "ForGod's sake... I can't walk. For God's sake!"

　　It was plain that this cadet had already repeatedly asked for a liftand 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 Tushin. "Lay a cloak for him to sit on,lad," he said, addressing his favorite soldier. "And where is thewounded officer?"

　　"He has been set down. He died," replied someone.

　　"Help him up. Sit down, dear fellow, sit down! Spread out the cloak,Antonov."

　　The cadet was Rostov. With one hand he supported the other; he waspale and his jaw trembled, shivering feverishly. He was placed on"Matvevna," the gun from which they had removed the dead officer.The cloak they spread under him was wet with blood which stained hisbreeches and arm.

　　"What, are you wounded, my lad?" said Tushin, approaching the gun onwhich Rostov sat.

　　"No, it's a sprain."

　　"Then what is this blood on the gun carriage?" inquired Tushin.

　　"It was the officer, your honor, stained it," answered theartilleryman, wiping away the blood with his coat sleeve, as ifapologizing for the state of his gun.

　　It was all that they could do to get the guns up the rise aided bythe infantry, and having reached the village of Gruntersdorf theyhalted. It had grown so dark that one could not distinguish theuniforms ten paces off, and the firing had begun to subside. Suddenly,near by on the right, shouting and firing were again heard. Flashes ofshot gleamed in the darkness. This was the last French attack andwas met by soldiers who had sheltered in the village houses. Theyall rushed out of the village again, but Tushin's guns could not move,and the artillerymen, Tushin, and the cadet exchanged silent glancesas they awaited their fate. The firing died down and soldiers, talkingeagerly, streamed out of a side street.

　　"Not hurt, Petrov?" 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 todrink?"

　　The French had been repulsed for the last time. And again andagain in the complete darkness Tushin's guns moved forward, surroundedby the humming infantry as by a frame.

　　In the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy unseen river wasflowing always in one direction, humming with whispers and talk andthe sound of hoofs and wheels. Amid the general rumble, the groans andvoices of the wounded were more distinctly heard than any othersound in the darkness of the night. The gloom that enveloped thearmy was filled with their groans, which seemed to melt into onewith the darkness of the night. After a while the moving mass becameagitated, 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 reportspread that they were ordered to halt: evidently those in front hadhalted. All remained where they were in the middle of the muddy road.

　　Fires were lighted and the talk became more audible. Captain Tushin,having given orders to his company, sent a soldier to find adressing station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by abonfire the soldiers had kindled on the road. Rostov, too, draggedhimself to the fire. From pain, cold, and damp, a feverish shiveringshook his whole body. Drowsiness was irresistibly mastering him, buthe kept awake kept awake by an excruciating pain in his arm, for whichhe could find no satisfactory position. He kept closing his eyes andthen again looking at the fire, which seemed to him dazzlingly red,and at the feeble, round-shouldered figure of Tushin who was sittingcross-legged like a Turk beside him. Tushin's large, kind, intelligenteyes were fixed with sympathy and commiseration on Rostov, who sawthat Tushin 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. Thesound of voices, the tramping feet, the horses' hoofs moving in mud,the crackling of wood fires near and afar, merged into one tremulousrumble.

　　It was no longer, as before, a dark, unseen river flowing throughthe gloom, but a dark sea swelling and gradually subsiding after astorm. Rostov looked at and listened listlessly to what passedbefore and around him. An infantryman came to the fire, squatted onhis heels, held his hands to the blaze, and turned away his face.

　　"You don't mind your honor?" he asked Tushin. "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 cameup to the bonfire, and addressing Tushin asked him to have the gunsmoved a trifle to let a wagon go past. After he had gone, two soldiersrushed to the campfire. They were quarreling and fighting desperately,each trying to snatch from the other a boot they were both holdingon to.

　　"You picked it up?... I dare say! You're very smart!" one of themshouted hoarsely.

　　Then a thin, pale soldier, his neck bandaged with a bloodstained legband, came up and in angry tones asked the artillerymen for water.

　　"Must one die like a dog?" said he.

　　Tushin told them to give the man some water. Then a cheerful soldierran 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 withinterest," said he, carrying away into the darkness a glowing stick.

　　Next came four soldiers, carrying something heavy on a cloak, andpassed 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 with their load.

　　"Still aching?" Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.

　　"Yes."

　　"Your honor, you're wanted by the general. He is in the hut here,"said a gunner, coming up to Tushin.

　　"Coming, friend."

　　Tushin 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 preparedfor him, Prince Bagration sat at dinner, talking with somecommanding officers who had gathered at his quarters. The little oldman with the half-closed eyes was there greedily gnawing a muttonbone, and the general who had served blamelessly for twenty-two years,flushed by a glass of vodka and the dinner; and the staff officer withthe signet ring, and Zherkov, uneasily glancing at them all, andPrince Andrew, pale, with compressed lips and feverishly glitteringeyes.

　　In a corner of the hut stood a standard captured from the French,and the accountant with the naive face was feeling its texture,shaking his head in perplexity- perhaps because the banner reallyinterested 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 nexthut there was a French colonel who had been taken prisoner by ourdragoons. Our officers were flocking in to look at him. PrinceBagration was thanking the individual commanders and inquiring intodetails of the action and our losses. The general whose regiment hadbeen inspected at Braunau was informing the prince that as soon as theaction began he had withdrawn from the wood, mustered the men who werewoodcutting, and, allowing the French to pass him, had made abayonet charge with two battalions and had broken up the Frenchtroops.

　　"When I saw, your excellency, that their first battalion wasdisorganized, I stopped in the road and thought: 'I'll let them comeon and will meet them with the fire of the whole battalion'- andthat's what I did."

　　The general had so wished to do this and was so sorry he had notmanaged 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 amidall that confusion what did or did not happen?

　　"By the way, your excellency, I should inform you," he continued-remembering Dolokhov's conversation with Kutuzov and his lastinterview with the gentleman-ranker- "that Private Dolokhov, who wasreduced to the ranks, took a French officer prisoner in my presenceand particularly distinguished himself."

　　"I saw the Pavlograd hussars attack there, your excellency,"chimed in Zherkov, looking uneasily around. He had not seen thehussars all that day, but had heard about them from an infantryofficer. "They broke up two squares, your excellency."

　　Several of those present smiled at Zherkov's words, expecting one ofhis usual jokes, but noticing that what he was saying redounded to theglory of our arms and of the day's work, they assumed a seriousexpression, though many of them knew that what he was saying was a liedevoid of any foundation. Prince Bagration 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 wereabandoned in the center?" he inquired, searching with his eyes forsomeone. (Prince Bagration did not ask about the guns on the leftflank; he knew that all the guns there had been abandoned at thevery beginning of the action.) "I think I sent you?" he added, turningto the staff officer on duty.

　　"One was damaged," answered the staff officer, "and the other Ican't understand. I was there all the time giving orders and hadonly just left.... It is true that it was hot there," he added,modestly.

　　Someone mentioned that Captain Tushin was bivouacking close to thevillage and had already been sent for.

　　"Oh, but you were there?" said Prince Bagration, addressing PrinceAndrew.

　　"Of course, we only just missed one another," said the staffofficer, with a smile to Bolkonski.

　　"I had not the pleasure of seeing you," said Prince Andrew, coldlyand abruptly.

　　All were silent. Tushin appeared at the threshold and made his waytimidly from behind the backs of the generals. As he stepped pastthe generals in the crowded hut, feeling embarrassed as he alwayswas by the sight of his superiors, he did not notice the staff ofthe banner and stumbled over it. Several of those present laughed.

　　"How was it a gun was abandoned?" asked Bagration, frowning, notso much at the captain as at those who were laughing, among whomZherkov laughed loudest.

　　Only now, when he was confronted by the stern authorities, did hisguilt and the disgrace of having lost two guns and yet remaining alivepresent themselves to Tushin in all their horror. He had been soexcited that he had not thought about it until that moment. Theofficers' laughter confused him still more. He stood beforeBagration with his lower jaw trembling and was hardly able tomutter: "I don't know... your excellency... I had no men... yourexcellency."

　　"You might have taken some from the covering troops."

　　Tushin did not say that there were no covering troops, though thatwas perfectly true. He was afraid of getting some other officer intotrouble, and silently fixed his eyes on Bagration as a schoolboy whohas blundered looks at an examiner.

　　The silence lasted some time. Prince Bagration, apparently notwishing to be severe, found nothing to say; the others did not ventureto intervene. Prince Andrew looked at Tushin from under his browsand his fingers twitched nervously.

　　"Your excellency!" Prince Andrew broke the silence with his abruptvoice," you were pleased to send me to Captain Tushin's battery. Iwent there and found two thirds of the men and horses knocked out, twoguns smashed, and no supports at all."

　　Prince Bagration and Tushin looked with equal intentness atBolkonski, who spoke with suppressed agitation.

　　"And, if your excellency will allow me to express my opinion," hecontinued, "we owe today's success chiefly to the action of thatbattery and the heroic endurance of Captain Tushin and his company,"and without awaiting a reply, Prince Andrew rose and left the table.

　　Prince Bagration looked at Tushin, evidently reluctant to showdistrust in Bolkonski's emphatic opinion yet not feeling able fully tocredit it, bent his head, and told Tushin that he could go. PrinceAndrew went out with him.

　　"Thank you; you saved me, my dear fellow!" said Tushin.

　　Prince Andrew gave him a look, but said nothing and went away. Hefelt sad and depressed. It was all so strange, so unlike what he hadhoped.

　　"Who are they? Why are they here? What do they want? And when willall this end?" thought Rostov, looking at the changing shadowsbefore him. The pain in his arm became more and more intense.Irresistible drowsiness overpowered him, red rings danced before hiseyes, and the impression of those voices and faces and a sense ofloneliness 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 armand shoulder. To rid himself of them he closed his eyes.

　　For a moment he dozed, but in that short interval innumerable thingsappeared to him in a dream: his mother and her large white hand,Sonya's thin little shoulders, Natasha's eyes and laughter, Denisovwith his voice and mustache, and Telyanin and all that affair withTelyanin and Bogdanich. That affair was the same thing as this soldierwith the harsh voice, and it was that affair and this soldier thatwere so agonizingly, incessantly pulling and pressing his arm andalways 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'sbreadth. It would not ache- it would be well- if only they did notpull it, but it was immpossible to get rid of them.

　　He opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of night hungless than a yard above the glow of the charcoal. Flakes of fallingsnow were fluttering in that light. Tushin had not returned, thedoctor had not come. He was alone now, except for a soldier who wassitting naked at the other side of the fire, warming his thin yellowbody.

　　"Nobody wants me!" thought Rostov. "There is no one to help me orpity me. Yet I was once at home, strong, happy, and loved." Hesighed and, doing so, groaned involuntarily.

　　"Eh, is anything hurting you?" asked the soldier, shaking hisshirt out over the fire, and not waiting for an answer he gave a gruntand added: "What a lot of men have been crippled today- frightful!"

　　Rostov did not listen to the soldier. He looked at the snowflakesfluttering above the fire and remembered a Russian winter at his warm,bright home, his fluffy fur coat, his quickly gliding sleigh, hishealthy body, and all the affection and care of his family. "And whydid I come here?" he wondered.

　　Next day the French army did not renew their attack, and the remnantof Bagration's detachment was reunited to Kutuzov's army.

　　BOOK THREE: 1805

　　CHAPTER I

　　Prince Vasili was not a man who deliberately thought out hisplans. Still less did he think of injuring anyone for his ownadvantage. He was merely a man of the world who had got on and to whomgetting on had become a habit. Schemes and devices for which henever rightly accounted to himself, but which formed the wholeinterest of his life, were constantly shaping themselves in hismind, arising from the circumstances and persons he met. Of theseplans he had not merely one or two in his head but dozens, some onlybeginning to form themselves, some approaching achievement, and somein course of disintegration. He did not, for instance, say to himself:"This man now has influence, I must gain his confidence and friendshipand 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 lendme the forty thousand rubles I need." But when he came across cameacross a man of position his instinct immediately told him that thisman could be useful, and without any premeditation Prince Vasilitook the first opportunity to gain his confidence, flatter him, becomeintimate with him, and finally make his request.

　　He had Pierre at hand in Moscow and procured for him anappointment as Gentleman of the Bedchamber, which at that timeconferred the status of Councilor of State, and insisted on theyoung man accompanying him to Petersburg and staying at his house.With apparent absent-mindedness, yet with unhesitating assurancethat he was doing the right thing, Prince Vasili did everything to getPierre to marry his daughter. Had he thought out his plansbeforehand he could not have been so natural and shown such unaffectedfamiliarity in intercourse with everybody both above and below himin social standing. Something always drew him toward those richerand more powerful than himself and he had rare skill in seizing themost opportune moment for making use of people.

　　Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Bezukhov and a rich man, felthimself after his recent loneliness and freedom from cares so besetand preoccupied that only in bed was he able to be by himself. Hehad to sign papers, to present himself at government offices, thepurpose of which was not clear to him, to question his chiefsteward, to visit his estate near Moscow, and to receive many peoplewho formerly did not even wish to know of his existence but wouldnow have been offended and grieved had he chosen not to see them.These different people- businessmen, relations, and acquaintancesalike- were all disposed to treat the young heir in the mostfriendly and flattering manner: they were all evidently firmlyconvinced of Pierre's noble qualities. He was always hearing suchwords as: "With your remarkable kindness," or, "With your excellentheart," "You are yourself so honorable Count," or, "Were he asclever as you," and so on, till he began sincerely to believe in hisown exceptional kindness and extraordinary intelligence, the more soas in the depth of his heart it had always seemed to him that hereally was very kind and intelligent. Even people who had formerlybeen spiteful toward him and evidently unfriendly now became gentleand affectionate. The angry eldest princess, with the long waist andhair plastered down like a doll's, had come into Pierre's room afterthe funeral. With drooping eyes and frequent blushes she told himshe was very sorry about their past misunderstandings and did notnow feel she had a right to ask him for anything, except only forpermission, after the blow she had received, to remain for a few weekslonger in the house she so loved and where she had sacrificed so much.She could not refrain from weeping at these words. Touched that thisstatuesque princess could so change, Pierre took her hand and beggedher forgiveness, without knowing what for. From that day the eldestprincess quite changed toward Pierre and began knitting a stripedscarf for him.

　　"Do this for my sake, mon cher; after all, she had to put up witha great deal from the deceased," said Prince Vasili to him, handinghim a deed to sign for the princess' benefit.

　　Prince Vasili had come to the conclusion that it was necessary tothrow this bone- a bill for thirty thousand rubles- to the poorprincess that it might not occur to her to speak of his share in theaffair of the inlaid portfolio. Pierre signed the deed and afterthat the princess grew still kinder. The younger sisters also becameaffectionate to him, especially the youngest, the pretty one withthe mole, who often made him feel confused by her smiles and her ownconfusion when meeting him.

　　It seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone should like him, and itwould have seemed so unnatural had anyone disliked him, that hecould not but believe in the sincerity of those around him. Besides,he had no time to ask himself whether these people were sincere ornot. He was always busy and always felt in a state of mild andcheerful intoxication. He felt as though he were the center of someimportant and general movement; that something was constantly expectedof him, that if he did not do it he would grieve and disappoint manypeople, but if he did this and that, all would be well; and he didwhat was demanded of him, but still that happy result alwaysremained in the future.

　　More than anyone else, Prince Vasili took possession of Pierre'saffairs and of Pierre himself in those early days. From the death ofCount Bezukhov he did not let go his hold of the lad. He had the airof a man oppressed by business, weary and suffering, who yet wouldnot, for pity's sake, leave this helpless youth who, after all, wasthe son of his old friend and the possessor of such enormous wealth,to the caprice of fate and the designs of rogues. During the fewdays he spent in Moscow after the death of Count Bezukhov, he wouldcall Pierre, or go to him himself, and tell him what ought to bedone in a tone of weariness and assurance, as if he were addingevery time: "You know I am overwhelmed with business and it ispurely out of charity that I trouble myself about you, and you alsoknow quite well that what I propose is the only thing possible."

　　"Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow we are off at last," said PrinceVasili one day, closing his eyes and fingering Pierre's elbow,speaking as if he were saying something which had long since beenagreed upon and could not now be altered. "We start tomorrow and I'mgiving you a place in my carriage. I am very glad. All our importantbusiness 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 foryou, and you have been entered in the diplomatic corps and made aGentleman of the Bedchamber. The diplomatic career now lies openbefore you."

　　Notwithstanding the tone of wearied assurance with which these wordswere pronounced, Pierre, who had so long been considering hiscareer, wished to make some suggestion. But Prince Vasiliinterrupted him in the special deep cooing tone, precluding thepossibility of interrupting his speech, which he used in extreme caseswhen special persuasion was needed.

　　"Mais, mon cher, I did this for my own sake, to satisfy myconscience, and there is nothing to thank me for. No one has evercomplained yet of being too much loved; and besides, you are free, youcould throw it up tomorrow. But you will see everything for yourselfwhen you get to Petersburg. It is high time for you to get away fromthese terrible recollections." Prince Vasili sighed. "Yes, yes, myboy. And my valet can go in your carriage. Ah! I was nearlyforgetting," he added. "You know, mon cher, your father and I had someaccounts to settle, so I have received what was due from the Ryazanestate and will keep it; you won't require it. We'll go into theaccounts later."

　　By "what was due from the Ryazan estate" Prince Vasili meant severalthousand rubles quitrent received from Pierre's peasants, which theprince had retained for himself.

　　In Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found the same atmosphere ofgentleness and affection. He could not refuse the post, or ratherthe rank (for he did nothing), that Prince Vasili had procured forhim, and acquaintances, invitations, and social occupations were sonumerous that, even more than in Moscow, he felt a sense ofbewilderment, bustle, and continual expectation of some good, alwaysin front of him but never attained.

　　Of his former bachelor acquaintances many were no longer inPetersburg. The Guards had gone to the front; Dolokhov had beenreduced to the ranks; Anatole was in the army somewhere in theprovinces; Prince Andrew was abroad; so Pierre had not the opportunityto spend his nights as he used to like to spend them, or to open hismind by intimate talks with a friend older than himself and whom herespected. His whole time was taken up with dinners and balls andwas spent chiefly at Prince Vasili's house in the company of the stoutprincess, his wife, and his beautiful daughter Helene.

　　Like the others, Anna Pavlovna Scherer showed Pierre the change ofattitude toward him that had taken place in society.

　　Formerly in Anna Pavlovna's presence, Pierre had always felt thatwhat he was saying was out of place, tactless and unsuitable, thatremarks which seemed to him clever while they formed in his mindbecame foolish as soon as he uttered them, while on the contraryHippolyte's stupidest remarks came out clever and apt. Noweverything Pierre said was charmant. Even if Anna Pavlovna did not sayso, he could see that she wished to and only refrained out of regardfor his modesty.

　　In the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 Pierre received one of AnnaPavlovna's usual pink notes with an invitation to which was added:"You will find the beautiful Helene here, whom it is always delightfulto see."

　　When he read that sentence, Pierre felt for the first time that somelink which other people recognized had grown up between himself andHelene, and that thought both alarmed him, as if some obligationwere being imposed on him which he could not fulfill, and pleasedhim as an entertaining supposition.

　　Anna Pavlovna's "At Home" was like the former one, only thenovelty she offered her guests this time was not Mortemart, but adiplomatist fresh from Berlin with the very latest details of theEmperor Alexander's visit to Potsdam, and of how the two augustfriends had pledged themselves in an indissoluble alliance to upholdthe cause of justice against the enemy of the human race. AnnaPavlovna received Pierre with a shade of melancholy, evidentlyrelating to the young man's recent loss by the death of Count Bezukhov(everyone constantly considered it a duty to assure Pierre that he wasgreatly afflicted by the death of the father he had hardly known), andher melancholy was just like the august melancholy she showed at themention of her most august Majesty the Empress Marya Fedorovna. Pierrefelt flattered by this. Anna Pavlovna arranged the different groups inher drawing room with her habitual skill. The large group, in whichwere Prince Vasili and the generals, had the benefit of thediplomat. Another group was at the tea table. Pierre wished to jointhe former, but Anna Pavlovna- who was in the excited condition of acommander on a battlefield to whom thousands of new and brilliantideas occur which there is hardly time to put in action- seeingPierre, touched his sleeve with her finger, saying:

　　"Wait a bit, I have something in view for you this evening." (Sheglanced at Helene and smiled at her.) "My dear Helene, be charitableto my poor aunt who adores you. Go and keep her company for tenminutes. And that it will not be too dull, here is the dear countwho will not refuse to accompany you."

　　The beauty went to the aunt, but Anna Pavlovna detained Pierre,looking as if she had to give some final necessary instructions.

　　"Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Pierre, pointing to the statelybeauty as she glided away. "And how she carries herself! For soyoung a girl, such tact, such masterly perfection of manner! Itcomes from her heart. Happy the man who wins her! With her the leastworldly of men would occupy a most brilliant position in society.Don't you think so? I only wanted to know your opinion," and AnnaPavlovna let Pierre go.

　　Pierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as to Helene'sperfection of manner. If he ever thought of Helene, it was just of herbeauty and her remarkable skill in appearing silently dignified insociety.

　　The old aunt received the two young people in her corner, but seemeddesirous of hiding her adoration for Helene and inclined rather toshow her fear of Anna Pavlovna. She looked at her niece, as ifinquiring what she was to do with these people. On leaving them,Anna Pavlovna again touched Pierre's sleeve, saying: "I hope you won'tsay that it is dull in my house again," and she glanced at Helene.

　　Helene smiled, with a look implying that she did not admit thepossibility of anyone seeing her without being enchanted. The auntcoughed, swallowed, and said in French that she was very pleased tosee Helene, then she turned to Pierre with the same words of welcomeand the same look. In the middle of a dull and halting conversation,Helene turned to Pierre with the beautiful bright smile that shegave to everyone. Pierre was so used to that smile, and it had solittle meaning for him, that he paid no attention to it. The auntwas just speaking of a collection of snuffboxes that had belonged toPierre's father, Count Bezukhov, and showed them her own box. PrincessHelene asked to see the portrait of the aunt's husband on the box lid.

　　"That is probably the work of Vinesse," said Pierre, mentioning acelebrated miniaturist, and he leaned over the table to take thesnuffbox while trying to hear what was being said at the other table.

　　He half rose, meaning to go round, but the aunt handed him thesnuffbox, passing it across Helene's back. Helene stooped forward tomake room, and looked round with a smile. She was, as always atevening parties, wearing a dress such as was then fashionable, cutvery low at front and back. Her bust, which had always seemed likemarble to Pierre, was so close to him that his shortsighted eyes couldnot but perceive the living charm of her neck and shoulders, so nearto his lips that he need only have bent his head a little to havetouched them. He was conscious of the warmth of her body, the scent ofperfume, and the creaking of her corset as she moved. He did not seeher marble beauty forming a complete whole with her dress, but all thecharm of her body only covered by her garments. And having once seenthis he could not help being aware it, just as we cannot renew anillusion we have once seen through.

　　"So you have never noticed before how beautiful I am?" Helene seemedto say. "You had not noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a womanwho may belong to anyone- to you too," said her glance. And at thatmoment Pierre felt that Helene not only could, but must, be hiswife, and that it could not be otherwise.

　　He knew this at that moment as surely as if he had been standingat 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, heknew not why, that it would be a bad thing), but he knew it wouldhappen.

　　Pierre dropped his eyes, lifted them again, and wished once moreto see her as a distant beauty far removed from him, as he had seenher every day until then, but he could no longer do it. He couldnot, any more than a man who has been looking at a tuft of steppegrass through the mist and taking it for a tree can again take itfor 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, andbetween them there was no longer any barrier except the barrier of hisown will.

　　"Well, I will leave you in your little corner," came Anna Pavlovna'svoice, "I see you are all right there."

　　And Pierre, anxiously trying to remember whether he had doneanything reprehensible, looked round with a blush. It seemed to himthat everyone knew what had happened to him as he knew it himself.

　　A little later when he went up to the large circle, Anna Pavlovnasaid to him: "I hear you are refitting your Petersburg house?"

　　This was true. The architect had told him that it was necessary, andPierre, without knowing why, was having his enormous Petersburghouse done up.

　　"That's a good thing, but don't move from Prince Vasili's. It isgood to have a friend like the prince," she said, smiling at PrinceVasili. "I know something about that. Don't I? And you are still soyoung. You need advice. Don't be angry with me for exercising an oldwoman's privilege."

　　She paused, as women always do, expecting something after theyhave mentioned their age. "If you marry it will be a different thing,"she continued, uniting them both in one glance. Pierre did not look atHelene nor she at him. But she was just as terribly close to him. Hemuttered something and colored.

　　When he got home he could not sleep for a long time for thinkingof what had happened. What had happened? Nothing. He had merelyunderstood that the woman he had known as a child, of whom when herbeauty was mentioned he had said absent-mindedly: "Yes, she's goodlooking," 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 excitesin me. I have been told that her brother Anatole was in love withher and she with him, that there was quite a scandal and that that'swhy he was sent away. Hippolyte is her brother... Prince Vasili is herfather... It's bad...." he reflected, but while he was thinking this(the reflection was still incomplete), he caught himself smiling andwas conscious that another line of thought had sprung up, and whilethinking of her worthlessness he was also dreaming of how she would behis wife, how she would love him become quite different, and how allhe had thought and heard of her might be false. And he again saw hernot as the daughter of Prince Vasili, but visualized her whole bodyonly veiled by its gray dress. "But no! Why did this thought neveroccur to me before?" and again he told himself that it was impossible,that there would be something unnatural, and as it seemed to himdishonorable, in this marriage. He recalled her former words and looksand the words and looks of those who had seen them together. Herecalled Anna Pavlovna's words and looks when she spoke to him abouthis house, recalled thousands of such hints from Prince Vasili andothers, and was seized by terror lest he had already, in some way,bound himself to do something that was evidently wrong and that heought not to do. But at the very time he was expressing thisconviction to himself, in another part of his mind her image rose inall its womanly beauty.BK3|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　In November, 1805, Prince Vasili had to go on a tour of inspectionin four different provinces. He had arranged this for himself so as tovisit his neglected estates at the same time and pick up his sonAnatole where his regiment was stationed, and take him to visit PrinceNicholas Bolkonski in order to arrange a match for him with thedaughter of that rich old man. But before leaving home and undertakingthese new affairs, Prince Vasili had to settle matters with Pierre,who, it is true, had latterly spent whole days at home, that is, inPrince Vasili's house where he was staying, and had been absurd,excited, and foolish in Helene'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 PrinceVasili to himself, with a sorrowful sigh, one morning, feeling thatPierre 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 ofheart, "but it must be brought to a head. The day after tomorrowwill be Lelya's name day. I will invite two or three people, and if hedoes not understand what he ought to do then it will be my affair-yes, my affair. I am her father."

　　Six weeks after Anna Pavlovna's "At Home" and after the sleeplessnight when he had decided that to marry Helene would be a calamity andthat he ought to avoid her and go away, Pierre, despite that decision,had not left Prince Vasili's and felt with terror that in people'seyes he was every day more and more connected with her, that it wasimpossible for him to return to his former conception of her, thathe could not break away from her, and that though it would be aterrible thing he would have to unite his fate with hers. He mightperhaps have been able to free himself but that Prince Vasili (who hadrarely before given receptions) now hardly let a day go by withouthaving an evening party at which Pierre had to be present unless hewished to spoil the general pleasure and disappoint everyone'sexpectation. Prince Vasili, in the rare moments when he was at home,would take Pierre's hand in passing and draw it downwards, orabsent-mindedly hold out his wrinkled, clean-shaven cheek for Pierreto kiss and would say: "Till tomorrow," or, "Be in to dinner or Ishall not see you," or, "I am staying in for your sake," and so on.And though Prince Vasili, when he stayed in (as he said) forPierre's sake, hardly exchanged a couple of words with him, Pierrefelt unable to disappoint him. Every day he said to himself one andthe same thing: "It is time I understood her and made up my mindwhat 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 tohimself "she never makes a mistake, never says anything stupid. Shesays little, but what she does say is always clear and simple, soshe is not stupid. She never was abashed and is not abashed now, soshe cannot be a bad woman!" He had often begun to make reflectionsor think aloud in her company, and she had always answered himeither by a brief but appropriate remark- showing that it did notinterest her- or by a silent look and smile which more palpably thananything else showed Pierre her superiority. She was right inregarding all arguments as nonsense in comparison with that smile.

　　She always addressed him with a radiantly confiding smile meantfor him alone, in which there was something more significant than inthe general smile that usually brightened her face. Pierre knew thateveryone 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 anincomprehensible terror seized him at the thought of that dreadfulstep. A thousand times during that month and a half while he felthimself drawn nearer and nearer to that dreadful abyss, Pierre said tohimself: "What am I doing? I need resolution. Can it be that I havenone?"

　　He wished to take a decision, but felt with dismay that in thismatter he lacked that strength of will which he had known in himselfand really possessed. Pierre was one of those who are only strong whenthey feel themselves quite innocent, and since that day when he wasoverpowered by a feeling of desire while stooping over the snuffbox atAnna Pavlovna's, an unacknowledged sense of the guilt of that desireparalyzed his will.

　　On Helene's name day, a small party of just their own people- as hiswife said- met for supper at Prince Vasili's. All these friends andrelations had been given to understand that the fate of the young girlwould be decided that evening. The visitors were seated at supper.Princess Kuragina, a portly imposing woman who had once been handsome,was sitting at the head of the table. On either side of her sat themore important guests- an old general and his wife, and AnnaPavlovna Scherer. At the other end sat the younger and lessimportant guests, and there too sat the members of the family, andPierre and Helene, side by side. Prince Vasili was not having anysupper: he went round the table in a merry mood, sitting down now byone, now by another, of the guests. To each of them he made somecareless and agreeable remark except to Pierre and Helene, whosepresence he seemed not to notice. He enlivened the whole party. Thewax candles burned brightly, the silver and crystal gleamed, so didthe ladies' toilets and the gold and silver of the men's epaulets;servants in scarlet liveries moved round the table, the clatter ofplates, knives, and glasses mingled with the animated hum of severalconversations. At one end of the table, the old chamberlain washeard assuring an old baroness that he loved her passionately, atwhich she laughed; at the other could be heard the story of themisfortunes of some Mary Viktorovna or other. At the center of thetable, Prince Vasili attracted everybody's attention. With a facetioussmile on his face, he was telling the ladies about last Wednesday'smeeting of the Imperial Council, at which Sergey KuzmichVyazmitinov, the new military governor general of Petersburg, hadreceived and read the then famous rescript of the Emperor Alexanderfrom the army to Sergey Kuzmich, in which the Emperor said that he wasreceiving from all sides declarations of the people's loyalty, thatthe declaration from Petersburg gave him particular pleasure, and thathe was proud to be at the head of such a nation and would endeavorto be worthy of it. This rescript began with the words: "SergeyKuzmich, From all sides reports reach me," etc.

　　"Well, and so he never got farther than: 'Sergey Kuzmich'?" askedone of the ladies.

　　"Exactly, not a hair's breadth farther," answered Prince Vasili,laughing, "'Sergey Kuzmich... From all sides... From all sides...Sergey Kuzmich...' Poor Vyazmitinov could not get any farther! Hebegan the rescript again and again, but as soon as he uttered 'Sergey'he sobbed, 'Kuz-mi-ch,' tears, and 'From all sides' was smothered insobs and he could get no farther. And again his handkerchief, andagain: 'Sergey Kuzmich, From all sides,'... and tears, till at lastsomebody else was asked to read it."

　　"Kuzmich... From all sides... and then tears," someone repeatedlaughing.

　　"Don't be unkind," cried Anna Pavlovna from her end of the tableholding up a threatening finger. "He is such a worthy and excellentman, our dear Vyazmitinov...."

　　Everybody laughed a great deal. At the head of the table, wherethe honored guests sat, everyone seemed to be in high spirits andunder the influence of a variety of exciting sensations. Only Pierreand Helene sat silently side by side almost at the bottom of thetable, a suppressed smile brightening both their faces, a smile thathad nothing to do with Sergey Kuzmich- a smile of bashfulness at theirown feelings. But much as all the rest laughed, talked, and joked,much as they enjoyed their Rhine wine, saute, and ices, and howeverthey avoided looking at the young couple, and heedless and unobservantas they seemed of them, one could feel by the occasional glancesthey gave that the story about Sergey Kuzmich, the laughter, and thefood were all a pretense, and that the whole attention of that companywas directed to- Pierre and Helene. Prince Vasili mimicked the sobbingof Sergey Kuzmich and at the same time his eyes glanced toward hisdaughter, and while he laughed the expression on his face clearlysaid: "Yes... it's getting on, it will all be settled today." AnnaPavlovna threatened him on behalf of "our dear Vyazmitinov," and inher eyes, which, for an instant, glanced at Pierre, Prince Vasili reada congratulation on his future son-in-law and on his daughter'shappiness. The old princess sighed sadly as she offered some wine tothe old lady next to her and glanced angrily at her daughter, andher sigh seemed to say: "Yes, there's nothing left for you and mebut to sip sweet wine, my dear, now that the time has come for theseyoung ones to be thus boldly, provocatively happy." "And what nonsenseall this is that I am saying!" thought a diplomatist, glancing atthe happy faces of the lovers. "That's happiness!"

　　Into the insignificant, trifling, and artificial interests unitingthat society had entered the simple feeling of the attraction of ahealthy and handsome young man and woman for one another. And thishuman feeling dominated everything else and soared above all theiraffected chatter. Jests fell flat, news was not interesting, and theanimation was evidently forced. Not only the guests but even thefootmen waiting at table seemed to feel this, and they forgot theirduties as they looked at the beautiful Helene with her radiant faceand at the red, broad, and happy though uneasy face of Pierre. Itseemed as if the very light of the candles was focused on those twohappy faces alone.

　　Pierre felt that he the center of it all, and this both pleasedand embarrassed him. He was like a man entirely absorbed in someoccupation. He did not see, hear, or understand anything clearly. Onlynow and then detached ideas and impressions from the world ofreality 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 myselfalone, but because of everyone, it must inevitably come about. Theyare all expecting it, they are so sure that it will happen that Icannot, I cannot, disappoint them. But how will it be? I do notknow, but it will certainly happen!" thought Pierre, glancing at thosedazzling shoulders close to his eyes.

　　Or he would suddenly feel ashamed of he knew not what. He felt itawkward to attract everyone's attention and to be considered a luckyman and, with his plain face, to be looked on as a sort of Parispossessed of a Helen. "But no doubt it always is and must be so!" heconsoled himself. "And besides, what have I done to bring it about?How did it begin? I traveled from Moscow with Prince Vasili. Thenthere was nothing. So why should I not stay at his house? Then Iplayed cards with her and picked up her reticule and drove out withher. How did it begin, when did it all come about?" And here he wassitting by her side as her betrothed, seeing, hearing, feeling hernearness, her breathing, her movements, her beauty. Then it wouldsuddenly seem to him that it was not she but he was so unusuallybeautiful, and that that was why they all looked so at him, andflattered by this general admiration he would expand his chest,raise his head, and rejoice at his good fortune. Suddenly he heard afamiliar voice repeating something to him a second time. But Pierrewas so absorbed that he did not understand what was said.

　　"I am asking you when you last heard from Bolkonski," repeatedPrince Vasili a third time. "How absent-minded you are, my dearfellow."

　　Prince Vasili smiled, and Pierre noticed that everyone was smilingat him and Helene. "Well, what of it, if you all know it?" thoughtPierre. "What of it? It's the truth!" and he himself smiled his gentlechildlike smile, and Helene smiled too.

　　"When did you get the letter? Was it from Olmutz?" repeated PrinceVasili, who pretended to want to know this in order to settle adispute.

　　"How can one talk or think of such trifles?" thought Pierre.

　　"Yes, from Olmutz," he answered, with a sigh.

　　After supper Pierre with his partner followed the others into thedrawing room. The guests began to disperse, some without takingleave of Helene. Some, as if unwilling to distract her from animportant occupation, came up to her for a moment and made haste to goaway, refusing to let her see them off. The diplomatist preserved amournful silence as he left the drawing room. He pictured the vanityof his diplomatic career in comparison with Pierre's happiness. Theold general grumbled at his wife when she asked how his leg was."Oh, the old fool," he thought. "That Princess Helene will bebeautiful still when she's fifty."

　　"I think I may congratulate you," whispered Anna Pavlovna to the oldprincess, kissing her soundly. "If I hadn't this headache I'd havestayed longer."

　　The old princess did not reply, she was tormented by jealousy of herdaughter's happiness.

　　While the guests were taking their leave Pierre remained for along time alone with Helene in the little drawing room where they weresitting. He had often before, during the last six weeks, remainedalone with her, but had never spoken to her of love. Now he feltthat it was inevitable, but he could not make up his mind to takethe final step. He felt ashamed; he felt that he was occupying someoneelse's place here beside Helene. "This happiness is not for you," someinner voice whispered to him. "This happiness is for those who havenot in them what there is in you."

　　But, as he had to say something, he began by asking her whethershe was satisfied with the party. She replied in her usual simplemanner that this name day of hers had been one of the pleasantestshe had ever had.

　　Some of the nearest relatives had not yet left. They were sitting inthe large drawing room. Prince Vasili came up to Pierre with languidfootsteps. Pierre rose and said it was getting late. Prince Vasiligave him a look of stern inquiry, as though what Pierre had justsaid was so strange that one could not take it in. But then theexpression of severity changed, and he drew Pierre's hand downwards,made him sit down, and smiled affectionately.

　　"Well, Lelya?" he asked, turning instantly to his daughter andaddressing her with the careless tone of habitual tenderness naturalto parents who have petted their children from babyhood, but whichPrince Vasili had only acquired by imitating other parents.

　　And he again turned to Pierre.

　　"Sergey Kuzmich- From all sides-" he said, unbuttoning the topbutton of his waistcoat.

　　Pierre smiled, but his smile showed that he knew it was not thestory about Sergey Kuzmich that interested Prince Vasili just then,and Prince Vasili saw that Pierre knew this. He suddenly mutteredsomething and went away. It seemed to Pierre that even the princewas disconcerted. The sight of the discomposure of that old man of theworld touched Pierre: he looked at Helene and she too seemeddisconcerted, and her look seemed to say: "Well, it is your ownfault."

　　"The step must be taken but I cannot, I cannot!" thought Pierre, andhe again began speaking about indifferent matters, about SergeyKuzmich, asking what the point of the story was as he had not heard itproperly. Helene answered with a smile that she too had missed it.

　　When Prince Vasili returned to the drawing room, the princess, hiswife, 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 Vasili passed by, seeming not to hear the ladies, and satdown on a sofa in a far corner of the room. He closed his eyes andseemed 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 dignifiedand indifferent air, and glanced into the little drawing room.Pierre and Helene still sat talking just as before.

　　"Still the same," she said to her husband.

　　Prince Vasili frowned, twisting his mouth, his cheeks quivered andhis face assumed the coarse, unpleasant expression peculiar to him.Shaking himself, he rose, threw back his head, and with resolute stepswent past the ladies into the little drawing room. With quick steps hewent joyfully up to Pierre. His face was so unusually triumphantthat Pierre rose in alarm on seeing it.

　　"Thank God!" said Prince Vasili. "My wife has told me everything!-(He put one arm around Pierre and the other around his daughter.)- "Mydear boy... Lelya... I am very pleased." (His voice trembled.) "Iloved your father... and she will make you a good wife... God blessyou!..."

　　He embraced his daughter, and then again Pierre, and kissed him withhis malodorous mouth. Tears actually moistened his cheeks.

　　"Princess, come here!" he shouted.

　　The old princess came in and also wept. The elderly lady was usingher handkerchief too. Pierre was kissed, and he kissed the beautifulHelene's hand several times. After a while they were left alone again.

　　"All this had to be and could not be otherwise," thought Pierre, "soit is useless to ask whether it is good or bad. It is good becauseit's definite and one is rid of the old tormenting doubt." Pierre heldthe hand of his betrothed in silence, looking at her beautiful bosomas it rose and fell.

　　"Helene!" he said aloud and paused.

　　"Something special is always said in such cases," he thought, butcould 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 hisspectacles.

　　Pierre took them off, and his eyes, besides the strange look eyeshave from which spectacles have just been removed, had also afrightened and inquiring look. He was about to stoop over her hand andkiss it, but with a rapid, almost brutal movement of her head, sheintercepted his lips and met them with her own. Her face struckPierre, 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 suchmoments: but his words sounded so weak that he felt ashamed ofhimself.

　　*"I love you."

　　Six weeks later he was married, and settled in Count Bezukhov'slarge, newly furnished Petersburg house, the happy possessor, aspeople said, of a wife who was a celebrated beauty and of millionsof money.BK3|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　Old Prince Nicholas Bolkonski received a letter from Prince Vasiliin November, 1805, announcing that he and his son would be payinghim a visit. "I am starting on a journey of inspection, and ofcourse I shall think nothing of an extra seventy miles to come and seeyou at the same time, my honored benefactor," wrote Prince Vasili. "Myson Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, so I hope youwill 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, suitorsare coming to us of their own accord," incautiously remarked thelittle princess on hearing the news.

　　Prince Nicholas frowned, but said nothing.

　　A fortnight after the letter Prince Vasili's servants came oneevening in advance of him, and he and his son arrived next day.

　　Old Bolkonski had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vasili'scharacter, but more so recently, since in the new reigns of Paul andAlexander Prince Vasili had risen to high position and honors. Andnow, from the hints contained in his letter and given by the littleprincess, he saw which way the wind was blowing, and his low opinionchanged into a feeling of contemptuous ill will. He snorted wheneverhe mentioned him. On the day of Prince Vasili's arrival, PrinceBolkonski was particularly discontented and out of temper. Whetherhe was in a bad temper because Prince Vasili was coming, or whetherhis being in a bad temper made him specially annoyed at PrinceVasili's visit, he was in a bad temper, and in the morning Tikhonhad already advised the architect not to go the prince with hisreport.

　　"Do you hear how he's walking?" said Tikhon, drawing the architect'sattention to the sound of the prince's footsteps. "Stepping flat onhis heels- we know what that means...."

　　However, at nine o'clock the prince, in his velvet coat with a sablecollar and cap, went out for his usual walk. It had snowed the daybefore and the path to the hothouse, along which the prince was in thehabit of walking, had been swept: the marks of the broom were stillvisible in the snow and a shovel had been left sticking in one ofthe soft snowbanks that bordered both sides of the path. The princewent through the conservatories, the serfs' quarters, and theoutbuildings, frowning and silent.

　　"Can a sleigh pass?" he asked his overseer, a venerable man,resembling his master in manners and looks, who was accompanying himback 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 bethanked," thought the overseer, "the storm has blown over!"

　　"It would have been hard to drive up, your honor," he added. "Iheard, 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 hisshrill, harsh voice. "The road is not swept for the princess mydaughter, but for a minister! For me, there are no ministers!"

　　"Your honor, I thought..."

　　"You thought!" shouted the prince, his words coming more and morerapidly and indistinctly. "You thought!... Rascals! Blackgaurds!...I'll teach you to think!" and lifting his stick he swung it andwould have hit Alpatych, the overseer, had not the latterinstinctively avoided the blow. "Thought... Blackguards..." shoutedthe prince rapidly.

　　But although Alpatych, frightened at his own temerity in avoidingthe stroke, came up to the prince, bowing his bald head resignedlybefore him, or perhaps for that very reason, the prince, though hecontinued to shout: "Blackgaurds!... 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 knewthat the prince was in a bad humor, stood awaiting him; MademoiselleBourienne with a radiant face that said: "I know nothing, I am thesame as usual," and Princess Mary pale, frightened, and withdowncast eyes. What she found hardest to bear was to know that on suchoccasions she ought to behave like Mademoiselle Bourienne, but couldnot. She thought: "If I seem not to notice he will think that I do notsympathize with him; if I seem sad and out of spirits myself, hewill 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," hethought- referring to the little princess who was not in the diningroom.

　　"Where is the princess?" he asked. "Hiding?"

　　"She is not very well," answered Mademoiselle Bourienne with abright 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 heflung it away. Tikhon caught it and handed it to a footman. The littleprincess was not unwell, but had such an overpowering fear of theprince that, hearing he was in a bad humor, she had decided not toappear.

　　"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 notrealize because the fear was so much the stronger feeling. Theprince reciprocated this antipathy, but it was overpowered by hiscontempt for her. When the little princess had grown accustomed tolife at Bald Hills, she took a special fancy to MademoiselleBourienne, spent whole days with her, asked her to sleep in herroom, and often talked with her about the old prince and criticizedhim.

　　"So we are to have visitors, mon prince?" remarked MademoiselleBourienne, unfolding her white napkin with her rosy fingers. "HisExcellency Prince Vasili Kuragin and his son, I understand?" shesaid inquiringly.

　　"Hm!- his excellency is a puppy.... I got him his appointment in theservice," said the prince disdainfully. "Why his son is coming I don'tunderstand. Perhaps Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary know. I don'twant him." (He looked at his blushing daughter.) "Are you unwelltoday? Eh? Afraid of the 'minister' as that idiot Alpatych calledhim this morning?"

　　"No, mon pere."

　　Though Mademoiselle Bourienne had been so unsuccessful in her choiceof a subject, she did not stop talking, but chattered about theconservatories and the beauty of a flower that had just opened, andafter the soup the prince became more genial.

　　After dinner, he went to see his daughter-in-law. The littleprincess was sitting at a small table, chattering with Masha, hermaid. She grew pale on seeing her father-in-law.

　　She was much altered. She was now plain rather than pretty. Hercheeks had sunk, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes drawn down.

　　"Yes, I feel a kind of oppression," she said in reply to theprince's question as to how she felt.

　　"Do you want anything?"

　　"No, merci, mon pere."

　　"Well, all right, all right."

　　He left the room and went to the waiting room where Alpatych stoodwith bowed head.

　　"Has the snow been shoveled back?"

　　"Yes, your excellency. Forgive me for heaven's sake... It was onlymy stupidity."

　　"All right, all right," interrupted the prince, and laughing hisunnatural way, he stretched out his hand for Alpatych to kiss, andthen proceeded to his study.

　　Prince Vasili arrived that evening. He was met in the avenue bycoachmen and footmen, who, with loud shouts, dragged his sleighs up toone of the lodges over the road purposely laden with snow.

　　Prince Vasili and Anatole had separate rooms assigned to them.

　　Anatole, having taken off his overcoat, sat with arms akimbobefore a table on a corner of which he smilingly and absent-mindedlyfixed his large and handsome eyes. He regarded his whole life as acontinual round of amusement which someone for some reason had toprovide for him. And he looked on this visit to a churlish old man anda 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 reallyhas so much money? That never does any harm," thought Anatole.

　　He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance which hadbecome habitual to him and, his handsome head held high, entered hisfather's room with the good-humored and victorious air natural to him.Prince Vasili's two valets were busy dressing him, and he looked roundwith much animation and cheerfully nodded to his son as the latterentered, 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 beenmentioned during the journey.

　　"Enough! What nonsense! Above all, try to be respectful and cautiouswith the old prince."

　　"If he starts a row I'll go away," said Prince Anatole. "I can'tbear those old men! Eh?"

　　"Remember, for you everything depends on this."

　　In the meantime, not only was it known in the maidservants' roomsthat the minister and his son had arrived, but the appearance ofboth had been minutely described. Princess Mary was sitting alone inher room, vainly trying to master her agitation.

　　"Why did they write, why did Lise tell me about it? It can neverhappen!" she said, looking at herself in the glass. "How shall I enterthe drawing room? Even if I like him I can't now be myself withhim." The mere thought of her father's look filled her with terror.The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already receivedfrom Masha, the lady's maid, the necessary report of how handsomethe minister's son was, with his rosy cheeks and dark eyebrows, andwith what difficulty the father had dragged his legs upstairs whilethe son had followed him like an eagle, three steps at a time.Having received this information, the little princess and MademoiselleBourienne, whose chattering voices had reached her from thecorridor, went into Princess Mary's room.

　　"You know they've come, Marie?" said the little princess, waddlingin, and sinking heavily into an armchair.

　　She was no longer in the loose gown she generally wore in themorning, but had on one of her best dresses. Her hair was carefullydone and her face was animated, which, however, did not conceal itssunken and faded outlines. Dressed as she used to be in Petersburgsociety, it was still more noticeable how much plainer she had become.Some unobtrusive touch had been added to Mademoiselle Bourienne'stoilet which rendered her fresh and prettyface yet more attractive.

　　"What! Are you going to remain as you are, dear princess?" shebegan. "They'll be announcing that the gentlemen are in the drawingroom and we shall have to go down, and you have not smartened yourselfup at all!"

　　The little princess got up, rang for the maid, and hurriedly andmerrily began to devise and carry out a plan of how Princess Maryshould be dressed. Princess Mary's self-esteem was wounded by the factthat the arrival of a suitor agitated her, and still more so by bothher companions' not having the least conception that it could beotherwise. To tell them that she felt ashamed for herself and for themwould be to betray her agitation, while to decline their offers todress her would prolong their banter and insistence. She flushed,her beautiful eyes grew dim, red blotches came on her face, and ittook on the unattractive martyrlike expression it so often wore, asshe submitted herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both thesewomen quite sincerely tried to make her look pretty. She was soplain that neither of them could think of her as a rival, so theybegan dressing her with perfect sincerity, and with the naive and firmconviction women have that dress can make a face pretty.

　　"No really, my dear, this dress is not pretty," said Lise, lookingsideways at Princess Mary from a little distance. "You have a maroondress, have it fetched. Really! You know the fate of your whole lifemay 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 Marythat was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the littleprincess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon wereplaced in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arrangedlower on the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well. Theyforgot that the frightened face and the figure could not be altered,and that however they might change the setting and adornment of thatface, it would still remain piteous and plain. After two or threechanges to which Princess Mary meekly submitted, just as her hairhad been arranged on the top of her head (a style that quite alteredand spoiled her looks) and she had put on a maroon dress with apale-blue scarf, the little princess walked twice round her, nowadjusting a fold of the dress with her little hand, now arrangingthe scarf and looking at her with her head bent first on one sideand 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 littlegray everyday dress. Now please, do it for my sake. Katie," she saidto the maid, "bring the princess her gray dress, and you'll see,Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I shall arrange it," she added, smilingwith a foretaste of artistic pleasure.

　　But when Katie brought the required dress, Princess Mary remainedsitting motionless before the glass, looking at her face, and saw inthe mirror her eyes full of tears and her mouth quivering, ready toburst into sobs.

　　"Come, dear princess," said Mademoiselle Bourienne, "just one morelittle effort."

　　The little princess, taking the dress from the maid, came up toPrincess Mary.

　　"Well, now we'll arrange something quite simple and becoming," shesaid.

　　The three voices, hers, Mademoiselle Bourienne's, and Katie's, whowas laughing at something, mingled in a merry sound, like the chirpingof birds.

　　"No, leave me alone," said Princess Mary.

　　Her voice sounded so serious and so sad that the chirping of thebirds was silenced at once. They looked at the beautiful, large,thoughtful eyes full of tears and of thoughts, gazing shiningly andimploringly at them, and understood that it was useless and even cruelto insist.

　　"At least, change your coiffure," said the little princess."Didn't I tell you," she went on, turning reproachfully toMademoiselle Bourienne, "Mary's is a face which such a coiffure doesnot suit in the least. Not in the least! Please change it."

　　"Leave me alone, please leave me alone! It is all quite the sameto me," answered a voice struggling with tears.

　　Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess had to own tothemselves that Princess Mary in this guise looked very plain, worsethan usual, but it was too late. She was looking at them with anexpression they both knew, an expression thoughtful and sad. Thisexpression in Princess Mary did not frighten them (she neverinspired fear in anyone), but they knew that when it appeared on herface, she became mute and was not to be shaken in her determination.

　　"You will change it, won't you?" said Lise. And as Princess Marygave no answer, she left the room.

　　Princess Mary was left alone. She did not comply with Lise'srequest, she not only left her hair as it was, but did not even lookin her glass. Letting her arms fall helplessly, she sat withdowncast eyes and pondered. A husband, a man, a strong dominant andstrangely attractive being rose in her imagination, and carried herinto a totally different happy world of his own. She fancied achild, her own- such as she had seen the day before in the arms of hernurse's daughter- at her own breast, the husband standing by andgazing tenderly at her and the child. "But no, it is impossible, Iam too ugly," she thought.

　　"Please come to tea. The prince will be out in a moment," came themaid'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 litby 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 earthlylove for a man, be for her? In her thoughts of marriage PrincessMary dreamed of happiness and of children, but her strongest, mostdeeply hidden longing was for earthly love. The more she tried to hidethis feeling from others and even from herself, the stronger itgrew. "O God," she said, "how am I to stifle in my heart thesetemptations of the devil? How am I to renounce forever these vilefancies, so as peacefully to fulfill Thy will?" And scarcely had sheput that question than God gave her the answer in her own heart."Desire nothing for thyself, seek nothing, be not anxious orenvious. 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'swill to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to fulfillHis will." With this consoling thought (but yet with a hope for thefulfillment of her forbidden earthly longing) Princess Mary sighed,and having crossed herself went down, thinking neither of her gown andcoiffure nor of how she would go in nor of what she would say. Whatcould all that matter in comparison with the will of God, withoutWhose care not a hair of man's head can fall?BK3|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　When Princess Mary came down, Prince Vasili and his son were alreadyin the drawing room, talking to the little princess and MademoiselleBourienne. When she entered with her heavy step, treading on herheels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose and the littleprincess, indicating her to the gentlemen, said: "Voila Marie!"Princess Mary saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw PrinceVasili's face, serious for an instant at the sight of her, butimmediately smiling again, and the little princess curiously notingthe impression "Marie" produced on the visitors. And she sawMademoiselle Bourienne, with her ribbon and pretty face, and herunusually animated look which was fixed on him, but him she couldnot see, she only saw something large, brilliant, and handsomemoving toward her as she entered the room. Prince Vasili approachedfirst, and she kissed the bold forehead that bent over her hand andanswered his question by saying that, on the contrary, sheremembered him quite well. Then Anatole came up to her. She stillcould not see him. She only felt a soft hand taking hers firmly, andshe touched with her lips a white forehead, over which was beautifullight-brown hair smelling of pomade. When she looked up at him she wasstruck by his beauty. Anatole stood with his right thumb under abutton of his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in,slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, lookedwith beaming face at the princess without speaking and evidently notthinking about her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, nor readyor eloquent in conversation, but he had the faculty, so invaluablein society, of composure and imperturbable self-possession. If a manlacking in self-confidence remains dumb on a first introduction andbetrays a consciousness of the impropriety of such silence and ananxiety to find something to say, the effect is bad. But Anatole wasdumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the princess' hair. Itwas evident that he could be silent in this way for a very longtime. "If anyone finds this silence inconvenient, let him talk, butI don't want to"' he seemed to say. Besides this, in his behavior towomen Anatole had a manner which particularly inspires in themcuriosity, awe, and even love- a supercilious consciousness of his ownsuperiority. It was was as if he said to them: "I know you, I knowyou, but why should I bother about you? You'd be only too glad, ofcourse." Perhaps he did not really think this when he met women-even probably he did not, for in general he thought very little- buthis looks and manner gave that impression. The princess felt this, andas if wishing to show him that she did not even dare expect tointerest him, she turned to his father. The conversation was generaland animated, thanks to Princess Lise's voice and little downy lipthat lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Vasili with thatplayful manner often employed by lively chatty people, andconsisting in the assumption that between the person they so addressand themselves there are some semi-private, long-established jokes andamusing reminiscences, though no such reminiscences really exist- justas none existed in this case. Prince Vasili readily adopted her toneand 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 feltherself pleasantly made to share in these merry reminiscences.

　　"Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company all toourselves, dear prince," said the little princess (of course, inFrench) to Prince Vasili. "It's not as at Annette's* receptionswhere you always ran away; you remember cette chere Annette!"

　　*Anna Pavlovna.

　　"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 askedAnatole. "Ah, I know, I know," she said with a sly glance, "yourbrother Hippolyte told me about your goings on. Oh!" and she shook herfinger at him, "I have even heard of your doings in Paris!"

　　"And didn't Hippolyte tell you?" asked Prince Vasili, turning to hisson and seizing the little princess' arm as if she would have run awayand he had just managed to catch her, "didn't he tell you how hehimself was pining for the dear princess, and how she showed him thedoor? Oh, she is a pearl among women, Princess," he added, turningto Princess Mary.

　　When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne for her part seizedthe opportunity of joining in the general current of recollections.

　　She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long sinceAnatole had left Paris and how he had liked that city. Anatoleanswered the Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with asmile, talked to her about her native land. When he saw the prettylittle Bourienne, Anatole came to the conclusion that he would notfind Bald Hills dull either. "Not at all bad!" he thought, examiningher, "not at all bad, that little companion! I hope she will bring heralong with her when we're married, la petite est gentille."*

　　*The little one is charming.

　　The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning andconsidering what he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyedhim. "What are Prince Vasili and that son of his to me? PrinceVasili is a shallow braggart and his son, no doubt, is a finespecimen," he grumbled to himself. What angered him was that thecoming of these visitors revived in his mind an unsettled questionhe always tried to stifle, one about which he always deceived himself.The question was whether he could ever bring himself to part fromhis daughter and give her to a husband. The prince never directlyasked himself that question, knowing beforehand that he would haveto answer it justly, and justice clashed not only with his feelingsbut with the very possibility of life. Life without Princess Mary,little as he seemed to value her, was unthinkable to him. "And whyshould she marry?" he thought. "To be unhappy for certain. There'sLise, married to Andrew- a better husband one would think could hardlybe found nowadays- but is she contented with her lot? And who wouldmarry Marie for love? Plain and awkward! They'll take her for herconnections and wealth. Are there no women living unmarried, andeven the happier for it?" So thought Prince Bolkonski whiledressing, and yet the question he was always putting off demanded animmediate answer. Prince Vasili had brought his son with the evidentintention of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably askfor an answer. His birth and position in society were not bad."Well, I've nothing against it," the prince said to himself, "but hemust be worthy of her. And that is what we shall see."

　　"That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see!" he addedaloud.

　　He entered the drawing room with his usual alert step, glancingrapidly round the company. He noticed the change in the littleprincess' dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, Princess Mary'sunbecoming coiffure, Mademoiselle Bourienne's and Anatole's smiles,and the loneliness of his daughter amid the general conversation. "Gotherself up like a fool!" he thought, looking irritably at her. "She isshameless, and he ignores her!"

　　He went straight up to Prince Vasili.

　　"Well! How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Glad to see you!"

　　"Friendship laughs at distance," began Prince Vasili in his usualrapid, self-confident, familiar tone. "Here is my second son; pleaselove and befriend him."

　　Prince Bolkonski surveyed Anatole.

　　"Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!" he said. "Well, come andkiss me," and he offered his cheek.

　　Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity andperfect composure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities hisfather had told him to expect.

　　Prince Bolkonski sat down in his usual place in the corner of thesofa and, drawing up an armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed to itand began questioning him about political affairs and news. Heseemed to listen attentively to what Prince Vasili said, but keptglancing at Princess Mary.

　　"And so they are writing from Potsdam already?" he said, repeatingPrince Vasili's last words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to hisdaughter.

　　"Is it for visitors you've got yourself up like that, eh?" saidhe. "Fine, very fine! You have done up your hair in this new way forthe visitors, and before the visitors I tell you that in future youare never to dare to change your way of dress without my consent."

　　"It was my fault, mon pere," interceded the little princess, witha blush.

　　"You must do as you please," said Prince Bolkonski, bowing to hisdaughter-in-law, "but she need not make a fool of herself, she's plainenough as it is."

　　And he sat down again, paying no more attention to his daughter, whowas reduced to tears.

　　"On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very well,"said Prince Vasili.

　　"Now you, young prince, what's your name?" said Prince Bolkonski,turning to Anatole, "come here, let us talk and get acquainted."

　　"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, sitting down with a smilebeside the old prince.

　　"Well, my dear boy, I hear you've been educated abroad, not taughtto 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 oldman, scrutinizing Anatole closely and intently.

　　"No, I have been transferred to the line," said Anatole, hardly ableto restrain his laughter.

　　"Ah! That's a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to serve theTsar 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 amattached... 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 Bolkonski, and Anatole laughed still louder. SuddenlyPrince Bolkonski frowned.

　　"You may go," he said to Anatole.

　　Anatole returned smiling to the ladies.

　　"And so you've had him educated abroad, Prince Vasili, haven't you?"said the old prince to Prince Vasili.

　　"I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the educationthere is much better than ours."

　　"Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is changed. Thelad's a fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come with me now." He tookPrince Vasili's arm and led him to his study. As soon as they werealone together, Prince Vasili announced his hopes and wishes to theold prince.

　　"Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I can't part fromher?" said the old prince angrily. "What an idea! I'm ready for ittomorrow! Only let me tell you, I want to know my son-in-law better.You know my principles- everything aboveboard? I will ask her tomorrowin your presence; if she is willing, then he can stay on. He canstay and I'll see." The old prince snorted. "Let her marry, it's allthe same to me!" he screamed in the same piercing tone as when partingfrom his son.

　　"I will tell you frankly," said Prince Vasili in the tone of acrafty man convinced of the futility of being cunning with sokeen-sighted companion. "You know, you see right through people.Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad; anexcellent son or kinsman."

　　"All right, all right, we'll see!"

　　As always happens when women lead lonely lives for any length oftime without male society, on Anatole's appearance all the three womenof Prince Bolkonski's household felt that their life had not been realtill then. Their powers of reasoning, feeling, and observingimmediately increased tenfold, and their life, which seemed to havebeen passed in darkness, was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, fullof significance.

　　Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure. Thehandsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husbandabsorbed 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 herimagination. She drove them away and tried to conceal them.

　　"But am I not too cold with him?" thought the princess. "I try to bereserved because in the depth of my soul I feel too near to himalready, but then he cannot know what I think of him and may imaginethat I do not like him."

　　And Princess Mary tried, but could not manage, to be cordial toher new guest. "Poor girl, she's devilish ugly!" thought Anatole.

　　Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to great excitement by Anatole'sarrival, thought in another way. Of course, she, a handsome youngwoman without any definite position, without relations or even acountry, did not intend to devote her life to serving PrinceBolkonski, to reading aloud to him and being friends with PrincessMary. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been waiting for a Russianprince who, able to appreciate at a glance her superiority to theplain, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses, would fall inlove with her and carry her off; and here at last was a Russianprince. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story, heard from her aunt butfinished in her own way, which she liked to repeat to herself. Itwas the story of a girl who had been seduced, and to whom her poormother (sa pauvre mere) appeared, and reproached her for yielding to aman without being married. Mademoiselle Bourienne was often touched totears as in imagination she told this story to him, her seducer. Andnow he, a real Russian prince, had appeared. He would carry her awayand then sa pauvre mere would appear and he would marry her. So herfuture shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's head at the very timeshe was talking to Anatole about Paris. It was not calculation thatguided her (she did not even for a moment consider what she shoulddo), but all this had long been familiar to her, and now thatAnatole had appeared it just grouped itself around him and shewished 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 thefamiliar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or anystruggle, but with naive and lighthearted gaiety.

　　Although in female society Anatole usually assumed the role of a mantired of being run after by women, his vanity was flattered by thespectacle of his power over these three women. Besides that, he wasbeginning to feel for the pretty and provocative MademoiselleBourienne that passionate animal feeling which was apt to master himwith great suddenness and prompt him to the coarsest and most recklessactions.

　　After tea, the company went into the sitting room and PrincessMary was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and inhigh spirits, came and leaned on his elbows, facing her and besideMademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Mary felt his look with a painfullyjoyous emotion. Her favorite sonata bore her into a most intimatelypoetic world and the look she felt upon her made that world still morepoetic. But Anatole's expression, though his eyes were fixed on her,referred not to her but to the movements of Mademoiselle Bourienne'slittle foot, which he was then touching with his own under theclavichord. Mademoiselle Bourienne was also looking at PrincessMary, and in her lovely eyes there was a look of fearful joy andhope 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, Anatolekissed Princess Mary's hand. She did not know how she found thecourage, but she looked straight into his handsome face as it camenear to her shortsighted eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went upand kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand. (This was not etiquette, butthen he did everything so simply and with such assurance!)Mademoiselle Bourienne flushed, and gave the princess a frightenedlook.

　　"What delicacy! " thought the princess. "Is it possible that Amelie"(Mademoiselle Bourienne) "thinks I could be jealous of her, and notvalue her pure affection and devotion to me?" She went up to her andkissed her warmly. Anatole went up to kiss the little princess' hand.

　　"No! No! No! When your father writes to tell me that you arebehaving well I will give you my hand to kiss. Not till then!" shesaid. And smilingly raising a finger at him, she left the room.BK3|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　They all separated, but, except Anatole who fell asleep as soon ashe 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, whichshe had seldom experienced, came upon her. She feared to look round,it seemed to her that someone was there standing behind the screenin the dark corner. And this someone was he- the devil- and he wasalso 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 along time that evening, vainly expecting someone, now smiling atsomeone, now working herself up to tears with the imaginary words ofher pauvre mere rebuking her for her fall.

　　The little princess grumbled to her maid that her bed was badlymade. She could not lie either on her face or on her side. Everyposition was awkward and uncomfortable, and her burden oppressed hernow more than ever because Anatole's presence had vividly recalledto her the time when she was not like that and when everything waslight and gay. She sat in an armchair in her dressing jacket andnightcap and Katie, sleepy and disheveled, beat and turned the heavyfeather bed for the third time, muttering to herself.

　　"I told you it was all lumps and holes!" the little princessrepeated. "I should be glad enough to fall asleep, so it's not myfault!" and her voice quivered like that of a child about to cry.

　　The old prince did not sleep either. Tikhon, half asleep, heardhim pacing angrily about and snorting. The old prince felt as thoughhe had been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the morepointed because it concerned not himself but another, his daughter,whom he loved more than himself. He kept telling himself that he wouldconsider the whole matter and decide what was right and how heshould act, but instead of that he only excited himself more and more.

　　"The first man that turns up- she forgets her father andeverything else, runs upstairs and does up her hair and wags hertail and is unlike herself! Glad to throw her father over! And sheknew I should notice it. Fr... fr... fr! And don't I see that thatidiot had eyes only for Bourienne- I shall have to get rid of her. Andhow is it she has not pride enough to see it? If she has no pridefor herself she might at least have some for my sake! She must beshown that the blockhead thinks nothing of her and looks only atBourienne. No, she has no pride... but I'll let her see...."

　　The old prince knew that if he told his daughter she was making amistake and that Anatole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne,Princess Mary's self-esteem would be wounded and his point (not tobe parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying himself with thisthought, he called Tikhon and began to undress.

　　"What devil brought them here?" thought he, while Tikhon was puttingthe nightshirt over his dried-up old body and gray-haired chest. "Inever invited them. They came to disturb my life- and there is notmuch of it left."

　　"Devil take 'em!" he muttered, while his head was still covered bythe shirt.

　　Tikhon knew his master's habit of sometimes thinking aloud, andtherefore met with unaltered looks the angrily inquisitiveexpression of the face that emerged from the shirt.

　　"Gone to bed?" asked the prince.

　　Tikhon, like all good valets, instinctively knew the direction ofhis master's thoughts. He guessed that the question referred to PrinceVasili 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 hisfeet into his slippers and his arms into the sleeves of his dressinggown, he went to the couch on which he slept.

　　Though no words had passed between Anatole and MademoiselleBourienne, they quite understood one another as to the first part oftheir romance, up to the appearance of the pauvre mere; theyunderstood that they had much to say to one another in private andso they had been seeking an opportunity since morning to meet oneanother alone. When Princess Mary went to her father's room at theusual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Anatole met in theconservatory.

　　Princess Mary went to the door of the study with specialtrepidation. It seemed to her that not only did everybody know thather fate would be decided that day, but that they also knew what shethought about it. She read this in Tikhon's face and in that of PrinceVasili's valet, who made her a low bow when she met him in thecorridor carrying hot water.

　　The old prince was very affectionate and careful in his treatment ofhis daughter that morning. Princess Mary well knew this painstakingexpression of her father's. His face wore that expression when his dryhands clenched with vexation at her not understanding a sum inarithmetic, 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 anunnatural smile. "I expect you have guessed that Prince Vasili has notcome and brought his pupil with him" (for some reason Prince Bolkonskireferred to Anatole as a "pupil") "for the sake of my beautifuleyes. Last night a proposition was made me on your account and, as youknow my principles, I refer it to you."

　　"How am I to understand you, mon pere?" said the princess, growingpale and then blushing.

　　"How understand me!" cried her father angrily. "Prince Vasilifinds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law and makes a proposal toyou on his pupil's behalf. That's how it's to be understood! 'Howunderstand 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 toget married. What about you? That's what I want to know."

　　The princess saw that her father regarded the matter withdisapproval, but at that moment the thought occurred to her that herfate would be decided now or never. She lowered her eyes so as notto see the gaze under which she felt that she could not think, butwould only be able to submit from habit, and she said: "I wish only todo your will, but if I had to express my own desire..." She had notime to finish. The old prince interrupted her.

　　"That's admirable!" he shouted. "He will take you with your dowryand take Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be thewife, while you..."

　　The prince stopped. He saw the effect these words had produced onhis 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 tochoose. I give you freedom. Only remember that your life's happinessdepends on your decision. Never mind me!"

　　"But I do not know, Father!"

　　"There's no need to talk! He receives his orders and will marryyou 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, butyou had better think it over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!" hestill shouted when the princess, as if lost in a fog, had alreadystaggered out of the study.

　　Her fate was decided and happily decided. But what her father hadsaid about Mademoiselle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to besure, but still it was terrible, and she could not help thinking ofit. She was going straight on through the conservatory, neither seeingnor hearing anything, when suddenly the well-known whispering ofMademoiselle Bourienne aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two stepsaway saw Anatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something toher. With a horrified expression on his handsome face, Anatolelooked at Princess Mary, but did not at once take his arm from thewaist 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 understandit. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a scream and ran away. Anatolebowed to Princess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to join ina laugh at this strange incident, and then shrugging his shoulderswent to the door that led to his own apartments.

　　An hour later, Tikhon came to call Princess Mary to the oldprince; he added that Prince Vasili was also there. When Tikhon cameto her Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room, holdingthe weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking herhair. The princess' beautiful eyes with all their former calm radiancewere looking with tender affection and pity at MademoiselleBourienne's pretty face.

　　"No, Princess, I have lost your affection forever!" saidMademoiselle Bourienne.

　　"Why? I love you more than ever," said Princess Mary, "and I willtry to do all I can for your happiness."

　　"But you despise me. You who are so pure can never understandbeing 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 wentout.

　　Prince Vasili, with one leg thrown high over the other and asnuffbox in his hand, was sitting there with a smile of deep emotionon his face, as if stirred to his heart's core and himselfregretting and laughing at his own sensibility, when Princess Maryentered. He hurriedly took a pinch of snuff.

　　"Ah, my dear, my dear!" he began, rising and taking her by bothhands. Then, sighing, he added: "My son's fate is in your hands.Decide, my dear, good, gentle Marie, whom I have always loved as adaughter!"

　　He drew back and a real tear appeared in his eye.

　　"Fr... fr..." snorted Prince Bolkonski. "The prince is making aproposition to you in his pupil's- I mean, his son's- name. Do youwish or not to be Prince Anatole Kuragin's wife? Reply: yes or no," heshouted, "and then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion also.Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion," added Prince Bolkonski, turningto Prince Vasili and answering his imploring look. "Yes, or no?"

　　"My desire is never to leave you, Father, never to separate mylife from yours. I don't wish to marry," she answered positively,glancing at Prince Vasili and at her father with her beautiful eyes.

　　"Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug, humbug!" cried PrinceBolkonski, frowning and taking his daughter's hand; he did not kissher, but only bending his forehead to hers just touched it, andpressed her hand so that she winced and uttered a cry.

　　Prince Vasili rose.

　　"My dear, I must tell you that this is a moment I shall never, neverforget. But, my dear, will you not give us a little hope of touchingthis heart, so kind and generous? Say 'perhaps'... The future is solong. Say 'perhaps.'"

　　"Prince, what I have said is all there is in my heart. I thank youfor the honor, but I shall never be your son's wife."

　　"Well, so that's finished, my dear fellow! I am very glad to haveseen you. Very glad! Go back to your rooms, Princess. Go!" said theold prince. "Very, very glad to glad to have seen you," repeated he,embracing Prince Vasili.

　　"My vocation is a different one," thought Princess Mary. "Myvocation is to be happy with another kind of happiness, thehappiness of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, I willarrange poor Amelie's happiness, she loves him so passionately, and sopassionately repents. I will do all I can to arrange the match betweenthem. If he is not rich I will give her the means; I will ask myfather and Andrew. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is sounfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless! And, oh God, howpassionately she must love him if she could so far forget herself!Perhaps I might have done the same!..." thought Princess Mary.BK3|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　It was long since the Rostovs had news of Nicholas. Not tillmidwinter was the count at last handed a letter addressed in his son'shandwriting. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his study in alarmand haste, trying to escape notice, closed the door, and began to readthe letter.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna, who always knew everything that passed in thehouse, on hearing of the arrival of the letter went softly into theroom and found the count with it in his hand, sobbing and laughingat the same time.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna, though her circumstances had improved, was stillliving with the Rostovs.

　　"My dear friend?" said she, in a tone of pathetic inquiry,prepared to sympathize in any way.

　　The count sobbed yet more.

　　"Nikolenka... a letter... wa... a... s... wounded... my darlingboy... the countess... promoted to be an officer... thank God... Howtell the little countess!"

　　Anna Mikhaylovna sat down beside him, with her own handkerchiefwiped the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then having driedher own eyes she comforted the count, and decided that at dinner andtill teatime she would prepare the countess, and after tea, with God'shelp, would inform her.

　　At dinner Anna Mikhaylovna talked the whole time about the warnews and about Nikolenka, twice asked when the last letter had beenreceived from him, though she knew that already, and remarked thatthey might very likely be getting a letter from him that day. Eachtime that these hints began to make the countess anxious and sheglanced uneasily at the count and at Anna Mikhaylovna, the latter veryadroitly turned the conversation to insignificant matters. Natasha,who, of the whole family, was the most gifted with a capacity tofeel any shades of intonation, look, and expression, pricked up herears from the beginning of the meal and was certain that there wassome secret between her father and Anna Mikhaylovna, that it hadsomething to do with her brother, and that Anna Mikhaylovna waspreparing them for it. Bold as she was, Natasha, who knew howsensitive her mother was to anything relating to Nikolenka, did notventure to ask any questions at dinner, but she was too excited to eatanything and kept wriggling about on her chair regardless of hergoverness' remarks. After dinner, she rushed head long after AnnaMikhaylovna and, dashing at her, flung herself on her neck as soonas 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 knowsomething."

　　Anna Mikhaylovna shook her head.

　　"You are a little slyboots," she said.

　　"A letter from Nikolenka! I'm sure of it!" exclaimed Natasha,reading confirmation in Anna Mikhaylovna's face.

　　"But for God's sake, be careful, you know how it may affect yourmamma."

　　"I will, I will, only tell me! You won't? Then I will go and tell atonce."

　　Anna Mikhaylovna, in a few words, told her the contents of theletter, on condition that she should tell no one.

　　"No, on my true word of honor," said Natasha,crossing herself, "Iwon't tell anyone!" and she ran off at once to Sonya.

　　"Nikolenka... wounded... a letter," she announced in gleefultriumph.

　　"Nicholas!" was all Sonya said, instantly turning white.

　　Natasha, seeing the impression the of her brother's wound producedon Sonya, felt for the first time the sorrowful side of the news.

　　She rushed to Sonya, hugged her, and began to cry.

　　"A little wound, but he has been made an officer; he is well now, hewrote himself," said she through her tears.

　　"There now! It's true that all you women are crybabies," remarkedPetya, pacing the room with large, resolute strides. "Now I'm veryglad, very glad indeed, that my brother has distinguished himselfso. You are all blubberers and understand nothing."

　　Natasha smiled through her tears.

　　"You haven't read the letter?" asked Sonya.

　　"No, but she said that it was all over and that he's now anofficer."

　　"Thank God!" said Sonya, crossing herself. "But perhaps she deceivedyou. Let us go to Mamma."

　　Petya paced the room in silence for a time.

　　"If I'd been in Nikolenka's place I would have killed even more ofthose Frenchmen," he said. "What nasty brutes they are! I'd havekilled so many that there'd have been a heap of them."

　　"Hold your tongue, Petya, what a goose you are!"

　　"I'm not a goose, but they are who cry about trifles," said Petya.

　　"Do you remember him?" Natasha suddenly asked, after a moment'ssilence.

　　Sonya smiled.

　　"Do I remember Nicholas?"

　　"No, Sonya, but do you remember so that you remember himperfectly, remember everything?" said Natasha, with an expressivegesture, evidently wishing to give her words a very definitemeaning. "I remember Nikolenka too, I remember him well," she said."But I don't remember Boris. I don't remember him a bit."

　　"What! You don't remember Boris?" asked Sonya in surprise.

　　"It's not that I don't remember- I know what he is like, but notas I remember Nikolenka. Him- I just shut my eyes and remember, butBoris... No!" (She shut her eyes.)"No! there's nothing at all."

　　"Oh, Natasha!" said Sonya, looking ecstatically and earnestly at herfriend as if she did not consider her worthy to hear what she meant tosay and as if she were saying it to someone else, with whom joking wasout 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 himas long as I live."

　　Natasha looked at Sonya with wondering and inquisitive eyes, andsaid nothing. She felt that Sonya was speaking the truth, that therewas such love as Sonya was speaking of. But Natasha had not yet feltanything like it. She believed it could be, but did not understand it.

　　"Shall you write to him?" she asked.

　　Sonya became thoughtful. The question of how to write to Nicholas,and whether she ought to write, tormented her. Now that he was alreadyan officer and a wounded hero, would it be right to remind him ofherself and, as it might seem, of the obligations to her he hadtaken 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?"

　　Sonya smiled.

　　"No."

　　"And I should be ashamed to write to Boris. 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 Petya, offended by Natasha'sprevious remark. "It's because she was in love with that fat one inspectacles" (that was how Petya described his namesake, the newCount Bezukhov) "and now she's in love with that singer" (he meantNatasha's Italian singing master), "that's why she's ashamed!"

　　"Petya, you're a stupid!" said Natasha.

　　"Not more stupid than you, madam," said the nine-year-old Petya,with the air of an old brigadier.

　　The countess had been prepared by Anna Mikhaylovna's hints atdinner. On retiring to her own room, she sat in an armchair, hereyes fixed on a miniature portrait of her son on the lid of asnuffbox, while the tears kept coming into her eyes. Anna Mikhaylovna,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 AnnaMikhaylovna's voice alone in a long speech, then a cry, thensilence, then both voices together with glad intonations, and thenfootsteps. Anna Mikhaylovna opened the door. Her face wore the proudexpression of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult operationand admits the public to appreciate his skill.

　　"It is done!" she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to thecountess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portraitand in the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to herlips.

　　When she saw the count, she stretched out her arms to him,embraced his bald head, over which she again looked at the letterand the portrait, and in order to press them again to her lips, sheslightly pushed away the bald head. Vera, Natasha, Sonya, and Petyanow entered the room, and the reading of the letter began. After abrief description of the campaign and the two battles in which hehad taken part, and his promotion, Nicholas said that he kissed hisfather's and mother's hands asking for their blessing, and that hekissed Vera, Natasha, and Petya. Besides that, he sent greetings toMonsieur Schelling, Madame Schoss, and his old nurse, and asked themto kiss for him "dear Sonya, whom he loved and thought of just thesame as ever." When she heard this Sonya blushed so that tears cameinto her eyes and, unable to bear the looks turned upon her, ranaway into the dancing hall, whirled round it at full speed with herdress puffed out like a balloon, and, flushed and smiling, plumpeddown on the floor. The countess was crying.

　　"Why are you crying, Mamma?" asked Vera. "From all he says oneshould be glad and not cry."

　　This was quite true, but the count, the countess, and Natasha lookedat her reproachfully. "And who is it she takes after?" thought thecountess.

　　Nicholas' letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who wereconsidered worthy to hear it had to come to the countess, for shedid not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses,and Dmitri, and several acquaintances, and the countess reread theletter each time with fresh pleasure and each time discovered in itfresh proofs of Nikolenka's virtues. How strange, how extraordinary,how joyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion ofwhose tiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that sonabout whom she used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count,that son who had first learned to say "pear" and then "granny," thatthis son should now be away in a foreign land amid strangesurroundings, a manly warrior doing some kind of man's work of hisown, without help or guidance. The universal experience of ages,showing that children do grow imperceptibly from the cradle tomanhood, did not exist for the countess. Her son's growth towardmanhood, at each of its stages, had seemed as extraordinary to heras if there had never existed the millions of human beings who grew upin the same way. As twenty years before, it seemed impossible that thelittle creature who lived somewhere under her heart would ever cry,suck her breast, and begin to speak, so now she could not believe thatthat little creature could be this strong, brave man, this model sonand officer that, judging by this letter, he now was.

　　"What a style! How charmingly he describes!" said she, reading thedescriptive part of the letter. "And what a soul! Not a word abouthimself.... Not a word! About some Denisov or other, though hehimself, I dare say, is braver than any of them. He says nothing abouthis sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! And how he hasremembered everybody! Not forgetting anyone. I always said when he wasonly so high- I always said...."

　　For more than a week preparations were being made, rough drafts ofletters to Nicholas from all the household were written and copiedout, while under the supervision of the countess and the solicitude ofthe count, money and all things necessary for the uniform andequipment of the newly commissioned officer were collected. AnnaMikhaylovna, practical woman that she was, had even managed by favorwith army authorities to secure advantageous means of communicationfor herself and her son. She had opportunities of sending herletters to the Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovich, who commanded theGuards. The Rostovs supposed that The Russian Guards, Abroad, wasquite a definite address, and that if a letter reached the GrandDuke in command of the Guards there was no reason why it should notreach the Pavlograd regiment, which was presumably somewhere in thesame neighborhood. And so it was decided to send the letters and moneyby the Grand Duke's courier to Boris and Boris was to forward themto Nicholas. The letters were from the old count, the countess, Petya,Vera, Natasha, and Sonya, and finally there were six thousand rublesfor his outfit and various other things the old count sent to his son.BK3|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　On the twelfth of November, Kutuzov's active army, in camp beforeOlmutz, was preparing to be reviewed next day by the two Emperors- theRussian and the Austrian. The Guards, just arrived from Russia,spent the night ten miles from Olmutz and next morning were to comestraight to the review, reaching the field at Olmutz by ten o'clock.

　　That day Nicholas Rostov received a letter from Boris, telling himthat the Ismaylov regiment was quartered for the night ten milesfrom Olmutz and that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and moneyfor him. Rostov was particularly in need of money now that the troops,after their active service, were stationed near Olmutz and the campswarmed with well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering allsorts of tempting wares. The Pavlograds held feast after feast,celebrating awards they had received for the campaign, and madeexpeditions to Olmutz to visit a certain Caroline the Hungarian, whohad recently opened a restaurant there with girls as waitresses.Rostov, who had just celebrated his promotion to a cornetcy and boughtDenisov's horse, Bedouin, was in debt all round, to his comrades andthe sutlers. On receiving Boris' letter he rode with a fellowofficer to Olmutz, dined there, drank a bottle of wine, and then setoff alone to the Guards' camp to find his old playmate. Rostov had notyet had time to get his uniform. He had on a shabby cadet jacket,decorated with a soldier's cross, equally shabby cadet's ridingbreeches lined with worn leather, and an officer's saber with asword knot. The Don horse he was riding was one he had bought from aCossack during the campaign, and he wore a crumpled hussar cap stuckjauntily back on one side of his head. As he rode up to the camp hethought how he would impress Boris and all his comrades of theGuards by his appearance- that of a fighting hussar who had been underfire.

　　The Guards had made their whole march as if on a pleasure trip,parading their cleanliness and discipline. They had come by easystages, their knapsacks conveyed on carts, and the Austrianauthorities had provided excellent dinners for the officers at everyhalting place. The regiments had entered and left the town withtheir bands playing, and by the Grand Duke's orders the men hadmarched all the way in step (a practice on which the Guards pridedthemselves), the officers on foot and at their proper posts. Boris hadbeen quartered, and had marched all the way, with Berg who was alreadyin command of a company. Berg, who had obtained his captaincy duringthe campaign, had gained the confidence of his superiors by hispromptitude and accuracy and had arranged his money matters verysatisfactorily. Boris, during the campaign, had made theacquaintance of many persons who might prove useful to him, and by aletter of recommendation he had brought from Pierre had becomeacquainted with Prince Andrew Bolkonski, through whom he hoped toobtain a post on the commander in chief's staff. Berg and Boris,having rested after yesterday's march, were sitting, clean andneatly dressed, at a round table in the clean quarters allotted tothem, playing chess. Berg held a smoking pipe between his knees.Boris, in the accurate way characteristic of him, was building alittle pyramid of chessmen with his delicate white fingers whileawaiting Berg's move, and watched his opponent's face, evidentlythinking about the game as he always thought only of whatever he wasengaged on.

　　"Well, how are you going to get out of that?" he remarked.

　　"We'll try to," replied Berg, touching a pawn and then removinghis hand.

　　At that moment the door opened.

　　"Here he is at last!" shouted Rostov. "And Berg too! Oh, youpetisenfans, allay cushay dormir!" he exclaimed, imitating his Russiannurse's French, at which he and Boris used to laugh long ago.

　　"Dear me, how you have changed!"

　　Boris rose to meet Rostov, but in doing so did not omit to steadyand replace some chessmen that were falling. He was about to embracehis friend, but Nicholas avoided him. With that peculiar feeling ofyouth, that dread of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in amanner different from that of its elders which is often insincere,Nicholas wished to do something special on meeting his friend. Hewanted to pinch him, push him, do anything but kiss him- a thingeverybody did. But notwithstanding this, Boris embraced him in aquiet, friendly way and kissed him three times.

　　They had not met for nearly half a year and, being at the age whenyoung men take their first steps on life's road, each saw immensechanges in the other, quite a new reflection of the society in whichthey had taken those first steps. Both had changed greatly sincethey last met and both were in a hurry to show the changes that hadtaken 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 Rostov, with martial swaggerand with baritone notes in his voice, new to Boris, pointing to hisown mud-bespattered breeches. The German landlady, hearing Rostov'sloud 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 Boris. "I didnot expect you today," he added. "I only sent you the note yesterdayby Bolkonski- an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a friend of mine. Idid not think he would get it to you so quickly.... Well, how are you?Been under fire already?" asked Boris.

　　Without answering, Rostov shook the soldier's Cross of St. Georgefastened 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 Boris, with a smile. "And we too have had asplendid march. You know, of course, that His Imperial Highness rodewith our regiment all the time, so that we had every comfort and everyadvantage. What receptions we had in Poland! What dinners and balls! Ican't tell you. And the Tsarevich was very gracious to all ourofficers."

　　And the two friends told each other of their doings, the one ofhis hussar revels and life in the fighting line, the other of thepleasures and advantages of service under members of the Imperialfamily.

　　"Oh, you Guards!" said Rostov. "I say, send for some wine."

　　Boris made a grimace.

　　"If you really want it," said he.

　　He went to his bed, drew a purse from under the clean pillow, andsent for wine.

　　"Yes, and I have some money and a letter to give you," he added.

　　Rostov took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put botharms on the table and began to read. After reading a few lines, heglanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his eyes, hid his face behindthe letter.

　　"Well, they've sent you a tidy sum," said Berg, eying the heavypurse that sank into the sofa. "As for us, Count, we get along onour pay. I can tell you for myself..."

　　"I say, Berg, my dear fellow," said Rostov, "when you get a letterfrom home and meet one of your own people whom you want to talkeverything over with, and I happen to be there, I'll go at once, to beout of your way! Do go somewhere, anywhere... to the devil!" heexclaimed, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder and lookingamiably into his face, evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of hiswords, he added, "Don't be hurt, my dear fellow; you know I speak frommy 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 Boris.

　　Berg put on the cleanest of coats, without a spot or speck ofdust, stood before a looking glass and brushed the hair on his templesupwards, in the way affected by the Emperor Alexander, and, havingassured himself from the way Rostov looked at it that his coat hadbeen noticed, left the room with a pleasant smile.

　　"Oh dear, what a beast I am!" muttered Rostov, as he read theletter.

　　"Why?"

　　"Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written and to have given themsuch a fright! Oh, what a pig I am!" he repeated, flushing suddenly."Well, have you sent Gabriel for some wine? All right let's havesome!"

　　In the letter from his parents was enclosed a letter ofrecommendation to Bagration which the old countess at AnnaMikhaylovna's advice had obtained through an acquaintance and sentto her son, asking him to take it to its destination and make use ofit.

　　"What nonsense! Much I need it!" said Rostov, throwing the letterunder the table.

　　"Why have you thrown that away?" asked Boris.

　　"It is some letter of recommendation... what the devil do I wantit for!"

　　"Why 'What the devil'?" said Boris, picking it up and reading theaddress. "This letter would be of great use to you."

　　"I want nothing, and I won't be anyone's adjutant."

　　"Why not?" inquired Boris.

　　"It's a lackey's job!"

　　"You are still the same dreamer, I see," remarked Boris, shaking hishead.

　　"And you're still the same diplomatist! But that's not thepoint... Come, how are you?" asked Rostov.

　　"Well, as you see. So far everything's all right, but I confess Ishould much like to be an adjutant and not remain at the front."

　　"Why?"

　　"Because when once a man starts on military service, he should tryto make as successful a career of it as possible."

　　"Oh, that's it!" said Rostov, evidently thinking of something else.

　　He looked intently and inquiringly into his friend's eyes, evidentlytrying in vain to find the answer to some question.

　　Old Gabriel brought in the wine.

　　"Shouldn't we now send for Berg?" asked Boris. "He would drinkwith you. I can't."

　　"Well, send for him... and how do you get on with that German?"asked Rostov, with a contemptuous smile.

　　"He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow," answeredBoris.

　　Again Rostov looked intently into Boris' eyes and sighed. Bergreturned, and over the bottle of wine conversation between the threeofficers became animated. The Guardsmen told Rostov of their march andhow they had been made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad. Theyspoke 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 inconnection with the stories of the Grand Duke's quick temper herelated with gusto how in Galicia he had managed to deal with theGrand Duke when the latter made a tour of the regiments and wasannoyed at the irregularity of a movement. With a pleasant smileBerg related how the Grand Duke had ridden up to him in a violentpassion, shouting: "Arnauts!" ("Arnauts" was the Tsarevich'sfavorite expression when he was in a rage) and called for thecompany commander.

　　"Would you believe it, Count, I was not at all alarmed, because Iknew I was right. Without boasting, you know, I may say that I knowthe Army Orders by heart and know the Regulations as well as I dothe Lord's Prayer. So, Count, there never is any negligence in mycompany, and so my conscience was at ease. I came forward...." (Bergstood up and showed how he presented himself, with his hand to hiscap, and really it would have been difficult for a face to expressgreater respect and self-complacency than his did.) "Well, hestormed at me, as the saying is, stormed and stormed and stormed! Itwas not a matter of life but rather of death, as the saying is.'Albanians!' and 'devils!' and 'To Siberia!'" said Berg with asagacious smile. "I knew I was in the right so I kept silent; wasnot that best, Count?... 'Hey, are you dumb?' he shouted. Still Iremained silent. And what do you think, Count? The next day it was noteven mentioned in the Orders of the Day. That's what keeping one'shead means. That's the way, Count," said Berg, lighting his pipe andemitting rings of smoke.

　　"Yes, that was fine," said Rostov, smiling.

　　But Boris noticed that he was preparing to make fun of Berg, andskillfully changed the subject. He asked him to tell them how andwhere he got his wound. This pleased Rostov and he began talking aboutit, and as he went on became more and more animated. He told them ofhis Schon Grabern affair, just as those who have taken part in abattle generally do describe it, that is, as they would like it tohave been, as they have heard it described by others, and as soundswell, but not at all as it really was. Rostov was a truthful young manand would on no account have told a deliberate lie. He began his storymeaning to tell everything just as it happened, but imperceptibly,involuntarily, and inevitably he lapsed into falsehood. If he had toldthe truth to his hearers- who like himself had often heard storiesof attacks and had formed a definite idea of what an attack was andwere expecting to hear just such a story- they would either not havebelieved him or, still worse, would have thought that Rostov washimself to blame since what generally happens to the narrators ofcavalry attacks had not happened to him. He could not tell them simplythat everyone went at a trot and that he fell off his horse andsprained his arm and then ran as hard as he could from a Frenchmaninto the wood. Besides, to tell everything as it really happened, itwould have been necessary to make an effort of will to tell onlywhat happened. It is very difficult to tell the truth, and youngpeople are rarely capable of it. His hearers expected a story of howbeside himself and all aflame with excitement, he had flown like astorm at the square, cut his way in, slashed right and left, how hissaber had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, and so on. Andso he told them all that.

　　In the middle of his story, just as he was saying: "You cannotimagine what a strange frenzy one experiences during an attack,"Prince Andrew, whom Boris was expecting, entered the room. PrinceAndrew, who liked to help young men, was flattered by being askedfor his assistance and being well disposed toward Boris, who hadmanaged to please him the day before, he wished to do what the youngman wanted. Having been sent with papers from Kutuzov to theTsarevich, he looked in on Boris, hoping to find him alone. When hecame in and saw an hussar of the line recounting his military exploits(Prince Andrew could not endure that sort of man), he gave Boris apleasant smile, frowned as with half-closed eyes he looked atRostov, bowed slightly and wearily, and sat down languidly on thesofa: he felt it unpleasant to have dropped in on bad company.Rostov flushed up on noticing this, but he did not care, this was amere stranger. Glancing, however, at Boris, he saw that he tooseemed ashamed of the hussar of the line.

　　In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite ofthe contempt with which Rostov, from his fighting army point ofview, regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom thenewcomer was evidently one, Rostov felt confused, blushed, andbecame silent. Boris inquired what news there might be on the staff,and what, without indiscretion, one might ask about our plans.

　　"We shall probably advance," replied Bolkonski, evidentlyreluctant to say more in the presence of a stranger.

　　Berg took the opportunity to ask, with great politeness, whether, aswas rumored, the allowance of forage money to captains of companieswould be doubled. To this Prince Andrew answered with a smile thathe could give no opinion on such an important government order, andBerg laughed gaily.

　　"As to your business," Prince Andrew continued, addressing Boris,"we will talk of it later" (and he looked round at Rostov). "Come tome after the review and we will do what is possible."

　　And, having glanced round the room, Prince Andrew turned toRostov, whose state of unconquerable childish embarrassment nowchanging to anger he did not condescend to notice, and said: "Ithink you were talking of the Schon Grabern affair? Were you there?"

　　"I was there," said Rostov angrily, as if intending to insult theaide-de-camp.

　　Bolkonski noticed the hussar's state of mind, and it amused him.With a slightly contemptuous smile, he said: "Yes, there are manystories now told about that affair!"

　　"Yes, stories!" repeated Rostov loudly, looking with eyes suddenlygrown furious, now at Boris, now at Bolkonski. "Yes, many stories! Butour stories are the stories of men who have been under the enemy'sfire! Our stories have some weight, not like the stories of thosefellows on the staff who get rewards without doing anything!"

　　"Of whom you imagine me to be one?" said Prince Andrew, with a quietand particularly amiable smile.

　　A strange feeling of exasperation and yet of respect for thisman's self-possession mingled at that moment in Rostov'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 ofquiet authority, "you wish to insult me, and I am ready to agreewith you that it would be very easy to do so if you haven't sufficientself-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 moreserious duel, and besides, Drubetskoy, who says he is an old friend ofyours, is not at all to blame that my face has the misfortune todisplease you. However," he added rising, "you know my name andwhere to find me, but don't forget that I do not regard eithermyself or you as having been at all insulted, and as a man olderthan you, my advice is to let the matter drop. Well then, on Fridayafter the review I shall expect you, Drubetskoy. Au revoir!" exclaimedPrince Andrew, and with a bow to them both he went out.

　　Only when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostov think of what he oughtto 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 Boris, rodehome. Should he go to headquarters next day and challenge thataffected adjutant, or really let the matter drop, was the questionthat worried him all the way. He thought angrily of the pleasure hewould have at seeing the fright of that small and frail but proudman when covered by his pistol, and then he felt with surprise that ofall the men he knew there was none he would so much like to have for afriend as that very adjutant whom he so hated.BK3|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　The day after Rostov had been to see Boris, a review was held of theAustrian and Russian troops, both those freshly arrived from Russiaand those who had been campaigning under Kutuzov. The two Emperors,the Russian with his heir the Tsarevich, and the Austrian with theArchduke, 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 andbayonets moved and halted at the officers' command, turned withbanners flying, formed up at intervals, and wheeled round othersimilar masses of infantry in different uniforms; now was heard therhythmic beat of hoofs and the jingling of showy cavalry in blue, red,and green braided uniforms, with smartly dressed bandsmen in frontmounted on black, roan, or gray horses; then again, spreading out withthe brazen clatter of the polished shining cannon that quivered on thegun carriages and with the smell of linstocks, came the artillerywhich crawled between the infantry and cavalry and took up itsappointed position. Not only the generals in full parade uniforms,with their thin or thick waists drawn in to the utmost, their rednecks squeezed into their stiff collars, and wearing scarves and alltheir decorations, not only the elegant, pomaded officers, but everysoldier with his freshly washed and shaven face and his weaponsclean and polished to the utmost, and every horse groomed till itscoat shone like satin and every hair of its wetted mane lay smooth-felt that no small matter was happening, but an important and solemnaffair. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his owninsignificance, aware of being but a drop in that ocean of men, andyet at the same time was conscious of his strength as a part of thatenormous whole.

　　From early morning strenuous activities and efforts had begun and byten o'clock all had been brought into due order. The ranks weredrown up on the vast field. The whole army was extended in threelines: the cavalry in front, behind it the artillery, and behindthat again the infantry.

　　A space like a street was left between each two lines of troops. Thethree parts of that army were sharply distinguished: Kutuzov'sfighting army (with the Pavlograds on the right flank of the front);those recently arrived from Russia, both Guards and regiments of theline; 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 finalpreparation swept over all the troops.

　　From the direction of Olmutz in front of them, a group was seenapproaching. And at that moment, though the day was still, a lightgust of wind blowing over the army slightly stirred the streamers onthe lances and the unfolded standards fluttered against theirstaffs. It looked as if by that slight motion the army itself wasexpressing its joy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice washeard shouting: "Eyes front!" Then, like the crowing of cocks atsunrise, this was repeated by others from various sides and all becamesilent.

　　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 generalmarch. It seemed as though not the trumpeters were playing, but asif the army itself, rejoicing at the Emperors' approach, had naturallyburst into music. Amid these sounds, only the youthful kindly voice ofthe Emperor Alexander was clearly heard. He gave the words ofgreeting, and the first regiment roared "Hurrah!" so deafeningly,continuously, and joyfully that the men themselves were awed bytheir multitude and the immensity of the power they constituted.

　　Rostov, standing in the front lines of Kutuzov's army which the Tsarapproached first, experienced the same feeling as every other man inthat army: a feeling of self-forgetfulness, a proud consciousness ofmight, and a passionate attraction to him who was the cause of thistriumph.

　　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 andwater, commit crime, die, or perform deeds of highest heroism, andso he could not but tremble and his heart stand still at the imminenceof that word.

　　"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" thundered from all sides, one regimentafter another greeting the Tsar with the strains of the march, andthen "Hurrah!"... Then the general march, and again "Hurrah!Hurrah!" growing ever stronger and fuller and merging into a deafeningroar.

　　Till the Tsar reached it, each regiment in its silence andimmobility seemed like a lifeless body, but as soon as he came up itbecame alive, its thunder joining the roar of the whole line alongwhich he had already passed. Through the terrible and deafening roarof those voices, amid the square masses of troops standingmotionless as if turned to stone, hundreds of riders composing thesuites moved carelessly but symmetrically and above all freely, and infront of them two men- the Emperors. Upon them the undivided,tensely passionate attention of that whole mass of men wasconcentrated.

　　The handsome young Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the HorseGuards, wearing a cocked hat with its peaks front and back, with hispleasant face and resonant though not loud voice, attracted everyone'sattention.

　　Rostov was not far from the trumpeters, and with his keen sighthad recognized the Tsar and watched his approach. When he was withintwenty paces, and Nicholas could clearly distinguish every detail ofhis handsome, happy young face, he experienced a feeling tendernessand ecstasy such as he had never before known. Every trait and everymovement of the Tsar's seemed to him enchanting.

　　Stopping in front of the Pavlograds, the Tsar said something inFrench to the Austrian Emperor and smiled.

　　Seeing that smile, Rostov involuntarily smiled himself and felt astill stronger flow of love for his sovereign. He longed to showthat love in some way and knowing that this was impossible was readyto cry. The Tsar called the colonel of the regiment and said a fewwords to him.

　　"Oh God, what would happen to me if the Emperor spoke to me?"thought Rostov. "I should die of happiness!"

　　The Tsar addressed the officers also: "I thank you all, gentlemen, Ithank you with my whole heart." To Rostov every word sounded like avoice 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 ofthem."

　　"Oh, to die, to die for him " thought Rostov.

　　The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not hear, and thesoldiers, straining their lungs, shouted "Hurrah!"

　　Rostov too, bending over his saddle, shouted "Hurrah!" with allhis 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 ifundecided.

　　"How can the Emperor be undecided?" thought Rostov, but then eventhis indecision appeared to him majestic and enchanting, likeeverything else the Tsar did.

　　That hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar's foot, in thenarrow pointed boot then fashionable, touched the groin of thebobtailed bay mare he rode, his hand in a white glove gathered upthe reins, and he moved off accompanied by an irregularly swayingsea of aides-de-camp. Farther and farther he rode away, stopping atother regiments, till at last only his white plumes were visible toRostov from amid the suites that surrounded the Emperors.

　　Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonski,sitting his horse indolently and carelessly. Rostov recalled theirquarrel of yesterday and the question presented itself whether heought or ought not to challenge Bolkonski. "Of course not!" he nowthought. "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 doany of our quarrels and affronts matter? I love and forgiveeverybody now."

　　When the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troopsbegan a ceremonial march past him, and Rostov on Bedouin, recentlypurchased from Denisov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadron-that is, alone and in full view of the Emperor.

　　Before he reached him, Rostov, who was a splendid horseman,spurred Bedouin twice and successfully put him to the showy trot inwhich the animal went when excited. Bending his foaming muzzle tohis chest, his tail extended, Bedouin, as if also conscious of theEmperor's eye upon him, passed splendidly, lifting his feet with ahigh and graceful action, as if flying through the air withouttouching the ground.

　　Rostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in andfeeling himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with afrowning but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as Denisov expressedit.

　　"Fine fellows, the Pavlograds!" remarked the Emperor.

　　"My God, how happy I should be if he ordered me to leap into thefire this instant!" thought Rostov.

　　When the review was over, the newly arrived officers, and alsoKutuzov's, collected in groups and began to talk about the awards,about the Austrians and their uniforms, about their lines, aboutBonaparte, and how badly the latter would fare now, especially ifthe 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 againstthe enemy under the Emperor's command. Commanded by the Emperorhimself they could not fail to vanquish anyone, be it whom it might:so thought Rostov and most of the officers after the review.

　　All were then more confident of victory than the winning of twobattles would have made them.BK3|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　The day after the review, Boris, in his best uniform and with hiscomrade Berg's best wishes for success, rode to Olmutz to seeBolkonski, wishing to profit by his friendliness and obtain forhimself the best post he could- preferably that of adjutant to someimportant personage, a position in the army which seemed to him mostattractive. "It is all very well for Rostov, whose father sends himten thousand rubles at a time, to talk about not wishing to cringeto anybody and not be anyone's lackey, but I who have nothing but mybrains have to make a career and must not miss opportunities, but mustavail myself of them!" he reflected.

　　He did not find Prince Andrew in Olmutz that day, but the appearanceof the town where the headquarters and the diplomatic corps werestationed and the two Emperors were living with their suites,households, and courts only strengthened his desire to belong tothat higher world.

　　He knew no one, and despite his smart Guardsman's uniform, all theseexalted personages passing in the streets in their elegant carriageswith their plumes, ribbons, and medals, both courtiers and militarymen, seemed so immeasurably above him, an insignificant officer of theGuards, that they not only did not wish to, but simply could not, beaware of his existence. At the quarters of the commander in chief,Kutuzov, where he inquired for Bolkonski, all the adjutants and eventhe orderlies looked at him as if they wished to impress on him that agreat many officers like him were always coming there and thateverybody was heartily sick of them. In spite of this, or ratherbecause of it, next day, November 15, after dinner he again went toOlmutz and, entering the house occupied by Kutuzov, asked forBolkonski. Prince Andrew was in and Boris was shown into a largehall probably formerly used for dancing, but in which five beds nowstood, and furniture of various kinds: a table, chairs, and aclavichord. One adjutant, nearest the door, was sitting at the tablein a Persian dressing gown, writing. Another, the red, stoutNesvitski, lay on a bed with his arms under his head, laughing with anofficer who had sat down beside him. A third was playing a Viennesewaltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, lying on the clavichord, sangthe tune. Bolkonski was not there. None of these gentlemen changed hisposition on seeing Boris. The one who was writing and whom Borisaddressed turned round crossly and told him Bolkonski was on dutyand that he should go through the door on the left into thereception room if he wished to see him. Boris thanked him and wentto 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"), waslistening to an old Russian general with decorations, who stood veryerect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldier's obsequious expression on hispurple face, reporting something.

　　"Very well, then, be so good as to wait," said Prince Andrew tothe general, in Russian, speaking with the French intonation heaffected when he wished to speak contemptuously, and noticing Boris,Prince Andrew, paying no more heed to the general who ran after himimploring him to hear something more, nodded and turned to him witha cheerful smile.

　　At that moment Boris clearly realized what he had before surmised,that in the army, besides the subordination and disciplineprescribed in the military code, which he and the others knew in theregiment, there was another, more important, subordination, which madethis tight-laced, purple-faced general wait respectfully while CaptainPrince Andrew, for his own pleasure, chose to chat with LieutenantDrubetskoy. More than ever was Boris resolved to serve in future notaccording to the written code, but under this unwritten law. He feltnow that merely by having been recommended to Prince Andrew he hadalready risen above the general who at the front had the power toannihilate him, a lieutenant of the Guards. Prince Andrew came up tohim and took his hand.

　　"I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussingabout with Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey thedispositions. When Germans start being accurate, there's no end toit!"

　　Boris smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andrew was alluding toas something generally known. But it the first time he had heardWeyrother's name, or even the term "dispositions."

　　"Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I havebeen thinking about you."

　　"Yes, I was thinking"- for some reason Boris could not helpblushing- "of asking the commander in chief. He has had a letterfrom Prince Kuragin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fearthe 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 atyour disposal."

　　While Prince Andrew went to report about the purple-faced general,that gentleman- evidently not sharing Boris' conception of theadvantages of the unwritten code of subordination- looked so fixedlyat the presumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what hehad to say to the adjutant that Boris felt uncomfortable. He turnedaway and waited impatiently for Prince Andrew's return from thecommander in chief's room.

　　"You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you," saidPrince Andrew when they had gone into the large room where theclavichord 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 wouldnot be bad as regards the unwritten code," thought Boris), "butnothing more would come of it. There will soon be a battalion of usaides-de-camp and adjutants! But this is what we'll do: I have agood friend, an adjutant general and an excellent fellow, PrinceDolgorukov; and though you may not know it, the fact is that nowKutuzov with his staff and all of us count for nothing. Everythingis now centered round the Emperor. So we will go to Dolgorukov; I haveto go there anyhow and I have already spoken to him about you. Weshall see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find a placefor you somewhere nearer the sun."

　　Prince Andrew always became specially keen when he had to guide ayoung man and help him to worldly success. Under cover of obtaininghelp of this kind for another, which from pride he would neveraccept for himself, he kept in touch with the circle which conferssuccess and which attracted him. He very readily took up Boris'cause and went with him to Dolgorukov.

　　It was late in the evening when they entered the palace at Olmutzoccupied by the Emperors and their retinues.

　　That same day a council of war had been held in which all themembers of the Hofkriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At thatcouncil, contrary to the views of the old generals Kutuzov andPrince Schwartzenberg, it had been decided to advance immediatelyand give battle to Bonaparte. The council of war was just over whenPrince Andrew accompanied by Boris arrived at the palace to findDolgorukov. Everyone at headquarters was still under the spell ofthe day's council, at which the party of the young had triumphed.The voices of those who counseled delay and advised waiting forsomething else before advancing had been so completely silenced andtheir arguments confuted by such conclusive evidence of the advantagesof attacking that what had been discussed at the council- the comingbattle and the victory that would certainly result from it- nolonger seemed to be in the future but in the past. All theadvantages were on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubtedly superiorto Napoleon's, were concentrated in one place, the troops inspiredby the Emperors' presence were eager for action. The strategicposition where the operations would take place was familiar in all itsdetails to the Austrian General Weyrother: a lucky accident hadordained that the Austrian army should maneuver the previous year onthe very fields where the French had now to be fought; the adjacentlocality was known and shown in every detail on the maps, andBonaparte, evidently weakened, was undertaking nothing.

　　Dolgorukov, one of the warmest advocates of an attack, had justreturned from the council, tired and exhausted but eager and proudof the victory that had been gained. Prince Andrew introduced hisprotege, but Prince Dolgorukov politely and firmly pressing his handsaid nothing to Boris and, evidently unable to suppress the thoughtswhich were uppermost in his mind at that moment, addressed PrinceAndrew in French.

　　"Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have gained! God grant thatthe one that will result from it will be as victorious! However,dear fellow," he said abruptly and eagerly, "I must confess tohaving been unjust to the Austrians and especially to Weyrother.What exactitude, what minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, whatforesight for every eventuality, every possibility even to thesmallest detail! No, my dear fellow, no conditions better than ourpresent ones could have been devised. This combination of Austrianprecision with Russian valor- what more could be wished for?"

　　"So the attack is definitely resolved on?" asked Bolkonski.

　　"And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems to me that Bonapartehas decidedly lost bearings, you know that a letter was receivedfrom him today for the Emperor." Dolgorukov smiled significantly.

　　"Is that so? And what did he say?" inquired Bolkonski.

　　"What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on... merely to gaintime. I tell you he is in our hands, that's certain! But what was mostamusing," he continued, with a sudden, good-natured laugh, "was thatwe could not think how to address the reply! If not as 'Consul' and ofcourse not as 'Emperor,' it seemed to me it should be to 'GeneralBonaparte.'"

　　"But between not recognizing him as Emperor and calling himGeneral Bonaparte, there is a difference," remarked Bolkonski.

　　"That's just it," interrupted Dolgorukov quickly, laughing. "Youknow Bilibin- he's a very clever fellow. He suggested addressing himas 'Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.'"

　　Dolgorukov laughed merrily.

　　"Only that?" said Bolkonski.

　　"All the same, it was Bilibin who found a suitable form for theaddress. He is a wise and clever fellow."

　　"What was it?"

　　"To the Head of the French Government... Au chef du gouvernementfrancais," said Dolgorukov, with grave satisfaction. "Good, wasn'tit?"

　　"Yes, but he will dislike it extremely," said Bolkonski.

　　"Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, he's dined with him- thepresent Emperor- more than once in Paris, and tells me he never meta more cunning or subtle diplomatist- you know, a combination ofFrench adroitness and Italian play-acting! Do you know the taleabout him and Count Markov? Count Markov was the only man who knew howto handle him. You know the story of the handkerchief? It isdelightful!"

　　And the talkative Dolgorukov, turning now to Boris, now to PrinceAndrew, told how Bonaparte wishing to test Markov, our ambassador,purposely dropped a handkerchief in front of him and stood lookingat Markov, probably expecting Markov to pick it up for him, and howMarkov immediately dropped his own beside it and picked it upwithout touching Bonaparte's.

　　"Delightful!" said Bolkonski. "But I have come to you, Prince, asa petitioner on behalf of this young man. You see..." but beforePrince Andrew could finish, an aide-de-camp came in to summonDolgorukov to the Emperor.

　　"Oh, what a nuisance," said Dolgorukov, getting up hurriedly andpressing the hands of Prince Andrew and Boris. "You know I should bevery glad to do all in my power both for you and for this dear youngman." Again he pressed the hand of the latter with an expression ofgood-natured, sincere, and animated levity. "But you see... anothertime!"

　　Boris was excited by the thought of being so close to the higherpowers as he felt himself to be at that moment. He was consciousthat here he was in contact with the springs that set in motion theenormous movements of the mass of which in his regiment he felthimself a tiny, obedient, and insignificant atom. They followed PrinceDolgorukov out into the corridor and met- coming out of the door ofthe Emperor's room by which Dolgorukov had entered- a short man incivilian clothes with a clever face and sharply projecting jawwhich, without spoiling his face, gave him a peculiar vivacity andshiftiness of expression. This short man nodded to Dolgorukov as to anintimate friend and stared at Prince Andrew with cool intensity,walking straight toward him and evidently expecting him to bow or tostep out of his way. Prince Andrew did neither: a look of animosityappeared on his face and the other turned away and went down theside of the corridor.

　　"Who was that?" asked Boris.

　　"He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of men-the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartoryski.... It issuch men as he who decide the fate of nations," added Bolkonski with asigh he could not suppress, as they passed out of the palace.

　　Next day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battleof Austerlitz, Boris was unable to see either Prince Andrew orDolgorukov again and remained for a while with the Ismaylov regiment.BK3|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denisov's squadron, in whichNicholas Rostov served and which was in Prince Bagration's detachment,moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing intoaction as arranged, and after going behind other columns for about twothirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad. Rostov saw theCossacks and then the first and second squadrons of hussars andinfantry battalions and artillery pass by and go forward and thenGenerals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride past with their adjutants.All the fear before action which he had experienced as previously, allthe inner struggle to conquer that fear, all his dreams ofdistinguishing himself as a true hussar in this battle, had beenwasted. Their squadron remained in reserve and Nicholas Rostov spentthat day in a dull and wretched mood. At nine in the morning, he heardfiring in front and shouts of hurrah, and saw wounded being broughtback (there were not many of them), and at last he saw how a wholedetachment of French cavalry was brought in, convoyed by a sontnyaof Cossacks. Evidently the affair was over and, though not big, hadbeen a successful engagement. The men and officers returning spokeof a brilliant victory, of the occupation of the town of Wischau andthe capture of a whole French squadron. The day was bright and sunnyafter a sharp night frost, and the cheerful glitter of that autumn daywas in keeping with the news of victory which was conveyed, not onlyby the tales of those who had taken part in it, but also by the joyfulexpression on the faces of soldiers, officers, generals, andadjutants, as they passed Rostov going or coming. And Nicholas, whohad vainly suffered all the dread that precedes a battle and had spentthat happy day in inactivity, was all the more depressed.

　　"Come here, Wostov. Let's dwink to dwown our gwief!" shoutedDenisov, who had settled down by the roadside with a flask and somefood.

　　The officers gathered round Denisov'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 footby two Cossacks.

　　One of them was leading by the bridle a fine large French horse hehad taken from the prisoner.

　　"Sell us that horse!" Denisov 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 Germanaccent. He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and whenhe heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers,addressing first one, then another. He said he would not have beentaken, it was not his fault but the corporal's who had sent him toseize some horsecloths, though he had told him the Russians werethere. 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 wherehe was. Now he excused himself for having been taken prisoner and now,imagining himself before his own officers, insisted on his soldierlydiscipline and zeal in the service. He brought with him into ourrearguard all the freshness of atmosphere of the French army, whichwas so alien to us.

　　The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostov, beingthe richest of the officers now that he had received his money, boughtit.

　　"But don't hurt my little horse!" said the Alsatian good-naturedlyto Rostov when the animal was handed over to the hussar.

　　Rostov smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money.

　　"Alley! Alley!" said the Cossack, touching the prisoner's arm tomake him go on.

　　"The Emperor! The Emperor!" was suddenly heard among the hussars.

　　All began to run and bustle, and Rostov saw coming up the roadbehind him several riders with white plumes in their hats. In a momenteveryone was in his place, waiting.

　　Rostov did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.Instantly his regret at not having been in action and his dejectedmood amid people of whom he was weary had gone, instantly everythought of himself had vanished. He was filled with happiness at hisnearness to the Emperor. He felt that this nearness by itself madeup to him for the day he had lost. He was happy as a lover when thelonged-for moment of meeting arrives. Not daring to look round andwithout looking round, he was ecstatically conscious of hisapproach. He felt it not only from the sound of the hoofs of theapproaching cavalcade, but because as he drew near everything grewbrighter, more joyful, more significant, and more festive aroundhim. Nearer and nearer to Rostov came that sun shedding beams ofmild and majestic light around, and already he felt himselfenveloped in those beams, he heard his voice, that kindly, calm, andmajestic voice that was yet so simple! And as if in accord withRostov's feeling, there was a deathly stillness amid which was heardthe Emperor's voice.

　　"The Pavlograd hussars?" he inquired.

　　"The reserves, sire!" replied a voice, a very human one comparedto that which had said: "The Pavlograd hussars?"

　　The Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted. Alexander's facewas even more beautiful than it had been three days before at thereview. It shone with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youth, thatit suggested the liveliness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet it wasthe face of the majestic Emperor. Casually, while surveying thesquadron, the Emperor's eyes met Rostov's and rested on them for notmore than two seconds. Whether or no the Emperor understood what wasgoing on in Rostov's soul (it seemed to Rostov that he understoodeverything), at any rate his light-blue eyes gazed for about twoseconds into Rostov's face. A gentle, mild light poured from them.Then all at once he raised his eyebrows, abruptly touched his horsewith his left foot, and galloped on.

　　The younger Emperor could not restrain his wish to be present at thebattle and, in spite of the remonstrances of his courtiers, attwelve o'clock left the third column with which he had been andgalloped toward the vanguard. Before he came up with the hussars,several adjutants met him with news of the successful result of theaction.

　　This battle, which consisted in the capture of a French squadron,was represented as a brilliant victory over the French, and so theEmperor and the whole army, especially while the smoke hung over thebattlefield, believed that the French had been defeated and wereretreating against their will. A few minutes after the Emperor hadpassed, the Pavlograd division was ordered to advance. In Wischauitself, a petty German town, Rostov saw the Emperor again. In themarket place, where there had been some rather heavy firing before theEmperor's arrival, lay several killed and wounded soldiers whomthere had not been time to move. The Emperor, surrounded by hissuite of officers and courtiers, was riding a bobtailed chestnut mare,a different one from that which he had ridden at the review, andbending to one side he gracefully held a gold lorgnette to his eyesand looked at a soldier who lay prone, with blood on his uncoveredhead. The wounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, and revolting that hisproximity to the Emperor shocked Rostov. Rostov saw how theEmperor's rather round shoulders shuddered as if a cold shiver had rundown them, how his left foot began convulsively tapping the horse'sside with the spur, and how the well-trained horse looked roundunconcerned and did not stir. An adjutant, dismounting, lifted thesoldier under the arms to place him on a stretcher that had beenbrought. The soldier groaned.

　　"Gently, gently! Can't you do it more gently?" said the Emperorapparently suffering more than the dying soldier, and he rode away.

　　Rostov saw tears filling the Emperor's eyes and heard him, as he wasriding away, say to Czartoryski: "What a terrible thing war is: what aterrible thing! Quelle terrible chose que la guerre!"

　　The troops of the vanguard were stationed before Wischau, withinsight of the enemy's lines, which all day long had yielded ground tous at the least firing. The Emperor's gratitude was announced to thevanguard, rewards were promised, and the men received a doubleration of vodka. The campfires crackled and the soldiers' songsresounded even more merrily than on the previous night. Denisovcelebrated his promotion to the rank of major, and Rostov, who hadalready drunk enough, at the end of the feast proposed the Emperor'shealth. "Not 'our Sovereign, the Emperor,' as they say at officialdinners," said he, "but the health of our Sovereign, that good,enchanting, and great man! Let us drink to his health and to thecertain defeat of the French!"

　　"If we fought before," he said, "not letting the French pass, asat Schon Grabern, what shall we not do now when he is at the front? Wewill all die for him gladly! Is it not so, gentlemen? Perhaps I am notsaying it right, I have drunk a good deal- but that is how I feel, andso do you too! To the health of Alexander the First! Hurrah!"

　　"Hurrah!" rang the enthusiastic voices of the officers.

　　And the old cavalry captain, Kirsten, shouted enthusiastically andno less sincerely than the twenty-year-old Rostov.

　　When the officers had emptied and smashed their glasses, Kirstenfilled others and, in shirt sleeves and breeches, went glass in handto the soldiers' bonfires and with his long gray mustache, his whitechest showing under his open shirt, he stood in a majestic pose in thelight of the campfire, waving his uplifted arm.

　　"Lads! here's to our Sovereign, the Emperor, and victory over ourenemies! 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, Denisov with his short handpatted his favorite, Rostov, on the shoulder.

　　"As there's no one to fall in love with on campaign, he's fallenin love with the Tsar," he said.

　　"Denisov, don't make fun of it!" cried Rostov. "It is such alofty, beautiful feeling, such a..."

　　"I believe it, I believe it, fwiend, and I share and appwove..."

　　"No, you don't understand!"

　　And Rostov got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreamingof 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 beforehis eyes. He really was in love with the Tsar and the glory of theRussian arms and the hope of future triumph. And he was not the onlyman to experience that feeling during those memorable days precedingthe battle of Austerlitz: nine tenths of the men in the Russian armywere then in love, though less ecstatically, with their Tsar and theglory of the Russian arms.BK3|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　The next day the Emperor stopped at Wischau, and Villier, hisphysician, was repeatedly summoned to see him. At headquarters andamong the troops near by the news spread that the Emperor wasunwell. He ate nothing and had slept badly that night, those aroundhim reported. The cause of this indisposition was the strongimpression made on his sensitive mind by the sight of the killed andwounded.

　　At daybreak on the seventeenth, a French officer who had come with aflag of truce, demanding an audience with the Russian Emperor, wasbrought into Wischau from our outposts. This officer was Savary. TheEmperor had only just fallen asleep and so Savary had to wait. Atmidday he was admitted to the Emperor, and an hour later he rode offwith Prince Dolgorukov to the advanced post of the French army.

　　It was rumored that Savary had been sent to propose to Alexander ameeting with Napoleon. To the joy and pride of the whole army, apersonal interview was refused, and instead of the Sovereign, PrinceDolgorukov, the victor at Wischau, was sent with Savary to negotiatewith Napoleon if, contrary to expectations, these negotiations wereactuated by a real desire for peace.

　　Toward evening Dolgorukov 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 advancedtwo days' march and the enemy's outposts after a brief interchangeof shots retreated. In the highest army circles from midday on thenineteenth, a great, excitedly bustling activity began which lastedtill the morning of the twentieth, when the memorable battle ofAusterlitz was fought.

　　Till midday on the nineteenth, the activity- the eager talk, runningto and fro, and dispatching of adjutants- was confined to theEmperor's headquarters. But on the afternoon of that day, thisactivity reached Kutiizov's headquarters and the staffs of thecommanders of columns. By evening, the adjutants had spread it toall ends and parts of the army, and in the night from the nineteenthto the twentieth, the whole eighty thousand allied troops rose fromtheir bivouacs to the hum of voices, and the army swayed and startedin one enormous mass six miles long.

　　The concentrated activity which had begun at the Emperor'sheadquarters in the morning and had started the whole movement thatfollowed was like the first movement of the main wheel of a largetower clock. One wheel slowly moved, another was set in motion, anda third, and wheels began to revolve faster and faster, levers andcogwheels to work, chimes to play, figures to pop out, and the handsto advance with regular motion as a result of all that activity.

　　Just as in the mechanism of a clock, so in the mechanism of themilitary machine, an impulse once given leads to the final result; andjust as indifferently quiescent till the moment when motion istransmitted to them are the parts of the mechanism which the impulsehas not yet reached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engageone another and the revolving pulleys whirr with the rapidity of theirmovement, but a neighboring wheel is as quiet and motionless as thoughit were prepared to remain so for a hundred years; but the momentcomes when the lever catches it and obeying the impulse that wheelbegins to creak and joins in the common motion the result and aim ofwhich are beyond its ken.

　　Just as in a clock, the result of the complicated motion ofinnumerable wheels and pulleys is merely a slow and regular movementof the hands which show the time, so the result of all the complicatedhuman 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 slowmovement of the hand on the dial of human history.

　　Prince Andrew was on duty that day and in constant attendance on thecommander in chief.

　　At six in the evening, Kutuzov went to the Emperor's headquartersand after staying but a short time with the Tsar went to see the grandmarshal of the court, Count Tolstoy.

　　Bolkonski took the opportunity to go in to get some details of thecoming action from Dolgorukov. He felt that Kutuzov was upset anddissatisfied about something and that at headquarters they weredissatisfied with him, and also that at the Emperor's headquarterseveryone adopted toward him the tone of men who know somethingothers do not know: he therefore wished to speak to Dolgorukov.

　　"Well, how d'you do, my dear fellow?" said Dolgorukov, who wassitting at tea with Bilibin. "The fete is for tomorrow. How is yourold fellow? Out of sorts?"

　　"I won't say he is out of sorts, but I fancy he would like to beheard."

　　"But they heard him at the council of war and will hear him whenhe talks sense, but to temporize and wait for something now whenBonaparte fears nothing so much as a general battle is impossible."

　　"Yes, you have seen him?" said Prince Andrew. "Well, what isBonaparte like? How did he impress you?"

　　"Yes, I saw him, and am convinced that he fears nothing so much as ageneral engagement," repeated Dolgorukov, evidently prizing thisgeneral conclusion which he had arrived at from his interview withNapoleon. "If he weren't afraid of a battle why did he ask for thatinterview? Why negotiate, and above all why retreat, when to retreatis so contrary to his method of conducting war? Believe me, he isafraid, 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 Dolgorukov,looking round at Bilibin with a smile.

　　"Despite my great respect for old Kutuzov," he continued, "we shouldbe a nice set of fellows if we were to wait about and so give him achance to escape, or to trick us, now that we certainly have him inour hands! No, we mustn't forget Suvorov and his rule- not to putyourself in a position to be attacked, but yourself to attack. Believeme in war the energy of young men often shows the way better thanall the experience of old Cunctators."

　　"But in what position are we going to attack him? I have been at theoutposts today and it is impossible to say where his chief forcesare situated," said Prince Andrew.

　　He wished to explain to Dolgorukov a plan of attack he had himselfformed.

　　"Oh, that is all the same," Dolgorukov said quickly, and gettingup he spread a map on the table. "All eventualities have beenforeseen. If he is standing before Brunn..."

　　And Prince Dolgorukov rapidly but indistinctly explained Weyrother'splan of a flanking movement.

　　Prince Andrew began to reply and to state his own plan, whichmight have been as good as Weyrother's, but for the disadvantagethat Weyrother's had already been approved. As soon as Prince Andrewbegan to demonstrate the defects of the latter and the merits of hisown plan, Prince Dolgorukov ceased to listen to him and gazedabsent-mindedly not at the map, but at Prince Andrew's face.

　　"There will be a council of war at Kutuzov's tonight, though; youcan say all this there," remarked Dolgorukov.

　　"I will do so," said Prince Andrew, moving away from the map.

　　"Whatever are you bothering about, gentlemen?" said Bilibin, who,till then, had listened with an amused smile to their conversation andnow was evidently ready with a joke. "Whether tomorrow bringsvictory or defeat, the glory of our Russian arms is secure. Exceptyour Kutuzov, there is not a single Russian in command of a column!The commanders are: Herr General Wimpfen, le Comte de Langeron, lePrince de Lichtenstein, le Prince, de Hohenlohe, and finallyPrishprish, and so on like all those Polish names."

　　"Be quiet, backbiter!" said Dolgorukov. "It is not true; there arenow two Russians, Miloradovich, and Dokhturov, and there would be athird, Count Arakcheev, if his nerves were not too weak."

　　"However, I think General Kutuzov has come out," said Prince Andrew."I wish you good luck and success, gentlemen!" he added and went outafter shaking hands with Dolgorukov and Bilibin.

　　On the way home, Prince Andrew could not refrain from askingKutuzov, who was sitting silently beside him, what he thought oftomorrow's battle.

　　Kutuzov looked sternly at his adjutant and, after a pause,replied: "I think the battle will be lost, and so I told Count Tolstoyand asked him to tell the Emperor. What do you think he replied? 'But,my dear general, I am engaged with rice and cutlets, look aftermilitary matters yourself!' Yes... That was the answer I got!"BK3|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　Shortly after nine o'clock that evening, Weyrother drove with hisplans to Kutuzov's quarters where the council of war was to be held.All the commanders of columns were summoned to the commander inchief's and with the exception of Prince Bagration, who declined tocome, were all there at the appointed time.

　　Weyrother, who was in full control of the proposed battle, by hiseagerness and briskness presented a marked contrast to thedissatisfied and drowsy Kutuzov, who reluctantly played the part ofchairman and president of the council of war. Weyrother evidently felthimself to be at the head of a movement that had already becomeunrestrainable. He was like a horse running downhill harnessed to aheavy cart. Whether he was pulling it or being pushed by it he did notknow, but rushed along at headlong speed with no time to consider whatthis movement might lead to. Weyrother had been twice that eveningto the enemy's picket line to reconnoiter personally, and twice to theEmperors, Russian and Austrian, to report and explain, and to hisheadquarters where he had dictated the dispositions in German, andnow, much exhausted, he arrived at Kutuzov's.

　　He was evidently so busy that he even forgot to be polite to thecommander in chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly andindistinctly, without looking at the man he was addressing, and didnot reply to questions put to him. He was bespattered with mud and hada pitiful, weary, and distracted air, though at the same time he washaughty and self-confident.

　　Kutuzov was occupying a nobleman's castle of modest dimensionsnear Ostralitz. In the large drawing room which had become thecommander in chief's office were gathered Kutuzov himself,Weyrother, and the members of the council of war. They were drinkingtea, and only awaited Prince Bagration to begin the council. At lastBagration's orderly came with the news that the prince could notattend. Prince Andrew came in to inform the commander in chief of thisand, availing himself of permission previously given him by Kutuzov tobe present at the council, he remained in the room.

　　"Since Prince Bagration is not coming, we may begin," saidWeyrother, hurriedly rising from his seat and going up to the table onwhich an enormous map of the environs of Brunn was spread out.

　　Kutuzov, with his uniform unbuttoned so that his fat neck bulgedover his collar as if escaping, was sitting almost asleep in a lowchair, with his podgy old hands resting symmetrically on its arms.At the sound of Weyrother's voice, he opened his one eye with aneffort.

　　"Yes, yes, if you please! It is already late," said he, andnodding his head he let it droop and again closed his eye.

　　If at first the members of the council thought that Kutuzov waspretending to sleep, the sounds his nose emitted during the readingthat followed proved that the commander in chief at that moment wasabsorbed by a far more serious matter than a desire to show hiscontempt for the dispositions or anything else- he was engaged insatisfying the irresistible human need for sleep. He really wasasleep. Weyrother, with the gesture of a man too busy to lose amoment, glanced at Kutuzov and, having convinced himself that he wasasleep, took up a paper and in a loud, monotonous voice began toread out the dispositions for the impending battle, under a headingwhich he also read out:

　　"Dispositions for an attack on the enemy position behind Kobelnitzand Sokolnitz, November 30, 1805."

　　The dispositions were very complicated and difficult. They beganas follows:

　　"As the enemy's left wing rests on wooded hills and his rightextends along Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the ponds that are there,while we, on the other hand, with our left wing by far outflank hisright, it is advantageous to attack the enemy's latter wing especiallyif we occupy the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, whereby we canboth fall on his flank and pursue him over the plain betweenSchlappanitz and the Thuerassa forest, avoiding the defiles ofSchlappanitz and Bellowitz which cover the enemy's front. For thisobject it is necessary that... The first column marches... Thesecond column marches... The third column marches..." and so on,read Weyrother.

　　The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the difficultdispositions. The tall, fair-haired General Buxhowden stood, leaninghis back against the wall, his eyes fixed on a burning candle, andseemed not to listen or even to wish to be thought to listen.Exactly opposite Weyrother, with his glistening wide-open eyes fixedupon him and his mustache twisted upwards, sat the ruddyMiloradovich in a military pose, his elbows turned outwards, his handson his knees, and his shoulders raised. He remained stubbornly silent,gazing at Weyrother's face, and only turned away his eyes when theAustrian chief of staff finished reading. Then Miloradovich lookedround significantly at the other generals. But one could not tell fromthat significant look whether he agreed or disagreed and was satisfiedor not with the arrangements. Next to Weyrother sat Count Langeronwho, with a subtle smile that never left his typically southern Frenchface during the whole time of the reading, gazed at his delicatefingers which rapidly twirled by its corners a gold snuffbox onwhich was a portrait. In the middle of one of the longest sentences,he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, raised his head, andwith inimical politeness lurking in the corners of his thin lipsinterrupted Weyrother, wishing to say something. But the Austriangeneral, continuing to read, frowned angrily and jerked his elbows, asif to say: "You can tell me your views later, but now be so good as tolook at the map and listen." Langeron lifted his eyes with anexpression of perplexity, turned round to Miloradovich as if seekingan explanation, but meeting the latter's impressive but meaninglessgaze drooped his eyes sadly and again took to twirling his snuffbox.

　　"A geography lesson!" he muttered as if to himself, but loudenough to be heard.

　　Przebyszewski, with respectful but dignified politeness, held hishand to his ear toward Weyrother, with the air of a man absorbed inattention. Dohkturov, a little man, sat opposite Weyrother, with anassiduous and modest mien, and stooping over the outspread mapconscientiously studied the dispositions and the unfamiliarlocality. He asked Weyrother several times to repeat words he hadnot clearly heard and the difficult names of villages. Weyrothercomplied and Dohkturov noted them down.

　　When the reading which lasted more than an hour was over, Langeronagain brought his snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Weyrotheror at anyone in particular, began to say how difficult it was to carryout 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 chiefaim was to show General Weyrother- who had read his dispositionswith 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 himsomething in military matters.

　　When the monotonous sound of Weyrother's voice ceased, Kutuzovopened his eye as a miller wakes up when the soporific drone of themill wheel is interrupted. He listened to what Langeron said, as ifremarking, "So you are still at that silly business!" quickly closedhis eye again, and let his head sink still lower.

　　Langeron, trying as virulently as possible to sting Weyrother'svanity as author of the military plan, argued that Bonaparte mighteasily attack instead of being attacked, and so render the whole ofthis plan perfectly worthless. Weyrother met all objections with afirm and contemptuous smile, evidently prepared beforehand to meet allobjections 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 thesmile of a doctor to whom an old wife wishes to explain thetreatment of a case.

　　"In that case he is inviting his doom by awaiting our attack,"said Langeron, with a subtly ironical smile, again glancing roundfor support to Miloradovich who was near him.

　　But Miloradovich was at that moment evidently thinking of anythingrather than of what the generals were disputing about.

　　"Ma foi!" said he, "tomorrow we shall see all that on thebattlefield."

　　Weyrother again gave that smile which seemed to say that to him itwas strange and ridiculous to meet objections from Russian generalsand to have to prove to them what he had not merely convincedhimself of, but had also convinced the sovereign Emperors of.

　　"The enemy has quenched his fires and a continual noise is heardfrom his camp," said he. "What does that mean? Either he isretreating, which is the only thing we need fear, or he is changinghis position." (He smiled ironically.) "But even if he also took upa position in the Thuerassa, he merely saves us a great deal oftrouble and all our arrangements to the minutest detail remain thesame."

　　"How is that?..." began Prince Andrew, who had for long been waitingan opportunity to express his doubts.

　　Kutuzov here woke up, coughed heavily, and looked round at thegenerals.

　　"Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrow- or rather for today,for it is past midnight- cannot now be altered," said he. "You haveheard them, and we shall all do our duty. But before a battle, thereis nothing more important..." he paused, "than to have a good sleep."

　　He moved as if to rise. The generals bowed and retired. It waspast midnight. Prince Andrew went out.

　　The council of war, at which Prince Andrew had not been able toexpress his opinion as he had hoped to, left on him a vague and uneasyimpression. Whether Dolgorukov and Weyrother, or Kutuzov, Langeron,and the others who did not approve of the plan of attack, wereright- he did not know. "But was it really not possible for Kutuzov tostate his views plainly to the Emperor? Is it possible that on accountof court and personal considerations tens of thousands of lives, andmy life, my life," he thought, "must be risked?"

　　"Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed tomorrow," hethought. And suddenly, at this thought of death, a whole series ofmost distant, most intimate, memories rose in his imagination: heremembered his last parting from his father and his wife; heremembered the days when he first loved her. He thought of herpregnancy and felt sorry for her and for himself, and in a nervouslyemotional and softened mood he went out of the hut in which he wasbilleted with Nesvitski and began to walk up and down before it.

　　The night was foggy and through the fog the moonlight gleamedmysteriously. "Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow!" he thought. "Tomorroweverything may be over for me! All these memories will be no more,none of them will have any meaning for me. Tomorrow perhaps, evencertainly, I have a presentiment that for the first time I shallhave to show all I can do." And his fancy pictured the battle, itsloss, the concentration of fighting at one point, and the hesitationof all the commanders. And then that happy moment, that Toulon forwhich he had so long waited, presents itself to him at last. He firmlyand clearly expresses his opinion to Kutuzov, to Weyrother, and to theEmperors. All are struck by the justness of his views, but no oneundertakes to carry them out, so he takes a regiment, a division-stipulates that no one is to interfere with his arrangements- leadshis 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 histriumphs. The dispositions for the next battle are planned by himalone. Nominally he is only an adjutant on Kutuzov's staff, but hedoes everything alone. The next battle is won by him alone. Kutuzov isremoved 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, "Idon't know what will happen and don't want to know, and can't, butif I want this- want glory, want to be known to men, want to beloved by them, it is not my fault that I want it and want nothingbut that and live only for that. Yes, for that alone! I shall nevertell anyone, but, oh God! what am I to do if I love nothing but fameand 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 wouldgive them all at once for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, oflove from men I don't know and never shall know, for the love of thesemen here," he thought, as he listened to voices in Kutuzov'scourtyard. The voices were those of the orderlies who were packing up;one voice, probably a coachman's, was teasing Kutuzov's old cookwhom 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 laughterof the orderlies and servants.

　　"All the same, I love and value nothing but triumph over them all, Ivalue this mystic power and glory that is floating here above me inthis mist!"BK3|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　That same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing duty infront of Bagration's detachment. His hussars were placed along theline in couples and he himself rode along the line trying to masterthe sleepiness that kept coming over him. An enormous space, withour army's campfires dimly glowing in the fog, could be seen behindhim; in front of him was misty darkness. Rostov 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 glimmerwhere the enemy ought to be, now he fancied it was only something inhis own eyes. His eyes kept closing, and in his fancy appeared- nowthe Emperor, now Denisov, and now Moscow memories- and he againhurriedly opened his eyes and saw close before him the head and earsof the horse he was riding, and sometimes, when he came within sixpaces of them, the black figures of hussars, but in the distance wasstill the same misty darkness. "Why not?... It might easily happen,"thought Rostov, "that the Emperor will meet me and give me an order ashe would to any other officer; he'll say: 'Go and find out what'sthere.' There are many stories of his getting to know an officer injust such a chance way and attaching him to himself! What if he gaveme a place near him? Oh, how I would guard him, how I would tell himthe truth, how I would unmask his deceivers!" And in order torealize vividly his love devotion to the sovereign, Rostov pictured tohimself an enemy or a deceitful German, whom he would not only killwith 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 andwatchword- shaft, Olmutz. What a nuisance that our squadron will be inreserve 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 nowbefore I am off duty. I'll take another turn and when I get backI'll go to the general and ask him." He readjusted himself in thesaddle 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 asloping descent lit up, and facing it a black knoll that seemed assteep as a wall. On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostovcould not at all make out: was it a glade in the wood lit up by themoon, or some unmelted snow, or some white houses? He even thoughtsomething moved on that white spot. "I expect it's snow... thatspot... a spot- une tache," he thought. "There now... it's not atache... Natasha... sister, black eyes... Na... tasha... (Won't she besurprised when I tell her how I've seen the Emperor?) Natasha...take my sabretache..."- "Keep to the right, your honor, there arebushes here," came the voice of an hussar, past whom Rostov was ridingin the act of falling asleep. Rostov lifted his head that had sunkalmost to his horse's mane and pulled up beside the hussar. He wassuccumbing to irresistible, youthful, childish drowsiness. "But whatwas I thinking? I mustn't forget. How shall I speak to the Emperor?No, that's not it- that's tomorrow. Oh yes! Natasha... sabretache...saber them...Whom? The hussars... Ah, the hussars with mustaches.Along the Tverskaya Street rode the hussar with mustaches... I thoughtabout him too, just opposite Guryev's house... Old Guryev.... Oh,but Denisov's a fine fellow. But that's all nonsense. The chiefthing is that the Emperor is here. How he looked at me and wished tosay something, but dared not.... No, it was I who dared not. Butthat's nonsense, the chief thing is not to forget the importantthing I was thinking of. Yes, Na-tasha, sabretache, oh, yes, yes!That's right!" And his head once more sank to his horse's neck. All atonce it seemed to him that he was being fired at. "What? What?What?... Cut them down! What?..." said Rostov, waking up. At themoment he opened his eyes his eyes he heard in front of him, where theenemy was, the long-drawn shouts of thousands of voices. His horse andthe horse of the hussar near him pricked their ears at these shouts.Over there, where the shouting came from, a fire flared up and wentout again, then another, and all along the French line on the hillfires flared up and the shouting grew louder and louder. Rostovcould 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 Rostov to the hussarbeside him. "That must be the enemy's camp!"

　　The hussar did not reply.

　　"Why, don't you hear it?" Rostov asked again, after waiting for areply.

　　"Who can tell, your honor?" replied the hussar reluctantly.

　　"From the direction, it must be the enemy," repeated Rostov.

　　"It may be he or it may be nothing," muttered the hussar. "It'sdark... Steady!" he cried to his fidgeting horse.

　　Rostov's horse was also getting restive: it pawed the frozen ground,pricking its ears at the noise and looking at the lights. The shoutinggrew still louder and merged into a general roar that only an armyof several thousand men could produce. The lights spread farther andfarther, probably along the line of the French camp. Rostov nolonger wanted to sleep. The gay triumphant shouting of the enemyarmy 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 tothe hussar beside him.

　　The hussar only sighed without replying and coughed angrily. Thesound of horse's hoofs approaching at a trot along the line of hussarswas heard, and out of the foggy darkness the figure of a sergeant ofhussars suddenly appeared, looming huge as an elephant.

　　"Your honor, the generals!" said the sergeant, riding up to Rostov.

　　Rostov, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts, rodewith the sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding along theline. One was on a white horse. Prince Bagration and Prince Dolgorukovwith their adjutants had come to witness the curious phenomenon of thelights and shouts in the enemy's camp. Rostov rode up to Bagration,reported to him, and then joined the adjutants listening to what thegenerals were saying.

　　"Believe me," said Prince Dolgorukov, addressing Bagration, "it isnothing but a trick! He has retreated and ordered the rearguard tokindle fires and make a noise to deceive us."

　　"Hardly," said Bagration. "I saw them this evening on that knoll; ifthey had retreated they would have withdrawn from that too....Officer!" said Bagration to Rostov, "are the enemy's skirmishers stillthere?"

　　"They were there this evening, but now I don't know, yourexcellency. Shall I go with some of my hussars to see?" repliedRostov.

　　Bagration stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostov's facein the mist.

　　"Well, go and see," he said, after a pause.

　　"Yes, sir."

　　Rostov spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fedchenko and two otherhussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill in thedirection from which the shouting came. He felt both frightened andpleased to be riding alone with three hussars into that mysterious anddangerous misty distance where no one had been before him. Bagrationcalled to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostovpretended not to hear him and did not stop but rode on and on,continually mistaking bushes for trees and gullies for men andcontinually discovering his mistakes. Having descended the hill at atrot, he no longer saw either our own or the enemy's fires, butheard the shouting of the French more loudly and distinctly. In thevalley he saw before him something like a river, but when he reachedit he found it was a road. Having come out onto the road he reinedin his horse, hesitating whether to ride along it or cross it and rideover the black field up the hillside. To keep to the road whichgleamed white in the mist would have been safer because it would beeasier to see people coming along it. "Follow me!" said he, crossedthe road, and began riding up the hill at a gallop toward the pointwhere the French pickets had been standing that evening.

　　"Your honor, there he is!" cried one of the hussars behind him.And before Rostov had time to make out what the black thing was thathad suddenly appeared in the fog, there was a flash, followed by areport, and a bullet whizzing high up in the mist with a plaintivesound passed out of hearing. Another musket missed fire but flashed inthe pan. Rostov turned his horse and galloped back. Four morereports followed at intervals, and the bullets passed somewhere in thefog singing in different tones. Rostov reined in his horse, whosespirits had risen, like his own, at the firing, and went back at afootpace. "Well, some more! Some more!" a merry voice was saying inhis soul. But no more shots came.

　　Only when approaching Bagration did Rostov let his horse gallopagain, and with his hand at the salute rode up to the general.

　　Dolgorukov was still insisting that the French had retreated and hadonly lit fires to deceive us.

　　"What does that prove?" he was saying as Rostov rode up. "They mightretreat and leave the pickets."

　　"It's plain that they have not all gone yet, Prince," saidBagration. "Wait till tomorrow morning, we'll find out everythingtomorrow."

　　"The picket is still on the hill, your excellency, just where it wasin the evening," reported Rostov, stooping forward with his hand atthe salute and unable to repress the smile of delight induced by hisride and especially by the sound of the bullets.

　　"Very good, very good," said Bagration. "Thank you, officer."

　　"Your excellency," said Rostov, "may I ask a favor?"

　　"What is it?"

　　"Tomorrow our squadron is to be in reserve. May I ask to be attachedto the first squadron?"

　　"What's your name?"

　　"Count Rostov."

　　"Oh, very well, you may stay in attendance on me."

　　"Count Ilya Rostov's son?" asked Dolgorukov.

　　But Rostov 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 theEmperor," thought Rostov.

　　"Thank God!"

　　The fires and shouting in the enemy's army were occasioned by thefact that while Napoleon's proclamation was being read to the troopsthe Emperor himself rode round his bivouacs. The soldiers, on seeinghim, lit wisps of straw and ran after him, shouting, "Vivel'Empereur!" Napoleon's proclamation was as follows:

　　Soldiers! The Russian army is advancing against you to avenge theAustrian army of Ulm. They are the same battalions you broke atHollabrunn and have pursued ever since to this place. The positionwe occupy is a strong one, and while they are marching to go roundme on the right they will expose a flank to me. Soldiers! I willmyself direct your battalions. I will keep out of fire if you withyour habitual valor carry disorder and confusion into the enemy'sranks, but should victory be in doubt, even for a moment, you will seeyour Emperor exposing himself to the first blows of the enemy, forthere must be no doubt of victory, especially on this day when what isat stake is the honor of the French infantry, so necessary to thehonor of our nation.

　　Do not break your ranks on the plea of removing the wounded! Letevery man be fully imbued with the thought that we must defeat thesehirelings of England, inspired by such hatred of our nation! Thisvictory will conclude our campaign and we can return to winterquarters, where fresh French troops who are being raised in Francewill join us, and the peace I shall conclude will be worthy of mypeople, of you, and of myself.

　　NAPOLEONBK3|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　At five in the morning it was still quite dark. The troops of thecenter, the reserves, and Bagration'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 Frenchright flank and drive it into the Bohemian mountains according toplan, were already up and astir. The smoke of the campfires, intowhich they were throwing everything superfluous, made the eyessmart. It was cold and dark. The officers were hurriedly drinkingtea and breakfasting, the soldiers, munching biscuit and beating atattoo with their feet to warm themselves, gathering round the firesthrowing into the flames the remains of sheds, chairs, tables, wheels,tubs, and everything that they did not want or could not carry awaywith them. Austrian column guides were moving in and out among theRussian troops and served as heralds of the advance. As soon as anAustrian officer showed himself near a commanding officer'squarters, the regiment began to move: the soldiers ran from the fires,thrust their pipes into their boots, their bags into the carts, gottheir muskets ready, and formed rank. The officers buttoned up theircoats, buckled on their swords and pouches, and moved along theranks shouting. The train drivers and orderlies harnessed and packedthe wagons and tied on the loads. The adjutants and battalion andregimental commanders mounted, crossed themselves, gave finalinstructions, orders, and commissions to the baggage men whoremained behind, and the monotonous tramp of thousands of feetresounded. The column moved forward without knowing where andunable, from the masses around them, the smoke and the increasing fog,to see either the place they were leaving or that to which they weregoing.

　　A soldier on the march is hemmed in and borne along by hisregiment as much as a sailor is by his ship. However far he haswalked, whatever strange, unknown, and dangerous places he reaches,just as a sailor is always surrounded by the same decks, masts, andrigging of his ship, so the soldier always has around him the samecomrades, the same ranks, the same sergeant major Ivan Mitrich, thesame company dog Jack, and the same commanders. The sailor rarelycares to know the latitude in which his ship is sailing, but on theday of battle- heaven knows how and whence- a stern note of whichall are conscious sounds in the moral atmosphere of an army,announcing the approach of something decisive and solemn, andawakening in the men an unusual curiosity. On the day of battle thesoldiers excitedly try to get beyond the interests of theirregiment, they listen intently, look about, and eagerly ask concerningwhat is going on around them.

　　The fog had grown so dense that though it was growing light theycould not see ten paces ahead. Bushes looked like gigantic trees andlevel ground like cliffs and slopes. Anywhere, on any side, onemight encounter an enemy invisible ten paces off. But the columnsadvanced for a long time, always in the same fog, descending andascending hills, avoiding gardens and enclosures, going over new andunknown 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 soldierfelt glad to know that to the unknown place where he was going, manymore of our men were going too.

　　"There now, the Kurskies have also gone past," was being said in theranks.

　　"It's wonderful what a lot of our troops have gathered, lads! Lastnight I looked at the campfires and there was no end of them. Aregular Moscow!"

　　Though none of the column commanders rode up to the ranks ortalked 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 notexert themselves to cheer the men but merely carried out theorders), yet the troops marched gaily, as they always do when goinginto action, especially to an attack. But when they had marched forabout an hour in the dense fog, the greater part of the men had tohalt and an unpleasant consciousness of some dislocation and blunderspread through the ranks. How such a consciousness is communicatedis very difficult to define, but it certainly is communicated verysurely, and flows rapidly, imperceptibly, and irrepressibly, aswater does in a creek. Had the Russian army been alone without anyallies, it might perhaps have been a long time before thisconsciousness of mismanagement became a general conviction, but asit was, the disorder was readily and naturally attributed to thestupid Germans, and everyone was convinced that a dangerous muddle hadbeen occasioned by the sausage eaters.

　　"Why have we stopped? Is the way blocked? Or have we already come upagainst 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 inthe middle of a field without rhyme or reason. It's all those damnedGermans' muddling! What stupid devils!"

　　"Yes, I'd send them on in front, but no fear, they're crowding upbehind. And now here we stand hungry."

　　"I say, shall we soon be clear? They say the cavalry are blockingthe 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 youwon't get there till evening."

　　"What stupid orders! They don't themselves know what they aredoing!" 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 asoldier, 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'tgot halfway. Fine orders!" was being repeated on different sides.

　　And the feeling of energy with which the troops had started began toturn into vexation and anger at the stupid arrangements and at theGermans.

　　The cause of the confusion was that while the Austrian cavalry wasmoving toward our left flank, the higher command found that our centerwas too far separated from our right flank and the cavalry were allordered to turn back to the right. Several thousand cavalry crossed infront of the infantry, who had to wait.

　　At the front an altercation occurred between an Austrian guide and aRussian general. The general shouted a demand that the cavalryshould be halted, the Austrian argued that not he, but the highercommand, was to blame. The troops meanwhile stood growing listless anddispirited. After an hour's delay they at last moved on, descendingthe hill. The fog that was dispersing on the hill lay still moredensely below, where they were descending. In front in the fog ashot was heard and then another, at first irregularly at varyingintervals- 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 havingstumbled on him in the fog, hearing no encouraging word from theircommanders, and with a consciousness of being too late spreadingthrough the ranks, and above all being unable to see anything in frontor around them in the thick fog, the Russians exchanged shots with theenemy lazily and advanced and again halted, receiving no timely ordersfrom the officers or adjutants who wandered about in the fog inthose unknown surroundings unable to find their own regiments. In thisway the action began for the first, second, and third columns, whichhad gone down into the valley. The fourth column, with which Kutuzovwas, 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 ofwhat was going on in front. Whether all the enemy forces were, as wesupposed, six miles away, or whether they were near by in that seaof mist, no one knew till after eight o'clock.

　　It was nine o'clock in the morning. The fog lay unbroken like asea down below, but higher up at the village of Schlappanitz whereNapoleon stood with his marshals around him, it was quite light. Abovehim was a clear blue sky, and the sun's vast orb quivered like ahuge 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 andSchlappanitz beyond which we intended to take up our position andbegin the action, but were on this side, so close to our own forcesthat Napoleon with the naked eye could distinguish a mounted manfrom one on foot. Napoleon, in the blue cloak which he had worn on hisItalian campaign, sat on his small gray Arab horse a little in frontof his marshals. He gazed silently at the hills which seemed to riseout of the sea of mist and on which the Russian troops were movingin the distance, and he listened to the sounds of firing in thevalley. Not a single muscle of his face- which in those days was stillthin- moved. His gleaming eyes were fixed intently on one spot. Hispredictions were being justified. Part of the Russian force hadalready descended into the valley toward the ponds and lakes andpart were leaving these Pratzen Heights which he intended to attackand regarded as the key to the position. He saw over the mist thatin a hollow between two hills near the village of Pratzen, the Russiancolumns, their bayonets glittering, were moving continuously in onedirection toward the valley and disappearing one after another intothe mist. From information he had received the evening before, fromthe sound of wheels and footsteps heard by the outposts during thenight, by the disorderly movement of the Russian columns, and from allindications, he saw clearly that the allies believed him to be faraway in front of them, and that the columns moving near Pratzenconstituted the center of the Russian army, and that that center wasalready sufficiently weakened to be successfully attacked. But stillhe 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, andin good spirits, he mounted his horse and rode out into the field inthat happy mood in which everything seems possible and everythingsucceeds. He sat motionless, looking at the heights visible abovethe mist, and his cold face wore that special look of confident,self-complacent happiness that one sees on the face of a boy happilyin love. The marshals stood behind him not venturing to distract hisattention. He looked now at the Pratzen Heights, now at the sunfloating up out of the mist.

　　When the sun had entirely emerged from the fog, and fields andmist were aglow with dazzling light- as if he had only awaited this tobegin the action- he drew the glove from his shapely white hand,made a sign with it to the marshals, and ordered the action tobegin. The marshals, accompanied by adjutants, galloped off indifferent directions, and a few minutes later the chief forces ofthe French army moved rapidly toward those Pratzen Heights whichwere being more and more denuded by Russian troops moving down thevalley to their left.BK3|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　At eight o'clock Kutuzov rode to Pratzen at the head of the fourthcolumn, Miloradovich's, the one that was to take the place ofPrzebyszewski's and Langeron's columns which had already gone downinto the valley. He greeted the men of the foremost regiment andgave them the order to march, thereby indicating that he intended tolead that column himself. When he had reached the village of Pratzenhe halted. Prince Andrew was behind, among the immense numberforming the commander in chief's suite. He was in a state ofsuppressed excitement and irritation, though controlledly calm as aman is at the approach of a long-awaited moment. He was firmlyconvinced that this was the day of his Toulon, or his bridge ofArcola. How it would come about he did not know, but he felt sure itwould do so. The locality and the position of our troops were known tohim as far as they could be known to anyone in our army. His ownstrategic plan, which obviously could not now be carried out, wasforgotten. Now, entering into Weyrother's plan, Prince Andrewconsidered possible contingencies and formed new projects such asmight call for his rapidity of perception and decision.

　　To the left down below in the mist, the musketry fire of unseenforces could be heard. It was there Prince Andrew thought the fightwould 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 ofme."

　　He could not look calmly at the standards of the passing battalions.Seeing them he kept thinking, "That may be the very standard withwhich I shall lead the army."

　　In the morning all that was left of the night mist on the heightswas a hoar frost now turning to dew, but in the valleys it still laylike a milk-white sea. Nothing was visible in the valley to the leftinto which our troops had descended and from whence came the sounds offiring. Above the heights was the dark clear sky, and to the right thevast orb of the sun. In front, far off on the farther shore of thatsea of mist, some wooded hills were discernible, and it was therethe enemy probably was, for something could be descried. On theright the Guards were entering the misty region with a sound ofhoofs and wheels and now and then a gleam of bayonets; to the leftbeyond the village similar masses of cavalry came up and disappearedin the sea of mist. In front and behind moved infantry. Thecommander in chief was standing at the end of the village lettingthe troops pass by him. That morning Kutuzov seemed worn andirritable. The infantry passing before him came to a halt withoutany command being given, apparently obstructed by something in front.

　　"Do order them to form into battalion columns and go round thevillage!" he said angrily to a general who had ridden up. "Don't youunderstand, your excellency, my dear sir, that you must not defilethrough narrow village streets when we are marching against theenemy?"

　　"I intended to re-form them beyond the village, your excellency,"answered the general.

　　Kutuzov 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 thedispositions..."

　　"The dispositions!" exclaimed Kutuzov bitterly. "Who told youthat?... Kindly do as you are ordered."

　　"Yes, sir."

　　"My dear fellow," Nesvitski whispered to Prince Andrew, "the old manis as surly as a dog."

　　An Austrian officer in a white uniform with green plumes in hishat galloped up to Kutuzov and asked in the Emperor's name had thefourth column advanced into action.

　　Kutuzov turned round without answering and his eye happened tofall upon Prince Andrew, who was beside him. Seeing him, Kutuzov'smalevolent and caustic expression softened, as if admitting thatwhat was being done was not his adjutant's fault, and still notanswering the Austrian adjutant, he addressed Bolkonski.

　　"Go, my dear fellow, and see whether the third division has passedthe 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. "Whatare they doing? What are they doing?" he murmured to himself, stillnot replying to the Austrian.

　　Prince Andrew galloped off to execute the order.

　　Overtaking the battalions that continued to advance, he stoppedthe third division and convinced himself that there really were nosharpshooters in front of our columns. The colonel at the head ofthe regiment was much surprised at the commander in chief's order tothrow out skirmishers. He had felt perfectly sure that there wereother troops in front of him and that the enemy must be at least sixmiles away. There was really nothing to be seen in front except abarren descent hidden by dense mist. Having given orders in thecommander in chief's name to rectify this omission, Prince Andrewgalloped back. Kutuzov still in the same place, his stout body restingheavily in the saddle with the lassitude of age, sat yawning wearilywith closed eyes. The troops were no longer moving, but stood with thebutts of their muskets on the ground.

　　"All right, all right!" he said to Prince Andrew, and turned to ageneral who, watch in hand, was saying it was time they started as allthe left-flank columns had already descended.

　　"Plenty of time, your excellency," muttered Kutuzov in the midstof a yawn. "Plenty of time," he repeated.

　　Just then at a distance behind Kutuzov was heard the sound ofregiments saluting, and this sound rapidly came nearer along the wholeextended line of the advancing Russian columns. Evidently the personthey were greeting was riding quickly. When the soldiers of theregiment in front of which Kutuzov was standing began to shout, herode a little to one side and looked round with a frown. Along theroad from Pratzen galloped what looked like a squadron of horsemenin various uniforms. Two of them rode side by side in front, at fullgallop. One in a black uniform with white plumes in his hat rode abobtailed chestnut horse, the other who was in a white uniform rodea black one. These were the two Emperors followed by their suites.Kutuzov, affecting the manners of an old soldier at the front, gavethe command "Attention!" and rode up to the Emperors with a salute.His whole appearance and manner were suddenly transformed. He put onthe air of a subordinate who obeys without reasoning. With anaffectation of respect which evidently struck Alexanderunpleasantly, he rode up and saluted.

　　This unpleasant impression merely flitted over the young and happyface of the Emperor like a cloud of haze across a clear sky andvanished. After his illness he looked rather thinner that day thanon the field of Olmutz where Bolkonski had seen him for the first timeabroad, but there was still the same bewitching combination of majestyand mildness in his fine gray eyes, and on his delicate lips thesame capacity for varying expression and the same prevalent appearanceof goodhearted innocent youth.

　　At the Olmutz review he had seemed more majestic; here he seemedbrighter and more energetic. He was slightly flushed after gallopingtwo miles, and reining in his horse he sighed restfully and lookedround at the faces of his suite, young and animated as his own.Czartoryski, Novosiltsev, Prince Volkonsky, Strogonov, and the others,all richly dressed gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, fresh,only slightly heated horses, exchanging remarks and smiling, hadstopped behind the Emperor. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long facedyoung man, sat very erect on his handsome black horse, looking abouthim in a leisurely and preoccupied manner. He beckoned to one of hiswhite adjutants and asked some question- "Most likely he is askingat what o'clock they started," thought Prince Andrew, watching his oldacquaintance with a smile he could not repress as he recalled hisreception at Brunn. In the Emperors' suite were the picked youngorderly officers of the Guard and line regiments, Russian andAustrian. Among them were grooms leading the Tsar's beautiful relayhorses covered with embroidered cloths.

　　As when a window is opened a whiff of fresh air from the fieldsenters a stuffy room, so a whiff of youthfulness, energy, andconfidence of success reached Kutuzov's cheerless staff with thegalloping advent of all these brilliant young men.

　　"Why aren't you beginning, Michael Ilarionovich?" said the EmperorAlexander hurriedly to Kutuzov, glancing courteously at the sametime at the Emperor Francis.

　　"I am waiting, Your Majesty," answered Kutuzov, bending forwardrespectfully.

　　The Emperor, frowning slightly, bent his ear forward as if he hadnot quite heard.

　　"Waiting, Your Majesty," repeated Kutuzov. (Prince Andrew noted thatKutuzov'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 hisrather round shoulders and glanced at Novosiltsev who was near him, asif complaining of Kutuzov.

　　"You know, Michael Ilarionovich, we are not are not on theEmpress' Field where a parade does not begin till all the troops areassembled," said the Tsar with another glance at the EmperorFrancis, as if inviting him if not to join in at least to listen towhat he was saying. But the Emperor Francis continued to look abouthim and did not listen.

　　"That is just why I do not begin, sire," said Kutuzov in aresounding voice, apparently to preclude the possibility of notbeing heard, and again something in his face twitched- "That is justwhy I do not begin, sire, because we are not on parade and not onthe Empress' Field." said clearly and distinctly.

　　In the Emperor's suite all exchanged rapid looks that expresseddissatisfaction and reproach. "Old though he may be, he should not, hecertainly should not, speak like that," their glances seemed to say.

　　The Tsar looked intently and observantly into Kutuzov's eyewaiting to hear whether he would say anything more. But Kutuzov,with respectfully bowed head, seemed also to be waiting. The silencelasted for about a minute.

　　"However, if you command it, Your Majesty," said Kutuzov, liftinghis head and again assuming his former tone of a dull, unreasoning,but submissive general.

　　He touched his horse and having called Miloradovich, the commanderof the column, gave him the order to advance.

　　The troops again began to move, and two battalions of the Novgorodand one of the Apsheron regiment went forward past the Emperor.

　　As this Apsheron battalion marched by, the red-faced Miloradovich,without his greatcoat, with his Orders on his breast and an enormoustuft of plumes in his cocked hat worn on one side with its cornersfront and back, galloped strenuously forward, and with a dashingsalute 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 possibilite,sire,"* he answered gaily, raising nevertheless ironic smiles amongthe gentlemen of the Tsar's suite by his poor French.

　　*"Indeed, Sire, we shall do everything it is possible to do, Sire."

　　Miloradovich wheeled his horse sharply and stationed himself alittle behind the Emperor. The Apsheron men, excited by the Tsar'spresence, passed in step before the Emperors and their suites at abold, brisk pace.

　　"Lads!" shouted Miloradovich in a loud, self-confident, and cheeryvoice, obviously so elated by the sound of firing, by the prospectof battle, and by the sight of the gallant Apsherons, his comradesin Suvorov's time, now passing so gallantly before the Emperors,that he forgot the sovereigns' presence. "Lads, it's not the firstvillage 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 hadcarried the sovereign at reviews in Russia bore him also here on thefield of Austerlitz, enduring the heedless blows of his left footand pricking its ears at the sound of shots just as it had done on theEmpress' Field, not understanding the significance of the firing,nor of the nearness of the Emperor Francis' black cob, nor of all thatwas being said, thought, and felt that day by its rider.

　　The Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made aremark to him, pointing to the gallant Apsherons.BK3|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Kutuzov accompanied by his adjutants rode at a walking pace behindthe carabineers.

　　When he had gone less than half a mile in the rear of the columnhe stopped at a solitary, deserted house that had probably once beenan inn, where two roads parted. Both of them led downhill and troopswere marching along both.

　　The fog had begun to clear and enemy troops were already dimlyvisible about a mile and a half off on the opposite heights. Downbelow, on the left, the firing became more distinct. Kutuzov hadstopped and was speaking to an Austrian general. Prince Andrew, whowas a little behind looking at them, turned to an adjutant to askhim for a field glass.

　　"Look, look!" said this adjutant, looking not at the troops in thedistance, 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 theirfaces suddenly changed to one of horror. The French were supposed tobe a mile and a half away, but had suddenly and unexpectedlyappeared just in front of us.

　　"It's the enemy?... No!... Yes, see it is!... for certain.... Buthow is that?" said different voices.

　　With the naked eye Prince Andrew saw below them to the right, notmore than five hundred paces from where Kutuzov was standing, adense French column coming up to meet the Apsherons.

　　"Here it is! The decisive moment has arrived. My turn has come,"thought Prince Andrew, and striking his horse he rode up to Kutuzov.

　　"The Apsherons must be stopped, your excellency," cried he. But atthat very instant a cloud of smoke spread all round, firing washeard quite close at hand, and a voice of naive terror barely twosteps from Prince Andrew shouted, "Brothers! All's lost!" And atthis as if at a command, everyone began to run.

　　Confused and ever-increasing crowds were running back to wherefive minutes before the troops had passed the Emperors. Not only wouldit have been difficult to stop that crowd, it was even impossiblenot to be carried back with it oneself. Bolkonski only tried not tolose touch with it, and looked around bewildered and unable to graspwhat was happening in front of him. Nesvitski with an angry face,red and unlike himself, was shouting to Kutuzov that if he did notride away at once he would certainly be taken prisoner. Kutuzovremained in the same place and without answering drew out ahandkerchief. Blood was flowing from his cheek. Prince Andrew forcedhis way to him.

　　"You are wounded?" he asked, hardly able to master the tremblingof his lower jaw.

　　"The wound is not here, it is there!" said Kutuzov, pressing thehandkerchief to his wounded cheek and pointing to the fleeingsoldiers. "Stop them!" he shouted, and at the same moment, probablyrealizing that it was impossible to stop them, spurred his horse androde 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 bythem it was difficult to get out again. One was shouting, "Get on! Whyare you hindering us?" Another in the same place turned round andfired in the air; a third was striking the horse Kutuzov himself rode.Having by a great effort got away to the left from that flood ofmen, Kutuzov, with his suite diminished by more than half, rode towarda sound of artillery fire near by. Having forced his way out of thecrowd of fugitives, Prince Andrew, trying to keep near Kutuzov, saw onthe slope of the hill amid the smoke a Russian battery that wasstill firing and Frenchmen running toward it. Higher up stood someRussian infantry, neither moving forward to protect the battery norbackward with the fleeing crowd. A mounted general separated himselffrom the infantry and approached Kutuzov. Of Kutuzov's suite only fourremained. They were all pale and exchanged looks in silence.

　　"Stop those wretches!" gasped Kutuzov to the regimental commander,pointing to the flying soldiers; but at that instant, as if topunish him for those words, bullets flew hissing across the regimentand across Kutuzov's suite like a flock of little birds.

　　The French had attacked the battery and, seeing Kutuzov, were firingat him. After this volley the regimental commander clutched at hisleg; several soldiers fell, and a second lieutenant who was holdingthe flag let it fall from his hands. It swayed and fell, but caught onthe muskets of the nearest soldiers. The soldiers started firingwithout orders.

　　"Oh! Oh! Oh!" groaned Kutuzov despairingly and looked around...."Bolkonski!" he whispered, his voice trembling from a consciousness ofthe feebleness of age, "Bolkonski!" he whispered, pointing to thedisordered battalion and at the enemy, "what's that?"

　　But before he had finished speaking, Prince Andrew, feeling tears ofshame and anger choking him, had already leapt from his horse andrun 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 andhearing with pleasure the whistle of bullets evidently aimed at him.Several soldiers fell.

　　"Hurrah!" shouted Prince Andrew, and, scarcely able to hold up theheavy standard, he ran forward with full confidence that the wholebattalion would follow him.

　　And really he only ran a few steps alone. One soldier moved and thenanother and soon the whole battalion ran forward shouting "Hurrah!"and overtook him. A sergeant of the battalion ran up and took the flagthat was swaying from its weight in Prince Andrew's hands, but hewas immediately killed. Prince Andrew again seized the standard and,dragging it by the staff, ran on with the battalion. In front he sawour artillerymen, some of whom were fighting, while others, havingabandoned their guns, were running toward him. He also saw Frenchinfantry soldiers who were seizing the artillery horses and turningthe guns round. Prince Andrew and the battalion were already withintwenty paces of the cannon. He heard the whistle of bullets abovehim unceasingly and to right and left of him soldiers continuallygroaned and dropped. But he did not look at them: he looked only atwhat was going on in front of him- at the battery. He now sawclearly 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 thefaces of these two men, who evidently did not realize what they weredoing.

　　"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? Whydoesn't the Frenchman stab him? He will not get away before theFrenchman remembers his bayonet and stabs him...."

　　And really another French soldier, trailing his musket, ran up tothe struggling men, and the fate of the red-haired gunner, who hadtriumphantly secured the mop and still did not realize what awaitedhim, was about to be decided. But Prince Andrew did not see how itended. It seemed to him as though one of the soldiers near him hit himon the head with the full swing of a bludgeon. It hurt a little, butthe worst of it was that the pain distracted him and prevented hisseeing what he had been looking at.

　　"What's this? Am I falling? My legs are giving way," thought he, andfell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggleof the Frenchmen with the gunners ended, whether the red-haired gunnerhad been killed or not and whether the cannon had been captured orsaved. But he saw nothing. Above him there was now nothing but thesky- the lofty sky, not clear yet still immeasurably lofty, withgray clouds gliding slowly across it. "How quiet, peaceful, andsolemn; 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 withfrightened and angry faces struggled for the mop: how differently dothose clouds glide across that lofty infinite sky! How was it I didnot see that lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found itat last! Yes! All is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinitesky. There is nothing, nothing, but that. But even it does notexist, there is nothing but quiet and peace. Thank God!..."BK3|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　On our right flank commanded by Bagration, at nine o'clock thebattle had not yet begun. Not wishing to agree to Dolgorukov'sdemand to commence the action, and wishing to avert responsibilityfrom himself, Prince Bagration proposed to Dolgorukov to send toinquire of the commander in chief. Bagration knew that as the distancebetween the two flanks was more than six miles, even if themessenger were not killed (which he very likely would be), and foundthe commander in chief (which would be very difficult), he would notbe able to get back before evening.

　　Bagration cast his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes round hissuite, and the boyish face Rostov, breathless with excitement andhope, was the first to catch his eye. He sent him.

　　"And if I should meet His Majesty before I meet the commander inchief, your excellency?" said Rostov, with his hand to his cap.

　　"You can give the message to His Majesty," said Dolgorukov,hurriedly interrupting Bagration.

　　On being relieved from picket duty Rostov had managed to get a fewhours' sleep before morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute,with elasticity of movement, faith in his good fortune, andgenerally in that state of mind which makes everything seempossible, pleasant, and easy.

　　All his wishes were being fulfilled that morning: there was to bea general engagement in which he was taking part, more than that, hewas orderly to the bravest general, and still more, he was goingwith a message to Kutuzov, perhaps even to the sovereign himself.The morning was bright, he had a good horse under him, and his heartwas full of joy and happiness. On receiving the order he gave hishorse the rein and galloped along the line. At first he rode along theline of Bagration's troops, which had not yet advanced into action butwere standing motionless; then he came to the region occupied byUvarov's cavalry and here he noticed a stir and signs of preparationfor battle; having passed Uvarov's cavalry he clearly heard thesound of cannon and musketry ahead of him. The firing grew louderand louder.

　　In the fresh morning air were now heard, not two or three musketshots at irregular intervals as before, followed by one or twocannon shots, but a roll of volleys of musketry from the slopes of thehill before Pratzen, interrupted by such frequent reports of cannonthat sometimes several of them were not separated from one another butmerged into a general roar.

　　He could see puffs of musketry smoke that seemed to chase oneanother down the hillsides, and clouds of cannon smoke rolling,spreading, and mingling with one another. He could also, by thegleam of bayonets visible through the smoke, make out moving masses ofinfantry and narrow lines of artillery with green caissons.

　　Rostov stopped his horse for a moment on a hillock to see what wasgoing on, but strain his attention as he would he could not understandor make out anything of what was happening: there in the smoke menof some sort were moving about, in front and behind moved lines oftroops; but why, whither, and who they were, it was impossible to makeout. These sights and sounds had no depressing or intimidatingeffect on him; on the contrary, they stimulated his energy anddetermination.

　　"Go on! Go on! Give it them!" he mentally exclaimed at these sounds,and again proceeded to gallop along the line, penetrating fartherand 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!" thoughtRostov.

　　After passing some Austrian troops he noticed that the next partof 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 camegalloping toward him. They were our Uhlans who with disordered rankswere returning from the attack. Rostov 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 manyhundred yards after that before he saw to his left, across the wholewidth of the field, an enormous mass of cavalry in brilliant whiteuniforms, mounted on black horses, trotting straight toward him andacross his path. Rostov put his horse to full gallop to get out of theway of these men, and he would have got clear had they continued atthe same speed, but they kept increasing their pace, so that some ofthe horses were already galloping. Rostov heard the thud of theirhoofs and the jingle of their weapons and saw their horses, theirfigures, and even their faces, more and more distinctly. They were ourHorse Guards, advancing to attack the French cavalry that was comingto meet them.

　　The Horse Guards were galloping, but still holding in theirhorses. Rostov could already see their faces and heard the command:"Charge!" shouted by an officer who was urging his thoroughbred tofull speed. Rostov, fearing to be crushed or swept into the attackon 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, frownedangrily on seeing Rostov before him, with whom he would inevitablycollide. This Guardsman would certainly have bowled Rostov and hisBedouin over (Rostov felt himself quite tiny and weak compared tothese gigantic men and horses) had it not occurred to Rostov toflourish his whip before the eyes of the Guardsman's horse. Theheavy black horse, sixteen hands high, shied, throwing back itsears; but the pockmarked Guardsman drove his huge spurs inviolently, and the horse, flourishing its tail and extending its neck,galloped on yet faster. Hardly had the Horse Guards passed Rostovbefore he heard them shout, "Hurrah!" and looking back saw thattheir foremost ranks were mixed up with some foreign cavalry withred epaulets, probably French. He could see nothing more, forimmediately afterwards cannon began firing from somewhere and smokeenveloped everything.

　　At that moment, as the Horse Guards, having passed him,disappeared in the smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop afterthem or to go where he was sent. This was the brilliant charge ofthe Horse Guards that amazed the French themselves. Rostov washorrified to hear later that of all that mass of huge and handsomemen, of all those brilliant, rich youths, officers and cadets, who hadgalloped past him on their thousand-ruble horses, only eighteen wereleft after the charge.

　　"Why should I envy them? My chance is not lost, and maybe I shallsee the Emperor immediately! " thought Rostov and galloped on.

　　When he came level with the Foot Guards he noticed that about themand around them cannon balls were flying, of which he was aware not somuch because he heard their sound as because he saw uneasiness onthe soldiers' faces and unnatural warlike solemnity on those of theofficers.

　　Passing behind one of the lines of a regiment of Foot Guards heheard a voice calling him by name.

　　"Rostov!"

　　"What?" he answered, not recognizing Boris.

　　"I say, we've been in the front line! Our regiment attacked!" saidBoris with the happy smile seen on the faces of young men who havebeen under fire for the first time.

　　Rostov stopped.

　　"Have you?" he said. "Well, how did it go?"

　　"We drove them back!" said Boris with animation, growingtalkative. "Can you imagine it?" and he began describing how theGuards, having taken up their position and seeing troops beforethem, thought they were Austrians, and all at once discovered from thecannon balls discharged by those troops that they were themselves inthe front line and had unexpectedly to go into action. Rostovwithout hearing Boris to the end spurred his horse.

　　"Where are you off to?" asked Boris.

　　"With a message to His Majesty."

　　"There he is!" said Boris, thinking Rostov had said "HisHighness," and pointing to the Grand Duke who with his highshoulders and frowning brows stood a hundred paces away from them inhis 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 theEmperor," said Rostov, and was about to spur his horse.

　　"Count! Count!" shouted Berg who ran up from the other side as eageras Boris. "Count! I am wounded in my right hand" (and he showed hisbleeding hand with a handkerchief tied round it) "and I remained atthe front. I held my sword in my left hand, Count. All our family- thevon Bergs- have been knights!"

　　He said something more, but Rostov did not wait to hear it androde away.

　　Having passed the Guards and traversed an empty space, Rostov, toavoid again getting in front of the first line as he had done when theHorse Guards charged, followed the line of reserves, going far roundthe place where the hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard.Suddenly he heard musket fire quite close in front of him and behindour 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 himselfand for the issue of the whole battle. "But be that what it may," hereflected, "there is no riding round it now. I must look for thecommander in chief here, and if all is lost it is for me to perishwith the rest."

　　The foreboding of evil that had suddenly come over Rostov was moreand more confirmed the farther he rode into the region behind thevillage of Pratzen, which was full of troops of all kinds.

　　"What does it mean? What is it? Whom are they firing at? Who isfiring?" Rostov kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austriansoldiers running in confused crowds across his path.

　　"The devil knows! They've killed everybody! It's all up now!" he wastold in Russian, German, and Czech by the crowd of fugitives whounderstood 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 firingdied down. Rostov learned later that Russian and Austrian soldiers hadbeen firing at one another.

　　"My God! What does it all mean?" thought he. "And here, where at anymoment the Emperor may see them.... But no, these must be only ahandful of scoundrels. It will soon be over, it can't be that, itcan't be! Only to get past them quicker, quicker!"

　　The idea of defeat and flight could not enter Rostov's head.Though he saw French cannon and French troops on the Pratzen Heightsjust where he had been ordered to look for the commander in chief,he could not, did not wish to, believe that.BK3|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　Rostov had been ordered to look for Kutuzov and the Emperor near thevillage of Pratzen. But neither they nor a single commanding officerwere there, only disorganized crowds of troops of various kinds. Heurged on his already weary horse to get quickly past these crowds, butthe farther he went the more disorganized they were. The highroad onwhich he had come out was thronged with caleches, carriages of allsorts, and Russian and Austrian soldiers of all arms, some wounded andsome not. This whole mass droned and jostled in confusion under thedismal influence of cannon balls flying from the French batteriesstationed on the Pratzen Heights.

　　"Where is the Emperor? Where is Kutuzov?" Rostov kept askingeveryone 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, Rostov stopped thehorse of a batman or groom of some important personage and began toquestion him. The man announced that the Tsar had been driven in acarriage at full speed about an hour before along that very road andthat he was dangerously wounded.

　　"It can't be!" said Rostov. "It must have been someone else."

　　"I saw him myself." replied the man with a self-confident smile ofderision. "I ought to know the Emperor by now, after the times I'veseen him in Petersburg. I saw him just as I see you.... There he satin the carriage as pale as anything. How they made the four blackhorses fly! Gracious me, they did rattle past! It's time I knew theImperial horses and Ilya Ivanych. I don't think Ilya drives anyoneexcept the Tsar!"

　　Rostov let go of the horse and was about to ride on, when awounded officer passing by addressed him:

　　"Who is it you want?" he asked. "The commander in chief? He waskilled by a cannon ball- struck in the breast before our regiment."

　　"Not killed- wounded!" another officer corrected him.

　　"Who? Kutuzov?" asked Rostov.

　　"Not Kutuzov, but what's his name- well, never mind... there are notmany left alive. Go that way, to that village, all the commandersare there," said the officer, pointing to the village of Hosjeradek,and he walked on.

　　Rostov rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was nowgoing. The Emperor was wounded, the battle lost. It was impossibleto doubt it now. Rostov rode in the direction pointed out to him, inwhich he saw turrets and a church. What need to hurry? What was he nowto say to the Tsar or to Kutuzov, even if they were alive andunwounded?

　　"Take this road, your honor, that way you will be killed at once!" asoldier shouted to him. "They'd kill you there!"

　　"Oh, what are you talking about?" said another. "Where is he togo? That way is nearer."

　　Rostov considered, and then went in the direction where they said hewould be killed.

　　"It's all the same now. If the Emperor is wounded, am I to try tosave myself?" he thought. He rode on to the region where thegreatest number of men had perished in fleeing from Pratzen. TheFrench had not yet occupied that region, and the Russians- theuninjured and slightly wounded- had left it long ago. All about thefield, like heaps of manure on well-kept plowland, lay from ten tofifteen dead and wounded to each couple of acres. The wounded crepttogether in twos and threes and one could hear their distressingscreams and groans, sometimes feigned- or so it seemed to Rostov. Heput his horse to a trot to avoid seeing all these suffering men, andhe felt afraid- afraid not for his life, but for the courage he neededand which he knew would not stand the sight of these unfortunates.

　　The French, who had ceased firing at this field strewn with dead andwounded where there was no one left to fire at, on seeing anadjutant riding over it trained a gun on him and fired severalshots. The sensation of those terrible whistling sounds and of thecorpses around him merged in Rostov's mind into a single feeling ofterror and pity for himself. He remembered his mother's last letter."What would she feel," thought he, "if she saw me here now on thisfield with the cannon aimed at me?"

　　In the village of Hosjeradek there were Russian troops retiring fromthe field of battle, who though still in some confusion were lessdisordered. The French cannon did not reach there and the musketryfire sounded far away. Here everyone clearly saw and said that thebattle was lost. No one whom Rostov asked could tell him where theEmperor or Kutuzov was. Some said the report that the Emperor waswounded was correct, others that it was not, and explained the falserumor that had spread by the fact that the Emperor's carriage hadreally galloped from the field of battle with the pale and terrifiedOber-Hofmarschal Count Tolstoy, who had ridden out to thebattlefield with others in the Emperor's suite. One officer toldRostov that he had seen someone from headquarters behind the villageto the left, and thither Rostov rode, not hoping to find anyone butmerely to ease his conscience. When he had ridden about two milesand had passed the last of the Russian troops, he saw, near akitchen garden with a ditch round it, two men on horseback facingthe ditch. One with a white plume in his hat seemed familiar toRostov; the other on a beautiful chestnut horse (which Rostovfancied he had seen before) rode up to the ditch, struck his horsewith his spurs, and giving it the rein leaped lightly over. Only alittle earth crumbled from the bank under the horse's hind hoofs.Turning the horse sharply, he again jumped the ditch, anddeferentially addressed the horseman with the white plumes,evidently suggesting that he should do the same. The rider, whosefigure seemed familiar to Rostov and involuntarily riveted hisattention, made a gesture of refusal with his head and hand and bythat gesture Rostov instantly recognized his lamented and adoredmonarch.

　　"But it can't be he, alone in the midst of this empty field!"thought Rostov. At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostovsaw the beloved features that were so deeply engraved on his memory.The Emperor was pale, his cheeks sunken and his eyes hollow, but thecharm, the mildness of his features, was all the greater. Rostov washappy in the assurance that the rumors about the Emperor being woundedwere false. He was happy to be seeing him. He knew that he might andeven ought to go straight to him and give the message Dolgorukov hadordered him to deliver.

　　But as a youth in love trembles, is unnerved, and dares not utterthe thoughts he has dreamed of for nights, but looks around for helpor a chance of delay and flight when the longed-for moment comes andhe is alone with her, so Rostov, now that he had attained what hehad longed for more than anything else in the world, did not knowhow to approach the Emperor, and a thousand reasons occurred to himwhy it would be inconvenient, unseemly, and impossible to do so.

　　"What! It is as if I were glad of a chance to take advantage ofhis being alone and despondent! A strange face may seem unpleasantor painful to him at this moment of sorrow; besides, what can I say tohim now, when my heart fails me and my mouth feels dry at the meresight of him?" Not one of the innumerable speeches addressed to theEmperor that he had composed in his imagination could he now recall.Those speeches were intended for quite other conditions, they were forthe most part to be spoken at a moment of victory and triumph,generally when he was dying of wounds and the sovereign had thankedhim for heroic deeds, and while dying he expressed the love hisactions had proved.

　　"Besides how can I ask the Emperor for his instructions for theright 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 hisreflections. Better die a thousand times than risk receiving an unkindlook or bad opinion from him," Rostov decided; and sorrowfully andwith a heart full despair he rode away, continually looking back atthe Tsar, who still remained in the same attitude of indecision.

　　While Rostov was thus arguing with himself and riding sadly away,Captain von Toll chanced to ride to the same spot, and seeing theEmperor at once rode up to him, offered his services, and assisted himto cross the ditch on foot. The Emperor, wishing to rest and feelingunwell, sat down under an apple tree and von Toll remained beside him.Rostov from a distance saw with envy and remorse how von Toll spokelong 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 Rostov, and hardlyrestraining his tears of pity for the Emperor, he rode on in utterdespair, not knowing where to or why he was now riding.

　　His despair was all the greater from feeling that his own weaknesswas the cause his grief.

　　He might... not only might but should, have gone up to thesovereign. It was a unique chance to show his devotion to theEmperor and he had not made use of it.... "What have I done?"thought he. And he turned round and galloped back to the place wherehe 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 drivershe learned that Kutuzov's staff were not far off, in the village thevehicles were going to. Rostov followed them. In front of him walkedKutuzov's groom leading horses in horsecloths. Then came a cart, andbehind that walked an old, bandy-legged domestic serf in a peakedcap 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 passedin 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.

　　Przebyszewski and his corps had laid down their arms. Othercolumns after losing half their men were retreating in disorderlyconfused masses.

　　The remains of Langeron's and Dokhturov's mingled forces werecrowding around the dams and banks of the ponds near the village ofAugesd.

　　After five o'clock it was only at the Augesd Dam that a hotcannonade (delivered by the French alone) was still to be heard fromnumerous batteries ranged on the slopes of the Pratzen Heights,directed at our retreating forces.

　　In the rearguard, Dokhturov and others rallying some battalions keptup a musketry fire at the French cavalry that was pursuing our troops.It was growing dusk. On the narrow Augesd Dam where for so manyyears the old miller had been accustomed to sit in his tasseled cappeacefully angling, while his grandson, with shirt sleeves rolledup, handled the floundering silvery fish in the watering can, onthat dam over which for so many years Moravians in shaggy caps andblue jackets had peacefully driven their two-horse carts loaded withwheat and had returned dusty with flour whitening their carts- on thatnarrow dam amid the wagons and the cannon, under the horses' hoofs andbetween the wagon wheels, men disfigured by fear of death nowcrowded together, crushing one another, dying, stepping over the dyingand killing one another, only to move on a few steps and be killedthemselves 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 andsplashing with blood those near them.

　　Dolokhov- now an officer- wounded in the arm, and on foot, withthe regimental commander on horseback and some ten men of his company,represented all that was left of that whole regiment. Impelled bythe 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 hadfallen under a cannon and the crowd were dragging it out. A cannonball killed someone behind them, another fell in front and splashedDolokhov 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 hereanother two minutes and it is certain death," thought each one.

　　Dolokhov who was in the midst of the crowd forced his way to theedge of the dam, throwing two soldiers off their feet, and ran ontothe slippery ice that covered the millpool.

　　"Turn this way!" he shouted, jumping over the ice which creakedunder him; "turn this way!" he shouted to those with the gun. "Itbears!..."

　　The ice bore him but it swayed and creaked, and it was plain that itwould give way not only under a cannon or a crowd, but very sooneven under his weight alone. The men looked at him and pressed tothe bank, hesitating to step onto the ice. The general on horseback atthe entrance to the dam raised his hand and opened his mouth toaddress Dolokhov. Suddenly a cannon ball hissed so low above the crowdthat everyone ducked. It flopped into something moist, and the generalfell from his horse in a pool of blood. Nobody gave him a look orthought of raising him.

　　"Get onto the ice, over the ice! Go on! Turn! Don't you hear? Goon!" innumerable voices suddenly shouted after the ball had struck thegeneral, the men themselves not knowing what, or why, they wereshouting.

　　One of the hindmost guns that was going onto the dam turned off ontothe ice. Crowds of soldiers from the dam began running onto the frozenpond. The ice gave way under one of the foremost soldiers, and one legslipped into the water. He tried to right himself but fell in up tohis waist. The nearest soldiers shrank back, the gun driver stoppedhis horse, but from behind still came the shouts: "Onto the ice, whydo you stop? Go on! Go on!" And cries of horror were heard in thecrowd. The soldiers near the gun waved their arms and beat thehorses 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 someback, drowning one another.

　　Still the cannon balls continued regularly to whistle and floponto the ice and into the water and oftenest of all among the crowdthat covered the dam, the pond, and the bank.BK3|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　On the Pratzen Heights, where he had fallen with the flagstaff inhis hand, lay Prince Andrew Bolkonski bleeding profusely andunconsciously uttering a gentle, piteous, and childlike moan.

　　Toward evening he ceased moaning and became quite still. He didnot know how long his unconsciousness lasted. Suddenly he again feltthat he was alive and suffering from a burning, lacerating pain in hishead.

　　"Where is it, that lofty sky that I did not know till now, but sawtoday?" was his first thought. "And I did not know this sufferingeither," he thought. "Yes, I did not know anything, anything at alltill now. But where am I?"

　　He listened and heard the sound of approaching horses, and voicesspeaking French. He opened his eyes. Above him again was the samelofty sky with clouds that had risen and were floating still higher,and between them gleamed blue infinity. He did not turn his head anddid not see those who, judging by the sound of hoofs and voices, hadridden up and stopped near him.

　　It was Napoleon accompanied by two aides-de-camp. Bonaparte ridingover the battlefield had given final orders to strengthen thebatteries firing at the Augesd Dam and was looking at the killed andwounded left on the field.

　　"Fine men!" remarked Napoleon, looking at a dead Russiangrenadier, who, with his face buried in the ground and a blackenednape, lay on his stomach with an already stiffened arm flung wide.

　　"The ammunition for the guns in position is exhausted, YourMajesty," said an adjutant who had come from the batteries that werefiring at Augesd.

　　"Have some brought from the reserve," said Napoleon, and having goneon a few steps he stopped before Prince Andrew, who lay on his backwith the flagstaff that had been dropped beside him. (The flag hadalready been taken by the French as a trophy.)

　　"That's a fine death!" said Napoleon as he gazed at Bolkonski.

　　Prince Andrew understood that this was said of him and that it wasNapoleon who said it. He heard the speaker addressed as Sire. But heheard the words as he might have heard the buzzing of a fly. Notonly did they not interest him, but he took no notice of them and atonce forgot them. His head was burning, he felt himself bleeding todeath, and he saw above him the remote, lofty, and everlasting sky. Heknew it was Napoleon- his hero- but at that moment Napoleon seemedto him such a small, insignificant creature compared with what waspassing now between himself and that lofty infinite sky with theclouds flying over it. At that moment it meant nothing to him whomight be standing over him, or what was said of him; he was onlyglad that people were standing near him and only wished that theywould help him and bring him back to life, which seemed to him sobeautiful now that he had today learned to understand it sodifferently. He collected all his strength, to stir and utter a sound.He feebly moved his leg and uttered a weak, sickly groan which arousedhis own pity.

　　"Ah! He is alive," said Napoleon. "Lift this young man up andcarry 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 thevictory.

　　Prince Andrew remembered nothing more: he lost consciousness fromthe terrible pain of being lifted onto the stretcher, the joltingwhile being moved, and the probing of his wound at the dressingstation. He did not regain consciousness till late in the day, whenwith other wounded and captured Russian officers he was carried to thehospital. During this transfer he felt a little stronger and wasable to look about him and even speak.

　　The first words he heard on coming to his senses were those of aFrench convoy officer, who said rapidly: "We must halt here: theEmperor will pass here immediately; it will please him to see thesegentlemen 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 EmperorAlexander's Guards," said the first one, indicating a Russianofficer in the white uniform of the Horse Guards.

　　Bolkonski recognized Prince Repnin whom he had met in Petersburgsociety. Beside him stood a lad of nineteen, also a wounded officer ofthe 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 Repnin.

　　"You are the commander of the Emperor Alexander's regiment ofHorse Guards?" asked Napoleon.

　　"I commanded a squadron," replied Repnin.

　　"Your regiment fulfilled its duty honorably," said Napoleon.

　　"The praise of a great commander is a soldier's highest reward,"said Repnin.

　　"I bestow it with pleasure," said Napoleon. "And who is that youngman beside you?"

　　Prince Repnin named Lieutenant Sukhtelen.

　　After looking at him Napoleon smiled.

　　"He's very young to come to meddle with us."

　　"Youth is no hindrance to courage," muttered Sukhtelen in afailing voice.

　　"A splendid reply!" said Napoleon. "Young man, you will go far!"

　　Prince Andrew, who had also been brought forward before theEmperor's eyes to complete the show of prisoners, could not fail toattract his attention. Napoleon apparently remembered seeing him onthe battlefield and, addressing him, again used the epithet "youngman" 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 fewwords to the soldiers who were carrying him, now with his eyes fixedstraight on Napoleon, he was silent.... So insignificant at thatmoment seemed to him all the interests that engrossed Napoleon, somean did his hero himself with his paltry vanity and joy in victoryappear, compared to the lofty, equitable, and kindly sky which hehad seen and understood, that he could not answer him.

　　Everything seemed so futile and insignificant in comparison with thestern and solemn train of thought that weakness from loss of blood,suffering, and the nearness of death aroused in him. Looking intoNapoleon's eyes Prince Andrew thought of the insignificance ofgreatness, the unimportance of life which no one could understand, andthe still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no onealive could understand or explain.

　　The Emperor without waiting for an answer turned away and said toone of the officers as he went: "Have these gentlemen attended toand taken to my bivouac; let my doctor, Larrey, examine theirwounds. Au revoir, Prince Repnin!" and he spurred his horse andgalloped away.

　　His face shone with self-satisfaction and pleasure.

　　The soldiers who had carried Prince Andrew had noticed and taken thelittle gold icon Princess Mary had hung round her brother's neck,but seeing the favor the Emperor showed the prisoners, they nowhastened to return the holy image.

　　Prince Andrew did not see how and by whom it was replaced, but thelittle icon with its thin gold chain suddenly appeared upon hischest outside his uniform.

　　"It would be good," thought Prince Andrew, glancing at the iconhis sister had hung round his neck with such emotion and reverence,"it would be good if everything were as clear and simple as it seemsto Mary. How good it would be to know where to seek for help in thislife, and what to expect after it beyond the grave! How happy and calmI should be if I could now say: 'Lord, have mercy on me!'... But towhom should I say that? Either to a Power indefinable,incomprehensible, which I not only cannot address but which I cannoteven express in words- the Great All or Nothing-" said he tohimself, "or to that God who has been sewn into this amulet by Mary!There is nothing certain, nothing at all except the unimportance ofeverything I understand, and the greatness of somethingincomprehensible but all-important.

　　The stretchers moved on. At every jolt he again felt unendurablepain; his feverishness increased and he grew delirious. Visions of hisfather, wife, sister, and future son, and the tenderness he had feltthe night before the battle, the figure of the insignificant littleNapoleon, and above all this the lofty sky, formed the chiefsubjects of his delirious fancies.

　　The quiet home life and peaceful happiness of Bald Hills presenteditself to him. He was already enjoying that happiness when that littleNapoleon had suddenly appeared with his unsympathizing look ofshortsighted delight at the misery of others, and doubts andtorments had followed, and only the heavens promised peace. Towardmorning all these dreams melted and merged into the chaos and darknessof unconciousness and oblivion which in the opinion of Napoleon'sdoctor, Larrey, was much more likely to end in death than inconvalescence.

　　"He is a nervous, bilious subject," said Larrey, "and will notrecover."

　　And Prince Andrew, with others fatally wounded, was left to the careof the inhabitants of the district.

　　BOOK FOUR: 1806

　　CHAPTER I

　　Early in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostov returned home on leave.Denisov was going home to Voronezh and Rostov persuaded him totravel with him as far as Moscow and to stay with him there. Meeting acomrade at the last post station but one before Moscow, Denisov haddrunk three bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting rutsacross the snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way toMoscow, but lay at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostov, who grewmore 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 Rostov,when their leave permits had been passed at the town gate and they hadentered Moscow.

　　"Denisov! We're here! He's asleep," he added, leaning forward withhis whole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the speedof the sleigh.

　　Denisov gave no answer.

　　"There's the corner at the crossroads, where the cabman, Zakhar, hashis stand, and there's Zakhar himself and still the same horse! Andhere's the little shop where we used to buy gingerbread! Can't youhurry 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'sour house," said Rostov. "Of course, it's our house! Denisov, Denisov!We're almost there!"

　　Denisov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer.

　　"Dmitri," said Rostov to his valet on the box, "those lights arein 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 Rostov, fingering hisnew mustache. "Now then, get on," he shouted to the driver. "Do wakeup, Vaska!" he went on, turning to Denisov, whose head was againnodding. "Come, get on! You shall have three rubles for vodka- geton!" Rostov shouted, when the sleigh was only three houses from hisdoor. It seemed to him the horses were not moving at all. At lastthe sleigh bore to the right, drew up at an entrance, and Rostov sawoverhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster broken off,the porch, and the post by the side of the pavement. He sprang outbefore the sleigh stopped, and ran into the hall. The house stood coldand silent, as if quite regardless of who had come to it. There was noone in the hall. "Oh God! Is everyone all right?" he thought, stoppingfor a moment with a sinking heart, and then immediately starting torun along the hall and up the warped steps of the familiarstaircase. The well-known old door handle, which always angered thecountess when it was not properly cleaned, turned as loosely asever. A solitary tallow candle burned in the anteroom.

　　Old Michael was asleep on the chest. Prokofy, the footman, who wasso strong that he could lift the back of the carriage from behind, satplaiting slippers out of cloth selvedges. He looked up at theopening door and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenlychanged to one of delighted amazement.

　　"Gracious heavens! The young count!" he cried, recognizing his youngmaster. "Can it be? My treasure!" and Prokofy, trembling withexcitement, rushed toward the drawing-room door, probably in orderto announce him, but, changing his mind, came back and stooped to kissthe young man's shoulder.

　　"All well?" asked Rostov, drawing away his arm.

　　"Yes, God be thanked! Yes! They've just finished supper. Let me havea look at you, your excellency."

　　"Is everything quite all right?"

　　"The Lord be thanked, yes!"

　　Rostov, who had completely forgotten Denisov, not wishing anyoneto forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through thelarge dark ballroom. All was the same: there were the same old cardtables and the same chandelier with a cover over it; but someone hadalready seen the young master, and, before he had reached thedrawing room, something flew out from a side door like a tornado andbegan hugging and kissing him. Another and yet another creature of thesame kind sprang from a second door and a third; more hugging, morekissing, more outcries, and tears of joy. He could not distinguishwhich was Papa, which Natasha, and which Petya. Everyone shouted,talked, and kissed him at the same time. Only his mother was notthere, he noticed that.

　　"And I did not know... Nicholas... My darling!..."

　　"Here he is... our own... Kolya,* dear fellow... How he haschanged!... Where are the candles?... Tea!..."

　　*Nicholas.

　　"And me, kiss me!"

　　"Dearest... and me!"

　　Sonya, Natasha, Petya, Anna Mikhaylovna, Vera, and the old countwere all hugging him, and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into theroom, exclaiming and oh-ing and ah-ing.

　　Petya, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, "And me too!"

　　Natasha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered hisface with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprangaway and pranced up and down in one place like a goat and shriekedpiercingly.

　　All around were loving eyes glistening with tears of joy, and allaround were lips seeking a kiss.

　　Sonya too, all rosy red, clung to his arm and, radiant with bliss,looked eagerly toward his eyes, waiting for the look for which shelonged. Sonya now was sixteen and she was very pretty, especially atthis moment of happy, rapturous excitement. She gazed at him, nottaking her eyes off him, and smiling and holding her breath. He gaveher a grateful look, but was still expectant and looking forsomeone. The old countess had not yet come. But now steps were heardat 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, madesince 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 herface, but only pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussar's jacket.Denisov, who had come into the room unnoticed by anyone, stood thereand wiped his eyes at the sight.

　　"Vasili Denisov, your son's friend," he said, introducing himself tothe count, who was looking inquiringly at him.

　　"You are most welcome! I know, I know," said the count, kissingand embracing Denisov. "Nicholas wrote us... Natasha, Vera, look! Hereis Denisov!"

　　The same happy, rapturous faces turned to the shaggy figure ofDenisov.

　　"Darling Denisov!" screamed Natasha, beside herself with rapture,springing to him, putting her arms round him, and kissing him. Thisescapade made everybody feel confused. Denisov blushed too, but smiledand, taking Natasha's hand, kissed it.

　　Denisov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostovsall gathered round Nicholas in the sitting room.

　　The old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it everymoment, sat beside him: the rest, crowding round him, watched everymovement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfullyadoring eyes off him. His brother and sisters struggled for the placesnearest to him and disputed with one another who should bring himhis tea, handkerchief, and pipe.

　　Rostov was very happy in the love they showed him; but the firstmoment of meeting had been so beatific that his present joy seemedinsufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more and yet more.

　　Next morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelersslept till ten o'clock.

　　In the room next their bedroom there was a confusion of sabers,satchels, sabretaches, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshlycleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. Theservants were bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving,and their well-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smellof tobacco.

　　"Hallo, Gwiska- my pipe!" came Vasili Denisov's husky voice."Wostov, get up!"

　　Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised hisdisheveled head from the hot pillow.

　　"Why, is it late?"

　　"Late! It's nearly ten o'clock," answered Natasha's voice. Arustle of starched petticoats and the whispering and laughter ofgirls' voices came from the adjoining room. The door was opened acrack and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, blackhair, and merry faces. It was Natasha, Sonya, and Petya, who hadcome to see whether they were getting up.

　　"Nicholas! Get up!" Natasha's voice was again heard at the door.

　　"Directly!"

　　Meanwhile, Petya, having found and seized the sabers in the outerroom, with the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elderbrother, and forgetting that it was unbecoming for the girls to seemen undressed, opened the bedroom door.

　　"Is this your saber?" he shouted.

　　The girls sprang aside. Denisov hid his hairy legs under theblanket, looking with a scared face at his comrade for help. The door,having let Petya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came frombehind it.

　　"Nicholas! Come out in your dressing gown!" said Natasha's voice.

　　"Is this your saber?" asked Petya. "Or is it yours?" he said,addressing the black-mustached Denisov with servile deference.

　　Rostov hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressinggown, and went out. Natasha had put on one spurred boot and was justgetting her foot into the other. Sonya, when he came in, wastwirling round and was about to expand her dresses into a balloonand sit down. They were dressed alike, in new pale-blue frocks, andwere both fresh, rosy, and bright. Sonya ran away, but Natasha, takingher brother's arm, led him into the sitting room, where they begantalking. They hardly gave one another time to ask questions and givereplies concerning a thousand little matters which could notinterest anyone but themselves. Natasha laughed at every word hesaid or that she said herself, not because what they were saying wasamusing, but because she felt happy and was unable to control herjoy which expressed itself by laughter.

　　"Oh, how nice, how splendid!" she said to everything.

　　Rostov felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, thatchildlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since heleft home now for the first time after eighteen months againbrightened 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 wantto know what you men are like. Are you the same as we? No?"

　　"Why did Sonya run away?" asked Rostov.

　　"Ah, yes! That's a whole long story! How are you going to speak toher- thou or you?"

　　"As may happen," said Rostov.

　　"No, call her you, please! I'll tell you all about it some othertime. No, I'll tell you now. You know Sonya'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 herlong, slender, delicate arm, high above the elbow on that part that iscovered even by a ball dress.

　　"I burned this to prove my love for her. I just heated a ruler inthe fire and pressed it there!"

　　Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in whatused to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natasha's wildlybright eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and childhoodwhich had no meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the bestjoys of his life; and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof oflove did not seem to him senseless, he understood and was notsurprised at it.

　　"Well, and is that all?" he asked.

　　"We are such friends, such friends! All that ruler business was justnonsense, but we are friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, doesit for life, but I don't understand that, I forget quickly."

　　"Well, what then?"

　　"Well, she loves me and you like that."

　　Natasha suddenly flushed.

　　"Why, you remember before you went away?... Well, she says you areto forget all that.... She says: 'I shall love him always, but let himbe free.' Isn't that lovely and noble! Yes, very noble? Isn't it?"asked Natasha, so seriously and excitedly that it was evident thatwhat she was now saying she had talked of before, with tears.

　　Rostov became thoughtful.

　　"I never go back on my word," he said. "Besides, Sonya is socharming that only a fool would renounce such happiness."

　　"No, no!" cried Natasha, "she and I have already talked it over.We knew you'd say so. But it won't do, because you see, if you saythat- if you consider yourself bound by your promise- it will seemas if she had not meant it seriously. It makes it as if you weremarrying her because you must, and that wouldn't do at all."

　　Rostov saw that it had been well considered by them. Sonya hadalready struck him by her beauty on the preceding day. Today, whenhe had caught a glimpse of her, she seemed still more lovely. Shewas a charming girl of sixteen, evidently passionately in love withhim (he did not doubt that for an instant). Why should he not love hernow, and even marry her, Rostov thought, but just now there were somany other pleasures and interests before him! "Yes, they have taken awise decision," he thought, "I must remain free."

　　"Well then, that's excellent," said he. "We'll talk it over lateron. Oh, how glad I am to have you!

　　"Well, and are you still true to Boris?" he continued.

　　"Oh, what nonsense!" cried Natasha, laughing. "I don't think abouthim or anyone else, and I don't want anything of the kind."

　　"Dear me! Then what are you up now?"

　　"Now?" repeated Natasha, and a happy smile lit up her face. "Haveyou seen Duport?"

　　"No."

　　"Not seen Duport- the famous dancer? Well then, you won'tunderstand. That's what I'm up to."

　　Curving her arms, Natasha held out her skirts as dancers do, ranback a few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet sharplytogether, and made some steps on the very tips of her toes.

　　"See, I'm standing! See!" she said, but could not maintain herselfon her toes any longer. "So that's what I'm up to! I'll never marryanyone, but will be a dancer. Only don't tell anyone."

　　Rostov laughed so loud and merrily that Denisov, in his bedroom,felt envious and Natasha 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 Boris?"

　　Natasha flared up. "I don't want to marry anyone. And I'll tellhim so when I see him!"

　　"Dear me!" said Rostov.

　　"But that's all rubbish," Natasha chattered on. "And is Denisovnice?" she asked.

　　"Yes, indeed!"

　　"Oh, well then, good-by: go and dress. Is he very terrible,Denisov?"

　　"Why terrible?" asked Nicholas. "No, Vaska is a splendid fellow."

　　"You call him Vaska? That's funny! And is he very nice?"

　　"Very."

　　"Well then, be quick. We'll all have breakfast together."

　　And Natasha rose and went out of the room on tiptoe, like a balletdancer, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. WhenRostov met Sonya in the drawing room, he reddened. He did not know howto behave with her. The evening before, in the first happy moment ofmeeting, they had kissed each other, but today they felt it couldnot be done; he felt that everybody, including his mother and sisters,was looking inquiringly at him and watching to see how he would behavewith her. He kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou but as you-Sonya. But their eyes met and said thou, and exchanged tenderkisses. Her looks asked him to forgive her for having dared, byNatasha's intermediacy, to remind him of his promise, and then thankedhim for his love. His looks thanked her for offering him his freedomand told her that one way or another he would never cease to love her,for that would be impossible.

　　"How strange it is," said Vera, selecting a moment when all weresilent, "that Sonya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meetlike strangers."

　　Vera's remark was correct, as her remarks always were, but, likemost of her observations, it made everyone feel uncomfortable, notonly Sonya, Nicholas, and Natasha, but even the old countess, who-dreading this love affair which might hinder Nicholas from making abrilliant match- blushed like a girl.

　　Denisov, to Rostov's surprise, appeared in the drawing room withpomaded hair, perfumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as smart ashe made himself when going into battle, and he was more amiable to theladies and gentlemen than Rostov had ever expected to see him.BK4|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov waswelcomed by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and theirdarling Nikolenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, andpolite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant ofhussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in the city.

　　The Rostovs knew everybody in Moscow. The old count had money enoughthat year, as all his estates had been remortgaged, and so Nicholas,acquiring a trotter of his own, very stylish riding breeches of thelatest cut, such as no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of thelatest fashion, with extremely pointed toes and small silver spurs,passed his time very gaily. After a short period of adapting himselfto the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it very pleasant to beat home again. He felt that he had grown up and matured very much. Hisdespair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing moneyfrom Gavril to pay a sleigh driver, his kissing Sonya on the sly- henow recalled all this as childishness he had left immeasurably behind.Now he was a lieutenant of hussars, in a jacket laced with silver, andwearing the Cross of St. George, awarded to soldiers for bravery inaction, and in the company of well-known, elderly, and respectedracing men was training a trotter of his own for a race. He knew alady on one of the boulevards whom he visited of an evening. He ledthe mazurka at the Arkharovs' ball, talked about the war with FieldMarshal Kamenski, visited the English Club, and was on intimateterms with a colonel of forty to whom Denisov had introduced

　　His passion for the Emperor had cooled somewhat in Moscow. Butstill, 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 beunderstood that he had not told all and that there was something inhis feelings for the Emperor not everyone could understand, and withhis whole soul he shared the adoration then common in Moscow for theEmperor, who was spoken of as the "angel incarnate."

　　During Rostov's short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army,he did not draw closer to Sonya, but rather drifted away from her. Shewas 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 dothat there is no time for that sort of thing and a young man fearsto bind himself and prizes his freedom which he needs for so manyother things. When he thought of Sonya, during this stay in Moscow, hesaid to himself, "Ah, there will be, and there are, many more suchgirls somewhere whom I do not yet know. There will be time enough tothink 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 tohis manhood. He went to balls and into ladies' society with anaffectation of doing so against his will. The races, the English Club,sprees with Denisov, and visits to a certain house- that was anothermatter and quite the thing for a dashing young hussar!

　　At the beginning of March, old Count Ilya Rostov was very busyarranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bagration at the English Club.

　　The count walked up and down the hall in his dressing gown, givingorders to the club steward and to the famous Feoktist, the Club's headcook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and fishfor this dinner. The count had been a member and on the committee ofthe Club from the day it was founded. To him the Club entrusted thearrangement of the festival in honor of Bagration, for few men knew sowell how to arrange a feast on an open-handed, hospitable scale, andstill fewer men would be so well able and willing to make up out oftheir own resources what might be needed for the success of thefete. The club cook and the steward listened to the count's orderswith pleased faces, for they knew that under no other management couldthey so easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinnercosting 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," saidhe, 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 wasforgetting. We must have another entree. Ah, goodness gracious!" heclutched at his head. "Who is going to get me the flowers? Dmitri! Eh,Dmitri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate," he said to the factotumwho appeared at his call. "Hurry off and tell Maksim, the gardener, toset the serfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses mustbe brought here well wrapped up in felt. I must have two hundredpots 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 ofimportance, he returned again, called back the cook and the clubsteward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and theclinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young count,handsome, rosy, with a dark little mustache, evidently rested and madesleeker 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 wouldonly help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have my ownorchestra, but shouldn't we get the gypsy singers as well? Youmilitary men like that sort of thing."

　　"Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagration worried himself lessbefore the battle of Schon Grabern than you do now," said his son witha 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 andrespectful expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at thefather and son.

　　"What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktist?" saidhe. "Laughing at us old fellows!"

　　"That's so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a gooddinner, but providing it and serving it all up, that's not theirbusiness!

　　"That's it, that's it!" exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing hisson by both hands, he cried, "Now I've got you, so take the sleigh andpair at once, and go to Bezukhob's, and tell him 'Count Ilya hassent you to ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples.' We can't getthem from anyone else. He's not there himself, so you'll have to go inand ask the princesses; and from there go on to the Rasgulyay- thecoachman Ipatka knows- and look up the gypsy Ilyushka, the one whodanced at Count Orlov's, you remember, in a white Cossack coat, andbring him along to me."

　　"And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him?" askedNicholas, laughing. "Dear, dear!..."

　　At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with thebusinesslike, preoccupied, yet meekly Christian look which neverleft her face, Anna Mikhaylovna entered the hall. Though she came uponthe count in his dressing gown every day, he invariably becameconfused and begged her to excuse his costume.

　　"No matter at all, my dear count," she said, meekly closing hereyes. "But I'll go to Bezukhov's myself. Pierre has arrived, and nowwe shall get anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him inany case. He has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris isnow on the staff."

　　The count was delighted at Anna Mikhaylovna's taking upon herselfone of his commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her.

　　"Tell Bezukhov to come. I'll put his name down. Is his wife withhim?" he asked.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness wasdepicted on her face.

　　"Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate," she said. "If whatwe hear is true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thingwhen we were rejoicing at his happiness! And such a lofty angelic soulas young Bezukhov! Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try togive him what consolation I can."

　　"Wh-what is the matter?" asked both the young and old Rostov.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna sighed deeply.

　　"Dolokhov, Mary Ivanovna's son," she said in a mysterious whisper,"has compromised her completely, they say. Pierre took him up, invitedhim to his house in Petersburg, and now... she has come here andthat daredevil after her!" said Anna Mikhaylovna, wishing to showher sympathy for Pierre, but by involuntary intonations and a halfsmile betraying her sympathy for the "daredevil," as she calledDolokhov. "They say Pierre is quite broken by his misfortune."

　　"Dear, dear! But still tell him to come to the Club- it will allblow over. It will be a tremendous banquet."

　　Next day, the third of March, soon after one o'clock, two hundredand fifty members of the English Club and fifty guests were awaitingthe guest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, PrinceBagration, to dinner.

　　On the first arrival of the news of the battle of Austerlitz, Moscowhad been bewildered. At that time, the Russians were so used tovictories that on receiving news of the defeat some would simply notbelieve it, while others sought some extraordinary explanation of sostrange an event. In the English Club, where all who weredistinguished, important, and well informed forgathered when thenews began to arrive in December, nothing was said about the war andthe last battle, as though all were in a conspiracy of silence. Themen who set the tone in conversation- Count Rostopchin, Prince YuriDolgorukov, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemski- did not showthemselves at the Club, but met in private houses in intimate circles,and the Moscovites who took their opinions from others- Ilya Rostovamong them- remained for a while without any definite opinion on thesubject of the war and without leaders. The Moscovites felt thatsomething 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 jurycomes out of its room, the bigwigs who guided the Club's opinionreappeared, and everybody began speaking clearly and definitely.Reasons were found for the incredible, unheard-of, and impossibleevent of a Russian defeat, everything became clear, and in all cornersof Moscow the same things began to be said. These reasons were thetreachery of the Austrians, a defective commissariat, the treachery ofthe Pole Przebyszewski and of the Frenchman Langeron, Kutuzov'sincapacity, and (it was whispered) the youth and inexperience of thesovereign, who had trusted worthless and insignificant people. But thearmy, the Russian army, everyone declared, was extraordinary and hadachieved miracles of valor.The soldiers, officers, and generals wereheroes. But the hero of heroes was Prince Bagration, distinguishedby his Schon Grabern affair and by the retreat from Austerlitz,where he alone had withdrawn his column unbroken and had all daybeaten back an enemy force twice as numerous as his own. What alsoconduced to Bagration's being selected as Moscow's hero was the factthat he had no connections in the city and was a stranger there. Inhis person, honor was shown to a simple fighting Russian soldierwithout connections and intrigues, and to one who was associated bymemories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov. Moreover,paying such honor to Bagration was the best way of expressingdisapproval and dislike of Kutuzov.

　　"Had there been no Bagration, it would have been necessary to inventhim," said the wit Shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire.Kutuzov no one spoke of, except some who abused him in whispers,calling him a court weathercock and an old satyr.

　　All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorukov's saying: "If you go onmodeling and modeling you must get smeared with clay," suggestingconsolation for our defeat by the memory of former victories; andthe words of Rostopchin, that French soldiers have to be incited tobattle by highfalutin words, and Germans by logical arguments toshow them that it is more dangerous to run away than to advance, butthat Russian soldiers only need to be restrained and held back! On allsides, new and fresh anecdotes were heard of individual examples ofheroism shown by our officers and men at Austerlitz. One had saved astandard, another had killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded fivecannon singlehanded. Berg was mentioned, by those who did not knowhim, as having, when wounded in the right hand, taken his sword in theleft, and gone forward. Of Bolkonski, nothing was said, and only thosewho knew him intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving apregnant wife with his eccentric father.BK4|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　On that third of March, all the rooms in the English Club werefilled with a hum of conversation, like the hum of bees swarming inspringtime. The members and guests of the Club wandered hither andthither, sat, stood, met, and separated, some in uniform and some inevening dress, and a few here and there with powdered hair and inRussian kaftans. Powdered footmen, in livery with buckled shoes andsmart stockings, stood at every door anxiously noting visitors'every movement in order to offer their services. Most of those presentwere elderly, respected men with broad, self-confident faces, fatfingers, and resolute gestures and voices. This class of guests andmembers sat in certain habitual places and met in certain habitualgroups. A minority of those present were casual guests- chieflyyoung men, among whom were Denisov, Rostov, and Dolokhov- who wasnow again an officer in the Semenov regiment. The faces of these youngpeople, especially those who were militarymen, bore that expression ofcondescending respect for their elders which seems to say to the oldergeneration, "We are prepared to respect and honor you, but all thesame remember that the future belongs to us."

　　Nesvitski was there as an old member of the Club. Pierre, who at hiswife'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 subservienceto 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 hiswealth and connections he belonged to the groups old and honoredguests, and so he went from one group to another. Some of the mostimportant old men were the center of groups which even strangersapproached respectfully to hear the voices of well-known men. Thelargest circles formed round Count Rostopchin, Valuev, andNaryshkin. Rostopchin was describing how the Russians had beenoverwhelmed by flying Austrians and had had to force their way throughthem with bayonets.

　　Valuev was confidentially telling that Uvarov had been sent fromPetersburg to ascertain what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz.

　　In the third circle, Naryshkin was speaking of the meeting of theAustrian Council of War at which Suvorov crowed like a cock in replyto the nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. Shinshin, standingclose by, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutuzov had evidentlyfailed to learn from Suvorov even so simple a thing as the art ofcrowing like a cock, but the elder members glanced severely at thewit, making him feel that in that place and on that day, it wasimproper to speak so of Kutuzov.

　　Count Ilya Rostov, hurried and preoccupied, went about in his softboots between the dining and drawing rooms, hastily greeting theimportant and unimportant, all of whom he knew, as if they were allequals, while his eyes occasionally sought out his fine well-set-upyoung son, resting on him and winking joyfully at him. Young Rostovstood at a window with Dolokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately madeand highly valued. The old count came up to them and pressedDolokhov's hand.

　　"Please come and visit us... you know my brave boy... beentogether out there... both playing the hero... Ah, VasiliIgnatovich... How d'ye do, old fellow?" he said, turning to an old manwho was passing, but before he had finished his greeting there was ageneral stir, and a footman who had run in announced, with afrightened face: "He's arrived!"

　　Bells rang, the stewards rushed forward, and- like rye shakentogether in a shovel- the guests who had been scattered about indifferent rooms came together and crowded in the large drawing room bythe door of the ballroom.

　　Bagration appeared in the doorway of the anteroom without hat orsword, which, in accord with the Club custom, he had given up to thehall porter. He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loadedwhip over his shoulder, as when Rostov had seen him on the eve ofthe battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russianand foreign Orders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast.Evidently just before coming to the dinner he had had his hair andwhiskers trimmed, which changed his appearance for the worse. Therewas something naively festive in his air, which, in conjunction withhis firm and virile features, gave him a rather comical expression.Bekleshev and Theodore Uvarov, who had arrived with him, paused at thedoorway to allow him, as the guest of honor, to enter first. Bagrationwas embarrassed, not wishing to avail himself of their courtesy, andthis caused some delay at the doors, but after all he did at lastenter first. He walked shyly and awkwardly over the parquet floor ofthe reception room, not knowing what to do with his hands; he was moreaccustomed to walk over a plowed field under fire, as he had done atthe head of the Kursk regiment at Schon Grabern- and he would havefound that easier. The committeemen met him at the first door and,expressing their delight at seeing such a highly honored guest, tookpossession of him as it were, without waiting for his reply,surrounded him, and led him to the drawing room. It was at firstimpossible to enter the drawing-room door for the crowd of members andguests jostling one another and trying to get a good look at Bagrationover each other's shoulders, as if he were some rare animal. CountIlya Rostov, laughing and repeating the words, "Make way, dear boy!Make way, make way!" pushed through the crowd more energeticallythan anyone, led the guests into the drawing room, and seated themon the center sofa. The bigwigs, the most respected members of theClub, beset the new arrivals. Count Ilya, again thrusting his waythrough the crowd, went out of the drawing room and reappeared aminute later with another committeeman, carrying a large silver salverwhich he presented to Prince Bagration. On the salver lay someverses composed and printed in the hero's honor. Bagration, onseeing the salver, glanced around in dismay, as though seeking help.But all eyes demanded that he should submit. Feeling himself intheir power, he resolutely took the salver with both hands andlooked sternly and reproachfully at the count who had presented itto him. Someone obligingly took the dish from Bagration (or hewould, it seemed, have held it till evening and have gone in to dinnerwith it) and drew his attention to the verses.

　　"Well, I will read them, then!" Bagration seemed to say, and, fixinghis weary eyes on the paper, began to read them with a fixed andserious expression. But the author himself took the verses and beganreading them aloud. Bagration bowed his bead 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, Bagration,

　　And dare not Herculean Russians trouble...But before he had finished reading, a stentorian major-domoannounced that dinner was ready! The door opened, and from thedining room came the resounding strains of the polonaise:

　　Conquest's joyful thunder waken,

　　Triumph, valiant Russians, now!...and Count Rostov, glancing angrily at the author who went on readinghis verses, bowed to Bagration. Everyone rose, feeling that dinner wasmore important than verses, and Bagration, again preceding all therest, went in to dinner. He was seated in the place of honor betweentwo Alexanders- Bekleshev and Naryshkin- which was a significantallusion to the name of the sovereign. Three hundred persons tooktheir seats in the dining room, according to their rank andimportance: the more important nearer to the honored guest, asnaturally as water flows deepest where the land lies lowest.

　　Just before dinner, Count Ilya Rostov presented his son toBagration, who recognized him and said a few words to him,disjointed and awkward, as were all the words he spoke that day, andCount Ilya looked joyfully and proudly around while Bagration spoke tohis son.

　　Nicholas Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance, Dolokhov,sat almost at the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre,beside Prince Nesvitski. Count Ilya Rostov with the other members ofthe committee sat facing Bagration and, as the very personification ofMoscow hospitality, did the honors to the prince.

　　His efforts had not been in vain. The dinner, both the Lenten andthe other fare, was splendid, yet he could not feel quite at ease tillthe end of the meal. He winked at the butler, whispered directionsto the footmen, and awaited each expected dish with some anxiety.Everything was excellent. With the second course, a gigantic sterlet(at sight of which Ilya Rostov blushed with self-consciouspleasure), the footmen began popping corks and filling the champagneglasses. After the fish, which made a certain sensation, the countexchanged glances with the other committeemen. "There will be manytoasts, it's time to begin," he whispered, and taking up his glass, herose. All were silent, waiting for what he would say.

　　"To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!" he cried, and atthe same moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy andenthusiasm. The band immediately struck up "Conquest's joyfulthunder waken..." All rose and cried "Hurrah!" Bagration also rose andshouted "Hurrah!" in exactly the same voice in which he had shouted iton the field at Schon Grabern. Young Rostov's ecstatic voice couldbe heard above the three hundred others. He nearly wept. "To thehealth of our Sovereign, the Emperor!" he roared, "Hurrah!" andemptying his glass at one gulp he dashed it to the floor. Manyfollowed his example, and the loud shouting continued for a long time.When the voices subsided, the footmen cleared away the broken glassand everybody sat down again, smiling at the noise they had made andexchanging remarks. The old count rose once more, glanced at a notelying beside his plate, and proposed a toast, "To the health of thehero of our last campaign, Prince Peter Ivanovich Bagration!" andagain his blue eyes grew moist. "Hurrah!" cried the three hundredvoices again, but instead of the band a choir began singing acantata composed by Paul Ivanovich Kutuzov:

　　Russians! O'er all barriers on!

　　Courage conquest guarantees;

　　Have we not Bagration?

　　He brings foe men to their knees,... etc.

　　As soon as the singing was over, another and another toast wasproposed and Count Ilya Rostov became more and more moved, moreglass was smashed, and the shouting grew louder. They drank toBekleshev, Naryshkin, Uvarov, Dolgorukov, Apraksin, Valuev, to thecommittee, to all the Club members and to all the Club guests, andfinally to Count Ilya Rostov separately, as the organizer of thebanquet. At that toast, the count took out his handkerchief and,covering his face, wept outright.BK4|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Pierre sat opposite Dolokhov and Nicholas Rostov. As usual, he ateand drank much, and eagerly. But those who knew him intimately noticedthat some great change had come over him that day. He was silent allthrough dinner and looked about, blinking and scowling, or, with fixedeyes and a look of complete absent-mindedness, kept rubbing the bridgeof his nose. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed to see andhear nothing of what was going on around him and to be absorbed bysome depressing and unsolved problem.

　　The unsolved problem that tormented him was caused by hints given bythe princess, his cousin, at Moscow, concerning Dolokhov's intimacywith his wife, and by an anonymous letter he had received thatmorning, which in the mean jocular way common to anonymous letterssaid that he saw badly through his spectacles, but that his wife'sconnection with Dolokhov was a secret to no one but himself. Pierreabsolutely disbelieved both the princess' hints and the letter, but hefeared now to look at Dolokhov, who was sitting opposite him. Everytime he chanced to meet Dolokhov's handsome insolent eyes, Pierre feltsomething terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and turned quicklyaway. Involuntarily recalling his wife's past and her relations withDolokhov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might betrue, or might at least seem to be true had it not referred to hiswife. He involuntarily remembered how Dolokhov, who had fullyrecovered his former position after the campaign, had returned toPetersburg and come to him. Availing himself of his friendly relationswith Pierre as a boon companion, Dolokhov had come straight to hishouse, and Pierre had put him up and lent him money. Pierre recalledhow Helene had smilingly expressed disapproval of Dolokhov's living attheir house, and how cynically Dolokhov had praised his wife'sbeauty to him and from that time till they came to Moscow had not leftthem for a day.

　　"Yes, he is very handsome," thought Pierre, "and I know him. Itwould be particularly pleasant to him to dishonor my name and ridiculeme, just because I have exerted myself on his behalf, befriendedhim, and helped him. I know and understand what a spice that would addto the pleasure of deceiving me, if it really were true. Yes, if itwere true, but I do not believe it. I have no right to, and can't,believe it." He remembered the expression Dolokhov's face assumed inhis moments of cruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear anddropping them into the water, or when he challenged a man to a duelwithout any reason, or shot a post-boy's horse with a pistol. Thatexpression was often on Dolokhov'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 mustplease him. He must think that I, too, am afraid of him- and in fact Iam afraid of him," he thought, and again he felt something terribleand monstrous rising in his soul. Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov werenow sitting opposite Pierre and seemed very gay. Rostov was talkingmerrily to his two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and theother a notorious duelist and rake, and every now and then heglanced ironically at Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, andmassive figure was a very noticeable one at the dinner. Rostovlooked inimically at Pierre, first because Pierre appeared to hishussar eyes as a rich civilian, the husband of a beauty, and in aword- an old woman; and secondly because Pierre in his preoccupationand absent-mindedness had not recognized Rostov and had notresponded 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 Rostov, looking at him in an ecstasyof exasperation. "Don't you hear it's His Majesty the Emperor'shealth?"

　　Pierre sighed, rose submissively, emptied his glass, and, waitingtill all were seated again, turned with his kindly smile to Rostov.

　　"Why, I didn't recognize you!" he said. But Rostov was otherwiseengaged; he was shouting "Hurrah!"

　　"Why don't you renew the acquaintance?" said Dolokhov to Rostov.

　　"Confound him, he's a fool!" said Rostov.

　　"One should make up to the husbands of pretty women," said Denisov.

　　Pierre did not catch what they were saying, but knew they weretalking about him. He reddened and turned away.

　　"Well, now to the health of handsome women!" said Dolokhov, and witha serious expression, but with a smile lurking at the corners of hismouth, he turned with his glass to Pierre.

　　"Here's to the health of lovely women, Peterkin- and theirlovers!" he added.

　　Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without lookingat Dolokhov or answering him. The footman, who was distributingleaflets with Kutuzov's cantata, laid one before Pierre as one ofthe principal guests. He was just going to take it when Dolokhov,leaning across, snatched it from his hand and began reading it. Pierrelooked at Dolokhov and his eyes dropped, the something terrible andmonstrous that had tormented him all dinnertime rose and tookpossession 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, Nesvitskiand the neighbor on his right quickly turned in alarm to Bezukhov.

　　"Don't! Don't! What are you about?" whispered their frightenedvoices.

　　Dolokhov looked at Pierre with clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, and thatsmile 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 feltthat the question of his wife's guilt which had been tormenting himthe whole day was finally and indubitably answered in the affirmative.He hated her and was forever sundered from her. Despite Denisov'srequest that he would take no part in the matter, Rostov agreed tobe Dolokhov's second, and after dinner he discussed the arrangementsfor the duel with Nesvitski, Bezukhov's second. Pierre went home,but Rostov with Dolokhov and Denisov stayed on at the Club tilllate, listening to the gypsies and other singers.

　　"Well then, till tomorrow at Sokolniki,"said Dolokhov, as he tookleave of Rostov in the Club porch.

　　"And do you feel quite calm?" Rostov asked.

　　Dolokhov paused.

　　"Well, you see, I'll tell you the whole secret of dueling in twowords. If you are going to fight a duel, and you make a will and writeaffectionate letters to your parents, and if you think you may bekilled, you are a fool and are lost for certain. But go with thefirm intention of killing your man as quickly and surely aspossible, and then all will be right, as our bear huntsman at Kostromaused to tell me. 'Everyone fears a bear,' he says, 'but when you seeone your fear's all gone, and your only thought is not to let himget away!' And that's how it is with me. A demain, mon cher."*

　　*Till tomorrow, my dear fellow.

　　Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitski drove to theSokolniki forest and found Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov alreadythere. Pierre had the air of a man preoccupied with considerationswhich had no connection with the matter in hand. His haggard facewas yellow. He had evidently not slept that night. He looked aboutdistractedly and screwed up his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. Hewas entirely absorbed by two considerations: his wife's guilt, ofwhich after his sleepless night he had not the slightest doubt, andthe guiltlessness of Dolokhov, who had no reason to preserve the honorof a man who was nothing to him.... "I should perhaps have done thesame thing in his place," thought Pierre. "It's even certain that Ishould have done the same, then why this duel, this murder? Either Ishall 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?" passedthrough his mind. But just at moments when such thoughts occurred tohim, he would ask in a particularly calm and absent-minded way,which inspired the respect of the onlookers, "Will it be long? Arethings ready?"

　　When all was ready, the sabers stuck in the snow to mark thebarriers, and the pistols loaded, Nesvitski went up to Pierre.

　　"I should not be doing my duty, Count," he said in timid tones, "andshould not justify your confidence and the honor you have done me inchoosing me for your second, if at this grave, this very grave, momentI did not tell you the whole truth. I think there is no sufficientground for this affair, or for blood to be shed over it.... You werenot 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 youropponent will accept them," said Nesvitski (who like the othersconcerned in the affair, and like everyone in similar cases, did notyet 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 letmatters 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 thesame.... Is everything ready?" he added. "Only tell me where to go andwhere to shoot," he said with an unnaturally gentle smile.

　　He took the pistol in his hand and began asking about the working ofthe trigger, as he had not before held a pistol in his hand- a factthat he did not to confess.

　　"Oh yes, like that, I know, I only forgot," said he.

　　"No apologies, none whatever," said Dolokhov to Denisov (who onhis side had been attempting a reconciliation), and he also went up tothe 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 pineforest covered with melting snow, the frost having begun to break upduring the last few days. The antagonists stood forty paces apart atthe farther edge of the clearing. The seconds, measuring the paces,left tracks in the deep wet snow between the place where they had beenstanding and Nesvitski's and Dolokhov's sabers, which were stuckintothe ground ten paces apart to mark the barrier. It was thawing andmisty; at forty paces' distance nothing could be seen. For threeminutes all had been ready, but they still delayed and all weresilent.BK4|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　"Well begin!" said Dolokhov.

　　"All right," said Pierre, still smiling in the same way. A feelingof dread was in the air. It was evident that the affair so lightlybegun could no longer be averted but was taking its courseindependently of men's will.

　　Denisov first went to the barrier and announced: "As the adve'sawieshave 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 andnearer to one another, beginning to see one another through themist. They had the right to fire when they liked as they approachedthe barrier. Dolokhov walked slowly without raising his pistol,looking intently with his bright, sparkling blue eyes into hisantagonist'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 intothe 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 heldcarefully back, because he wished to support his right hand with itand knew he must not do so. Having advanced six paces and strayedoff the track into the snow, Pierre looked down at his feet, thenquickly glanced at Dolokhov and, bending his finger as he had beenshown, fired. Not at all expecting so loud a report, Pierreshuddered at the sound and then, smiling at his own sensations,stood still. The smoke, rendered denser by the mist, prevented himfrom seeing anything for an instant, but there was no second report ashe had expected. He only heard Dolokhov's hurried steps, and hisfigure came in view through the smoke. He was pressing one hand to hisleft side, while the other clutched his drooping pistol. His facewas pale. Rostov ran toward him and said something.

　　"No-o-o!" muttered Dolokhov through his teeth, "no, it's notover." And after stumbling a few staggering steps right up to thesaber, he sank on the snow beside it. His left hand was bloody; hewiped it on his coat and supported himself with it. His frowningface was pallid and quivered.

　　"Plea..." began Dolokhov, but could not at first pronounce the word.

　　"Please," he uttered with an effort.

　　Pierre, hardly restraining his sobs, began running toward Dolokhovand was about to cross the space between the barriers, when Dolokhovcried:

　　"To your barrier!" and Pierre, grasping what was meant, stopped byhis saber. Only ten paces divided them. Dolokhov lowered his head tothe snow, greedily bit at it, again raised his head, adjusted himself,drew in his legs and sat up, seeking a firm center of gravity. Hesucked and sucked and swallowed the cold snow, his lips quivered buthis eyes, still smiling, glittered with effort and exasperation ashe mustered his remaining strength. He raised his pistol and aimed.

　　"Sideways! Cover yourself with your pistol!" ejaculated Nesvitski.

　　"Cover yourself!" even Denisov cried to his adversary.

　　Pierre, with a gentle smile of pity and remorse, his arms and legshelplessly spread out, stood with his broad chest directly facingDolokhov looked sorrowfully at him. Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitskiclosed their eyes. At the same instant they heard a report andDolokhov's angry cry.

　　"Missed!" shouted Dolokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards onthe 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.

　　Nesvitski stopped him and took him home.

　　Rostov and Denisov drove away with the wounded Dolokhov.

　　The latter lay silent in the sleigh with closed eyes and did notanswer a word to the questions addressed to him. But on enteringMoscow he suddenly came to and, lifting his head with an effort,took Rostov, who was sitting beside him, by the hand. Rostov wasstruck by the totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous and tenderexpression on Dolokhov's face.

　　"Well? How do you feel?" he asked.

　　"Bad! But it's not that, my friend-" said Dolokhov with a gaspingvoice. "Where are we? In Moscow, I know. I don't matter, but I havekilled her, killed... She won't get over it! She won't survive...."

　　"Who?" asked Rostov.

　　"My mother! My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother," andDolokhov pressed Rostov's hand and burst into tears.

　　When he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostov thathe was living with his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would notsurvive it. He implored Rostov to go on and prepare her.

　　Rostov went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surpriselearned that Dolokhov the brawler, Dolokhov the bully, lived in Moscowwith an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the mostaffectionate of sons and brothers.BK4|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Pierre had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both in Petersburgand in Moscow their house was always full of visitors. The night afterthe duel he did not go to his bedroom but, as he often did, remainedin his father's room, that huge room in which Count Bezukhov had died.

　　He lay down on the sofa meaning to fall asleep and forget all thathad happened to him, but could not do so. Such a storm of feelings,thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him that he could notfall asleep, nor even remain in one place, but had to jump up and pacethe room with rapid steps. Now he seemed to see her in the earlydays of their marriage, with bare shoulders and a languid,passionate look on her face, and then immediately he saw beside herDolokhov's handsome, insolent, hard, and mocking face as he had seenit at the banquet, and then that same face pale, quivering, andsuffering, 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 cometo do it?"- "Because you married her," answered an inner voice.

　　"But in what was I to blame?" he asked. "In marrying her withoutloving her; in deceiving yourself and her." And he vividly recalledthat moment after supper at Prince Vasili's, when he spoke those wordshe had found so difficult to utter: "I love you." "It all comes fromthat! Even then I felt it," he thought. "I felt then that it was notso, 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 recollectionof how one day soon after his marriage he came out of the bedroom intohis study a little before noon in his silk dressing gown and found hishead steward there, who, bowing respectfully, looked into his face andat his dressing gown and smiled slightly, as if expressingrespectful understanding of his employer's happiness.

　　"But how often I have felt proud of her, proud of her majesticbeauty and social tact," thought he; "been proud of my house, in whichshe received all Petersburg, proud of her unapproachability andbeauty. So this is what I was proud of! I then thought that I didnot understand her. How often when considering her character I havetold myself that I was to blame for not understanding her, for notunderstanding that constant composure and complacency and lack ofall interests or desires, and the whole secret lies in the terribletruth that she is a depraved woman. Now I have spoken that terribleword to myself all has become clear.

　　"Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kissher naked shoulders. She did not give him the money, but let herselfbe kissed. Her father in jest tried to rouse her jealousy, and shereplied 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 askedher if she felt any symptoms of pregnancy. She laughedcontemptuously 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 andthe vulgarity of the expressions that were natural to her, thoughshe had been brought up in the most aristocratic circles.

　　"I'm not such a fool.... Just you try it on.... Allez-vouspromener,"* she used to say. Often seeing the success she had withyoung and old men and women Pierre could not understand why he did notlove her.

　　*"You clear out of this."

　　"Yes, I never loved her," said he to himself; "I knew she was adepraved woman," he repeated, "but dared not admit it to myself. Andnow there's Dolokhov sitting in the snow with a forced smile andperhaps dying, while meeting my remorse with some forced bravado!"

　　Pierre was one of those people who, in spite of an appearance ofwhat is called weak character, do not seek a confidant in theirtroubles. 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 mustendure... what? A slur on my name? A misfortune for life? Oh, that'snonsense," he thought. "The slur on my name and honor- that's allapart from myself.

　　*I love you.

　　"Louis XVI was executed because they said he was dishonorable anda criminal," came into Pierre's head, "and from their point of viewthey were right, as were those too who canonized him and died amartyr's death for his sake. Then Robespierre was beheaded for being adespot. 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 isit worth tormenting oneself, when one has only a moment of life incomparison with eternity?"

　　But at the moment when he imagined himself calmed by suchreflections, she suddenly came into his mind as she was at the momentswhen he had most strongly expressed his insincere love for her, and hefelt the blood rush to his heart and had again to get up and moveabout and break and tear whatever came to his hand. "Why did I tellher that 'Je vous aime'?" he kept repeating to himself. And when hehad said it for the tenth time, Molibre's words: "Mais que diablealloit-il faire dans cette galere?" occurred to him, and he began tolaugh at himself.

　　In the night he called his valet and told him to pack up to go toPetersburg. He could not imagine how he could speak to her now. Heresolved to go away next day and leave a letter informing her of hisintention 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 startledexpression, unable to realize where he was.

　　"The countess told me to inquire whether your excellency was athome," said the valet.

　　But before Pierre could decide what answer he would send, thecountess herself in a white satin dressing gown embroidered withsilver and with simply dressed hair (two immense plaits twice roundher lovely head like a coronet) entered the room, calm and majestic,except that there was a wrathful wrinkle on her rather prominentmarble brow. With her imperturbable calm she did not begin to speak infront of the valet. She knew of the duel and had come to speak aboutit. She waited till the valet had set down the coffee things andleft the room. Pierre looked at her timidly over his spectacles, andlike a hare surrounded by hounds who lays back her ears andcontinues to crouch motionless before her enemies, he tried tocontinue reading. But feeling this to be senseless and impossible,he again glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down but looked athim with a contemptuous smile, waiting for the valet to go.

　　"Well, what's this now? What have you been up to now, I shouldlike to know?" she asked sternly.

　　"I? What have I...?" stammered Pierre.

　　"So it seems you're a hero, eh? Come now, what was this duelabout? 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..." Helene went on. "You believeeverything you're told. You were told..." Helene laughed, "thatDolokhov was my lover," she said in French with her coarse plainnessof speech, uttering the word amant as casually as any other word, "andyou believed it! Well, what have you proved? What does this duelprove? That you're a fool, que vous etes un sot, but everybody knewthat. What will be the result? That I shall be the laughingstock ofall Moscow, that everyone will say that you, drunk and not knowingwhat you were about, challenged a man you are jealous of withoutcause." Helene raised her voice and became more and more excited, "Aman 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 likehis company? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I shouldprefer 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 youplainly that there are not many wives with husbands such as you whowould not have taken lovers (des amants), but I have not done so,"said she.

　　Pierre wished to say something, looked at her with eyes whosestrange expression she did not understand, and lay down again. Hewas suffering physically at that moment, there was a weight on hischest and he could not breathe. He knew that he must do something toput an end to this suffering, but what he wanted to do was tooterrible.

　　"We had better separate," he muttered in a broken voice.

　　"Separate? Very well, but only if you give me a fortune," saidHelene. "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 tablewith a strength he had never before felt, he made a step toward herbrandishing the slab.

　　Helene's face became terrible, she shrieked and sprang aside. Hisfather's nature showed itself in Pierre. He felt the fascination anddelight of frenzy. He flung down the slab, broke it, and swooping downon her with outstretched hands shouted, "Get out!" in such aterrible voice that the whole house heard it with horror. God knowswhat he would have done at that moment had Helene not fled from theroom.

　　A week later Pierre gave his wife full power to control all hisestates in Great Russia, which formed the larger part of his property,and left for Petersburg alone.BK4|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Two months had elapsed since the news of the battle of Austerlitzand the loss of Prince Andrew had reached Bald Hills, and in spiteof the letters sent through the embassy and all the searches made, hisbody had not been found nor was he on the list of prisoners. Whatwas worst of all for his relations was the fact that there was still apossibility of his having been picked up on the battlefield by thepeople of the place and that he might now be lying, recovering ordying, alone among strangers and unable to send news of himself. Thegazettes from which the old prince first heard of the defeat atAusterlitz stated, as usual very briefly and vaguely, that afterbrilliant engagements the Russians had had to retreat and had madetheir withdrawal in perfect order. The old prince understood from thisofficial report that our army had been defeated. A week after thegazette report of the battle of Austerlitz came a letter fromKutuzov informing the prince of the fate that had befallen his son.

　　"Your son," wrote Kutuzov, "fell before my eyes, a standard in hishand and at the head of a regiment- he fell as a hero, worthy of hisfather and his fatherland. To the great regret of myself and of thewhole army it is still uncertain whether he is alive or not. I comfortmyself and you with the hope that your son is alive, for otherwisehe would have been mentioned among the officers found on the fieldof battle, a list of whom has been sent me under flag of truce."

　　After receiving this news late in the evening, when he was alonein his study, the old prince went for his walk as usual nextmorning, but he was silent with his steward, the gardener, and thearchitect, and though he looked very grim he said nothing to anyone.

　　When Princess Mary went to him at the usual hour he was working athis 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 ownimpetus, and Princess Mary long remembered the dying creak of thatwheel, 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 hangingover her and about to crush her was some terrible misfortune, theworst in life, one she had not yet experienced, irreparable andincomprehensible- the death of one she loved.

　　"Father! Andrew!"- said the ungraceful, awkward princess with suchan indescribable charm of sorrow and self-forgetfulness that herfather could not bear her look but turned away with a sob.

　　"Bad news! He's not among the prisoners nor among the killed!Kutuzov writes..." and he screamed as piercingly as if he wished todrive the princess away by that scream... "Killed!"

　　The princess did not fall down or faint. She was already pale, buton hearing these words her face changed and something brightened inher beautiful, radiant eyes. It was as if joy- a supreme joy apartfrom the joys and sorrows of this world- overflowed the great griefwithin her. She forgot all fear of her father, went up to him, tookhis hand, and drawing him down put her arm round his thin, scraggyneck.

　　"Father" she said, "do not turn away from me, let us weep together."

　　"Scoundrels! Blackguards!" shrieked the old man, turning his faceaway from her. "Destroying the army, destroying the men! And why?Go, go and tell Lise."

　　The princess sank helplessly into an armchair beside her fatherand wept. She saw her brother now as he had been at the moment when hetook leave of her and of Lise, his look tender yet proud. She sawhim tender and amused as he was when he put on the little icon. "Didhe believe? Had he repented of his unbelief? Was he now there? Therein 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 andRussia's glory were led to destruction. Go, Princess Mary. Go and tellLise. I will follow."

　　When Princess Mary returned from her father, the little princess satworking and looked up with that curious expression of inner, happycalm peculiar to pregnant women. It was evident that her eyes didnot see Princess Mary but were looking within... into herself... atsomething joyful and mysterious taking place within her.

　　"Mary," she said, moving away from the embroidery frame and lyingback, "give me your hand." She took her sister-in-law's hand andheld it below her waist.

　　Her eyes were smiling expectantly, her downy lip rose and remainedlifted in childlike happiness.

　　Princess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds ofher 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 withbright 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, wipingaway her tears on her sister-in-law's knee.

　　Several times in the course of the morning Princess Mary begantrying to prepare her sister-in-law, and every time began to cry.Unobservant as was the little princess, these tears, the cause ofwhich she did not understand, agitated her. She said nothing butlooked about uneasily as if in search of something. Before dinnerthe old prince, of whom she was always afraid, came into her room witha peculiarly restless and malign expression and went out again withoutsaying a word. She looked at Princess Mary, then sat thinking for awhile with that expression of attention to something within her thatis 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 Ifeel afraid."

　　"So there's nothing?"

　　"Nothing," answered Princess Mary, looking firmly with her radianteyes at her sister-in-law.

　　She had determined not to tell her and persuaded her father tohide the terrible news from her till after her confinement, whichwas expected within a few days. Princess Mary and the old princeeach bore and hid their grief in their own way. The old prince wouldnot cherish any hope: he made up his mind that Prince Andrew hadbeen killed, and though he sent an official to Austria to seek fortraces of his son, he ordered a monument from Moscow which he intendedto erect in his own garden to his memory, and he told everybody thathis son had been killed. He tried not to change his former way oflife, but his strength failed him. He walked less, ate less, sleptless, and became weaker every day. Princess Mary hoped. She prayed forher brother as living and was always awaiting news of his return.BK4|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　"Dearest," said the little princess after breakfast on the morningof 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 hadcome, so now the smile of the little princess- influenced by thegeneral mood though without knowing its cause- was such as to remindone still more of the general sorrow.

　　"Dearest, I'm afraid this morning's fruschtique*- as Foka the cookcalls it- has disagreed with me."

　　*Fruhstuck: breakfast.

　　"What is the matter with you, my darling? You look pale. Oh, you arevery pale!" said Princess Mary in alarm, running with her soft,ponderous steps up to her sister-in-law.

　　"Your excellency, should not Mary Bogdanovna be sent for?" saidone of the maids who was present. (Mary Bogdanovna was a midwifefrom the neighboring town, who had been at Bald Hills for the lastfortnight.)

　　"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 onthe little princess' face, an expression of childish fear ofinevitable 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 asuffering child and to wring her little hands even with someaffectation. Princess Mary ran out of the room to fetch MaryBogdanovna.

　　"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 Bogdanovna, I think it's beginning!" said Princess Marylooking at the midwife with wide-open eyes of alarm.

　　"Well, the Lord be thanked, Princess," said Mary Bogdanovna, nothastening her steps. "You young ladies should not know anythingabout it."

　　"But how is it the doctor from Moscow is not here yet?" said theprincess. (In accordance with Lise's and Prince Andrew's wishes theyhad sent in good time to Moscow for a doctor and were expecting him atany moment.)

　　"No matter, Princess, don't be alarmed," said Mary Bogdanovna."We'll manage very well without a doctor."

　　Five minutes later Princess Mary from her room heard something heavybeing carried by. She looked out. The men servants were carrying thelarge leather sofa from Prince Andrew's study into the bedroom. Ontheir faces was a quiet and solemn look.

　　Princess Mary sat alone in her room listening to the sounds in thehouse, now and then opening her door when someone passed andwatching what was going on in the passage. Some women passing withquiet steps in and out of the bedroom glanced at the princess andturned away. She did not venture to ask any questions, and shut thedoor again, now sitting down in her easy chair, now taking herprayer book, now kneeling before the icon stand. To her surprise anddistress she found that her prayers did not calm her excitement.Suddenly her door opened softly and her old nurse, Praskovya Savishna,who hardly ever came to that room as the old prince had forbiddenit, appeared on the threshold with a shawl round her head.

　　"I've come to sit with you a bit, Masha," said the nurse, "andhere I've brought the prince's wedding candles to light before hissaint, 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 bythe door with her knitting. Princess Mary took a book and beganreading. Only when footsteps or voices were heard did they look at oneanother, the princess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encouraging.Everyone in the house was dominated by the same feeling thatPrincess Mary experienced as she sat in her room. But owing to thesuperstition that the fewer the people who know of it the less a womanin travail suffers, everyone tried to pretend not to know; no onespoke of it, but apart from the ordinary staid and respectful goodmanners habitual in the prince's household, a common anxiety, asoftening of the heart, and a consciousness that something great andmysterious 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 oldprince, stepping on his heels, paced up and down his study and sentTikhon to ask Mary Bogdanovna what news.- "Say only that 'the princetold me to ask,' and come and tell me her answer."

　　"Inform the prince that labor has begun," said Mary Bogdanovna,giving the messenger a significant look.

　　Tikhon went and told the prince.

　　"Very good!" said the prince closing the door behind him, and Tikhondid 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 hisperturbed face, shook his head, and going up to him silently kissedhim on the shoulder and left the room without snuffing the candlesor saying why he had entered. The most solemn mystery in the worldcontinued its course. Evening passed, night came, and the feeling ofsuspense and softening of heart in the presence of the unfathomabledid not lessen but increased. No one slept.

　　It was one of those March nights when winter seems to wish to resumeits sway and scatters its last snows and storms with desperate fury. Arelay of horses had been sent up the highroad to meet the Germandoctor from Moscow who was expected every moment, and men on horsebackwith lanterns were sent to the crossroads to guide him over thecountry road with its hollows and snow-covered pools of water.

　　Princess Mary had long since put aside her book: she sat silent, herluminous eyes fixed on her nurse's wrinkled face (every line ofwhich she knew so well), on the lock of gray hair that escaped fromunder the kerchief, and the loose skin that hung under her chin.

　　Nurse Savishna, knitting in hand, was telling in low tones, scarcelyhearing or understanding her own words, what she had told hundredsof times before: how the late princess had given birth to PrincessMary in Kishenev with only a Moldavian peasant woman to help insteadof a midwife.

　　"God is merciful, doctors are never needed," she said.

　　Suddenly a gust of wind beat violently against the casement of thewindow, from which the double frame had been removed (by order ofthe prince, one window frame was removed in each room as soon as thelarks returned), and, forcing open a loosely closed latch, set thedamask curtain flapping and blew out the candle with its chill,snowy draft. Princess Mary shuddered; her nurse, putting down thestocking she was knitting, went to the window and leaning out tried tocatch the open casement. The cold wind flapped the ends of herkerchief and her loose locks of gray hair.

　　"Princess, my dear, there's someone driving up the avenue! " shesaid, holding the casement and not closing it. "With lanterns. Mostlikely the doctor."

　　"Oh, my God! thank God!" said Princess Mary. "I must go and meethim, he does not know Russian."

　　Princess Mary threw a shawl over her head and ran to meet thenewcomer. As she was crossing the anteroom she saw through thewindow a carriage with lanterns, standing at the entrance. She wentout on the stairs. On a banister post stood a tallow candle whichguttered in the draft. On the landing below, Philip, the footman,stood looking scared and holding another candle. Still lower, beyondthe turn of the staircase, one could hear the footstep of someone inthick felt boots, and a voice that seemed familiar to Princess Marywas saying something.

　　"Thank God!" said the voice. "And Father?"

　　"Gone to bed," replied the voice of Demyan the house steward, whowas downstairs.

　　Then the voice said something more, Demyan replied, and the steps inthe felt boots approached the unseen bend of the staircase morerapidly.

　　"It's Andrew!" thought Princess Mary. "No it can't be, that would betoo extraordinary," and at the very moment she thought this, theface and figure of Prince Andrew, in a fur cloak the deep collar ofwhich covered with snow, appeared on the landing where the footmanstood with the candle. Yes, it was he, pale, thin, with a changedand strangely softened but agitated expression on his face. He came upthe stairs and embraced his sister.

　　"You did not get my letter?" he asked, and not waiting for areply- which he would not have received, for the princess was unableto speak- he turned back, rapidly mounted the stairs again with thedoctor who had entered the hall after him (they had met at the lastpost station), and again embraced his sister.

　　"What a strange fate, Masha darling!" And having taken off his cloakand felt boots, he went to the little princess' apartment.BK4|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　The little princess lay supported by pillows, with a white cap onher head (the pains had just left her). Strands of her black hairlay round her inflamed and perspiring cheeks, her charming rosymouth with its downy lip was open and she was smiling joyfully. PrinceAndrew entered and paused facing her at the foot of the sofa onwhich she was lying. Her glittering eyes, filled with childlike fearand excitement, rested on him without changing their expression. "Ilove 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 notrealize the significance of his appearance before her now. PrinceAndrew 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 notrealize that he had come. His coming had nothing to do with hersufferings or with their relief. The pangs began again and MaryBogdanovna advised Prince Andrew to leave the room.

　　The doctor entered. Prince Andrew went out and, meeting PrincessMary, again joined her. They began talking in whispers, but their talkbroke 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 roomnext to hers. A woman came from the bedroom with a frightened face andbecame confused when she saw Prince Andrew. He covered his face withhis hands and remained so for some minutes. Piteous, helpless,animal moans came through the door. Prince Andrew got up, went tothe 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 moreseconds went by. Then suddenly a terrible shriek- it could not behers, she could not scream like that- came from the bedroom. PrinceAndrew ran to the door; the scream ceased and he heard the wail ofan infant.

　　"What have they taken a baby in there for?" thought Prince Andrew inthe first second. "A baby? What baby...? Why is there a baby there? Oris the baby born?"

　　Then suddenly he realized the joyful significance of that wail;tears choked him, and leaning his elbows on the window sill be beganto cry, sobbing like a child. The door opened. The doctor with hisshirt sleeves tucked up, without a coat, pale and with a tremblingjaw, came out of the room. Prince Andrew turned to him, but the doctorgave him a bewildered look and passed by without a word. A womanrushed out and seeing Prince Andrew stopped, hesitating on thethreshold. He went into his wife's room. She was lying dead, in thesame position he had seen her in five minutes before and, despitethe fixed eyes and the pallor of the cheeks, the same expression wason her charming childlike face with its upper lip covered with tinyblack hair.

　　"I love you all, and have done no harm to anyone; and what haveyou done to me?"- said her charming, pathetic, dead face.

　　In a corner of the room something red and tiny gave a grunt andsquealed in Mary Bogdanovna's trembling white hands.

　　Two hours later Prince Andrew, stepping softly, went into hisfather's room. The old man already knew everything. He was standingclose to the door and as soon as it opened his rough old arms closedlike a vise round his son's neck, and without a word he began to soblike a child.

　　Three days later the little princess was buried, and Prince Andrewwent up the steps to where the coffin stood, to give her thefarewell kiss. And there in the coffin was the same face, thoughwith closed eyes. "Ah, what have you done to me?" it still seemed tosay, and Prince Andrew felt that something gave way in his soul andthat he was guilty of a sin he could neither remedy nor forget. Hecould not weep. The old man too came up and kissed the waxen littlehands that lay quietly crossed one on the other on her breast, andto 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 NicholasAndreevich was baptized. The wet nurse supported the coverlet with herwhile the priest with a goose feather anointed the boy's little redand wrinkled soles and palms.

　　His grandfather, who was his godfather, trembling and afraid ofdropping him, carried the infant round the battered tin font andhanded him over to the godmother, Princess Mary. Prince Andrew satin another room, faint with fear lest the baby should be drowned inthe font, and awaited the termination of the ceremony. He looked upjoyfully at the baby when the nurse brought it to him and noddedapproval when she told him that the wax with the baby's hair had notsunk in the font but had floated.BK4|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Rostov's share in Dolokhov's duel with Bezukhov was hushed up by theefforts of the old count, and instead of being degraded to the ranksas he expected he was appointed an adjutant to the governor general ofMoscow. As a result he could not go to the country with the rest ofthe family, but was kept all summer in Moscow by his new duties.Dolokhov recovered, and Rostov became very friendly with him duringhis convalescence. Dolokhov lay ill at his mother's who loved himpassionately and tenderly, and old Mary Ivanovna, who had grown fondof Rostov for his friendship to her Fedya, often talked to him abouther son.

　　"Yes, Count," she would say, "he is too noble and pure-souled forour present, depraved world. No one now loves virtue; it seems likea reproach to everyone. Now tell me, Count, was it right, was ithonorable, of Bezukhov? And Fedya, with his noble spirit, loved himand even now never says a word against him. Those pranks in Petersburgwhen they played some tricks on a policeman, didn't they do ittogether? And there! Bezukhov got off scotfree, while Fedya had tobear the whole burden on his shoulders. Fancy what he had to gothrough! It's true he has been reinstated, but how could they failto do that? I think there were not many such gallant sons of thefatherland out there as he. And now- this duel! Have these people nofeeling, or honor? Knowing him to be an only son, to challenge him andshoot 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 Isee things he should have shown it sooner, but he lets it go on formonths. And then to call him out, reckoning on Fedya not fightingbecause he owed him money! What baseness! What meanness! I know youunderstand Fedya, my dear count; that, believe me, is why I am so fondof you. Few people do understand him. He is such a lofty, heavenlysoul!"

　　Dolokhov himself during his convalescence spoke to Rostov in a wayno one would have expected of him.

　　"I know people consider me a bad man!" he said. "Let them! I don'tcare a straw about anyone but those I love; but those I love, I loveso that I would give my life for them, and the others I'd throttleif they stood in my way. I have an adored, a priceless mother, and twoor three friends- you among them- and as for the rest I only careabout them in so far as they are harmful or useful. And most of themare harmful, especially the women. Yes, dear boy," he continued, "Ihave met loving, noble, high-minded men, but I have not yet met anywomen- countesses or cooks- who were not venal. I have not yet metthat divine purity and devotion I look for in women. If I found such aone I'd give my life for her! But those!... and he made a gesture ofcontempt. "And believe me, if I still value my life it is only becauseI 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 Rostov, who was under hisnew friend's influence.

　　In the autumn the Rostovs returned to Moscow. Early in the winterDenisov also came back and stayed with them. The first half of thewinter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostov spent in Moscow, was one ofthe happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family. Nicholasbrought many young men to his parents' house. Vera was a handsome girlof twenty; Sonya a girl of sixteen with all the charm of an openingflower; Natasha, half grown up and half child, was now childishlyamusing, now girlishly enchanting.

　　At that time in the Rostovs' house there prevailed an amorousatmosphere characteristic of homes where there are very young and verycharming girls. Every young man who came to the house- seeing thoseimpressionable, smiling young faces (smiling probably at their ownhappiness), feeling the eager bustle around him, and hearing thefitful bursts of song and music and the inconsequent but friendlyprattle of young girls ready for anything and full of hope-experienced the same feeling; sharing with the young folk of theRostovs' household a readiness to fall in love and an expectation ofhappiness.

　　Among the young men introduced by Rostov one of the first wasDolokhov, whom everyone in the house liked except Natasha. Shealmost quarreled with her brother about him. She insisted that hewas a bad man, and that in the duel with Bezukhov, Pierre was rightand Dolokhov wrong, and further that he was disagreeable andunnatural.

　　"There's nothing for me to understand," cried out with resoluteself-will, "he is wicked and heartless. There now, I like your Denisovthough he is a rake and all that, still I like him; so you see I dounderstand. I don't know how to put it... with this one everythingis calculated, and I don't like that. But Denisov..."

　　"Oh, Denisov is quite different," replied Nicholas, implying thateven Denisov was nothing compared to Dolokhov- "you must understandwhat a soul there is in Dolokhov, you should see him with hismother. What a heart!"

　　"Well, I don't know about that, but I am uncomfortable with him. Anddo you know he has fallen in love with Sonya?"

　　"What nonsense..."

　　"I'm certain of it; you'll see."

　　Natasha's prediction proved true. Dolokhov, who did not usually carefor the society of ladies, began to come often to the house, and thequestion for whose sake he came (though no one spoke of it) was soonsettled. He came because of Sonya. And Sonya, though she would neverhave dared to say so, knew it and blushed scarlet every timeDolokhov appeared.

　　Dolokhov often dined at the Rostovs', never missed a performanceat which they were present, and went to Iogel's balls for young peoplewhich the Rostovs always attended. He was pointedly attentive to Sonyaand looked at her in such a way that not only could she not bear hisglances without coloring, but even the old countess and Natashablushed when they saw his looks.

　　It was evident that this strange, strong man was under theirresistible influence of the dark, graceful girl who loved another.

　　Rostov noticed something new in Dolokhov's relations with Sonya, buthe did not explain to himself what these new relations were."They're always in love with someone," he thought of Sonya andNatasha. But he was not as much at ease with Sonya and Dolokhov asbefore and was less frequently at home.

　　In the autumn of 1806 everybody had again begun talking of the warwith Napoleon with even greater warmth than the year before. Orderswere given to raise recruits, ten men in every thousand for theregular army, and besides this, nine men in every thousand for themilitia. Everywhere Bonaparte was anathematized and in Moscownothing but the coming war was talked of. For the Rostov family thewhole interest of these preparations for war lay in the fact thatNicholas would not hear of remaining in Moscow, and only awaited thetermination of Denisov's furlough after Christmas to return with himto their regiment. His approaching departure did not prevent hisamusing himself, but rather gave zest to his pleasures. He spent thegreater part of his time away from home, at dinners, parties, andballs.BK4|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　On the third day after Christmas Nicholas dined at home, a thinghe had rarely done of late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as heand Denisov were leaving to join their regiment after Epiphany.About twenty people were present, including Dolokhov and Denisov.

　　Never had love been so much in the air, and never had the amorousatmosphere made itself so strongly felt in the Rostovs' house as atthis 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 theone thing we are interested in here," said the spirit of the place.

　　Nicholas, having as usual exhausted two pairs of horses, withoutvisiting all the places he meant to go to and where he had beeninvited, returned home just before dinner. As soon as he entered henoticed and felt the tension of the amorous air in the house, and alsonoticed a curious embarrassment among some of those present. Sonya,Dolokhov, and the old countess were especially disturbed, and to alesser degree Natasha. Nicholas understood that something must havehappened between Sonya and Dolokhov before dinner, and with the kindlysensitiveness natural to him was very gentle and wary with them bothat dinner. On that same evening there was to be one of the ballsthat Iogel (the dancing master) gave for his pupils durings theholidays.

　　"Nicholas, will you come to Iogel's? Please do!" said Natasha. "Heasked you, and Vasili Dmitrich* is also going."

　　*Denisov.

　　"Where would I not go at the countess' command!" said Denisov, whoat the Rostovs' had jocularly assumed the role of Natasha's knight."I'm even weady to dance the pas de chale."

　　"If I have time," answered Nicholas. "But I promised theArkharovs; they have a party."

　　"And you?" he asked Dolokhov, but as soon as he had asked thequestion he noticed that it should not have been put.

　　"Perhaps," coldly and angrily replied Dolokhov, glancing at Sonya,and, scowling, he gave Nicholas just such a look as he had givenPierre at the Club dinner.

　　"There is something up," thought Nicholas, and he was furtherconfirmed in this conclusion by the fact that Dolokhov leftimmediately after dinner. He called Natasha and asked her what was thematter.

　　"And I was looking for you," said Natasha running out to him. "Itold you, but you would not believe it," she said triumphantly. "Hehas proposed to Sonya!"

　　Little as Nicholas had occupied himself with Sonya of late,something seemed to give way within him at this news. Dolokhov was asuitable and in some respects a brilliant match for the dowerless,orphan girl. From the point of view of the old countess and of societyit was out of the question for her to refuse him. And thereforeNicholas' first feeling on hearing the news was one of anger withSonya.... He tried to say, "That's capital; of course she'll forgether childish promises and accept the offer," but before he had time tosay it Natasha began again.

　　"And fancy! she refused him quite definitely!" adding, after apause, "she told him she loved another."

　　"Yes, my Sonya could not have done otherwise!" thought Nicholas.

　　"Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, and I know she won't changeonce she has said..."

　　"And Mamma pressed her!" said Nicholas reproachfully.

　　"Yes," said Natasha. "Do you know, Nicholas- don't be angry- but Iknow you will not marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but I knowfor certain that you won't marry her."

　　"Now don't know that at all!" said Nicholas. "But I must talk toher. What a darling Sonya is!" he added with a smile.

　　"Ah, she is indeed a darling! I'll send her to you."

　　And Natasha kissed her brother and ran away.

　　A minute later Sonya came in with a frightened, guilty, and scaredlook. Nicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was thefirst time since his return that they had talked alone and about theirlove.

　　"Sophie," he began, timidly at first and then more and moreboldly, "if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant andadvantageous match but a splendid, noble fellow... he is my friend..."

　　Sonya interrupted him.

　　"I have already refused," she said hurriedly.

　　"If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I..."

　　Sonya 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 tosay it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the wholetruth. I love you, and I think I love you more than anyone else...."

　　"That is enough for me," said Sonya, blushing.

　　"No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in loveagain, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship,confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young. Mamma doesnot wish it. In a word, I make no promise. And I beg you to considerDolokhov's offer," he said, articulating his friend's name withdifficulty.

　　"Don't say that to me! I want nothing. I love you as a brother andalways shall, and I want nothing more."

　　"You are an angel: I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid ofmisleading you."

　　And Nicholas again kissed her hand.BK4|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　Iogel's were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So said the mothersas they watched their young people executing their newly learnedsteps, and so said the youths and maidens themselves as they dancedtill they were ready to drop, and so said the grown-up young men andwomen who came to these balls with an air of condescension and foundthem most enjoyable. That year two marriages had come of theseballs. The two pretty young Princesses Gorchakov met suitors there andwere married and so further increased the fame of these dances. Whatdistinguished them from others was the absence of host or hostessand the presence of the good-natured Iogel, flying about like afeather and bowing according to the rules of his art, as hecollected the tickets from all his visitors. There was the fact thatonly those came who wished to dance and amuse themselves as girls ofthirteen and fourteen do who are wearing long dresses for the firsttime. 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 Natasha, who wasexceptionally graceful, was first, even danced the pas de chale, butat this last ball only the ecossaise, the anglaise, and the mazurka,which was just coming into fashion, were danced. Iogel had taken aballroom in Bezukhov's house, and the ball, as everyone said, was agreat success. There were many pretty girls and the Rostov girlswere among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay.That evening, proud of Dolokhov's proposal, her refusal, and herexplanation with Nicholas, Sonya twirled about before she left home sothat the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she wastransparently radiant with impulsive joy.

　　Natasha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a realball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin withpink ribbons.

　　Natasha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. Shewas not in love with anyone in particular, but with everyone. Whateverperson she happened to look at she was in love with for that moment.

　　"Oh, how delightful it is!" she kept saying, running up to Sonya.

　　Nicholas and Denisov were walking up and down, looking with kindlypatronage at the dancers.

　　"How sweet she is- she will be a weal beauty!" said Denisov.

　　"Who?"

　　"Countess Natasha," answered Denisov.

　　"And how she dances! What gwace!" he said again after a pause.

　　"Who are you talking about?"

　　"About your sister," ejaculated Denisov testily.

　　Rostov 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 youngladies-" He turned with the same request to Denisov who was also aformer pupil of his.

　　"No, my dear fellow, I'll be a wallflower," said Denisov. "Don't youwecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?"

　　"Oh no!" said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. "You were onlyinattentive, but you had talent- oh yes, you had talent!"

　　The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nicholas could notrefuse Iogel and asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by the oldladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot,told them something funny and kept them amused, while he watched theyoung people dancing, Iogel with Natasha, his pride and his bestpupil, were the first couple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping withhis little feet in low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall withNatasha, who, though shy, went on carefully executing her steps.Denisov did not take his eyes off her and beat time with his saberin a way that clearly indicated that if he was not dancing it wasbecause he would not and not because he could not. In the middle ofa figure he beckoned to Rostov who was passing:

　　"This is not at all the thing," he said. "What sort of Polishmazuwka is this? But she does dance splendidly."

　　Knowing that Denisov had a reputation even in Poland for themasterly way in which he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up toNatasha:

　　"Go and choose Denisov. He is a real dancer, a wonder!" he said.

　　When it came to Natasha's turn to choose a partner, she rose and,tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, rantimidly to the corner where Denisov sat. She saw that everybody waslooking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Denisov was refusingthough he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them.

　　"Please, Vasili Dmitrich," Natasha was saying, "do come!"

　　"Oh no, let me off, Countess," Denisov replied.

　　"Now then, Vaska," said Nicholas.

　　"They coax me as if I were Vaska the cat!" said Denisov jokingly.

　　"I'll sing for you a whole evening," said Natasha.

　　"Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with me!" said Denisov, and heunhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped hispartner's hand firmly, threw back his head, and advanced his foot,waiting for the beat. Only on horse back and in the mazurka wasDenisov's short stature not noticeable and he looked the fine fellowhe felt himself to be. At the right beat of the music he lookedsideways at his partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenlystamped with one foot, bounded from the floor like a ball, and flewround the room taking his partner with him. He glided silently onone foot half across the room, and seeming not to notice the chairswas dashing straight at them, when suddenly, clinking his spurs andspreading out his legs, he stopped short on his heels, stood so asecond, stamped on the spot clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly round,and, striking his left heel against his right, flew round again in acircle. Natasha guessed what he meant to do, and abandoning herself tohim followed his lead hardly knowing how. First he spun her round,holding her now with his left, now with his right hand, then fallingon one knee he twirled her round him, and again jumping up, dashedso impetuously forward that it seemed as if he would rush throughthe whole suite of rooms without drawing breath, and then hesuddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected steps. Whenat last, smartly whirling his partner round in front of her chair,he drew up with a click of his spurs and bowed to her, Natasha did noteven 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 Denisov's skill, he was asked again andagain as a partner, and the old men began smilingly to talk aboutPoland and the good old days. Denisov, flushed after the mazurka andmopping himself with his handkerchief, sat down by Natasha and did notleave her for the rest of the evening.BK4|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　For two days after that Rostov did not see Dolokhov at his own or atDolokhov'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 knowof, and am going to rejoin my regiment, I am giving a farewellsupper tonight to my friends- come to the English Hotel.

　　About ten o'clock Rostov went to the English Hotel straight from thetheater, where he had been with his family and Denisov. He was at onceshown to the best room, which Dolokhov had taken for that evening.Some twenty men were gathered round a table at which Dolokhov satbetween two candles. On the table was a pile of gold and papermoney, and he was keeping the bank. Rostov had not seen him sincehis proposal and Sonya's refusal and felt uncomfortable at the thoughtof how they would meet.

　　Dolokhov's clear, cold glance met Rostov as soon as he entered thedoor, as though he had long expected him.

　　"It's a long time since we met," he said. "Thanks for coming. I'lljust finish dealing, and then Ilyushka will come with his chorus."

　　"I called once or twice at your house," said Rostov, reddening.

　　Dolokhov made no reply.

　　"You may punt," he said.

　　Rostov recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had oncehad with Dolokhov. "None but fools trust to luck in play," Dolokhovhad then said.

　　"Or are you afraid to play with me?" Dolokhov now asked as ifguessing Rostov's thought.

　　Beneath his smile Rostov saw in him the mood he had shown at theClub dinner and at other times, when as if tired of everyday life hehad felt a need to escape from it by some strange, and usuallycruel, action.

　　Rostov felt ill at ease. He tried, but failed, to find some jokewith which to reply to Dolokhov's words. But before he had thoughtof anything, Dolokhov, looking straight in his face, said slowly anddeliberately so that everyone could hear:

　　"Do you remember we had a talk about cards... 'He's a fool whotrusts to luck, one should make certain,' and I want to try."

　　"To try his luck or the certainty?" Rostov asked himself.

　　"Well, you'd better not play," Dolokhov added, and springing a newpack of cards said: "Bank, gentlemen!"

　　Moving the money forward he prepared to deal. Rostov sat down by hisside and at first did not play. Dolokhov kept glancing at him.

　　"Why don't you play?" he asked.

　　And strange to say Nicholas felt that he could not help taking upa card, putting a small stake on it, and beginning to play.

　　"I have no money with me," he said.

　　"I'll trust you."

　　Rostov staked five rubles on a card and lost, staked again, andagain lost. Dolokhov "killed," that is, beat, ten cards of Rostov'srunning.

　　"Gentlemen," said Dolokhov after he had dealt for some time. "Pleaseplace 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 Iask you to put the money on your cards," replied Dolokhov. "Don'tstint yourself, we'll settle afterwards," he added, turning to Rostov.

　　The game continued; a waiter kept handing round champagne.

　　All Rostov's cards were beaten and he had eight hundred rublesscored up against him. He wrote "800 rubles" on a card, but whilethe waiter filled his glass he changed his mind and altered it tohis usual stake of twenty rubles.

　　"Leave it," said Dolokhov, though he did not seem to be even lookingat Rostov, "you'll win it back all the sooner. I lose to the othersbut win from you. Or are you afraid of me?" he asked again.

　　Rostov submitted. He let the eight hundred remain and laid down aseven of hearts with a torn corner, which he had picked up from thefloor. He well remembered that seven afterwards. He laid down theseven of hearts, on which with a broken bit of chalk he had written"800 rubles" in clear upright figures; he emptied the glass of warmchampagne that was handed him, smiled at Dolokhov's words, and witha sinking heart, waiting for a seven to turn up, gazed at Dolokhov'shands which held the pack. Much depended on Rostov's winning or losingon that seven of hearts. On the previous Sunday the old count hadgiven his son two thousand rubles, and though he always dislikedspeaking of money difficulties had told Nicholas that this was allhe could let him have till May, and asked him to be more economicalthis time. Nicholas had replied that it would be more than enoughfor him and that he gave his word of honor not to take anything moretill the spring. Now only twelve hundred rubles was left of thatmoney, so that this seven of hearts meant for him not only the loss ofsixteen hundred rubles, but the necessity of going back on his word.With a sinking heart he watched Dolokhov's hands and thought, "Nowthen, make haste and let me have this card and I'll take my cap anddrive home to supper with Denisov, Natasha, and Sonya, and willcertainly never touch a card again." At that moment his home life,jokes with Petya, talks with Sonya, duets with Natasha, piquet withhis father, and even his comfortable bed in the house on thePovarskaya rose before him with such vividness, clearness, and charmthat it seemed as if it were all a lost and unappreciated bliss,long past. He could not conceive that a stupid chance, letting theseven be dealt to the right rather than to the left, might deprive himof all this happiness, newly appreciated and newly illumined, andplunge him into the depths of unknown and undefined misery. That couldnot be, yet he awaited with a sinking heart the movement of Dolokhov'shands. Those broad, reddish hands, with hairy wrists visible fromunder the shirt cuffs, laid down the pack and took up a glass and apipe that were handed him.

　　"So you are not afraid to play with me?" repeated Dolokhov, and asif about to tell a good story he put down the cards, leaned back inhis chair, and began deliberately with a smile:

　　"Yes, gentlemen, I've been told there's a rumor going about Moscowthat I'm a sharper, so I advise you to be careful."

　　"Come now, deal!" exclaimed Rostov.

　　"Oh, those Moscow gossips!" said Dolokhov, and he took up thecards with a smile.

　　"Aah!" Rostov almost screamed lifting both hands to his head. Theseven he needed was lying uppermost, the first card in the pack. Hehad lost more than he could pay.

　　"Still, don't ruin yourself!" said Dolokhov with a side glance atRostov as he continued to deal.BK4|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　An hour and a half later most of the players were but littleinterested in their own play.

　　The whole interest was concentrated on Rostov. Instead of sixteenhundred rubles he had a long column of figures scored against him,which he had reckoned up to ten thousand, but that now, as hevaguely supposed, must have risen to fifteen thousand. In reality italready exceeded twenty thousand rubles. Dolokhov was no longerlistening to stories or telling them, but followed every movement ofRostov's hands and occasionally ran his eyes over the score againsthim. He had decided to play until that score reached forty-threethousand. He had fixed on that number because forty-three was thesum of his and Sonya's joint ages. Rostov, leaning his head on bothhands, sat at the table which was scrawled over with figures, wet withspilled wine, and littered with cards. One tormenting impression didnot leave him: that those broad-boned reddish hands with hairywrists visible from under the shirt sleeves, those hands which heloved and hated, held him in their power.

　　"Six hundred rubles, ace, a corner, a nine... winning it back'simpossible... Oh, how pleasant it was at home!... The knave, double orquits... it can't be!... And why is he doing this to me?" Rostovpondered. Sometimes he staked a large sum, but Dolokhov refused toaccept it and fixed the stake himself. Nicholas submitted to him,and at one moment prayed to God as he had done on the battlefield atthe bridge over the Enns, and then guessed that the card that camefirst 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 andtried staking the total of his losses on it, then he looked roundfor aid from the other players, or peered at the now cold face ofDolokhov and tried to read what was passing in his mind.

　　"He knows of course what this loss means to me. He can't want myruin. Wasn't he my friend? Wasn't I fond of him? But it's not hisfault. What's he to do if he has such luck?... And it's not my faulteither," he thought to himself, "I have done nothing wrong. Have Ikilled anyone, or insulted or wished harm to anyone? Why such aterrible misfortune? And when did it begin? Such a little while agoI came to this table with the thought of winning a hundred rubles tobuy that casket for Mamma's name day and then going home. I was sohappy, so free, so lighthearted! And I did not realize how happy Iwas! When did that end and when did this new, terrible state of thingsbegin? What marked the change? I sat all the time in this same placeat this table, chose and placed cards, and watched those broad-bonedagile 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 nothot. His face was terrible and piteous to see, especially from itshelpless efforts to seem calm.

　　The score against him reached the fateful sum of forty-threethousand. Rostov had just prepared a card, by bending the corner ofwhich he meant to double the three thousand just put down to hisscore, when Dolokhov, slamming down the pack of cards, put it asideand began rapidly adding up the total of Rostov's debt, breaking thechalk 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 coldoutside and saying something in their gypsy accents. Nicholasunderstood 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 itwere 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 acheerful voice:

　　"Come now, just this one more little card!"

　　"All right!" said Dolokhov, having finished the addition. "Allright! Twenty-one rubles," he said, pointing to the figuretwenty-one by which the total exceeded the round sum of forty-threethousand; and taking up a pack he prepared to deal. Rostovsubmissively unbent the corner of his card and, instead of the sixthousand he had intended, carefully wrote twenty-one.

　　"It's all the same to me," he said. "I only want to see whetheryou will let me win this ten, or beat it."

　　Dolokhov began to deal seriously. Oh, how Rostov detested at thatmoment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairywrists, which held him in their power.... The ten fell to him.

　　"You owe forty-three thousand, Count," said Dolokhov, and stretchinghimself he rose from the table. "One does get tired sitting solong," he added.

　　"Yes, I'm tired too," said Rostov.

　　Dolokhov cut him short, as if to remind him that it was not forhim to jest.

　　"When am I to receive the money, Count?"

　　Rostov, flushing, drew Dolokhov into the next room.

　　"I cannot pay it all immediately. Will you take an I.O.U.?" he said.

　　"I say, Rostov," said Dolokhov clearly, smiling and looking Nicholasstraight in the eyes, "you know the saying, 'Lucky in love, unlucky atcards.' Your cousin is in love with you, I know."

　　"Oh, it's terrible to feel oneself so in this man's power,"thought Rostov. He knew what a shock he would inflict on his fatherand mother by the news of this loss, he knew what a relief it would beto escape it all, and felt that Dolokhov knew that he could save himfrom all this shame and sorrow, but wanted now to play with him as acat does with a mouse.

　　"Your cousin..." Dolokhov started to say, but Nicholas interruptedhim.

　　"My cousin has nothing to do with this and it's not necessary tomention her!" he exclaimed fiercely.

　　"Then when am I to have it?"

　　"Tomorrow," replied Rostov and left the room.BK4|CH15

　　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 wordof honor, was terrible.

　　At home, they had not yet gone to bed. The young people, afterreturning from the theater, had had supper and were grouped roundthe clavichord. As soon as Nicholas entered, he was enfolded in thatpoetic atmosphere of love which pervaded the Rostov household thatwinter and, now after Dolokhov's proposal and Iogel's ball, seemedto have grown thicker round Sonya and Natasha as the air does before athunderstorm. Sonya and Natasha, in the light-blue dresses they hadworn at the theater, looking pretty and conscious of it, were standingby the clavichord, happy and smiling. Vera was playing chess withShinshin in the drawing room. The old countess, waiting for the returnof her husband and son, sat playing patience with the oldgentlewoman who lived in their house. Denisov, with sparkling eyes andruffled hair, sat at the clavichord striking chords with his shortfingers, his legs thrown back and his eyes rolling as he sang, withhis 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 gazing with hissparkling black-agate eyes at the frightened and happy Natasha.

　　"Splendid! Excellent!" exclaimed Natasha. "Another verse, shesaid, without noticing Nicholas.

　　"Everything's still the same with them," thought Nicholas,glancing into the drawing room, where he saw Vera and his motherwith the old lady.

　　"Ah, and here's Nicholas!" cried Natasha, running up to him.

　　"Is Papa at home?" he asked.

　　"I am so glad you've come!" said Natasha, without answering him. "Weare enjoying ourselves! Vasili Dmitrich is staying a day longer for mysake! Did you know?"

　　"No, Papa is not back yet," said Sonya.

　　"Nicholas, have you come? Come here, dear!" called the oldcountess from the drawing room.

　　Nicholas went to her, kissed her hand, and sitting down silentlyat her table began to watch her hands arranging the cards. From thedancing room, they still heard the laughter and merry voices trying topersuade Natasha to sing.

　　"All wight! All wight!" shouted Denisov. "It's no good makingexcuses 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 thesame 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 dancingroom where the clavichord stood.

　　Sonya was sitting at the clavichord, playing the prelude toDenisov's favorite barcarolle. Natasha was preparing to sing.Denisov 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'snothing to be happy about!" thought he.

　　Sonya struck the first chord of the prelude.

　　"My God, I'm a ruined and dishonored man! A bullet through mybrain 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 Denisov and thegirls and avoiding their eyes.

　　"Nikolenka, what is the matter?" Sonya's eyes fixed on him seemed toask. She noticed at once that something had happened to him.

　　Nicholas turned away from her. Natasha too, with her quick instinct,had instantly noticed her brother's condition. But, though she noticedit, she was herself in such high spirits at that moment, so far fromsorrow, sadness, or self-reproach, that she purposely deceived herselfas young people often do. "No, I am too happy now to spoil myenjoyment by sympathy with anyone's sorrow," she felt, and she said toherself: "No, I must be mistaken, he must be feeling happy, just asI am."

　　"Now, Sonya!" 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, asballet dancers do, Natasha, rising energetically from her heels to hertoes, stepped to the middle of the room and stood still.

　　"Yes, that's me!" she seemed to say, answering the rapt gaze withwhich Denisov followed her.

　　"And what is she so pleased about?" thought Nicholas, looking at hissister. "Why isn't she dull and ashamed?"

　　Natasha took the first note, her throat swelled, her chest rose, hereyes became serious. At that moment she was oblivious of hersurroundings, and from her smiling lips flowed sounds which anyone mayproduce at the same intervals hold for the same time, but whichleave you cold a thousand times and the thousand and first time thrillyou and make you weep.

　　Natasha, that winter, had for the first time begun to singseriously, mainly because Denisov so delighted in her singing. Sheno longer sang as a child, there was no longer in her singing thatcomical, childish, painstaking effect that had been in it before;but she did not yet sing well, as all the connoisseurs who heard hersaid: "It is not trained, but it is a beautiful voice that must betrained." Only they generally said this some time after she hadfinished singing. While that untrained voice, with its incorrectbreathing and labored transitions, was sounding, even the connoisseurssaid nothing, but only delighted in it and wished to hear it again. Inher voice there was a virginal freshness, an unconsciousness of herown powers, and an as yet untrained velvety softness, which so mingledwith her lack of art in singing that it seemed as if nothing in thatvoice could be altered without spoiling it.

　　"What is this?" thought Nicholas, listening to her with widelyopened eyes. "What has happened to her? How she is singing today!" Andsuddenly the whole world centered for him on anticipation of thenext note, the next phrase, and everything in the world was dividedinto 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 thismisery, and money, and Dolokhov, and anger, and honor- it's allnonsense... but this is real.... Now then, Natasha, now then, dearest!Now then, darling! How will she take that si? She's taken it! ThankGod!" And without noticing that he was singing, to strengthen the sihe sung a second, a third below the high note. "Ah, God! How fine! DidI really take it? How fortunate!" he thought.

　　Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that wasfinest in Rostov's soul! And this something was apart fromeverything else in the world and above everything in the world."What were losses, and Dolokhov, and words of honor?... Allnonsense! One might kill and rob and yet be happy..."BK4|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　It was long since Rostov had felt such enjoyment from music as hedid that day. But no sooner had Natasha finished her barcarolle thanreality again presented itself. He got up without saying a word andwent downstairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later the oldcount came in from his Club, cheerful and contented. Nicholas, hearinghim drive up, went to meet him.

　　"Well- had a good time?" said the old count, smiling gaily andproudly at his son.

　　Nicholas tried to say "Yes," but could not: and he nearly burst intosobs. The count was lighting his pipe and did not notice his son'scondition.

　　"Ah, it can't be avoided!" thought Nicholas, for the first andlast time. And suddenly, in the most casual tone, which made himfeel ashamed feel of himself, he said, as if merely asking hisfather 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. "Itold you it would not be enough. How much?"

　　"Very much," said Nicholas flushing, and with a stupid carelesssmile, for which he was long unable to forgive himself, "I have lost alittle, I mean a good deal, a great deal- forty three thousand."

　　"What! To whom?... Nonsense!" cried the count, suddenly reddeningwith 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 sinkinghelplessly on the sofa.

　　"It can't be helped It happens to everyone!" said the son, with abold, free, and easy tone, while in his soul he regarded himself asa worthless scoundrel whose whole life could not atone for hiscrime. He longed to kiss his father's hands and kneel to beg hisforgiveness, but said, in a careless and even rude voice, that ithappens to everyone!

　　The old count cast down his eyes on hearing his son's words andbegan bustlingly searching for something.

　　"Yes, yes," he muttered, "it will be difficult, I fear, difficult toraise... happens to everybody! Yes, who has not done it?"

　　And with a furtive glance at his son's face, the count went out ofthe room.... Nicholas had been prepared for resistance, but had not atall expected this.

　　"Papa! Pa-pa!" he called after him, sobbing, "forgive me!" Andseizing his father's hand, he pressed it to his lips and burst intotears.

　　While father and son were having their explanation, the mother anddaughter were having one not less important. Natasha came running toher 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. Denisov had proposed. Towhom? To this chit of a girl, Natasha, who not so long ago was playingwith dolls and who was still having lessons.

　　"Don't, Natasha! What nonsense!" she said, hoping it was a joke.

　　"Nonsense, indeed! I am telling you the fact," said Natashaindignantly. "I come to ask you what to do, and you call it'nonsense!'"

　　The countess shrugged her shoulders.

　　"If it true that Monsieur Denisov has made you a proposal, tellhim he is a fool, that's all!"

　　"No, he's not a fool!" replied Natasha 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 ofannoyance. "Good luck to you!"

　　"No, Mamma, I'm not in love with him, I suppose I'm not in love withhim."

　　"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 verywell for you," said Natasha, with a responsive smile. "You should haveseen how he said it! I know he did not mean to say it, but it came outaccidently."

　　"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 sayit."

　　"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 thislittle Natasha as grown up.

　　"No, not on any account! I will tell him myself, and you'll listenat the door," and Natasha ran across the drawing room to the dancinghall, where Denisov was sitting on the same chair by the clavichordwith 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 myfate. It is in your hands."

　　"Vasili Dmitrich, I'm so sorry for you!... No, but you are sonice... but it won't do...not that... but as a friend, I shallalways love you."

　　Denisov bent over her hand and she heard strange sounds she didnot understand. She kissed his rough curly black head. At thisinstant, they heard the quick rustle of the countess' dress. Shecame up to them.

　　"Vasili Dmitrich, I thank you for the honor," she said, with anembarrassed voice, though it sounded severe to Denisov- "but mydaughter is so young, and I thought that, as my son's friend, youwould have addressed yourself first to me. In that case you wouldnot have obliged me to give this refusal."

　　"Countess..." said Denisov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face. Hetried to say more, but faltered.

　　Natasha could not remain calm, seeing him in such a plight. Shebegan to sob aloud.

　　"Countess, I have done w'ong," Denisov went on in an unsteady voice,"but believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family that Iwould give my life twice over..." He looked at the countess, andseeing her severe face said: "Well, good-by, Countess," and kissingher hand, he left the room with quick resolute strides, withoutlooking at Natasha.

　　Next day Rostov saw Denisov off. He not wish to stay another dayin Moscow. All Denisov's Moscow friends gave him a farewellentertainment at the gypsies', with the result that he had norecollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first threestages of his journey.

　　After Denisov's departure, Rostov spent another fortnight in Moscow,without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father couldnot at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls' room.

　　Sonya was more tender and devoted to him than ever. It was as if shewanted to show him that his losses were an achievement that made herlove him all the more, but Nicholas now considered himself unworthy ofher.

　　He filled the girls' albums with verses and music, and having atlast sent Dolokhov the whole forty-three thousand rubles andreceived his receipt, he left at the end of November, without takingleave of any of his acquaintances, to overtake his regiment whichwas already in Poland.

　　BOOK FIVE: 1806 - 07

　　CHAPTER I

　　After his interview with his wife Pierre left for Petersburg. At theTorzhok post station, either there were no horses or the postmasterwould 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 bigfeet in their overboots on the table, and began to reflect.

　　"Will you have the portmanteaus brought in? And a bed got ready, andtea?" asked his valet.

　　Pierre gave no answer, for he neither heard nor saw anything. He hadbegun to think of the last station and was still pondering on the samequestion- one so important that he took no notice of what went onaround him. Not only was he indifferent as to whether he got toPetersburg earlier or later, or whether he secured accommodation atthis station, but compared to the thoughts that now occupied him itwas a matter of indifference whether he remained there for a few hoursor for the rest of his life.

　　The postmaster, his wife, the valet, and a peasant woman sellingTorzhok embroidery came into the room offering their services. Withoutchanging his careless attitude, Pierre looked at them over hisspectacles unable to understand what they wanted or how they couldgo on living without having solved the problems that so absorbedhim. He had been engrossed by the same thoughts ever since the dayhe returned from Sokolniki after the duel and had spent that firstagonizing, 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 solveand yet could not cease to ask himself. It was as if the thread of thechief screw which held his life together were stripped, so that thescrew could not get in or out, but went on turning uselessly in thesame place.

　　The postmaster came in and began obsequiously to beg hisexcellency to wait only two hours, when, come what might, he would lethis excellency have the courier horses. It was plain that he was lyingand only wanted to get more money from the traveler.

　　"Is this good or bad?" Pierre asked himself. "It is good for me, badfor another traveler, and for himself it's unavoidable, because heneeds money for food; the man said an officer had once given him athrashing for letting a private traveler have the courier horses.But the officer thrashed him because he had to get on as quickly aspossible. And I," continued Pierre, "shot Dolokhov because Iconsidered myself injured, and Louis XVI was executed because theyconsidered him a criminal, and a year later they executed those whoexecuted him- also for some reason. What is bad? What is good? Whatshould one love and what hate? What does one live for? And what amI? What is life, and what is death? What power governs all?"

　　There was no answer to any of these questions, except one, andthat not a logical answer and not at all a reply to them. The answerwas: "You'll die and all will end. You'll die and know all, or ceaseasking." But dying was also dreadful.

　　The Torzhok peddler woman, in a whining voice, went on offeringher wares, especially a pair of goatskin slippers. "I have hundreds ofrubles I don't know what to do with, and she stands in her tatteredcloak looking timidly at me," he thought. "And what does she wantthe money for? As if that money could add a hair's breadth tohappiness or peace of mind. Can anything in the world make her or meless a prey to evil and death?- death which ends all and must cometoday or tomorrow- at any rate, in an instant as compared witheternity." 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 virtuousstruggles of a certain Emilie de Mansfeld. "And why did she resist herseducer when she loved him?" he thought. "God could not have putinto her heart an impulse that was against His will. My wife- as sheonce was- did not struggle, and perhaps she was right. Nothing hasbeen found out, nothing discovered," Pierre again said to himself."All we can know is that we know nothing. And that's the height ofhuman wisdom."

　　Everything within and around him seemed confused, senseless, andrepellent. Yet in this very repugnance to all his circumstances Pierrefound a kind of tantalizing satisfaction.

　　"I make bold to ask your excellency to move a little for thisgentleman," said the postmaster, entering the room followed by anothertraveler, also detained for lack of horses.

　　The newcomer was a short, large-boned, yellow-faced, wrinkled oldman, with gray bushy eyebrows overhanging bright eyes of an indefinitegrayish color.

　　Pierre took his feet off the table, stood up, and lay down on abed that had been got ready for him, glancing now and then at thenewcomer, who, with a gloomy and tired face, was wearily taking offhis wraps with the aid of his servant, and not looking at Pierre. Witha 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-croppedhair, and looked at Bezukhov. The stern, shrewd, and penetratingexpression of that look struck Pierre. He felt a wish to speak tothe stranger, but by the time he had made up his mind to ask him aquestion about the roads, the traveler had closed his eyes. Hisshriveled old hands were folded and on the finger of one of themPierre noticed a large cast iron ring with a seal representing adeath's head. The stranger sat without stirring, either resting or, asit seemed to Pierre, sunk in profound and calm meditation. His servantwas also a yellow, wrinkled old man, without beard or mustache,evidently not because he was shaven but because they had nevergrown. This active old servant was unpacking the traveler's canteenand preparing tea. He brought in a boiling samovar. When everythingwas ready, the stranger opened his eyes, moved to the table, filleda tumbler with tea for himself and one for the beardless old man towhom he passed it. Pierre began to feel a sense of uneasiness, and theneed, even the inevitability, of entering into conversation withthis stranger.

　　The servant brought back his tumbler turned upside down,* with anunfinished bit of nibbled sugar, and asked if anything more would bewanted.

　　*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 devotionalwork, and the traveler became absorbed in it. Pierre looked at him.All at once the stranger closed the book, putting in a marker, andagain, leaning with his arms on the back of the sofa, sat in hisformer position with his eyes shut. Pierre looked at him and had nottime to turn away when the old man, opening his eyes, fixed his steadyand severe gaze straight on Pierre's face.

　　Pierre felt confused and wished to avoid that look, but the brightold eyes attracted him irresistibly.BK5|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　"I have the pleasure of addressing Count Bezukhov, if I am notmistaken," 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, "andof your misfortune." He seemed to emphasize the last word, as if tosay- "Yes, misfortune! Call it what you please, I know that whathappened to you in Moscow was a misfortune."- "I regret it verymuch, 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, butfor greater reasons."

　　He paused, his gaze still on Pierre, and moved aside on the sofaby way of inviting the other to take a seat beside him. Pierre feltreluctant 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 areyoung and I am old. I should like to help you as far as lies in mypower."

　　"Oh, yes!" said Pierre, with a forced smile. "I am very gratefulto you. Where are you traveling from?"

　　The stranger's face was not genial, it was even cold and severe, butin spite of this, both the face and words of his new acquaintance wereirresistibly attractive to Pierre.

　　"But if for reason you don't feel inclined to talk to me," saidthe old man, "say so, my dear sir." And he suddenly smiled, in anunexpected and tenderly paternal way.

　　"Oh no, not at all! On the contrary, I am very glad to make youracquaintance," said Pierre. And again, glancing at the stranger'shands, he looked more closely at the ring, with its skull- a Masonicsign.

　　"Allow me to ask," he said, "are you a Mason?"

　　"Yes, I belong to the Brotherhood of the Freemasons," said thestranger, looking deeper and deeper into Pierre's eyes. "And intheir name and my own I hold out a brotherly hand to you."

　　"I am afraid," said Pierre, smiling, and wavering between theconfidence the personality of the Freemason inspired in him and hisown habit of ridiculing the Masonic beliefs- "I am afraid I am veryfar from understanding- how am I to put it?- I am afraid my way oflooking at the world is so opposed to yours that we shall notunderstand one another."

　　"I know your outlook," said the Mason, "and the view of life youmention, 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 fruitof pride, indolence, and ignorance. Forgive me, my dear sir, but ifI had not known it I should not have addressed you. Your view oflife is a regrettable delusion."

　　"Just as I may suppose you to be deluded," said Pierre, with a faintsmile.

　　"I should never dare to say that I know the truth," said theMason, whose words struck Pierre more and more by their precisionand firmness. "No one can attain to truth by himself. Only by layingstone on stone with the cooperation of all, by the millions ofgenerations from our forefather Adam to our own times, is thattemple reared which is to be a worthy dwelling place of the GreatGod," 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 tospeak the whole truth.

　　The Mason looked intently at Pierre and smiled as a rich man withmillions 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 cannotknow 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. Youdo not know Him, but He is here, He is in me, He is in my words, He isin thee, and even in those blasphemous words thou hast justuttered!" 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 bespeaking of Him, my dear sir. Of what, of whom, are we speaking?Whom hast thou denied?" he suddenly asked with exulting austerityand authority in his voice. "Who invented Him, if He did not exist?Whence came thy conception of the existence of such anincomprehensible Being? didst thou, and why did the whole world,conceive the idea of the existence of such an incomprehensibleBeing, a Being all-powerful, eternal, and infinite in all Hisattributes?..."

　　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 theleaves of his book with his old hands which from excitement he couldnot keep still. "If it were a man whose existence thou didst doubt Icould bring him to thee, could take him by the hand and show him tothee. But how can I, an insignificant mortal, show His omnipotence,His infinity, and all His mercy to one who is blind, or who shutshis eyes that he may not see or understand Him and may not see orunderstand his own vileness and sinfulness?" He paused again. "Who artthou? Thou dreamest that thou art wise because thou couldst utterthose blasphemous words," he went on, with a somber and scornfulsmile. "And thou art more foolish and unreasonable than a littlechild, who, playing with the parts of a skillfully made watch, daresto say that, as he does not understand its use, he does not believe inthe master who made it. To know Him is hard.... For ages, from ourforefather Adam to our own day, we labor to attain that knowledgeand are still infinitely far from our aim; but in our lack ofunderstanding we see only our weakness and His greatness...."

　　Pierre listened with swelling heart, gazing into the Mason's facewith shining eyes, not interrupting or questioning him, butbelieving with his whole soul what the stranger said. Whether heaccepted the wise reasoning contained in the Mason's words, orbelieved as a child believes, in the speaker's tone of convictionand earnestness, or the tremor of the speaker's voice- which sometimesalmost broke- or those brilliant aged eyes grown old in thisconviction, or the calm firmness and certainty of his vocation,which radiated from his whole being (and which struck Pierreespecially by contrast with his own dejection and hopelessness)- atany rate, Pierre longed with his whole soul to believe and he didbelieve, and felt a joyful sense of comfort, regeneration, andreturn to life.

　　"He is not to be apprehended by reason, but by life," said theMason.

　　"I do not understand," said Pierre, feeling with dismay doubtsreawakening. 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 mancannot 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 wishto imbibe," he said. "Can I receive that pure liquid into an impurevessel and judge of its purity? Only by the inner purification ofmyself 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 thoseworldly sciences of physics, history, chemistry, and the like, intowhich 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. Toreceive that science it is necessary to purify and renew one's innerself, and so before one can know, it is necessary to believe and toperfect one's self. And to attain this end, we have the light calledconscience that God has implanted in our souls."

　　"Yes, yes," assented Pierre.

　　"Look then at thy inner self with the eyes of the spirit, and askthyself whether thou art content with thyself. What hast thou attainedrelying 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 allthese 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 artpurified, thou wilt gain wisdom. Look at your life, my dear sir. Howhave you spent it? In riotous orgies and debauchery, receivingeverything from society and giving nothing in return. You havebecome the possessor of wealth. How have you used it? What have youdone for your neighbor? Have you ever thought of your tens ofthousands of slaves? Have you helped them physically and morally?No! You have profited by their toil to lead a profligate life. That iswhat you have done. Have you chosen a post in which you might be ofservice to your neighbor? No! You have spent your life in idleness.Then you married, my dear sir- took on yourself responsibility for theguidance of a young woman; and what have you done? You have not helpedher to find the way of truth, my dear sir, but have thrust her into anabyss of deceit and misery. A man offended you and you shot him, andyou say you do not know God and hate your life. There is nothingstrange 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 faceand moved his lips without uttering a sound. He wished to say, "Yes, avile, idle, vicious life!" but dared not break the silence.

　　The Mason cleared his throat huskily, as old men do, and calledhis servant.

　　"How about the horses?" he asked, without looking at Pierre.

　　"The exchange horses have just come," answered the servant. "Willyou not rest here?"

　　"No, tell them to harness."

　　"Can he really be going away leaving me alone without having told meall, and without promising to help me?" thought Pierre, rising withdowncast head; and he began to pace the room, glancing occasionally atthe Mason. "Yes, I never thought of it, but I have led acontemptible and profligate life, though I did not like it and did notwant to," thought Pierre. "But this man knows the truth and, if hewished to, could disclose it to me."

　　Pierre wished to say this to the Mason, but did not dare to. Thetraveler, having packed his things with his practiced hands, beganfastening his coat. When he had finished, he turned to Bezukhov, andsaid 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 donot suppose me to be so bad. With my whole soul I wish to be whatyou would have me be, but I have never had help from anyone.... But itis 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 asour Order can bestow it will render you, my dear sir. You are going toPetersburg. Hand this to Count Willarski" (he took out his notebookand 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 anddo not resume your former way of life. And now I wish you a goodjourney, my dear sir," he added, seeing that his servant hadentered... "and success."

　　The traveler was Joseph Alexeevich Bazdeev, as Pierre saw from thepostmaster's book. Bazdeev had been one of the best-known Freemasonsand Martinists, even in Novikov's time. For a long while after hehad gone, Pierre did not go to bed or order horses but paced up anddown the room, pondering over his vicious past, and with a rapturoussense of beginning anew pictured to himself the blissful,irreproachable, virtuous future that seemed to him so easy. Itseemed to him that he had been vicious only because he had somehowforgotten how good it is to be virtuous. Not a trace of his formerdoubts remained in his soul. He firmly believed in the possibilityof the brotherhood of men united in the aim of supporting oneanother in the path of virtue, and that is how Freemasonry presenteditself to him.BK5|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　On reaching Petersburg Pierre did not let anyone know of hisarrival, he went nowhere and spent whole days in reading Thomas aKempis, whose book had been sent him by someone unknown. One thinghe continually realized as he read that book: the joy, hithertounknown to him, of believing in the possibility of attainingperfection, and in the possibility of active brotherly love among men,which Joseph Alexeevich had revealed to him. A week after his arrival,the young Polish count, Willarski, whom Pierre had known slightly inPetersburg society, came into his room one evening in the official andceremonious manner in which Dolokhov's second had called on him,and, having closed the door behind him and satisfied himself thatthere was nobody else in the room, addressed Pierre.

　　"I have come to you with a message and an offer, Count," he saidwithout sitting down. "A person of very high standing in ourBrotherhood has made application for you to be received into our Orderbefore the usual term and has proposed to me to be your sponsor. Iconsider it a sacred duty to fulfill that person's wishes. Do you wishto enter the Brotherhood of Freemasons under my sponsorship?"

　　The cold, austere tone of this man, whom he had almost alwaysbefore met at balls, amiably smiling in the society of the mostbrilliant women, surprised Pierre.

　　"Yes, I do wish it," said he.

　　Willarski bowed his head.

　　"One more question, Count," he said, "which beg you to answer in allsincerity- not as a future Mason but as an honest man: have yourenounced 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 yourservice."

　　Willarski was silent throughout the drive. To Pierre's inquiriesas to what he must do and how he should answer, Willarski only repliedthat brothers more worthy than he would test him and that Pierre hadonly to tell the truth.

　　Having entered the courtyard of a large house where the Lodge hadits headquarters, and having ascended a dark staircase, they entered asmall well-lit anteroom where they took off their cloaks without theaid of a servant. From there they passed into another room. A man instrange attire appeared at the door. Willarski, stepping toward him,said something to him in French in an undertone and then went up toa small wardrobe in which Pierre noticed garments such as he had neverseen before. Having taken a kerchief from the cupboard, Willarskibound Pierre's eyes with it and tied it in a knot behind, catchingsome hairs painfully in the knot. Then he drew his face down, kissedhim, and taking him by the hand led him forward. The hairs tied in theknot hurt Pierre and there were lines of pain on his face and ashamefaced smile. His huge figure, with arms hanging down and with apuckered, 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 manfullyif you have firmly resolved to join our Brotherhood." (Pierre noddedaffirmatively.) "When you hear a knock at the door, you will uncoveryour 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 heshrugged his and raised his hand to the kerchief, as if wishing totake it off, but let it drop again. The five minutes spent with hiseyes bandaged seemed to him an hour. His arms felt numb, his legsalmost gave way, it seemed to him that he was tired out. Heexperienced a variety of most complex sensations. He felt afraid ofwhat would happen to him and still more afraid of showing his fear. Hefelt curious to know what was going to happen and what would berevealed to him; but most of all, he felt joyful that the moment hadcome when he would at last start on that path of regeneration and onthe actively virtuous life of which he had been dreaming since hemet Joseph Alexeevich. Loud knocks were heard at the door. Pierre tookthe bandage off his eyes and glanced around him. The room was in blackdarkness, only a small lamp was burning inside something white. Pierrewent nearer and saw that the lamp stood on a black table on whichlay an open book. The book was the Gospel, and the white thing withthe lamp inside was a human skull with its cavities and teeth. Afterreading the first words of the Gospel: "In the beginning was theWord and the Word was with God," Pierre went round the table and saw alarge open box filled with something. It was a coffin with bonesinside. He was not at all surprised by what he saw. Hoping to enter onan entirely new life quite unlike the old one, he expectedeverything to be unusual, even more unusual than what he was seeing. Askull, a coffin, the Gospel- it seemed to him that he had expected allthis 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 openedand someone came in.

　　By the dim light, to which Pierre had already become accustomed,he saw rather short man. Having evidently come from the light into thedarkness, the man paused, then moved with cautious steps toward thetable and placed on it his small leather-gloved hands.

　　This short man had on a white leather apron which covered hischest and part of his legs; he had on a kind of necklace above whichrose a high white ruffle, outlining his rather long face which was litup from below.

　　"For what have you come hither?" asked the newcomer, turning inPierre's direction at a slight rustle made by the latter. "Why haveyou, who do not believe in the truth of the light and who have notseen the light, come here? What do you seek from us? Wisdom, virtue,enlightenment?"

　　At the moment the door opened and the stranger came in, Pierrefelt a sense of awe and veneration such as he had experienced in hisboyhood at confession; he felt himself in the presence of one sociallya complete stranger, yet nearer to him through the brotherhood of man.With bated breath and beating heart he moved toward the Rhetor (bywhich name the brother who prepared a seeker for entrance into theBrotherhood was known). Drawing nearer, he recognized in the Rhetora man he knew, Smolyaninov, and it mortified him to think that thenewcomer was an acquaintance- he wished him simply a brother and avirtuous instructor. For a long time he could not utter a word, sothat the Rhetor had to repeat his question.

　　"Yes... I... I... desire regeneration," Pierre uttered withdifficulty.

　　"Very well," said Smolyaninov, and went on at once: "Have you anyidea of the means by which our holy Order will help you to reachyour 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 hisexcitement and to being unaccustomed to speak of abstract matters inRussian.

　　"What is your conception of Freemasonry?"

　　"I imagine that Freemasonry is the fraternity and equality of menwho have virtuous aims," said Pierre, feeling ashamed of theinadequacy of his words for the solemnity of the moment, as hespoke. "I imagine..."

　　"Good!" said the Rhetor quickly, apparently satisfied with thisanswer. "Have you sought for means of attaining your aim in religion?"

　　"No, I considered it erroneous and did not follow it," saidPierre, so softly that the Rhetor did not hear him and asked himwhat 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 theRhetor, after a moment's pause.

　　"Yes, yes," assented Pierre.

　　The Rhetor cleared his throat, crossed his gloved hands on hisbreast, 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 Brotherhoodwith profit. The first and chief object of our Order, the foundationon which it rests and which no human power can destroy, is thepreservation and handing on to posterity of a certain importantmystery... which has come down to us from the remotest ages, even fromthe 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 useit unless he be prepared by long and diligent self-purification, noteveryone can hope to attain it quickly. Hence we have a secondary aim,that of preparing our members as much as possible to reform theirhearts, to purify and enlighten their minds, by means handed on tous 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, toimprove the whole human race, offering it in our members an example ofpiety and virtue, and thereby try with all our might to combat theevil which sways the world. Think this over and I will come to youagain."

　　"To combat the evil which sways the world..." Pierre repeated, and amental image of his future activity in this direction rose in hismind. He imagined men such as he had himself been a fortnight ago, andhe addressed an edifying exhortation to them. He imagined to himselfvicious and unfortunate people whom he would assist by word anddeed, imagined oppressors whose victims he would rescue. Of thethree objects mentioned by the Rhetor, this last, that of improvingmankind, especially appealed to Pierre. The important mysterymentioned by the Rhetor, though it aroused his curiosity, did not seemto him essential, and the second aim, that of purifying andregenerating himself, did not much interest him because at that momenthe felt with delight that he was already perfectly cured of his formerfaults and was ready for all that was good.

　　Half an hour later, the Rhetor returned to inform the seeker ofthe seven virtues, corresponding to the seven steps of Solomon'stemple, which every Freemason should cultivate in himself. Thesevirtues 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," theRhetor said, "to bring yourself to regard it not as a dreaded foe, butas a friend that frees the soul grown weary in the labors of virtuefrom this distressful life, and leads it to its place of recompenseand peace."

　　"Yes, that must be so," thought Pierre, when after these words theRhetor went away, leaving him to solitary meditation. "It must beso, but I am still so weak that I love my life, the meaning of whichis only now gradually opening before me." But five of the othervirtues which Pierre recalled, counting them on his fingers, he feltalready in his soul: courage, generosity, morality, love of mankind,and especially obedience- which did not even seem to him a virtue, buta joy. (He now felt so glad to be free from his own lawlessness and tosubmit his will to those who knew the indubitable truth.) He forgotwhat the seventh virtue was and could not recall it.

　　The third time the Rhetor came back more quickly and asked Pierrewhether he was still firm in his intention and determined to submit toall that would be required of him.

　　"I am ready for everything," said Pierre.

　　"I must also inform you," said the Rhetor, "that our Orderdelivers its teaching not in words only but also by other means, whichmay perhaps have a stronger effect on the sincere seeker afterwisdom and virtue than mere words. This chamber with what you seetherein should already have suggested to your heart, if it is sincere,more than words could do. You will perhaps also see in your furtherinitiation a like method of enlightenment. Our Order imitates theancient societies that explained their teaching by hieroglyphics. Ahieroglyph," said the Rhetor, "is an emblem of something notcognizable by the senses but which possesses qualities resemblingthose of the symbol."

　　Pierre knew very well what a hieroglyph was, but dared not speak. Helistened to the Rhetor in silence, feeling from all he said that hisordeal was about to begin.

　　"If you are resolved, I must begin your initiation," said the Rhetorcoming closer to Pierre. "In token of generosity I ask you to giveme all your valuables."

　　"But I have nothing here," replied Pierre, supposing that he wasasked 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 managefor some time to get the wedding ring off his fat finger. When thathad been done, the Rhetor said:

　　"In token of obedience, I ask you to undress."

　　Pierre took off his coat, waistcoat, and left boot according tothe Rhetor's instructions. The Mason drew the shirt back from Pierre'sleft breast, and stooping down pulled up the left leg of histrousers to above the knee. Pierre hurriedly began taking off hisright boot also and was going to tuck up the other trouser leg to savethis stranger the trouble, but the Mason told him that was notnecessary and gave him a slipper for his left foot. With a childlikesmile of embarrassment, doubt, and self-derision, which appeared onhis face against his will, Pierre stood with his arms hanging down andlegs apart, before his brother Rhetor, and awaited his furthercommands.

　　"And now, in token of candor, I ask you to reveal to me your chiefpassion," said the latter.

　　"My passion! I have had so many," replied Pierre.

　　"That passion which more than all others caused you to waver onthe path of virtue," said the Mason.

　　Pierre paused, seeking a reply.

　　"Wine? Gluttony? Idleness? Laziness? Irritability? Anger? Women?" Hewent over his vices in his mind, not knowing to which of them togive 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 thisanswer. At last he moved up to Pierre and, taking the kerchief thatlay on the table, again bound his eyes.

　　"For the last time I say to you- turn all your attention uponyourself, put a bridle on your senses, and seek blessedness, not inpassion but in your own heart. The source of blessedness is notwithout us but within...."

　　Pierre had already long been feeling in himself that refreshingsource of blessedness which now flooded his heart with glad emotion.BK5|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Soon after this there came into the dark chamber to fetch Pierre,not the Rhetor but Pierre's sponsor, Willarski, whom he recognizedby his voice. To fresh questions as to the firmness of hisresolution Pierre replied: "Yes, yes, I agree," and with a beaming,childlike smile, his fat chest uncovered, stepping unevenly andtimidly in one slippered and one booted foot, he advanced, whileWillarski held a sword to his bare chest. He was conducted from thatroom along passages that turned backwards and forwards and was at lastbrought to the doors of the Lodge. Willarski coughed, he wasanswered by the Masonic knock with mallets, the doors opened beforethem. A bass voice (Pierre was still blindfold) questioned him as towho he was, when and where he was born, and so on. Then he was againled somewhere still blindfold, and as they went along he was toldallegories of the toils of his pilgrimage, of holy friendship, ofthe Eternal Architect of the universe, and of the courage with whichhe should endure toils and dangers. During these wanderings, Pierrenoticed that he was spoken of now as the "Seeker," now as the"Sufferer," and now as the "Postulant," to the accompaniment ofvarious knockings with mallets and swords. As he was being led up tosome object he noticed a hesitation and uncertainty among hisconductors. He heard those around him disputing in whispers and one ofthem insisting that he should be led along a certain carpet. Afterthat they took his right hand, placed it on something, and told him tohold a pair of compasses to his left breast with the other hand and torepeat after someone who read aloud an oath of fidelity to the laws ofthe 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 thelesser light. The bandage was taken off his eyes and, by the faintlight of the burning spirit, Pierre, as in a dream, saw several menstanding before him, wearing aprons like the Rhetor's and holdingswords in their hands pointed at his breast. Among them stood a manwhose white shirt was stained with blood. On seeing this, Pierre movedforward with his breast toward the swords, meaning them to pierceit. But the swords were drawn back from him and he was at onceblindfolded again.

　　"Now thou hast seen the lesser light," uttered a voice. Then thecandles were relit and he was told that he would see the full light;the bandage was again removed and more than ten voices saidtogether: "Sic transit gloria mundi."

　　Pierre gradually began to recover himself and looked about at theroom and at the people in it. Round a long table covered with blacksat some twelve men in garments like those he had already seen. Someof them Pierre had met in Petersburg society. In the President's chairsat a young man he did not know, with a peculiar cross hanging fromhis neck. On his right sat the Italian abbe whom Pierre had met atAnna Pavlovna's two years before. There were also present a verydistinguished dignitary and a Swiss who had formerly been tutor at theKuragins'. All maintained a solemn silence, listening to the wordsof the President, who held a mallet in his hand. Let into the wall wasa star-shaped light. At one side of the table was a small carpetwith various figures worked upon it, at the other was somethingresembling an altar on which lay a Testament and a skull. Round itstood seven large candlesticks like those used in churches. Two of thebrothers led Pierre up to the altar, placed his feet at rightangles, and bade him lie down, saying that he must prostrate himselfat 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 withoutobeying, and suddenly doubts arose in his mind. "Where am I? What am Idoing? Aren't they laughing at me? Shan't I be ashamed to rememberthis?" But these doubts only lasted a moment. Pierre glanced at theserious faces of those around, remembered all he had already gonethrough, and realized that he could not stop halfway. He was aghast athis hesitation and, trying to arouse his former devotional feeling,prostrated himself before the Gates of the Temple. And really, thefeeling 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 whiteleather apron, such as the others wore, was put on him: he was given atrowel and three pairs of gloves, and then the Grand Masteraddressed him. He told him that he should try to do nothing to stainthe whiteness of that apron, which symbolized strength and purity;then of the unexplained trowel, he told him to toil with it to cleansehis own heart from vice, and indulgently to smooth with it the heartof his neighbor. As to the first pair of gloves, a man's, he said thatPierre could not know their meaning but must keep them. The secondpair of man's gloves he was to wear at the meetings, and finally ofthe third, a pair of women's gloves, he said: "Dear brother, thesewoman's gloves are intended for you too. Give them to the woman whomyou shall honor most of all. This gift will be a pledge of your purityof heart to her whom you select to be your worthy helpmeet inMasonry." And after a pause, he added: "But beware, dear brother, thatthese gloves do not deck hands that are unclean." While the GrandMaster said these last words it seemed to Pierre that he grewembarrassed. Pierre himself grew still more confused, blushed like achild 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 tothe rug and began reading to him from a manuscript book an explanationof all the figures on it: the sun, the moon, a hammer, a plumb line, atrowel, 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 signsof the Lodge, told the password, and at last was permitted to sitdown. The Grand Master began reading the statutes. They were verylong, and Pierre, from joy, agitation, and embarrassment, was not in astate to understand what was being read. He managed to follow only thelast words of the statutes and these remained in his mind.

　　"In our temples we recognize no other distinctions," read theGrand Master, "but those between virtue and vice. Beware of making anydistinctions which may infringe equality. Fly to a brother's aidwhoever he may be, exhort him who goeth astray, raise him thatfalleth, never bear malice or enmity toward thy brother. Be kindly andcourteous. Kindle in all hearts the flame of virtue. Share thyhappiness with thy neighbor, and may envy never dim the purity of thatbliss. Forgive thy enemy, do not avenge thyself except by doing himgood. Thus fulfilling the highest law thou shalt regain traces ofthe ancient dignity which thou hast lost."

　　He finished and, getting up, embraced and kissed Pierre, who, withtears of joy in his eyes, looked round him, not knowing how toanswer the congratulations and greetings from acquaintances that methim on all sides. He acknowledged no acquaintances but saw in allthese men only brothers, and burned with impatience to set to workwith them.

　　The Grand Master rapped with his mallet. All the Masons sat downin their places, and one of them read an exhortation on thenecessity of humility.

　　The Grand Master proposed that the last duty should be performed,and the distinguished dignitary who bore the title of "Collector ofAlms" went round to all the brothers. Pierre would have liked tosubscribe all he had, but fearing that it might look like pridesubscribed the same amount as the others.

　　The meeting was at an end, and on reaching home Pierre felt as if hehad returned from a long journey on which he had spent dozens ofyears, had become completely changed, and had quite left behind hisformer habits and way of life.BK5|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　The day after he had been received into the Lodge, Pierre wassitting at home reading a book and trying to fathom the significanceof the Square, one side of which symbolized God, another moral things,a third physical things, and the fourth a combination of these. Nowand then his attention wandered from the book and the Square and heformed in imagination a new plan of life. On the previous evening atthe Lodge, he had heard that a rumor of his duel had reached theEmperor and that it would be wiser for him to leave Petersburg. Pierreproposed going to his estates in the south and there attending tothe welfare of his serfs. He was joyfully planning this new life, whenPrince Vasili suddenly entered the room.

　　"My dear fellow, what have you been up to in Moscow? Why have youquarreled with Helene, mon cher? You are under a delusion," saidPrince Vasili, as he entered. "I know all about it, and I can tell youpositively that Helene is as innocent before you as Christ wasbefore the Jews."

　　Pierre was about to reply, but Prince Vasili interrupted him.

　　"And why didn't you simply come straight to me as to a friend? Iknow all about it and understand it all," he said. "You behaved asbecomes a man values his honor, perhaps too hastily, but we won't gointo that. But consider the position in which you are placing herand 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 simplya misunderstanding. I expect you feel it so yourself. Let us write hera letter at once, and she'll come here and all will be explained, orelse, my dear boy, let me tell you it's quite likely you'll have tosuffer for it."

　　Prince Vasili gave Pierre a significant look.

　　"I know from reliable sources that the Dowager Empress is taking akeen interest in the whole affair. You know she is very gracious toHelene."

　　Pierre tried several times to speak, but, on one hand, Prince Vasilidid not let him and, on the other, Pierre himself feared to begin tospeak in the tone of decided refusal and disagreement in which hehad firmly resolved to answer his father-in-law. Moreover, the wordsof the Masonic statutes, "be kindly and courteous," recurred to him.He blinked, went red, got up and sat down again, struggling withhimself to do what was for him the most difficult thing in life- tosay 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 toPrince Vasili's tone of careless self-assurance that he felt hewould be unable to withstand it now, but he also felt that on whathe said now his future depended- whether he would follow the sameold road, or that new path so attractively shown him by the Masons, onwhich he firmly believed he would be reborn to a new life.

　　"Now, dear boy," said Prince Vasili playfully, "say 'yes,' andI'll write to her myself, and we will kill the fatted calf."

　　But before Prince Vasili had finished his playful speech, Pierre,without looking at him, and with a kind of fury that made him like hisfather, muttered in a whisper:

　　"Prince, I did not ask you here. Go, please go!" And he jumped upand opened the door for him.

　　"Go!" he repeated, amazed at himself and glad to see the look ofconfusion and fear that showed itself on Prince Vasili's face.

　　"What's the matter with you? Are you ill?"

　　"Go!" the quivering voice repeated. And Prince Vasili had to gowithout receiving any explanation.

　　A week later, Pierre, having taken leave of his new friends, theMasons, and leaving large sums of money with them for alms, wentaway to his estates. His new brethren gave him letters to the Kiev andOdessa Masons and promised to write to him and guide him in his newactivity.BK5|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　The duel between Pierre and Dolokhov was hushed up and, in spiteof the Emperor's severity regarding duels at that time, neither theprincipals nor their seconds suffered for it. But the story of theduel, confirmed by Pierre's rupture with his wife, was the talk ofsociety. Pierre who had been regarded with patronizing condescensionwhen he was an illegitimate son, and petted and extolled when he wasthe best match in Russia, had sunk greatly in the esteem of societyafter his marriage- when the marriageable daughters and theirmothers had nothing to hope from him- especially as he did not knowhow, and did not wish, to court society's favor. Now he alone wasblamed for what had happened, he was said to be insanely jealous andsubject like his father to fits of bloodthirsty rage. And when afterPierre's departure Helene returned to Petersburg, she was receivedby all her acquaintances not only cordially, but even with a shadeof deference due to her misfortune. When conversation turned on herhusband Helene assumed a dignified expression, which withcharacteristic tact she had acquired though she did not understand itssignificance. This expression suggested that she had resolved toendure her troubles uncomplainingly and that her husband was a crosslaid upon her by God. Prince Vasili expressed his opinion more openly.He shrugged his shoulders when Pierre was mentioned and, pointing tohis forehead, remarked:

　　"A bit touched- I always said so."

　　"I said from the first," declared Anna Pavlovna referring to Pierre,"I said at the time and before anyone else" (she insisted on herpriority) "that that senseless young man was spoiled by the depravedideas of these days. I said so even at the time when everybody wasin raptures about him, when he had just returned from abroad, andwhen, if you remember, he posed as a sort of Marat at one of mysoirees. And how has it ended? I was against this marriage even thenand foretold all that has happened."

　　Anna Pavlovna continued to give on free evenings the same kind ofsoirees as before- such as she alone had the gift of arranging- atwhich was to be found "the cream of really good society, the bloomof the intellectual essence of Petersburg," as she herself put it.Besides this refined selection of society Anna Pavlovna's receptionswere also distinguished by the fact that she always presented some newand interesting person to the visitors and that nowhere else was thestate of the political thermometer of legitimate Petersburg courtsociety so dearly and distinctly indicated.

　　Toward the end of 1806, when all the sad details of Napoleon'sdestruction of the Prussian army at Jena and Auerstadt and thesurrender of most of the Prussian fortresses had been received, whenour troops had already entered Prussia and our second war withNapoleon was beginning, Anna Pavlovna gave one of her soirees. The"cream of really good society" consisted of the fascinating Helene,forsaken by her husband, Mortemart, the delightful Prince Hippolytewho had just returned from Vienna, two diplomatists, the old aunt, ayoung man referred to in that drawing room as "a man of great merit"(un homme de beaucoup de merite), a newly appointed maid of honorand her mother, and several other less noteworthy persons.

　　The novelty Anna Pavlovna was setting before her guests that eveningwas Boris Drubetskoy, who had just arrived as a special messenger fromthe Prussian army and was aide-de-camp to a very important personage.

　　The temperature shown by the political thermometer to the companythat evening was this:

　　"Whatever the European sovereigns and commanders may do tocountenance Bonaparte, and to cause me, and us in general, annoyanceand mortification, our opinion of Bonaparte cannot alter. We shall notcease to express our sincere views on that subject, and can only sayto the King Prussia and others: 'So much the worse for you. Tu l'asvoulu, George Dandin,' that's all we have to say about it!"

　　When Boris, who was to be served up to the guests, entered thedrawing room, almost all the company had assembled, and theconversation, guided by Anna Pavlovna, was about our diplomaticrelations with Austria and the hope of an alliance with her.

　　Boris, grown more manly and looking fresh, rosy andself-possessed, entered the drawing room elegantly dressed in theuniform of an aide-de-camp and was duly conducted to pay hisrespects to the aunt and then brought back to the general circle.

　　Anna Pavlovna gave him her shriveled hand to kiss and introduced himto several persons whom he did not know, giving him a whispereddescription of each.charge d'affaires from Copenhagen- a profound intellect," andsimply, "Mr. Shitov- a man of great merit"- this of the man usually sodescribed.

　　Thanks to Anna Mikhaylovna's efforts, his own tastes, and thepeculiarities of his reserved nature, Boris had managed during hisservice to place himself very advantageously. He was aide-de-camp to avery important personage, had been sent on a very important mission toPrussia, and had just returned from there as a special messenger. Hehad become thoroughly conversant with that unwritten code with whichhe had been so pleased at Olmutz and according to which an ensignmight rank incomparably higher than a general, and according towhich what was needed for success in the service was not effort orwork, or courage, or perseverance, but only the knowledge of how toget on with those who can grant rewards, and he was himself oftensurprised at the rapidity of his success and at the inability ofothers to understand these things. In consequence of this discoveryhis whole manner of life, all his relations with old friends, allhis plans for his future, were completely altered. He was not rich,but would spend his last groat to be better dressed than others, andwould rather deprive himself of many pleasures than allow himself tobe seen in a shabby equipage or appear in the streets of Petersburg inan old uniform. He made friends with and sought the acquaintance ofonly those above him in position and who could therefore be of useto him. He liked Petersburg and despised Moscow. The remembrance ofthe Rostovs' house and of his childish love for Natasha was unpleasantto him and he had not once been to see the Rostovs since the day ofhis departure for the army. To be in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room heconsidered an important step up in the service, and he at onceunderstood his role, letting his hostess make use of whatever interesthe had to offer. He himself carefully scanned each face, appraisingthe possibilities of establishing intimacy with each of those present,and the advantages that might accrue. He took the seat indicated tohim beside the fair Helene and listened to the general conversation.

　　"Vienna considers the bases of the proposed treaty so unattainablethat not even a continuity of most brilliant successes would securethem, and she doubts the means we have of gaining them. That is theactual phrase used by the Vienna cabinet," said the Danish charged'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 ofAustria," said Mortemart. "The Emperor of Austria can never havethought of such a thing, it is only the cabinet that says it."

　　"Ah, my dear vicomte," put in Anna Pavlovna, "L'Urope" (for somereason she called it Urope as if that were a specially refinedFrench pronunciation which she could allow herself when conversingwith a Frenchman), "L'Urope ne sera jamais notre alliee sincere."*

　　*"Europe will never be our sincere ally."

　　After that Anna Pavlovna led up to the courage and firmness of theKing of Prussia, in order to draw Boris into the conversation.

　　Boris listened attentively to each of the speakers, awaiting histurn, but managed meanwhile to look round repeatedly at hisneighbor, the beautiful Helene, whose eyes several times met thoseof the handsome young aide-de-camp with a smile.

　　Speaking of the position of Prussia, Anna Pavlovna very naturallyasked Boris to tell them about his journey to Glogau and in what statehe found the Prussian army. Boris, speaking with deliberation, toldthem in pure, correct French many interesting details about the armiesand the court, carefully abstaining from expressing an opinion ofhis own about the facts he was recounting. For some time heengrossed the general attention, and Anna Pavlovna felt that thenovelty she had served up was received with pleasure by all hervisitors. The greatest attention of all to Boris' narrative wasshown by Helene. She asked him several questions about his journey andseemed greatly interested in the state of the Prussian army. As soonas he had finished she turned to him with her usual smile.

　　"You absolutely must come and see me," she said in a tone thatimplied that, for certain considerations he could not know of, thiswas absolutely necessary.

　　"On Tuesday between eight and nine. It will give me great pleasure."

　　Boris promised to fulfill her wish and was about to begin aconversation with her, when Anna Pavlovna called him away on thepretext that her aunt wished to hear him.

　　"You know her husband, of course?" said Anna Pavlovna, closing hereyes and indicating Helene with a sorrowful gesture. "Ah, she issuch an unfortunate and charming woman! Don't mention him beforeher- please don't! It is too painful for her!"BK5|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　When Boris and Anna Pavlovna returned to the others Prince Hippolytehad the ear of the company.

　　Bending forward in his armchair he said: "Le Roi de Prusse!" andhaving said this laughed. Everyone turned toward him.

　　"Le Roi de Prusse?" Hippolyte said interrogatively, againlaughing, and then calmly and seriously sat back in his chair. AnnaPavlovna waited for him to go on, but as he seemed quite decided tosay no more she began to tell of how at Potsdam the impiousBonaparte had stolen the sword of Frederick the Great.

　　"It is the sword of Frederick the Great which I..." she began, butHippolyte interrupted her with the words: "Le Roi de Prusse..." andagain, as soon as soon as all turned toward him, excused himself andsaid no more.

　　Anna Pavlovna frowned. Mortemart, Hippolyte's friend, addressedhim 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 ajoke he had heard in Vienna and which he had been trying all thatevening to get in) "I only wished to say that we are wrong to fightpour le Roi de Prusse!"

　　Boris smiled circumspectly, so that it might be taken as ironical orappreciative according to the way the joke was received. Everybodylaughed.

　　"Your joke is too bad, it's witty but unjust," said Anna Pavlovna,shaking her little shriveled finger at him.

　　"We are not fighting pour le Roi de Prusse, but for rightprinciples. Oh, that wicked Prince Hippolyte!" she said.

　　The conversation did not flag all evening and turned chiefly onthe political news. It became particularly animated toward the endof the evening when the rewards bestowed by the Emperor werementioned.

　　"You know N- N- received a snuffbox with the portrait last year?"said "the man of profound intellect." "Why shouldn't S- S- get thesame distinction?"

　　"Pardon me! A snuffbox with the Emperor's portrait is a reward butnot 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, Helene who had spoken very little all theevening again turned to Boris, asking him in a tone of caressingsignificant command to come to her on Tuesday.

　　"It is of great importance to me," she said, turning with a smiletoward Anna Pavlovna, and Anna Pavlovna, with the same sad smilewith which she spoke of her exalted patroness, supported Helene'swish.

　　It seemed as if from some words Boris had spoken that eveningabout the Prussian army, Helene had suddenly found it necessary to seehim. She seemed to promise to explain that necessity to him when hecame on Tuesday.

　　But on Tuesday evening, having come to Helene's splendid salon,Boris received no clear explanation of why it had been necessary forhim to come. There were other guests and the countess talked little tohim, and only as he kissed her hand on taking leave saidunexpectedly 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, Boris became an intimate in thecountess' house.BK5|CH8

　　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, andfrom the seat of war came contradictory news, false as usual andtherefore variously interpreted. The life of old Prince Bolkonski,Prince Andrew, and Princess Mary had greatly changed since 1805.

　　In 1806 the old prince was made one of the eight commanders in chiefthen appointed to supervise the enrollment decreed throughoutRussia. Despite the weakness of age, which had become particularlynoticeable 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 beenappointed by the Emperor himself, and this fresh opportunity foraction gave him new energy and strength. He was continuallytraveling through the three provinces entrusted to him, was pedanticin the fulfillment of his duties, severe to cruelty with hissubordinates, and went into everything down to the minutest detailshimself. Princess Mary had ceased taking lessons in mathematics fromher father, and when the old prince was at home went to his study withthe wet nurse and little Prince Nicholas (as his grandfather calledhim). The baby Prince Nicholas lived with his wet nurse and nurseSavishna in the late princess' rooms and Princess Mary spent most ofthe day in the nursery, taking a mother's place to her little nephewas best she could. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, seemed passionatelyfond of the boy, and Princess Mary often deprived herself to giveher friend the pleasure of dandling the little angel- as she calledher nephew- and playing with him.

　　Near the altar of the church at Bald Hills there was a chapel overthe tomb of the little princess, and in this chapel was a marblemonument brought from Italy, representing an angel with outspreadwings ready to fly upwards. The angel's upper lip was slightlyraised as though about to smile, and once on coming out of thechapel Prince Andrew and Princess Mary admitted to one another thatthe angel's face reminded them strangely of the little princess. Butwhat was still stranger, though of this Prince Andrew said nothingto his sister, was that in the expression the sculptor had happened togive the angel's face, Prince Andrew read the same mild reproach hehad read on the face of his dead wife: "Ah, why have you done thisto me?"

　　Soon after Prince Andrew's return the old prince made over to hima large estate, Bogucharovo, about twenty-five miles from BaldHills. Partly because of the depressing memories associated withBald Hills, partly because Prince Andrew did not always feel equalto bearing with his father's peculiarities, and partly because heneeded solitude, Prince Andrew made use of Bogucharovo, began buildingand spent most of his time there.

　　After the Austerlitz campaign Prince Andrew had firmly resolvednot to continue his military service, and when the war recommenced andeverybody had to serve, he took a post under his father in therecruitment so as to avoid active service. The old prince and hisson seemed to have changed roles since the campaign of 1805. The oldman, roused by activity, expected the best results from the newcampaign, while Prince Andrew on the contrary, taking no part in thewar 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'sabsence. Little Nicholas had been unwell for four days. The coachmanwho had driven the old prince to town returned bringing papers andletters for Prince Andrew.

　　Not finding the young prince in his study the valet went with theletters 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, Petrusha has brought somepapers," said one of the nursemaids to Prince Andrew who was sittingon a child's little chair while, frowning and with trembling hands, hepoured drops from a medicine bottle into a wineglass half full ofwater.

　　"What is it?" he said crossly, and, his hand shakingunintentionally, he poured too many drops into the glass. He threw themixture onto the floor and asked for some more water. The maid broughtit.

　　There were in the room a child's cot, two boxes, two armchairs, atable, a child's table, and the little chair on which Prince Andrewwas sitting. The curtains were drawn, and a single candle wasburning on the table, screened by a bound music book so that the lightdid not fall on the cot.

　　"My dear," said Princess Mary, addressing her brother from besidethe cot where she was standing, "better wait a bit... later..."

　　"Oh, leave off, you always talk nonsense and keep putting thingsoff- and this is what comes of it!" said Prince Andrew in anexasperated 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," saidPrincess Mary, evidently intimidated and confused that her opinion hadprevailed. She drew her brother's attention to the maid who wascalling him in a whisper.

　　It was the second night that neither of them had slept, watching theboy who was in a high fever. These last days, mistrusting theirhousehold doctor and expecting another for whom they had sent to town,they had been trying first one remedy and then another. Worn out bysleeplessness and anxiety they threw their burden of sorrow on oneanother and reproached and disputed with each other.

　　"Petrusha has come with papers from your father," whispered themaid.

　　Prince Andrew went out.

　　"Devil take them!" he muttered, and after listening to the verbalinstructions his father had sent and taking the correspondence and hisfather's letter, he returned to the nursery.

　　"Well?" he asked.

　　"Still the same. Wait, for heaven's sake. Karl Ivanich always saysthat sleep is more important than anything," whispered Princess Marywith a sigh.

　　Prince Andrew went up to the child and felt him. He was burning hot.

　　"Confound you and your Karl Ivanich!" He took the glass with thedrops and again went up to the cot.

　　"Andrew, don't!" said Princess Mary.

　　But he scowled at her angrily though also with suffering in hiseyes, 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 submissivelyand calling the nurse began giving the medicine. The child screamedhoarsely. Prince Andrew winced and, clutching his head, went out andsat down on a sofa in the next room.

　　He still had all the letters in his hand. Opening themmechanically he began reading. The old prince, now and then usingabbreviations, wrote in his large elongated hand on blue paper asfollows:

　　Have just this moment received by special messenger very joyfulnews- if it's not false. Bennigsen seems to have obtained a completevictory over Buonaparte at Eylau. In Petersburg everyone is rejoicing,and the rewards sent to the army are innumerable. Though he is aGerman- I congratulate him! I can't make out what the commander atKorchevo- a certain Khandrikov- is up to; till now the additionalmen and provisions have not arrived. Gallop off to him at once and sayI'll have his head off if everything is not here in a week. Havereceived another letter about the Preussisch-Eylau battle fromPetenka- he took part in it- and it's all true. When mischief-makersdon't meddle even a German beats Buonaparte. He is said to befleeing in great disorder. Mind you gallop off to Korchevo withoutdelay and carry out instructions!

　　Prince Andrew sighed and broke the seal of another envelope. Itwas a closely written letter of two sheets from Bilibin. He foldedit up without reading it and reread his father's letter, ending withthe words: "Gallop off to Korchevo and carry out instructions!"

　　"No, pardon me, I won't go now till the child is better," thoughthe, going to the door and looking into the nursery.

　　Princess Mary was still standing by the cot, gently rocking thebaby.

　　"Ah yes, and what else did he say that's unpleasant?" thought PrinceAndrew, recalling his father's letter. "Yes, we have gained avictory over Bonaparte, just when I'm not serving. Yes, yes, he'salways poking fun at me.... Ah, well! Let him!" And he began readingBilibin's letter which was written in French. He read withoutunderstanding 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 ofall else.BK5|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Bilibin was now at army headquarters in a diplomatic capacity, andthough he wrote in French and used French jests and French idioms,he described the whole campaign with a fearless self-censure andself-derision genuinely Russian. Bilibin wrote that the obligationof diplomatic discretion tormented him, and he was happy to have inPrince Andrew a reliable correspondent to whom he could pour out thebile he had accumulated at the sight of all that was being done in thearmy. The letter was old, having been written before the battle atPreussisch-Eylau.

　　"Since the day of our brilliant success at Austerlitz," wroteBilibin, "as you know, my dear prince, I never leave headquarters. Ihave certainly acquired a taste for war, and it is just as well forme; what I have seen during these last three months is incredible.

　　"I begin ab ovo. 'The enemy of the human race,' as you know, attacksthe Prussians. The Prussians are our faithful allies who have onlybetrayed us three times in three years. We take up their cause, but itturns out that 'the enemy of the human race' pays no heed to ourfine speeches and in his rude and savage way throws himself on thePrussians without giving them time to finish the parade they hadbegun, and in two twists of the hand he breaks them to smithereens andinstalls himself in the palace at Potsdam.

　　"'I most ardently desire,' writes the King of Prussia toBonaparte, 'that Your Majesty should be received and treated in mypalace in a manner agreeable to yourself, and in so far ascircumstances allowed, I have hastened to take all steps to thatend. May I have succeeded!' The Prussian generals pride themselveson being polite to the French and lay down their arms at the firstdemand.

　　"The head of the garrison at Glogau, with ten thousand men, asks theKing 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 haveeverything in perfect order, only one little thing is lacking, namely,a commander in chief. As it was considered that the Austerlitz successmight have been more decisive had the commander in chief not been soyoung, all our octogenarians were reviewed, and of Prozorovski andKamenski the latter was preferred. The general comes to us,Suvorov-like, in a kibitka, and is received with acclamations of joyand triumph.

　　"On the 4th, the first courier arrives from Petersburg. The mailsare taken to the field marshal's room, for he likes to do everythinghimself. I am called in to help sort the letters and take thosemeant for us. The field marshal looks on and waits for lettersaddressed to him. We search, but none are to be found. The fieldmarshal grows impatient and sets to work himself and finds lettersfrom the Emperor to Count T., Prince V., and others. Then he burstsinto one of his wild furies and rages at everyone and everything,seizes the letters, opens them, and reads those from the Emperoraddressed to others. 'Ah! So that's the way they treat me! Noconfidence 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 toGeneral Bennigsen:

　　'I am wounded and cannot ride and consequently cannot command thearmy. You have brought your army corps to Pultusk, routed: here itis exposed, and without fuel or forage, so something must be done,and, as you yourself reported to Count Buxhowden yesterday, you mustthink of retreating to our frontier- which do today.'

　　"'From all my riding,' he writes to the Emperor, 'I have got asaddle sore which, coming after all my previous journeys, quiteprevents my riding and commanding so vast an army, so I have passed onthe command to the general next in seniority, Count Buxhowden,having sent him my whole staff and all that belongs to it, advisinghim if there is a lack of bread, to move farther into the interiorof Prussia, for only one day's ration of bread remains, and in someregiments none at all, as reported by the division commanders,Ostermann and Sedmoretzki, and all that the peasants had has beeneaten up. I myself will remain in hospital at Ostrolenka till Irecover. In regard to which I humbly submit my report, with theinformation that if the army remains in its present bivouac anotherfortnight 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 isalready in any case dishonored by being unable to fulfill the greatand glorious task for which he was chosen. I shall await your mostgracious permission here in hospital, that I may not have to playthe part of a secretary rather than commander in the army. Myremoval from the army does not produce the slightest stir- a blind manhas 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 increasinglyinteresting and entertaining. After the field marshal's departure itappears that we are within sight of the enemy and must give battle.Buxhowden is commander in chief by seniority, but General Bennigsendoes not quite see it; more particularly as it is he and his corps whoare within sight of the enemy and he wishes to profit by theopportunity to fight a battle 'on his own hand' as the Germans say. Hedoes so. This is the battle of Pultusk, which is considered a greatvictory but in my opinion was nothing of the kind. We civilians, asyou know, have a very bad way of deciding whether a battle was wonor 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 Pultusk. Inshort, we retreat after the battle but send a courier to Petersburgwith news of a victory, and General Bennigsen, hoping to receivefrom Petersburg the post of commander in chief as a reward for hisvictory, does not give up the command of the army to GeneralBuxhowden. During this interregnum we begin a very original andinteresting series of maneuvers. Our aim is no longer, as it shouldbe, to avoid or attack the enemy, but solely to avoid GeneralBuxhowden who by right of seniority should be our chief. Soenergetically do we pursue this aim that after crossing anunfordable river we burn the bridges to separate ourselves from ourenemy, who at the moment is not Bonaparte but Buxhowden. GeneralBuxhowden was all but attacked and captured by a superior enemyforce as a result of one of these maneuvers that enabled us toescape him. Buxhowden pursues us- we scuttle. He hardly crosses theriver to our side before we recross to the other. At last our enemy.Buxhowden, catches us and attacks. Both generals are angry, and theresult is a challenge on Buxhowden's part and an epileptic fit onBennigsen's. But at the critical moment the courier who carried thenews of our victory at Pultusk to Petersburg returns bringing ourappointment as commander in chief, and our first foe, Buxhowden, isvanquished; we can now turn our thoughts to the second, Bonaparte. Butas 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 roadsimpassable. The Orthodox begin looting, and in a way of which our lastcampaign can give you no idea. Half the regiments form bands and scourthe countryside and put everything to fire and sword. Theinhabitants are totally ruined, the hospitals overflow with sick,and famine is everywhere. Twice the marauders even attack ourheadquarters, and the commander in chief has to ask for a battalion todisperse them. During one of these attacks they carried off my emptyportmanteau and my dressing gown. The Emperor proposes to give allcommanders of divisions the right to shoot marauders, but I muchfear 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 trustBilibin), what he had read began to interest him more and more. Whenhe 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 lifeout there in which he had now no part could perturb him. He shut hiseyes, rubbed his forehead as if to rid himself of all interest in whathe had read, and listened to what was passing in the nursery. Suddenlyhe thought he heard a strange noise through the door. He was seizedwith alarm lest something should have happened to the child while hewas reading the letter. He went on tiptoe to the nursery door andopened it.

　　Just as he went in he saw that the nurse was hiding something fromhim with a scared look and that Princess Mary was no longer by thecot.

　　"My dear," he heard what seemed to him her despairing whisper behindhim.

　　As often happens after long sleeplessness and long anxiety, he wasseized by an unreasoning panic- it occurred to him that the childwas dead. All that he saw and heard seemed to confirm this terror.

　　"All is over," he thought, and a cold sweat broke out on hisforehead. He went to the cot in confusion, sure that he would findit empty and that the nurse had been hiding the dead baby. He drew thecurtain aside and for some time his frightened, restless eyes couldnot find the baby. At last he saw him: the rosy boy had tossed abouttill he lay across the bed with his head lower than the pillow, andwas smacking his lips in his sleep and breathing evenly.

　　Prince Andrew was as glad to find the boy like that, as if he hadalready lost him. He bent over him and, as his sister had taughthim, tried with his lips whether the child was still feverish. Thesoft forehead was moist. Prince Andrew touched the head with his hand;even the hair was wet, so profusely had the child perspired. He wasnot 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 showedunder the blanket. He heard a rustle behind him and a shadowappeared under the curtain of the cot. He did not look round, butstill gazing at the infant's face listened to his regular breathing.The dark shadow was Princess Mary, who had come up to the cot withnoiseless steps, lifted the curtain, and dropped it again behindher. Prince Andrew recognized her without looking and held out hishand 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 hisforehead against the pillow.

　　Prince Andrew looked at his sister. In the dim shadow of the curtainher luminous eyes shone more brightly than usual from the tears of joythat were in them. She leaned over to her brother and kissed him,slightly catching the curtain of the cot. Each made the other awarning gesture and stood still in the dim light beneath the curtainas if not wishing to leave that seclusion where they three were shutoff 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.BK5|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Soon after his admission to the Masonic Brotherhood, Pierre wentto the Kiev province, where he had the greatest number of serfs,taking with him full directions which he had written down for hisown guidance as to what he should do on his estates.

　　When he reached Kiev he sent for all his stewards to the head officeand explained to them his intentions and wishes. He told them thatsteps would be taken immediately to free his serfs- and that till thenthey were not to be overburdened with labor, women while nursing theirbabies were not to be sent to work, assistance was to be given tothe serfs, punishments were to be admonitory and not corporal, andhospitals, asylums, and schools were to be established on all theestates. Some of the stewards (there were semiliterate foremen amongthem) listened with alarm, supposing these words to mean that theyoung count was displeased with their management and embezzlement ofmoney, some after their first fright were amused by Pierre's lispand the new words they had not heard before, others simply enjoyedhearing how the master talked, while the cleverest among them,including the chief steward, understood from this speech how theycould 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 gointo the general state of affairs which was far from satisfactory.

　　Despite Count Bezukhov's enormous wealth, since he had come intoan income which was said to amount to five hundred thousand rubles ayear, Pierre felt himself far poorer than when his father had made himan allowance of ten thousand rubles. He had a dim perception of thefollowing 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 townhouse, and the allowance to the three princesses; about 15,000 wasgiven in pensions and the same amount for asylums; 150,000 alimony wassent to the countess; about 70,00 went for interest on debts. Thebuilding of a new church, previously begun, had cost about 10,000 ineach of the last two years, and he did not know how the rest, about100,000 rubles, was spent, and almost every year he was obliged toborrow. Besides this the chief steward wrote every year telling him offires and bad harvests, or of the necessity of rebuilding factoriesand workshops. So the first task Pierre had to face was one forwhich he had very little aptitude or inclination- practical business.

　　He discussed estate affairs every day with his chief steward. But hefelt that this did not forward matters at all. He felt that theseconsultations were detached from real affairs and did not link up withthem or make them move. On the one hand, the chief steward put thestate of things to him in the very worst light, pointing out thenecessity of paying off the debts and undertaking new activitieswith 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 theloans from the Land Bank, and the consequent impossibility of a speedyemancipation.

　　The steward did not say it was quite impossible, but suggestedselling the forests in the province of Kostroma, the land lower downthe river, and the Crimean estate, in order to make it possible: allof which operations according to him were connected with suchcomplicated measures- the removal of injunctions, petitions,permits, and so on- that Pierre became quite bewildered and onlyreplied:

　　"Yes, yes, do so."

　　Pierre had none of the practical persistence that would have enabledhim to attend to the business himself and so he disliked it and onlytried to pretend to the steward that he was attending to it. Thesteward for his part tried to pretend to the count that heconsidered these consultations very valuable for the proprietor andtroublesome to himself.

　　In Kiev Pierre found some people he knew, and strangers hastenedto make his acquaintance and joyfully welcomed the rich newcomer,the largest landowner of the province. Temptations to Pierre'sgreatest weakness- the one to which he had confessed when admittedto the Lodge- were so strong that he could not resist them. Againwhole days, weeks, and months of his life passed in as great a rushand 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 oldlife, only in new surroundings.

　　Of the three precepts of Freemasonry Pierre realized that he did notfulfill the one which enjoined every Mason to set an example ofmoral life, and that of the seven virtues he lacked two- moralityand the love of death. He consoled himself with the thought that hefulfilled another of the precepts- that of reforming the human race-and had other virtues- love of his neighbor, and especiallygenerosity.

　　In the spring of 1807 he decided to return to Petersburg. On the wayhe intended to visit all his estates and see for himself how far hisorders had been carried out and in what state were the serfs whomGod had entrusted to his care and whom he intended to benefit.

　　The chief steward, who considered the young count's attemptsalmost insane- unprofitable to himself, to the count, and to theserfs- made some concessions. Continuing to represent the liberationof the serfs as impracticable, he arranged for the erection of largebuildings- schools, hospitals, and asylums- on all the estatesbefore the master arrived. Everywhere preparations were made not forceremonious welcomes (which he knew Pierre would not like), but forjust such gratefully religious ones, with offerings of icons and thebread and salt of hospitality, as, according to his understanding ofhis master, would touch and delude him.

　　The southern spring, the comfortable rapid traveling in a Viennacarriage, and the solitude of the road, all had a gladdening effect onPierre. The estates he had not before visited were each morepicturesque than the other; the serfs everywhere seemed thriving andtouchingly grateful for the benefits conferred on them. Everywherewere receptions, which though they embarrassed Pierre awakened ajoyful feeling in the depth of his heart. In one place the peasantspresented him with bread and salt and an icon of Saint Peter and SaintPaul, asking permission, as a mark of their gratitude for the benefitshe had conferred on them, to build a new chantry to the church attheir own expense in honor of Peter and Paul, his patron saints. Inanother place the women with infants in arms met him to thank himfor releasing them from hard work. On a third estate the priest,bearing a cross, came to meet him surrounded by children whom, bythe count's generosity, he was instructing in reading, writing, andreligion. On all his estates Pierre saw with his own eyes brickbuildings erected or in course of erection, all on one plan, forhospitals, schools, and almshouses, which were soon to be opened.Everywhere he saw the stewards' accounts, according to which theserfs' manorial labor had been diminished, and heard the touchingthanks of deputations of serfs in their full-skirted blue coats.

　　What Pierre did not know was that the place where they presented himwith bread and salt and wished to build a chantry in honor of Peterand Paul was a market village where a fair was held on St. Peter'sday, and that the richest peasants (who formed the deputation) hadbegun the chantry long before, but that nine tenths of the peasants inthat villages were in a state of the greatest poverty. He did not knowthat since the nursing mothers were no longer sent to work on hisland, they did still harder work on their own land. He did not knowthat the priest who met him with the cross oppressed the peasants byhis exactions, and that the pupils' parents wept at having to lethim take their children and secured their release by heavy payments.He did not know that the brick buildings, built to plan, were beingbuilt by serfs whose manorial labor was thus increased, thoughlessened on paper. He did not know that where the steward had shownhim in the accounts that the serfs' payments had been diminished bya third, their obligatory manorial work had been increased by ahalf. And so Pierre was delighted with his visit to his estates andquite recovered the philanthropic mood in which he had leftPetersburg, 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 atreceiving it. This gratitude reminded him of how much more he might dofor these simple, kindly people.

　　The chief steward, a very stupid but cunning man who saw perfectlythrough the naive and intelligent count and played with him as witha toy, seeing the effect these prearranged receptions had on Pierre,pressed him still harder with proofs of the impossibility and aboveall the uselessness of freeing the serfs, who were quite happy as itwas.

　　Pierre in his secret soul agreed with the steward that it would bedifficult to imagine happier people, and that God only knew what wouldhappen to them when they were free, but he insisted, thoughreluctantly, on what he thought right. The steward promised to doall in his power to carry out the count's wishes, seeing clearlythat not only would the count never be able to find out whether allmeasures had been taken for the sale of the land and forests and torelease them from the Land Bank, but would probably never even inquireand would never know that the newly erected buildings were standingempty and that the serfs continued to give in money and work allthat other people's serfs gave- that is to say, all that could begot out of them.BK5|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Returning from his journey through South Russia in the happieststate of mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had ofvisiting his friend Bolkonski, whom he had not seen for two years.

　　Bogucharovo lay in a flat uninteresting part of the country amongfields and forests of fir and birch, which were partly cut down. Thehouse lay behind a newly dug pond filled with water to the brink andwith banks still bare of grass. It was at the end of a village thatstretched along the highroad in the midst of a young copse in whichwere a few fir trees.

　　The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, outhouses, stables,a bathhouse, a lodge, and a large brick house with semicircular facadestill in course of construction. Round the house was a garden newlylaid out. The fences and gates were new and solid; two fire pumpsand a water cart, painted green, stood in a shed; the paths werestraight, the bridges were strong and had handrails. Everything borean impress of tidiness and good management. Some domestic serfs Pierremet, in reply to inquiries as to where the prince lived, pointed out asmall newly built lodge close to the pond. Anton, a man who had lookedafter Prince Andrew in his boyhood, helped Pierre out of his carriage,said that the prince was at home, and showed him into a clean littleanteroom.

　　Pierre was struck by the modesty of the small though clean houseafter the brilliant surroundings in which he had last met his friendin Petersburg.

　　He quickly entered the small reception room with itsstill-unplastered wooden walls redolent of pine, and would have gonefarther, but Anton ran ahead on tiptoe and knocked at a door.

　　"Well, what is it?" came a sharp, unpleasant voice.

　　"A visitor," answered Anton.

　　"Ask him to wait," and the sound was heard of a chair being pushedback.

　　Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and suddenly came face toface with Prince Andrew, who came out frowning and looking old. Pierreembraced him and lifting his spectacles kissed his friend on the cheekand 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 withsurprise. He was struck by the change in him. His words were kindlyand there was a smile on his lips and face, but his eyes were dull andlifeless and in spite of his evident wish to do so he could not givethem a joyous and glad sparkle. Prince Andrew had grown thinner,paler, and more manly-looking, but what amazed and estranged Pierretill he got used to it were his inertia and a wrinkle on his browindicating prolonged concentration on some one thought.

　　As is usually the case with people meeting after a prolongedseparation, it was long before their conversation could settle onanything. They put questions and gave brief replies about thingsthey knew ought to be talked over at length. At last theconversation gradually settled on some of the topics at firstlightly touched on: their past life, plans for the future, Pierre'sjourneys and occupations, the war, and so on. The preoccupation anddespondency which Pierre had noticed in his friend's look was nowstill more clearly expressed in the smile with which he listened toPierre, especially when he spoke with joyful animation of the pastor the future. It was as if Prince Andrew would have liked tosympathize with what Pierre was saying, but could not. The latterbegan to feel that it was in bad taste to speak of his enthusiasms,dreams, and hopes of happiness or goodness, in Prince Andrew'spresence. He was ashamed to express his new Masonic views, which hadbeen particularly revived and strengthened by his late tour. Hechecked himself, fearing to seem naive, yet he felt an irresistibledesire to show his friend as soon as possible that he was now aquite different, and better, Pierre than he had been in Petersburg.

　　"I can't tell you how much I have lived through since then. I hardlyknow myself again."

　　"Yes, we have altered much, very much, since then," said PrinceAndrew.

　　"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 meanto 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 Andrewinterrupted him.

　　"But why talk of me?... Talk to me, yes, tell me about yourtravels and all you have been doing on your estates."

　　Pierre began describing what he had done on his estates, trying asfar as possible to conceal his own part in the improvements that hadbeen made. Prince Andrew several times prompted Pierre's story of whathe had been doing, as though it were all an old-time story, and helistened not only without interest but even as if ashamed of whatPierre was telling him.

　　Pierre felt uncomfortable and even depressed in his friend's companyand at last became silent.

　　"I'll tell you what, my dear fellow," said Prince Andrew, whoevidently also felt depressed and constrained with his visitor, "Iam only bivouacking here and have just come to look round. I amgoing back to my sister today. I will introduce you to her. But ofcourse you know her already," he said, evidently trying to entertain avisitor with whom he now found nothing in common. "We will go afterdinner. And would you now like to look round my place?"

　　They went out and walked about till dinnertime, talking of thepolitical news and common acquaintances like people who do not knoweach other intimately. Prince Andrew spoke with some animation andinterest only of the new homestead he was constructing and itsbuildings, but even here, while on the scaffolding, in the midst ofa talk explaining the future arrangements of the house, he interruptedhimself:

　　"However, this is not at all interesting. Let us have dinner, andthen 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 saidhurriedly: "I will tell you some time how it all happened. But youknow 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," saidPierre.

　　"Why so?" asked Prince Andrew. "To kill a vicious dog is a very goodthing really."

　　"No, to kill a man is bad- wrong."

　　"Why is it wrong?" urged Prince Andrew. "It is not given to man toknow what is right and what is wrong. Men always did and always willerr, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong."

　　"What does harm to another is wrong," said Pierre, feeling withpleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrew wasroused, had begun to talk, and wanted to express what had broughthim 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 forourselves."

　　"Yes, we know that, but the harm I am conscious of in myself issomething I cannot inflict on others," said Prince Andrew, growingmore and more animated and evidently wishing to express his newoutlook to Pierre. He spoke in French. "I only know two very realevils in life: remorse and illness. The only good is the absence ofthose evils. To live for myself avoiding those two evils is my wholephilosophy 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 tohave to repent is not enough. I lived like that, I lived for myselfand 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 shallnot agree with you, and you do not really believe what you aresaying." 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 ashort pause, "but everyone lives in his own way. You lived foryourself and say you nearly ruined your life and only foundhappiness when you began living for others. I experienced just thereverse. I lived for glory.- And after all what is glory? The samelove of others, a desire to do something for them, a desire fortheir approval.- So I lived for others, and not almost, but quite,ruined my life. And I have become calmer since I began to live onlyfor 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," explainedPrince Andrew. "The others, one's neighbors, le prochain, as you andPrincess 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. Heevidently 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 evendoing a little- though I did very little and did it very badly? Whatevil can there be in it if unfortunate people, our serfs, peoplelike ourselves, were growing up and dying with no idea of God andtruth beyond ceremonies and meaningless prayers and are now instructedin a comforting belief in future life, retribution, recompense, andconsolation? What evil and error are there in it, if people were dyingof disease without help while material assistance could so easily berendered, and I supplied them with a doctor, a hospital, and an asylumfor the aged? And is it not a palpable, unquestionable good if apeasant, or a woman with a baby, has no rest day or night and I givethem rest and leisure?" said Pierre, hurrying and lisping. "And I havedone that though badly and to a small extent; but I have donesomething toward it and you cannot persuade me that it was not agood action, and more than that, you can't make me believe that you donot think so yourself. And the main thing is," he continued, "that Iknow, and know for certain, that the enjoyment of doing this good isthe only sure happiness in life."

　　"Yes, if you put it like that it's quite a different matter," saidPrince Andrew. "I build a house and lay out a garden, and you buildhospitals. The one and the other may serve as a pastime. But what'sright and what's good must be judged by one who knows all, but notby us. Well, you want an argument," he added, come on then."

　　They rose from the table and sat down in the entrance porch whichserved 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, youwant to raise him" (pointing to a peasant who passed by them takingoff his cap) "from his animal condition and awaken in him spiritualneeds, while it seems to me that animal happiness is the onlyhappiness possible, and that is just what you want to deprive himof. I envy him, but you want to make him what I am, without giving himmy means. Then you say, 'lighten his toil.' But as I see it,physical labor is as essential to him, as much a condition of hisexistence, as mental activity is to you or me. You can't helpthinking. I go to bed after two in the morning, thoughts come and Ican't sleep but toss about till dawn, because I think and can't helpthinking, just as he can't help plowing and mowing; if he didn't, hewould go to the drink shop or fall ill. Just as I could not standhis terrible physical labor but should die of it in a week, so hecould not stand my physical idleness, but would grow fat and die.The third thing- what else was it you talked about?" and Prince Andrewcrooked 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 dragabout as a cripple, a burden to everybody, for another ten years. Itwould be far easier and simpler for him to die. Others are beingborn and there are plenty of them as it is. It would be different ifyou grudged losing a laborer- that's how I regard him- but you want tocure him from love of him. And he does not want that. And besides,what a notion that medicine ever cured anyone! Killed them, yes!" saidhe, frowning angrily and turning away from Pierre.

　　Prince Andrew expressed his ideas so clearly and distinctly thatit was evident he had reflected on this subject more than once, and hespoke readily and rapidly like a man who has not talked for a longtime. His glance became more animated as his conclusions became morehopeless.

　　"Oh, that is dreadful, dreadful!" said Pierre. "I don't understandhow one can live with such ideas. I had such moments myself not longago, in Moscow and when traveling, but at such times I collapsed sothat I don't live at all- everything seems hateful to me... myselfmost of all. Then I don't eat, don't wash... and how is it withyou?..."

　　"Why not wash? That is not cleanly," said Prince Andrew; "on thecontrary 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 bestI can without hurting others."

　　"But with such ideas what motive have you for living? One wouldsit without moving, undertaking nothing...."

　　"Life as it is leaves one no peace. I should be thankful to donothing, but here on the one hand the local nobility have done methe honor to choose me to be their marshal; it was all I could do toget out of it. They could not understand that I have not the necessaryqualifications for it- the kind of good-natured, fussy shallownessnecessary for the position. Then there's this house, which must bebuilt in order to have a nook of one's own in which to be quiet. Andnow there's this recruiting."

　　"Why aren't you serving in the army?"

　　"After Austerlitz!" said Prince Andrew gloomily. "No, thank you verymuch! I have promised myself not to serve again in the activeRussian army. And I won't- not even if Bonaparte were here at Smolenskthreatening Bald Hills- even then I wouldn't serve in the Russianarmy! Well, as I was saying," he continued, recovering hiscomposure, "now there's this recruiting. My father is chief in commandof the Third District, and my only way of avoiding active service isto 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 menof his time. But he is growing old, and though not exactly cruel hehas too energetic a character. He is so accustomed to unlimitedpower that he is terrible, and now he has this authority of acommander in chief of the recruiting, granted by the Emperor. If I hadbeen two hours late a fortnight ago he would have had a paymaster'sclerk at Yukhnovna hanged," said Prince Andrew with a smile. "So Iam serving because I alone have any influence with my father, andnow and then can save him from actions which would torment himafterwards."

　　"Well, there you see!"

　　"Yes, but it is not as you imagine," Prince Andrew continued. "I didnot, and do not, in the least care about that scoundrel of a clerk whohad stolen some boots from the recruits; I should even have beenvery glad to see him hanged, but I was sorry for my father- that againis for myself."

　　Prince Andrew grew more and more animated. His eyes glitteredfeverishly while he tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions therewas no desire to do good to his neighbor.

　　"There now, you wish to liberate your serfs," he continued; "that isa very good thing, but not for you- I don't suppose you ever hadanyone flogged or sent to Siberia- and still less for your serfs. Ifthey are beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I don't suppose they areany the worse off. In Siberia they lead the same animal life, andthe stripes on their bodies heal, and they are happy as before. But itis a good thing for proprietors who perish morally, bring remorse uponthemselves, stifle this remorse and grow callous, as a result of beingable to inflict punishments justly and unjustly. It is those peopleI pity, and for their sake I should like to liberate the serfs. Youmay not have seen, but I have seen, how good men brought up in thosetraditions of unlimited power, in time when they grow moreirritable, become cruel and harsh, are conscious of it, but cannotrestrain themselves and grow more and more miserable."

　　Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre could not help thinkingthat these thoughts had been suggested to Prince Andrew by hisfather'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 youmay, always remain the same backs and foreheads."

　　"No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never agree with you," saidPierre.BK5|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　In the evening Andrew and Pierre got into the open carriage anddrove to Bald Hills. Prince Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke thesilence now and then with remarks which showed that he was in a goodtemper.

　　Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the improvements he was makingin his husbandry.

　　Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering in monosyllables andapparently immersed in his own thoughts.

　　He was thinking that Prince Andrew was unhappy, had gone astray, didnot see the true light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid,enlighten, and raise him. But as soon as he thought of what heshould say, he felt that Prince Andrew with one word, one argument,would upset all his teaching, and he shrank from beginning, afraidof exposing to possible ridicule what to him was precious and sacred.

　　"No, but why do you think so?" Pierre suddenly began, lowering hishead 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 thoughtlike that, and do you know what saved me? Freemasonry! No, don'tsmile. Freemasonry is not a religious ceremonial sect, as I thought itwas: Freemasonry is the best expression of the best, the eternal,aspects of humanity."

　　And he began to explain Freemasonry as he understood it to PrinceAndrew. He said that Freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity freedfrom the bonds of State and Church, a teaching of equality,brotherhood, and love.

　　"Only our holy brotherhood has the real meaning of life, all therest is a dream," said Pierre. "Understand, my dear fellow, thatoutside this union all is filled with deceit and falsehood and I agreewith you that nothing is left for an intelligent and good man but tolive out his life, like you, merely trying not to harm others. Butmake our fundamental convictions your own, join our brotherhood,give yourself up to us, let yourself be guided, and you will at oncefeel yourself, as I have felt myself, a part of that vast invisiblechain the beginning of which is hidden in heaven," said Pierre.

　　Prince Andrew, looking straight in front of him, listened in silenceto Pierre's words. More than once, when the noise of the wheelsprevented his catching what Pierre said, he asked him to repeat it,and by the peculiar glow that came into Prince Andrew's eyes and byhis silence, Pierre saw that his words were not in vain and thatPrince Andrew would not interrupt him or laugh at what he said.

　　They reached a river that had overflowed its banks and which theyhad to cross by ferry. While the carriage and horses were being placedon it, they also stepped on the raft.

　　Prince Andrew, leaning his arms on the raft railing, gazedsilently at the flooding waters glittering in the setting sun.

　　"Well, what do you think about it?" Pierre asked. "Why are yousilent?"

　　"What do I think about it? I am listening to you. It's all verywell.... You say: join our brotherhood and we will show you the aim oflife, the destiny of man, and the laws which govern the world. But whoare we? Men. How is it you know everything? Why do I alone not seewhat you see? You see a reign of goodness and truth on earth, but Idon'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 notime to reply, took the repetition for a denial, the more readily ashe knew Prince Andrew's former atheistic convictions.

　　"You say you can't see a reign of goodness and truth on earth. Norcould I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as theend of everything. On earth, here on this earth" (Pierre pointed tothe fields), "there is no truth, all is false and evil; but in theuniverse, in the whole universe there is a kingdom of truth, and wewho are now the children of earth are- eternally- children of thewhole universe. Don't I feel in my soul that I am part of this vastharmonious whole? Don't I feel that I form one link, one step, betweenthe lower and higher beings, in this vast harmonious multitude ofbeings in whom the Deity- the Supreme Power if you prefer the term- ismanifest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading from plant toman, why should I suppose it breaks off at me and does not gofarther and farther? I feel that I cannot vanish, since nothingvanishes in this world, but that I shall always exist and alwayshave 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 notthat which can convince me, dear friend- life and death are whatconvince. What convinces is when one sees a being dear to one, boundup with one's own life, before whom one was to blame and had hopedto make it right" (Prince Andrew's voice trembled and he turned away),"and suddenly that being is seized with pain, suffers, and ceases toexist.... Why? It cannot be that there is no answer. And I believethere 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 thenecessity of a future life, but this: when you go hand in hand withsomeone and all at once that person vanishes there, into nowhere,and you yourself are left facing that abyss, and look in. And I havelooked in...."

　　"Well, that's it then! You know that there is a there and there is aSomeone? There is the future life. The Someone is- God."

　　Prince Andrew did not reply. The carriage and horses had longsince been taken off, onto the farther bank, and reharnessed. Thesun had sunk half below the horizon and an evening frost wasstarring the puddles near the ferry, but Pierre and Andrew, to theastonishment of the footmen, coachmen, and ferrymen, still stood onthe raft and talked.

　　"If there is a God and future life, there is truth and good, andman's highest happiness consists in striving to attain them. We mustlive, we must love, and we must believe that we live not only today onthis 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 listeningto Pierre, and he gazed with his eyes fixed on the red reflection ofthe sun gleaming on the blue waters. There was perfect stillness.Pierre became silent. The raft had long since stopped and only thewaves of the current beat softly against it below. Prince Andrewfelt 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 atPierre's face, flushed and rapturous, but yet shy before hissuperior friend.

　　"Yes, if it only were so!" said Prince Andrew. "However, it istime to get on," he added, and, stepping off the raft, he looked up atthe sky to which Pierre had pointed, and for the first time sinceAusterlitz saw that high, everlasting sky he had seen while lying onthat battlefield; and something that had long been slumbering,something that was best within him, suddenly awoke, joyful andyouthful, in his soul. It vanished as soon as he returned to thecustomary conditions of his life, but he knew that this feelingwhich he did not know how to develop existed within him. His meetingwith Pierre formed an epoch in Prince Andrew's life. Thoughoutwardly he continued to live in the same old way, inwardly hebegan a new life.BK5|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　It was getting dusk when Prince Andrew and Pierre drove up to thefront entrance of the house at Bald Hills. As they approached thehouse, Prince Andrew with asmile drew Pierre's attention to acommotion going on at the back porch. A woman, bent with age, with awallet on her back, and a short, long-haired, young man in a blackgarment had rushed back to the gate on seeing the carriage driving up.Two women ran out after them, and all four, looking round at thecarriage, ran in dismay up the steps of the back porch.

　　"Those are Mary's 'God's folk,'" said Prince Andrew. "They havemistaken us for my father. This is the one matter in which shedisobeys him. He orders these pilgrims to be driven away, but shereceives them."

　　"But what are 'God's folk'?" asked Pierre.

　　Prince Andrew had no time to answer. The servants came out to meetthem, and he asked where the old prince was and whether he wasexpected back soon.

　　The old prince had gone to the town and was expected back anyminute.

　　Prince Andrew led Pierre to his own apartments, which were alwayskept 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 youwill 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 herface when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps burning beforethe icon stand, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearinga monk's cassock, sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar. Nearthem, in an armchair, sat a thin, shriveled, old woman, with a meekexpression on her childlike face.

　　"Andrew, why didn't you warn me?" said the princess, with mildreproach, as she stood before her pilgrims like a hen before herchickens.

　　"Charmee de vous voir. Je suis tres contente de vous voir,"* shesaid 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 towardhim. She looked at him with her beautiful radiant eyes and seemed tosay, "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 Ivanushka is here too!" said Prince Andrew, glancing with asmile at the young pilgrim.

　　"Andrew!" said Princess Mary, imploringly. "Il faut que vous sachiezque 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 thepilgrims and Princess Mary's helpless attempts to protect them weretheir customary long-established relations on the matter.

　　"Mais, ma bonne amie," said Prince Andrew, "vous devriez aucontraire m'etre reconnaissante de ce que j'explique a Pierre votreintimite avec ce jeune homme."*

　　*"But, my dear, you ought on the contrary to be grateful to me forexplaining to Pierre your intimacy with this young man."

　　"Really?" said Pierre, gazing over his spectacles with curiosity andseriousness (for which Princess Mary was specially grateful to him)into Ivanushka'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 quiteunnecessary. They were not in the least abashed. The old woman,lowering her eyes but casting side glances at the newcomers, hadturned her cup upside down and placed a nibbled bit of sugar besideit, and sat quietly in her armchair, though hoping to be offeredanother cup of tea. Ivanushka, sipping out of her saucer, lookedwith 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 ChristmastimeI was deemed worthy to partake of the holy and heavenly sacrament atthe shrine of the saint. And now I'm from Kolyazin, master, where agreat and wonderful blessing has been revealed."

　　"And was Ivanushka with you?"

　　"I go by myself, benefactor," said Ivanushka, trying to speak in abass voice. "I only came across Pelageya in Yukhnovo..."

　　Pelageya interrupted her companion; she evidently wished to tellwhat she had seen.

　　"In Kolyazin, 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,Pelageya."

　　"No... why not, my dear, why shouldn't I? I like him. He is kind, heis 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 ofGod's own and goes barefoot summer and winter), he says, 'Why areyou not going to the right place? Go to Kolyazin where awonder-working icon of the Holy Mother of God has been revealed.' Onhearing 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 blessinghas been revealed, holy oil trickles from the cheeks of our blessedMother, the Holy Virgin Mother of God'...."

　　"All right, all right, you can tell us afterwards," said PrincessMary, flushing.

　　"Let me ask her," said Pierre. "Did you see it yourselves?" heinquired.

　　"Oh, yes, master, I was found worthy. Such a brightness on theface like the light of heaven, and from the blessed Mother's cheekit drops and drops...."

　　"But, dear me, that must be a fraud!" said Pierre, naively, whohad listened attentively to the pilgrim.

　　"Oh, master, what are you saying?" exclaimed the horrified Pelageya,turning to Princess Mary for support.

　　"They impose on the people," he repeated.

　　"Lord Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the pilgrim woman, crossingherself. "Oh, don't speak so, master! There was a general who didnot believe, and said, 'The monks cheat,' and as soon as he'd saidit he went blind. And he dreamed that the Holy Virgin Mother of theKiev catacombs came to him and said, 'Believe in me and I will makeyou whole.' So he begged: 'Take me to her, take me to her.' It's thereal 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 andsays, 'Make me whole,' says he, 'and I'll give thee what the Tsarbestowed on me.' I saw it myself, master, the star is fixed into theicon. Well, and what do you think? He received his sight! It's a sinto speak so. God will punish you," she said admonishingly, turningto Pierre.

　　"How did the star get into the icon?" Pierre asked.

　　"And was the Holy Mother promoted to the rank of general?" saidPrince Andrew, with a smile.

　　Pelageya 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 yousaid? God forgive you!" And she crossed herself. "Lord forgive him! Mydear, what does it mean?..." she asked, turning to Princess Mary.She got up and, almost crying, began to arrange her wallet. Sheevidently felt frightened and ashamed to have accepted charity in ahouse where such things could be said, and was at the same timesorry to have now to forgo the charity of this house.

　　"Now, why need you do it?" said Princess Mary. "Why did you cometo me?..."

　　"Come, Pelageya, I was joking," said Pierre. "Princesse, maparole, je n'ai pas voulu l'offenser.* I did not mean anything, Iwas only joking," he said, smiling shyly and trying to efface hisoffense. "It was all my fault, and Andrew was only joking."

　　*"Princess, on my word, I did not wish to offend her."

　　Pelageya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierre's face there was such alook of sincere penitence, and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly nowat her and now at Pierre, that she was gradually reassured.BK5|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　The pilgrim woman was appeased and, being encouraged to talk, gave along account of Father Amphilochus, who led so holy a life that hishands smelled of incense, and how on her last visit to Kiev some monksshe knew let her have the keys of the catacombs, and how she, takingsome dried bread with her, had spent two days in the catacombs withthe saints. "I'd pray awhile to one, ponder awhile, then go on toanother. I'd sleep a bit and then again go and kiss the relics, andthere was such peace all around, such blessedness, that one don't wantto come out, even into the light of heaven again."

　　Pierre listened to her attentively and seriously. Prince Andrew wentout 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 themso 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 asof a brother," she said. "How do you find Andrew?" she addedhurriedly, not giving him time to reply to her affectionate words."I am very anxious about him. His health was better in the winter, butlast spring his wound reopened and the doctor said he ought to go awayfor a cure. And I am also very much afraid for him spiritually. He hasnot a character like us women who, when we suffer, can weep away oursorrows. He keeps it all within him. Today he is cheerful and ingood spirits, but that is the effect of your visit- he is not oftenlike that. If you could persuade him to go abroad. He needsactivity, and this quiet regular life is very bad for him. Othersdon'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. PrinceAndrew and Pierre also went out into the porch.

　　"Who's that?" asked the old prince, noticing Pierre as he got outof, the carriage.

　　"Ah! Very glad! Kiss me," he said, having learned who the youngstranger 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 maintainingthat a time would come when there would be no more wars. The oldprince disputed it chaffingly, but without getting angry.

　　"Drain the blood from men's veins and put in water instead, thenthere will be no more war! Old women's nonsense- old women'snonsense!" he repeated, but still he patted Pierre affectionately onthe shoulder, and then went up to the table where Prince Andrew,evidently not wishing to join in the conversation, was looking overthe papers his father had brought from town. The old prince went up tohim and began to talk business.

　　"The marshal, a Count Rostov, hasn't sent half his contingent. Hecame to town and wanted to invite me to dinner- I gave him a prettydinner!... And there, look at this.... Well, my boy," the old princewent on, addressing his son and patting Pierre on the shoulder. "Afine fellow- your friend- I like him! He stirs me up. Another saysclever things and one doesn't care to listen, but this one talksrubbish yet stirs an old fellow up. Well, go! Get along! PerhapsI'll come and sit with you at supper. We'll have another dispute. Makefriends with my little fool, Princess Mary," he shouted afterPierre, through the door.

　　Only now, on his visit to Bald Hills, did Pierre fully realize thestrength and charm of his friendship with Prince Andrew. That charmwas not expressed so much in his relations with him as with all hisfamily and with the household. With the stern old prince and thegentle, timid Princess Mary, though he had scarcely known them, Pierreat 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 thepilgrims, gave him her most radiant looks, but even the one-year-old"Prince Nicholas" (as his grandfather called him) smiled at Pierre andlet himself be taken in his arms, and Michael Ivanovich andMademoiselle Bourienne looked at him with pleasant smiles when hetalked to the old prince.

　　The old prince came in to supper; this was evidently on Pierre'saccount. And during the two days of the young man's visit he wasextremely kind to him and told him to visit them again.

　　When Pierre had gone and the members of the household mettogether, they began to express their opinions of him as people alwaysdo after a new acquaintance has left, but as seldom happens, no onesaid anything but what was good of him.BK5|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　When returning from his leave, Rostov felt, for the first time,how close was the bond that united him to Denisov and and the wholeregiment.

　　On approaching it, Rostov felt as he had done when approaching hishome in Moscow. When he saw the first hussar with the unbuttoneduniform of his regiment, when he recognized red-haired Dementyev andsaw the picket ropes of the roan horses, when Lavrushka gleefullyshouted to his master, "The count has come!" and Denisov, who had beenasleep on his bed, ran all disheveled out of the mud hut to embracehim, and the officers collected round to greet the new arrival, Rostovexperienced the same feeling his mother, his father, and his sisterhad embraced him, and tears of joy choked him so that he could notspeak. The regiment was also a home, and as unalterably dear andprecious as his parents' house.

　　When he had reported himself to the commander of the regiment andhad been reassigned to his former squadron, had been on duty and hadgone out foraging, when he had again entered into all the littleinterests of the regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty andbound in one narrow, unchanging frame, he experienced the same senseof peace, of moral support, and the same sense being at home here inhis own place, as he had felt under the parental roof. But here wasnone of all that turmoil of the world at large, where he did notknow his right place and took mistaken decisions; here was no Sonyawith whom he ought, or ought not, to have an explanation; here wasno possibility of going there or not going there; here there werenot twenty-four hours in the day which could be spent in such avariety of ways; there was not that innumerable crowd of people ofwhom not one was nearer to him or farther from him than another; therewere none of those uncertain and undefined money relations with hisfather, and nothing to recall that terrible loss to Dolokhov. Here, inthe regiment, all was clear and simple. The whole world was dividedinto two unequal parts: one, our Pavlograd regiment; the other, allthe rest. And the rest was no concern of his. In the regiment,everything was definite: who was lieutenant, who captain, who was agood fellow, who a bad one, and most of all, who was a comrade. Thecanteenkeeper gave one credit, one's pay came every four months, therewas nothing to think out or decide, you had only to do nothing thatwas considered bad in the Pavlograd regiment and, when given an order,to do what was clearly, distinctly, and definitely ordered- and allwould be well.

　　Having once more entered into the definite conditions of thisregimental life, Rostov felt the joy and relief a tired man feels onlying down to rest. Life in the regiment, during this campaign, wasall the pleasanter for him, because, after his loss to Dolokhov (forwhich, in spite of all his family's efforts to console him, he couldnot forgive himself), he had made up his mind to atone for his faultby serving, not as he had done before, but really well, and by being aperfectly first-rate comrade and officer- in a word, a splendid manaltogether, a thing which seemed so difficult out in the world, but sopossible in the regiment.

　　After his losses, he had determined to pay back his debt to hisparents in five years. He received ten thousand rubles a year, but nowresolved to take only two thousand and leave the rest to repay thedebt to his parents.

　　Our army, after repeated retreats and advances and battles atPultusk and Preussisch-Eylau, was concentrated near Bartenstein. Itwas awaiting the Emperor's arrival and the beginning of a newcampaign.

　　The Pavlograd regiment, belonging to that part of the army which hadserved in the 1805 campaign, had been recruiting up to strength inRussia, and arrived too late to take part in the first actions ofthe campaign. It had been neither at Pultusk nor at Preussisch-Eylauand, when it joined the army in the field in the second half of thecampaign, was attached to Platov's division.

　　Platov's division was acting independently of the main army. Severaltimes parts of the Pavlograd regiment had exchanged shots with theenemy, had taken prisoners, and once had even captured MarshalOudinot's carriages. In April the Pavlograds were stationedimmovably for some weeks near a totally ruined and deserted Germanvillage.

　　A thaw had set in, it was muddy and cold, the ice on the riverbroke, and the roads became impassable. For days neither provisionsfor the men nor fodder for the horses had been issued. As notransports could arrive, the men dispersed about the abandoned anddeserted villages, searching for potatoes, but found few even ofthese.

　　Everything had been eaten up and the inhabitants had all fled- ifany remained, they were worse than beggars and nothing more could betaken from them; even the soldiers, usually pitiless enough, insteadof taking anything from them, often gave them the last of theirrations.

　　The Pavlograd regiment had had only two men wounded in action, buthad lost nearly half its men from hunger and sickness. In thehospitals, death was so certain that soldiers suffering from fever, orthe swelling that came from bad food, preferred to remain on duty, andhardly able to drag their legs went to the front rather than to thehospitals. When spring came on, the soldiers found a plant justshowing out of the ground that looked like asparagus, which, forsome reason, they called "Mashka's sweet root." It was very bitter,but they wandered about the fields seeking it and dug it out withtheir sabers and ate it, though they were ordered not to do so, asit was a noxious plant. That spring a new disease broke out brokeout among the soldiers, a swelling of the arms, legs, and face,which the doctors attributed to eating this root. But in spite ofall this, the soldiers of Denisov's squadron fed chiefly on"Mashka's sweet root," because it was the second week that the last ofthe biscuits were being doled out at the rate of half a pound a manand the last potatoes received had sprouted and frozen.

　　The horses also had been fed for a fortnight on straw from thethatched roofs and had become terribly thin, though still covered withtufts of felty winter hair.

　　Despite this destitution, the soldiers and officers went on livingjust as usual. Despite their pale swollen faces and tattered uniforms,the hussars formed line for roll call, kept things in order, groomedtheir horses, polished their arms, brought in straw from thethatched roofs in place of fodder, and sat down to dine round thecaldrons from which they rose up hungry, joking about their nasty foodand their hunger. As usual, in their spare time, they lit bonfires,steamed themselves before them naked; smoked, picked out and bakedsprouting rotten potatoes, told and listened to stories ofPotemkin's and Suvorov's campaigns, or to legends of Alesha the Sly,or the priest's laborer Mikolka.

　　The officers, as usual, lived in twos and threes in the roofless,half-ruined houses. The seniors tried to collect straw and potatoesand, in general, food for the men. The younger ones occupiedthemselves as before, some playing cards (there was plenty of money,though there was no food), some with more innocent games, such asquoits and skittles. The general trend of the campaign was rarelyspoken of, partly because nothing certain was known about it, partlybecause there was a vague feeling that in the main it was going badly.

　　Rostov lived, as before, with Denisov, and since their furlough theyhad become more friendly than ever. Denisov never spoke of Rostov'sfamily, but by the tender friendship his commander showed him,Rostov felt that the elder hussar's luckless love for Natasha played apart in strengthening their friendship. Denisov evidently tried toexpose Rostov to danger as seldom as possible, and after an actiongreeted his safe return with evident joy. On one of his foragingexpeditions, in a deserted and ruined village to which he had comein search of provisions, Rostov found a family consisting of an oldPole 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 aconveyance. Rostov brought them to his quarters, placed them in hisown lodging, and kept them for some weeks while the old man wasrecovering. One of his comrades, talking of women, began chaffingRostov, saying that he was more wily than any of them and that itwould not be a bad thing if he introduced to them the pretty Polishgirl he had saved. Rostov took the joke as an insult, flared up, andsaid such unpleasant things to the officer that it was all Denisovcould do to prevent a duel. When the officer had gone away, Denisov,who did not himself know what Rostov's relations with the Polishgirl might be, began to upbraid him for his quickness of temper, andRostov replied:

　　"Say what you like.... She is like a sister to me, and I can'ttell you how it offended me... because... well, for that reason...."

　　Denisov patted him on the shoulder and began rapidly pacing the roomwithout looking at Rostov, as was his way at moments of deep feeling.

　　"Ah, what a mad bweed you Wostovs are!" he muttered, and Rostovnoticed tears in his eyes.BK5|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　In April the troops were enlivened by news of the Emperor's arrival,but Rostov had no chance of being present at the review he held atBartenstein, as the Pavlograds were at the outposts far beyond thatplace.

　　They were bivouacking. Denisov and Rostov were living in an earthhut, dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches andturf. The hut was made in the following manner, which had then comeinto vogue. A trench was dug three and a half feet wide, four feeteight inches deep, and eight feet long. At one end of the trench,steps were cut out and these formed the entrance and vestibule. Thetrench itself was the room, in which the lucky ones, such as thesquadron commander, had a board, lying on piles at the end oppositethe entrance, to serve as a table. On each side of the trench, theearth was cut out to a breadth of about two and a half feet, andthis did duty for bedsteads and couches. The roof was so constructedthat one could stand up in the middle of the trench and could even situp on the beds if one drew close to the table. Denisov, who was livingluxuriously because the soldiers of his squadron liked him, had also aboard in the roof at the farther end, with a piece of (broken butmended) glass in it for a window. When it was very cold, embers fromthe soldiers' campfire were placed on a bent sheet of iron on thesteps in the "reception room"- as Denisov called that part of the hut-and it was then so warm that the officers, of whom there were alwayssome with Denisov and Rostov, sat in their shirt sleeves.

　　In April, Rostov was on orderly duty. One morning, between seven andeight, returning after a sleepless night, he sent for embers,changed his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank tea, gotwarm, 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 onbut his shirt, lay down on his back, putting his arms under hishead. He was pleasantly considering the probability of beingpromoted in a few days for his last reconnoitering expedition, and wasawaiting Denisov, who had gone out somewhere and with whom he wanted atalk.

　　Suddenly he heard Denisov shouting in a vibrating voice behind thehut, evidently much excited. Rostov moved to the window to see whom hewas speaking to, and saw the quartermaster, Topcheenko.

　　"I ordered you not to let them that Mashka woot stuff!" Denisovwas shouting. "And I saw with my own eyes how Lazarchuk bwought somefwom the fields."

　　"I have given the order again and again, your honor, but theydon't obey," answered the quartermaster.

　　Rostov lay down again on his bed and thought complacently: "Lethim fuss and bustle now, my job's done and I'm lying down- capitally!"He could hear that Lavrushka- that sly, bold orderly of Denisov's- wastalking, as well as the quartermaster. Lavrushka was sayingsomething about loaded wagons, biscuits, and oxen he had seen whenhe had gone out for provisions.

　　Then Denisov's voice was heard shouting farther and farther away."Saddle! Second platoon!"

　　"Where are they off to now?" thought Rostov.

　　Five minutes later, Denisov came into the hut, climbed with muddyboots on the bed, lit his pipe, furiously scattered his thingsabout, took his leaded whip, buckled on his saber, and went out again.In answer to Rostov's inquiry where he was going, he answeredvaguely and crossly that he had some business.

　　"Let God and our gweat monarch judge me afterwards!" said Denisovgoing out, and Rostov heard the hoofs of several horses splashingthrough the mud. He did not even trouble to find out where Denisov hadgone. Having got warm in his corner, he fell asleep and did notleave the hut till toward evening. Denisov had not yet returned. Theweather had cleared up, and near the next hut two officers and a cadetwere playing svayka, laughing as they threw their missiles whichburied themselves in the soft mud. Rostov joined them. In the middleof the game, the officers saw some wagons approaching with fifteenhussars on their skinny horses behind them. The wagons escorted by thehussars drew up to the picket ropes and a crowd of hussarssurrounded them.

　　"There now, Denisov has been worrying," said Rostov, "and here arethe provisions."

　　"So they are!" said the officers. "Won't the soldiers be glad!"

　　A little behind the hussars came Denisov, accompanied by twoinfantry officers with whom he was talking.

　　Rostov 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 Denisov.

　　"You will answer for it, Captain. It is mutiny- seizing thetransport of one's own army. Our men have had nothing to eat for twodays."

　　"And mine have had nothing for two weeks," said Denisov.

　　"It is robbery! You'll answer for it, sir!" said the infantryofficer, raising his voice.

　　"Now, what are you pestewing me for?" cried Denisov, suddenly losinghis temper. "I shall answer for it and not you, and you'd better notbuzz about here till you get hurt. Be off! Go!" he shouted at theofficers.

　　"Very well, then!" shouted the little officer, undaunted and notriding away. "If you are determined to rob, I'll..."

　　"Go to the devil! quick ma'ch, while you're safe and sound!" andDenisov turned his horse on the officer.

　　"Very well, very well!" muttered the officer, threateningly, andturning his horse he trotted away, jolting in his saddle.

　　"A dog astwide a fence! A weal dog astwide a fence!" shouted Denisovafter him (the most insulting expression a cavalryman can address to amounted infantryman) and riding up to Rostov, 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 aninfantry regiment, but learning from Lavrushka that the transportwas unescorted, Denisov with his hussars had seized it by force. Thesoldiers had biscuits dealt out to them freely, and they even sharedthem with the other squadrons.

　　The next day the regimental commander sent for Denisov, andholding his fingers spread out before his eyes said:

　　"This is how I look at this affair: I know nothing about it andwon't begin proceedings, but I advise you to ride over to the staffand settle the business there in the commissariat department and ifpossible sign a receipt for such and such stores received. If not,as the demand was booked against an infantry regiment, there will be arow and the affair may end badly."

　　From the regimental commander's, Denisov rode straight to thestaff with a sincere desire to act on this advice. In the evening hecame back to his dugout in a state such as Rostov had never yet seenhim in. Denisov could not speak and gasped for breath. When Rostovasked what was the matter, he only uttered some incoherent oaths andthreats in a hoarse, feeble voice.

　　Alarmed at Denisov's condition, Rostov suggested that he shouldundress, drink some water, and send for the doctor.

　　"Twy me for wobbewy... oh! Some more water... Let them twy me, butI'll always thwash scoundwels... and I'll tell the Empewo'...Ice..." he muttered.

　　The regimental doctor, when he came, said it was absolutelynecessary to bleed Denisov. A deep saucer of black blood was takenfrom his hairy arm and only then was he able to relate what hadhappened to him.

　　"I get there," began Denisov. "'Now then, where's your chief'squarters?' They were pointed out. 'Please to wait.' 'I've widdentwenty miles and have duties to attend to and no time to wait.Announce me.' Vewy well, so out comes their head chief- also took itinto his head to lecture me: 'It's wobbewy!'- 'Wobbewy,' I say, 'isnot done by man who seizes pwovisions to feed his soldiers, but by himwho takes them to fill his own pockets!' 'Will you please besilent?' 'Vewy good!' Then he says: 'Go and give a weceipt to thecommissioner, but your affair will be passed on to headquarters.' I goto 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 Denisov,hitting the table with the fist of his newly bled arm so violentlythat the table nearly broke down and the tumblers on it jumpedabout. "Telyanin! 'What? So it's you who's starving us to death! Isit? Take this and this!' and I hit him so pat, stwaight on hissnout... 'Ah, what a... what...!' and I sta'ted fwashing him...Well, I've had a bit of fun I can tell you!" cried Denisov, gleefuland yet angry, his showing under his black mustache. "I'd havekilled him if they hadn't taken him away!"

　　"But what are you shouting for? Calm yourself," said Rostov. "You'veset your arm bleeding afresh. Wait, we must tie it up again."

　　Denisov was bandaged up again and put to bed. Next day he wokecalm and cheerful.

　　But at noon the adjutant of the regiment came into Rostov's andDenisov's dugout with a grave and serious face and regretfullyshowed them a paper addressed to Major Denisov from the regimentalcommander in which inquiries were made about yesterday's occurrence.The adjutant told them that the affair was likely to take a very badturn: that a court-martial had been appointed, and that in view of theseverity 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, afterseizing the transports, Major Denisov, being drunk, went to thechief quartermaster and without any provocation called him a thief,threatened to strike him, and on being led out had rushed into theoffice and given two officials a thrashing, and dislocated the armof one of them.

　　In answer to Rostov's renewed questions, Denisov said, laughing,that he thought he remembered that some other fellow had got mixedup in it, but that it was all nonsense and rubbish, and he did notin the least fear any kind of trial, and that if those scoundrelsdared attack him he would give them an answer that they would noteasily forget.

　　Denisov spoke contemptuously of the whole matter, but Rostov knewhim too well not to detect that (while hiding it from others) at hearthe feared a court-martial and was worried over the affair, which wasevidently taking a bad turn. Every day, letters of inquiry and noticesfrom the court arrived, and on the first of May, Denisov was orderedto hand the squadron over to the next in seniority and appear beforethe staff of his division to explain his violence at thecommissariat office. On the previous day Platov reconnoitered with twoCossack regiments and two squadrons of hussars. Denisov, as was hiswont, rode out in front of the outposts, parading his courage. Abullet fired by a French sharpshooter hit him in the fleshy part ofhis leg. Perhaps at another time Denisov would not have left theregiment for so slight a wound, but now he took advantage of it toexcuse himself from appearing at the staff and went into hospital.BK5|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　In June the battle of Friedland was fought, in which thePavlograds did not take part, and after that an armistice wasproclaimed. Rostov, who felt his friend's absence very much, having nonews of him since he left and feeling very anxious about his wound andthe progress of his affairs, took advantage of the armistice to getleave to visit Denisov in hospital.

　　The hospital was in a small Prussian town that had been twicedevastated by Russian and French troops. Because it was summer, whenit is so beautiful out in the fields, the little town presented aparticularly dismal appearance with its broken roofs and fences, itsfoul streets, tattered inhabitants, and the sick and drunkensoldiers wandering about.

　　The hospital was in a brick building with some of the windowframes and panes broken and a courtyard surrounded by the remains of awooden fence that had been pulled to pieces. Several bandagedsoldiers, with pale swollen faces, were sitting or walking about inthe sunshine in the yard.

　　Directly Rostov entered the door he was enveloped by a smell ofputrefaction and hospital air. On the stairs he met a Russian armydoctor smoking a cigar. The doctor was followed by a Russianassistant.

　　"I can't tear myself to pieces," the doctor was saying. "Come toMakar Alexeevich 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 noticedRostov coming upstairs.

　　"What do you want, sir?" said the doctor. "What do you want? Thebullets having spared you, do you want to try typhus? This is apesthouse, sir."

　　"How so?" asked Rostov.

　　"Typhus, sir. It's death to go in. Only we two, Makeev and I" (hepointed to the assistant), "keep on here. Some five of us doctors havedied in this place.... When a new one comes he is done for in a week,"said the doctor with evident satisfaction. "Prussian doctors have beeninvited here, but our allies don't like it at all."

　　Rostov explained that he wanted to see Major Denisov of the hussars,who was wounded.

　　"I don't know. I can't tell you, sir. Only think! I am alone incharge of three hospitals with more than four hundred patients! It'swell that the charitable Prussian ladies send us two pounds ofcoffee and some lint each month or we should be lost!" he laughed."Four hundred, sir, and they're always sending me fresh ones. Thereare four hundred? Eh?" he asked, turning to the assistant.

　　The assistant looked fagged out. He was evidently vexed andimpatient for the talkative doctor to go.

　　"Major Denisov," Rostov said again. "He was wounded at Molliten."

　　"Dead, I fancy. Eh, Makeev?" queried the doctor, in a tone ofindifference.

　　The assistant, however, did not confirm the doctor's words.

　　"Is he tall and with reddish hair?" asked the doctor.

　　Rostov described Denisov's appearance.

　　"There was one like that," said the doctor, as if pleased. "That oneis dead, I fancy. However, I'll look up our list. We had a list.Have you got it, Makeev?"

　　"Makar Alexeevich has the list," answered the assistant. "But ifyou'll step into the officers' wards you'll see for yourself," headded, turning to Rostov.

　　"Ah, you'd better not go, sir," said the doctor, "or you may have tostay here yourself."

　　But Rostov bowed himself away from the doctor and asked theassistant to show him the way.

　　"Only don't blame me!" the doctor shouted up after him.

　　Rostov and the assistant went into the dark corridor. The smellwas so strong there that Rostov held his nose and had to pause andcollect his strength before he could go on. A door opened to theright, and an emaciated sallow man on crutches, barefoot and inunderclothing, limped out and, leaning against the doorpost, lookedwith glittering envious eyes at those who were passing. Glancing in atthe door, Rostov saw that the sick and wounded were lying on the flooron 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,Rostov entered the soldiers' ward. The foul air, to which he hadalready begun to get used in the corridor, was still stronger here. Itwas a little different, more pungent, and one felt that this was whereit originated.

　　In the long room, brightly lit up by the sun through the largewindows, the sick and wounded lay in two rows with their heads tothe walls, and leaving a passage in the middle. Most of them wereunconscious and paid no attention to the newcomers. Those who wereconscious raised themselves or lifted their thin yellow faces, and alllooked intently at Rostov with the same expression of hope, of relief,reproach, and envy of another's health. Rostov went to the middle ofthe room and looking through the open doors into the two adjoiningrooms saw the same thing there. He stood still, looking silentlyaround. He had not at all expected such a sight. Just before him,almost across the middle of the passage on the bare floor, lay asick man, probably a Cossack to judge by the cut of his hair. Theman lay on his back, his huge arms and legs outstretched. His face waspurple, 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 stoodout like cords. He was knocking the back of his head against thefloor, hoarsely uttering some word which he kept repeating. Rostovlistened and made out the word. It was "drink, drink, a drink!" Rostovglanced round, looking for someone who would put this man back inhis 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 fromthe next room, marching stiffly, and drew up in front of Rostov.

　　"Good day, your honor!" he shouted, rolling his eyes at Rostov andevidently mistaking him for one of the hospital authorities.

　　"Get him to his place and give him some water," said Rostov,pointing to the Cossack.

　　"Yes, your honor," the soldier replied complacently, and rolling hiseyes more than ever he drew himself up still straighter, but did notmove.

　　"No, it's impossible to do anything here," thought Rostov,lowering his eyes, and he was going out, but became aware of anintense look fixed on him on his right, and he turned. Close to thecorner, on an overcoat, sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldieras thin as a skeleton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intentlyfixed on Rostov. The man's neighbor on one side whispered something tohim, pointing at Rostov, who noticed that the old man wanted tospeak to him. He drew nearer and saw that the old man had only one legbent under him, the other had been amputated above the knee. Hisneighbor on the other side, who lay motionless some distance fromhim with his head thrown back, was a young soldier with a snub nose.His pale waxen face was still freckled and his eyes were rolledback. Rostov looked at the young soldier and a cold chill ran down hisback.

　　"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 atonce," said the assistant hurriedly. "Let us go, your honor."

　　"Yes, yes, let us go," said Rostov hastily, and lowering his eyesand shrinking, he tried to pass unnoticed between the rows ofreproachful envious eyes that were fixed upon him, and went out of theroom.BK5|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostov to theofficers' wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stoodopen. There were beds in these rooms and the sick and wounded officerswere lying or sitting on them. Some were walking about the rooms inhospital dressing gowns. The first person Rostov met in theofficers' ward was a thin little man with one arm, who was walkingabout the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing gown, witha pipe between his teeth. Rostov looked at him, trying to rememberwhere he had seen him before.

　　"See where we've met again!" said the little man. "Tushin, Tushin,don't you remember, who gave you a lift at Schon Grabern? And I've hada bit cut off, you see..." he went on with a smile, pointing to theempty sleeve of his dressing gown. "Looking for Vasili DmitrichDenisov? My neighbor," he added, when he heard who Rostov wanted."Here, here," and Tushin led him into the next room, from whencecame sounds of several laughing voices.

　　"How can they laugh, or even live at all here?" thought Rostov,still aware of that smell of decomposing flesh that had been so strongin the soldiers' ward, and still seeming to see fixed on him thoseenvious looks which had followed him out from both sides, and the faceof that young soldier with eyes rolled back.

　　Denisov lay asleep on his bed with his head under the blanket,though it was nearly noon.

　　"Ah, Wostov? How are you, how are you?" he called out, still inthe same voice as in the regiment, but Rostov noticed sadly that underthis habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feelingshowed itself in the expression of Denisov's face and theintonations of his voice.

　　His wound, though a slight one, had not yet healed even now, sixweeks after he had been hit. His face had the same swollen pallor asthe faces of the other hospital patients, but it was not this thatstruck Rostov. What struck him was that Denisov did not seem glad tosee him, and smiled at him unnaturally. He did not ask about theregiment, nor about the general state of affairs, and when Rostovspoke of these matters did not listen.

　　Rostov even noticed that Denisov did not like to be reminded ofthe regiment, or in general of that other free life which was going onoutside the hospital. He seemed to try to forget that old life and wasonly interested in the affair with the commissariat officers. OnRostov's inquiry as to how the matter stood, he at once producedfrom under his pillow a paper he had received from the commissionand the rough draft of his answer to it. He became animated when hebegan reading his paper and specially drew Rostov's attention to thestinging rejoinders he made to his enemies. His hospital companions,who had gathered round Rostov- a fresh arrival from the world outside-gradually began to disperse as soon as Denisov began reading hisanswer. Rostov noticed by their faces that all those gentlemen hadalready heard that story more than once and were tired of it. Only theman who had the next bed, a stout Uhlan, continued to sit on hisbed, gloomily frowning and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed Tushinstill listened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the middle ofthe reading, the Uhlan interrupted Denisov.

　　"But what I say is," he said, turning to Rostov, "it would be bestsimply to petition the Emperor for pardon. They say great rewards willnow be distributed, and surely a pardon would be granted...."

　　"Me petition the Empewo'!" exclaimed Denisov, in a voice to which hetried hard to give the old energy and fire, but which sounded likean expression of irritable impotence. "What for? If I were a wobberI would ask mercy, but I'm being court-martialed for bwingingwobbers to book. Let them twy me, I'm not afwaid of anyone. I'veserved the Tsar and my countwy honowably and have not stolen! And am Ito be degwaded?... Listen, I'm w'iting to them stwaight. This iswhat I say: 'If I had wobbed the Tweasuwy...'"

　　"It's certainly well written," said Tushin, "but that's not thepoint, Vasili Dmitrich," and he also turned to Rostov. "One has tosubmit, and Vasili Dmitrich doesn't want to. You know the auditor toldyou it was a bad business.

　　"Well, let it be bad," said Denisov.

　　"The auditor wrote out a petition for you," continued Tushin, "andyou ought to sign it and ask this gentleman to take it. No doubt he"(indicating Rostov) "has connections on the staff. You won't find abetter opportunity."

　　"Haven't I said I'm not going to gwovel?" Denisov interrupted him,went on reading his paper.

　　Rostov had not the courage to persuade Denisov, though heinstinctively felt that the way advised by Tushin and the otherofficers was the safest, and though he would have been glad to be ofservice to Denisov. He knew his stubborn will and straightforwardhasty temper.

　　When the reading of Denisov's virulent reply, which took more thanan hour, was over, Rostov said nothing, and he spent the rest of theday in a most dejected state of mind amid Denisov's hospital comrades,who had round him, telling them what he knew and listening to theirstories. Denisov was moodily silent all the evening.

　　Late in the evening, when Rostov was about to leave, he askedDenisov whether he had no commission for him.

　　"Yes, wait a bit," said Denisov, glancing round at the officers, andtaking his papers from under his pillow he went to the window, wherehe had an inkpot, and sat down to write.

　　"It seems it's no use knocking one's head against a wall!" hesaid, coming from the window and giving Rostov a large envelope. In itwas the petition to the Emperor drawn up by the auditor, in whichDenisov, without alluding to the offenses of the commissariatofficials, simply asked for pardon.

　　"Hand it in. It seems..."

　　He did not finish, but gave a painfully unnatural smile.BK5|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　Having returned to the regiment and told the commander the stateof Denisov's affairs, Rostov rode to Tilsit with the letter to theEmperor.

　　On the thirteenth of June the French and Russian Emperors arrived inTilsit. Boris Drubetskoy had asked the important personage on whomhe was in attendance, to include him in the suite appointed for thestay 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.

　　Boris looked at his general inquiringly and immediately saw thathe was being tested.

　　"I am speaking, Prince, of the Emperor Napoleon," he replied. Thegeneral patted him on the shoulder, with a smile.

　　"You will go far," he said, and took him to Tilsit with him.

　　Boris was among the few present at the Niemen on the day the twoEmperors met. He saw the raft, decorated with monograms, sawNapoleon pass before the French Guards on the farther bank of theriver, saw the pensive face of the Emperor Alexander as he sat insilence in a tavern on the bank of the Niemen awaiting Napoleon'sarrival, saw both Emperors get into boats, and saw how Napoleon-reaching the raft first- stepped quickly forward to meet Alexander andheld out his hand to him, and how they both retired into the pavilion.Since he had begun to move in the highest circles Boris had made ithis habit to watch attentively all that went on around him and to noteit down. At the time of the meeting at Tilsit he asked the names ofthose who had come with Napoleon and about the uniforms they wore, andlistened attentively to words spoken by important personages. At themoment the Emperors went into the pavilion he looked at his watch, anddid not forget to look at it again when Alexander came out. Theinterview had lasted an hour and fifty-three minutes. He noted thisdown that same evening, among other facts he felt to be of historicimportance. As the Emperor's suite was a very small one, it was amatter of great importance, for a man who valued his success in theservice, to be at Tilsit on the occasion of this interview between thetwo Emperors, and having succeeded in this, Boris felt that henceforthhis position was fully assured. He had not only become known, butpeople had grown accustomed to him and accepted him. Twice he hadexecuted commissions to the Emperor himself, so that the latter knewhis face, and all those at court, far from cold-shouldering him asat first when they considered him a newcomer, would now have beensurprised had he been absent.

　　Boris lodged with another adjutant, the Polish Count Zhilinski.Zhilinski, a Pole brought up in Paris, was rich, and passionately fondof the French, and almost every day of the stay at Tilsit, Frenchofficers of the Guard and from French headquarters were dining andlunching with him and Boris.

　　On the evening of the twenty-fourth of June, Count Zhilinskiarranged a supper for his French friends. The guest of honor was anaide-de-camp of Napoleon's, there were also several French officers ofthe Guard, and a page of Napoleon's, a young lad of an oldaristocratic French family. That same day, Rostov, profiting by thedarkness to avoid being recognized in civilian dress. came to Tilsitand went to the lodging occupied by Boris and Zhilinski.

　　Rostov, in common with the whole army from which he came, was farfrom having experienced the change of feeling toward Napoleon andthe French- who from being foes had suddenly become friends- thathad taken place at headquarters and in Boris. In the army, Bonaparteand the French were still regarded with mingled feelings of anger,contempt, and fear. Only recently, talking with one of Platov'sCossack officers, Rostov had argued that if Napoleon were takenprisoner he would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a criminal.Quite lately, happening to meet a wounded French colonel on theroad, Rostov had maintained with heat that peace was impossiblebetween a legitimate sovereign and the criminal Bonaparte. Rostovwas therefore unpleasantly struck by the presence of French officersin Boris' lodging, dressed in uniforms he had been accustomed to seefrom 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 thedoor, that warlike feeling of hostility which he always experienced atthe sight of the enemy suddenly seized him. He stopped at thethreshold and asked in Russian whether Drubetskoy lived there.Boris, hearing a strange voice in the anteroom, came out to meethim. An expression of annoyance showed itself for a moment on his faceon first recognizing Rostov.

　　"Ah, it's you? Very glad, very glad to see you," he said, however,coming toward him with a smile. But Rostov had noticed his firstimpulse.

　　"I've come at a bad time I think. I should not have come, but I havebusiness," he said coldly.

　　"No, I only wonder how you managed to get away from your regiment.Dans un moment je suis a vous,"* he said, answering someone who calledhim.

　　*"In a minute I shall be at your disposal."

　　"I see I'm intruding," Rostov repeated.

　　The look of annoyance had already disappeared from Boris' face:having evidently reflected and decided how to act, he very quietlytook both Rostov's hands and led him into the next room. His eyes,looking serenely and steadily at Rostov, seemed to be veiled bysomething, as if screened by blue spectacles of conventionality. So itseemed to Rostov.

　　"Oh, come now! As if you could come at a wrong time!" said Boris,and he led him into the room where the supper table was laid andintroduced him to his guests, explaining that he was not a civilian,but an hussar officer, and an old friend of his.

　　"Count Zhilinski- le Comte N. N.- le Capitaine S. S.," said he,naming his guests. Rostov looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowedreluctantly, and remained silent.

　　Zhilinski evidently did not receive this new Russian person verywillingly into his circle and did not speak to Rostov. Boris did notappear to notice the constraint the newcomer produced and, with thesame pleasant composure and the same veiled look in his eyes withwhich he had met Rostov, tried to enliven the conversation. One of theFrenchmen, with the politeness characteristic of his countrymen,addressed the obstinately taciturn Rostov, saying that the latterhad probably come to Tilsit to see the Emperor.

　　"No, I came on business," replied Rostov, briefly.

　　Rostov had been out of humor from the moment he noticed the lookof dissatisfaction on Boris' face, and as always happens to those in abad humor, it seemed to him that everyone regarded him with aversionand that he was in everybody's way. He really was in their way, for healone took no part in the conversation which again became general. Thelooks the visitors cast on him seemed to say: "And what is hesitting here for?" He rose and went up to Boris.

　　"Anyhow, I'm in your way," he said in a low tone. "Come and talkover my business and I'll go away."

　　"Oh, no, not at all," said Boris. "But if you are tired, come andlie down in my room and have a rest."

　　"Yes, really..."

　　They went into the little room where Boris slept. Rostov, withoutsitting down, began at once, irritably (as if Boris were to blame insome way) telling him about Denisov's affair, asking him whether,through his general, he could and would intercede with the Emperoron Denisov's behalf and get Denisov's petition handed in. When heand Boris were alone, Rostov felt for the first time that he could notlook Boris in the face without a sense of awkwardness. Boris, with oneleg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slenderfingers of his right, listened to Rostov as a general listens to thereport of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straightinto Rostov's eyes with the same veiled look. Each time thishappened Rostov felt uncomfortable and cast down his eyes.

　　"I have heard of such cases and know that His Majesty is very severein such affairs. I think it would be best not to bring it before theEmperor, but to apply to the commander of the corps.... But ingeneral, I think..."

　　"So you don't want to do anything? Well then, say so!" Rostov almostshouted, not looking Boris in the face.

　　Boris smiled.

　　"On the contrary, I will do what I can. Only I thought..."

　　At that moment Zhilinski's voice was heard calling Boris.

　　"Well then, go, go, go..." said Rostov, and refusing supper andremaining alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a longtime, hearing the lighthearted French conversation from the next room.BK5|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　Rostov had come to Tilsit the day least suitable for a petition onDenisov's behalf. He could not himself go to the general in attendanceas he was in mufti and had come to Tilsit without permission to do so,and Boris, even had he wished to, could not have done so on thefollowing day. On that day, June 27, the preliminaries of peace weresigned. The Emperors exchanged decorations: Alexander received theCross of the Legion of Honor and Napoleon the Order of St. Andrew ofthe First Degree, and a dinner had been arranged for the evening,given by a battalion of the French Guards to the Preobrazhenskbattalion. The Emperors were to be present at that banquet.

　　Rostov felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable with Boris that, whenthe latter looked in after supper, he pretended to be asleep, andearly next morning went away, avoiding Boris. In his civilianclothes and a round hat, he wandered about the town, staring at theFrench and their uniforms and at the streets and houses where theRussian and French Emperors were staying. In a square he saw tablesbeing set up and preparations made for the dinner; he saw theRussian and French colors draped from side to side of the streets,with hugh monograms A and N. In the windows of the houses also flagsand bunting were displayed.

　　"Boris doesn't want to help me and I don't want to ask him. That'ssettled," thought Nicholas. "All is over between us, but I won't leavehere without having done all I can for Denisov and certainly notwithout getting his letter to the Emperor. The Emperor!... He ishere!" thought Rostov, who had unconsciously returned to the housewhere Alexander lodged.

　　Saddled horses were standing before the house and the suite wereassembling, evidently preparing for the Emperor to come out.

　　"I may see him at any moment," thought Rostov. "If only I were tohand the letter direct to him and tell him all... could they reallyarrest me for my civilian clothes? Surely not! He would understandon whose side justice lies. He understands everything, knowseverything. Who can be more just, more magnanimous than he? And evenif they did arrest me for being here, what would it matter?" thoughthe, looking at an officer who was entering the house the Emperoroccupied. "After all, people do go in.... It's all nonsense! I'll goin and hand the letter to the Emperor myself so much the worse forDrubetskoy who drives me to it!" And suddenly with a determinationhe himself did not expect, Rostov felt for the letter in his pocketand went straight to the house.

　　"No, I won't miss my opportunity now, as I did after Austerlitz," hethought, expecting every moment to meet the monarch, and consciousof the blood that rushed to his heart at the thought. "I will fallat his feet and beseech him. He will lift me up, will listen, and willeven thank me. 'I am happy when I can do good, but to remedy injusticeis the greatest happiness,'" Rostov fancied the sovereign saying.And passing people who looked after him with curiosity, he entered theporch of the Emperor's house.

　　A broad staircase led straight up from the entry, and to the righthe saw a closed door. Below, under the staircase, was a door leadingto 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 the officer on duty" (he wasshown the door leading downstairs), "only it won't be accepted."

　　On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostov grew frightened at what hewas doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was sofascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to runaway, but the official who had questioned him opened the door, andRostov entered.

　　A short stout man of about thirty, in white breeches and highboots 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 ofhis breeches a new pair of handsome silk-embroidered braces that,for some reason, attracted Rostov's attention. This man was wasspeaking to someone in the adjoining room.

　　"A good figure and in her first bloom," he was saying, but on seeingRostov, 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..."

　　Rostov turned and was about to go, but the man in the braces stoppedhim.

　　"Whom have you come from? Who are you?"

　　"I come from Major Denisov," answered Rostov.

　　"Are you an officer?"

　　"Lieutenant Count Rostov."

　　"What audacity! Hand it in through your commander. And go along withyou... go," and he continued to put on the uniform the valet handedhim.

　　Rostov went back into the hall and noticed that in the porch therewere many officers and generals in full parade uniform, whom he had topass.

　　Cursing his temerity, his heart sinking at the thought of findinghimself at any moment face to face with the Emperor and being put toshame and arrested in his presence, fully alive now to the improprietyof his conduct and repenting of it, Rostov, with downcast eyes, wasmaking his way out of the house through the brilliant suite when afamiliar voice called him and a hand detained him.

　　"What are you doing here, sir, in civilian dress?" asked a deepvoice.

　　It was a cavalry general who had obtained the Emperor's specialfavor during this campaign, and who had formerly commanded thedivision in which Rostov was serving.

　　Rostov, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing thekindly, jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in anexcited voice told him the whole affair, asking him to intercede forDenisov, whom the general knew. Having heard Rostov to the end, thegeneral shook his head gravely.

　　"I'm sorry, sorry for that fine fellow. Give me the letter."

　　Hardly had Rostov handed him the letter and finished explainingDenisov's case, when hasty steps and the jingling of spurs wereheard on the stairs, and the general, leaving him, went to theporch. The gentlemen of the Emperor's suite ran down the stairs andwent to their horses. Hayne, the same groom who had been atAusterlitz, led up the Emperor's horse, and the faint creak of afootstep Rostov knew at once was heard on the stairs. Forgetting thedanger of being recognized, Rostov went close to the porch, togetherwith some inquisitive civilians, and again, after two years, saw thosefeatures he adored: that same face and same look and step, and thesame union of majesty and mildness.... And the feeling of enthusiasmand love for his sovereign rose again in Rostov's soul in all itsold force. In the uniform of the Preobrazhensk regiment- whitechamois-leather breeches and high boots- and wearing a star Rostov didnot know (it was that of the Legion d'honneur), the monarch came outinto the porch, putting on his gloves and carrying his hat under hisarm. He stopped and looked about him, brightening everything around byhis glance. He spoke a few words to some of the generals, and,recognizing the former commander of Rostov's division, smiled andbeckoned to him.

　　All the suite drew back and Rostov saw the general talking forsome time to the Emperor.

　　The Emperor said a few words to him and took a step toward hishorse. Again the crowd of members of the suite and street gazers(among whom was Rostov) moved nearer to the Emperor. Stopping besidehis horse, with his hand on the saddle, the Emperor turned to thecavalry general and said in a loud voice, evidently wishing to beheard by all:

　　"I cannot do it, General. I cannot, because the law is stronger thanI," and he raised his foot to the stirrup.

　　The general bowed his head respectfully, and the monarch mounted androde down the street at a gallop. Beside himself with enthusiasm,Rostov ran after him with the crowd.BK5|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　The Emperor rode to the square where, facing one another, abattalion of the Preobrazhensk regiment stood on the right and abattalion of the French Guards in their bearskin caps on the left.

　　As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, whichpresented arms, another group of horsemen galloped up to theopposite flank, and at the head of them Rostov recognized Napoleon. Itcould be no one else. He came at a gallop, wearing a small hat, a blueuniform open over a white vest, and the St. Andrew ribbon over hisshoulder. He was riding a very fine thoroughbred gray Arab horsewith a crimson gold-embroidered saddlecloth. On approachingAlexander he raised his hat, and as he did so, Rostov, with hiscavalryman's eye, could not help noticing that Napoleon did not sitwell or firmly in the saddle. The battalions shouted "Hurrah!" and"Vive l'Empereur!" Napoleon said something to Alexander, and bothEmperors dismounted and took each other's hands. Napoleon's facewore an unpleasant and artificial smile. Alexander was sayingsomething affable to him.

　　In spite of the trampling of the French gendarmes' horses, whichwere pushing back the crowd, Rostov kept his eyes on every movement ofAlexander and Bonaparte. It struck him as a surprise that Alexandertreated Bonaparte as an equal and that the latter was quite at easewith the Tsar, as if such relations with an Emperor were an everydaymatter to him.

　　Alexander and Napoleon, with the long train of their suites,approached the right flank of the Preobrazhensk battalion and camestraight up to the crowd standing there. The crowd unexpectedlyfound itself so close to the Emperors that Rostov, standing in thefront row, was afraid he might be recognized.

　　"Sire, I ask your permission to present the Legion of Honor to thebravest of your soldiers," said a sharp, precise voice, articulatingevery letter.

　　This was said by the undersized Napoleon, looking up straight intoAlexander's eyes. Alexander listened attentively to what was said tohim 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 andassurance exasperating to Rostov, he ran his eyes over the Russianranks drawn up before him, who all presented arms with their eyesfixed on their Emperor.

　　"Will Your Majesty allow me to consult the colonel?" saidAlexander and took a few hasty steps toward Prince Kozlovski, thecommander 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 himrushed forward and picked it up.

　　"To whom shall it be given?" the Emperor Alexander askedKoslovski, in Russian in a low voice.

　　"To whomever Your Majesty commands."

　　The Emperor knit his brows with dissatisfaction and, glancingback, remarked:

　　"But we must give him an answer."

　　Kozlovski scanned the ranks resolutely and included Rostov in hisscrutiny.

　　"Can it be me?" thought Rostov.

　　"Lazarev!" the colonel called, with a frown, and Lazarev, thefirst soldier in the rank, stepped briskly forward.

　　"Where are you off to? Stop here!" voices whispered to Lazarev whodid not know where to go. Lazarev stopped, casting a sidelong lookat his colonel in alarm. His face twitched, as often happens tosoldiers called before the ranks.

　　Napoleon slightly turned his head, and put his plump little hand outbehind him as if to take something. The members of his suite, guessingat once what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passedsomething from one to another, and a page- the same one Rostov hadseen the previous evening at Boris'- ran forward and, bowingrespectfully over the outstretched hand and not keeping it waiting amoment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon. Napoleon, withoutlooking, pressed two fingers together and the badge was betweenthem. Then he approached Lazarev (who rolled his eyes and persistentlygazed at his own monarch), looked round at the Emperor Alexander toimply 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 Lazarev'sbuttons. It was as if Napoleon knew that it was only necessary for hishand to deign to touch that soldier's breast for the soldier to beforever happy, rewarded, and distinguished from everyone else in theworld. Napoleon merely laid the cross on Lazarev's breast and,dropping his hand, turned toward Alexander as though sure that thecross would adhere there. And it really did.

　　Officious hands, Russian and French, immediately seized the crossand fastened it to the uniform. Lazarev glanced morosely at the littleman with white hands who was doing something to him and, stillstanding motionless presenting arms, looked again straight intoAlexander's eyes, as if asking whether he should stand there, or goaway, or do something else. But receiving no orders, he remained forsome time in that rigid position.

　　The Emperors remounted and rode away. The Preobrazhensk battalion,breaking rank, mingled with the French Guards and sat down at thetables prepared for them.

　　Lazarev sat in the place of honor. Russian and French officersembraced him, congratulated him, and pressed his hands. Crowds ofofficers and civilians drew near merely to see him. A rumble ofRussian and French voices and laughter filled the air round the tablesin the square. Two officers with flushed faces, looking cheerful andhappy, passed by Rostov.

　　"What d'you think of the treat? All on silver plate," one of themwas saying. "Have you seen Lazarev?"

　　"I have."

　　"Tomorrow, I hear, the Preobrazhenskis will give them a dinner."

　　"Yes, but what luck for Lazarev! Twelve hundred francs' pensionfor life."

　　"Here's a cap, lads!" shouted a Preobrazhensk soldier, donning ashaggy 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 'Napoleon, France, bravoure';yesterday, 'Alexandre, Russie, grandeur.' One day our Emperor gives itand next day Napoleon. Tomorrow our Emperor will send a St. George'sCross to the bravest of the French Guards. It has to be done. Hemust respond in kind."

　　Boris, too, with his friend Zhilinski, came to see the Preobrazhenskbanquet. On his way back, he noticed Rostov standing by the cornerof a house.

　　"Rostov! How d'you do? We missed one another," he said, and couldnot refrain from asking what was the matter, so strangely dismal andtroubled was Rostov's face.

　　"Nothing, nothing," replied Rostov.

　　"You'll call round?"

　　"Yes, I will."

　　Rostov stood at that corner for a long time, watching the feast froma distance. a distance. In his mind, a painful process was going onwhich he could not bring to a conclusion. Terrible doubts rose inhis soul. Now he remembered Denisov with his changed expression, hissubmission, and the whole hospital, with arms and legs torn off andits dirt and disease. So vividly did he recall that hospital stench ofdead flesh that he looked round to see where the smell came from. Nexthe thought of that self-satisfied Bonaparte, with his small whitehand, who was now an Emperor, liked and respected by Alexander. Thenwhy those severed arms and legs and those dead men?... Then again hethought of Lazarev rewarded and Denisov punished and unpardoned. Hecaught himself harboring such strange thoughts that he was frightened.

　　The smell of the food the Preobrazhenskis were eating and a sense ofhunger recalled him from these reflections; he had to get something toeat before going away. He went to a hotel he had noticed that morning.There he found so many people, among them officers who, likehimself, had come in civilian clothes, that he had difficulty ingetting a dinner. Two officers of his own division joined him. Theconversation naturally turned on the peace. The officers, hiscomrades, like most of the army, were dissatisfied with the peaceconcluded after the battle of Friedland. They said that had we heldout a little longer Napoleon would have been done for, as his troopshad neither provisions nor ammunition. Nicholas ate and drank (chieflythe latter) in silence. He finished a couple of bottles of wine byhimself. The process in his mind went on tormenting him withoutreaching a conclusion. He feared to give way to his thoughts, yetcould not get rid of them. Suddenly, on one of the officers' sayingthat it was humiliating to look at the French, Rostov began shoutingwith uncalled-for wrath, and therefore much to the surprise of theofficers:

　　"How can you judge what's best?" he cried, the blood suddenlyrushing to his face. "How can you judge the Emperor's actions? Whatright have we to argue? We cannot comprehend either the Emperor's orhis actions!"

　　"But I never said a word about the Emperor!" said the officer,justifying himself, and unable to understand Rostov's outburst, excepton the supposition that he was drunk.

　　But Rostov 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 theEmperor pleases to recognize Bonaparte as Emperor and to conclude analliance with him, it means that that is the right thing to do. Ifonce we begin judging and arguing about everything, nothing sacredwill be left! That way we shall be saying there is no God- nothing!"shouted Nicholas, banging the table- very little to the point as itseemed to his listeners, but quite relevantly to the course of his ownthoughts.

　　"Our business is to do our duty, to fight and not to think! That'sall...." said he.

　　"And to drink," said one of the officers, not wishing to quarrel.

　　"Yes, and to drink," assented Nicholas. "Hullo there! Anotherbottle!" he shouted.

　　In 1808 the Emperor Alexander went to Erfurt for a fresh interviewwith the Emperor Napoleon, and in the upper circles of Petersburgthere was much talk of the grandeur of this important meeting.BK5|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　In 1809 the intimacy between "the world's two arbiters," as Napoleonand Alexander were called, was such that when Napoleon declared war onAustria a Russian corps crossed the frontier to co-operate with ourold enemy Bonaparte against our old ally the Emperor of Austria, andin court circles the possibility of marriage between Napoleon andone of Alexander's sisters was spoken of. But besides considerationsof foreign policy, the attention of Russian society was at that timekeenly directed on the internal changes that were being undertakenin all the departments of government.

　　Life meanwhile- real life, with its essential interests of healthand sickness, toil and rest, and its intellectual interests inthought, science, poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, andpassions- went on as usual, independently of and apart frompolitical friendship or enmity with Napoleon Bonaparte and from allthe 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 constantlychanging from one thing to another had never accomplished- werecarried out by Prince Andrew without display and without perceptibledifficulty.

　　He had in the highest degree a practical tenacity which Pierrelacked, and without fuss or strain on his part this set things going.

　　On one of his estates the three hundred serfs were liberated andbecame free agricultural laborers- this being one of the firstexamples of the kind in Russia. On other estates the serfs' compulsorylabor was commuted for a quitrent. A trained midwife was engaged forBogucharovo at his expense, and a priest was paid to teach reading andwriting to the children of the peasants and household serfs.

　　Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald Hills with his fatherand his son, who was still in the care of nurses. The other half hespent in "Bogucharovo Cloister," as his father called PrinceAndrew's estate. Despite the indifference to the affairs of theworld he had expressed to Pierre, he diligently followed all that wenton, received many books, and to his surprise noticed that when he orhis father had visitors from Petersburg, the very vortex of life,these people lagged behind himself- who never left the country- inknowledge of what was happening in home and foreign affairs.

　　Besides being occupied with his estates and reading a greatvariety of books, Prince Andrew was at this time busy with acritical of survey our last two unfortunate campaigns, and withdrawing up a proposal for a reform of the army rules and regulations.

　　In the spring of 1809 he went to visit the Ryazan estates whichhad been inherited by his son, whose guardian he was.

　　Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in the caleche looking at thenew grass, the first leaves on the birches, and the first puffs ofwhite spring clouds floating across the clear blue sky. He was notthinking of anything, but looked absent-mindedly and cheerfully fromside to side.

　　They crossed the ferry where he had talked with Pierre the yearbefore. They went through the muddy village, past threshing floors andgreen fields of winter rye, downhill where snow still lodged nearthe bridge, uphill where the clay had been liquefied by the rain, paststrips of stubble land and bushes touched with green here and there,and into a birch forest growing on both sides of the road. In theforest it was almost hot, no wind could be felt. The birches withtheir sticky green leaves were motionless, and lilac-colored flowersand the first blades of green grass were pushing up and lifting lastyear's leaves. The coarse evergreen color of the small fir treesscattered here and there among the birches was an unpleasantreminder of winter. On entering the forest the horses began to snortand sweated visibly.

　　Peter the footman made some remark to the coachman; the latterassented. But apparently the coachman's sympathy was not enough forPeter, and he turned on the box toward his master.

　　"How pleasant it is, your excellency!" he said with a respectfulsmile.

　　"What?"

　　"It's pleasant, your excellency!"

　　"What is he talking about?" thought Prince Andrew. "Oh, thespring, I suppose," he thought as he turned round. "Yes, reallyeverything is green already.... How early! The birches and cherryand 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 ofthe birches that formed the forest, it was ten times as thick andtwice as tall as they. It was an enormous tree, its girth twice asgreat as a man could embrace, and evidently long ago some of itsbranches had been broken off and its bark scarred. With its hugeungainly limbs sprawling unsymmetrically, and its gnarled hands andfingers, it stood an aged, stern, and scornful monster among thesmiling birch trees. Only the dead-looking evergreen firs dotted aboutin the forest, and this oak, refused to yield to the charm of springor notice either the spring or the sunshine.

　　"Spring, love, happiness!" this oak seemed to say. "Are you notweary of that stupid, meaningless, constantly repeated fraud? Alwaysthe 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 havegrown, whether from my back or my sides: as they have grown so Istand, and I do not believe in your hopes and your lies."

　　As he passed through the forest Prince Andrew turned several timesto 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 PrinceAndrew. "Let others- the young- yield afresh to that fraud, but weknow life, our life is finished!"

　　A whole sequence of new thoughts, hopeless but mournfullypleasant, rose in his soul in connection with that tree. During thisjourney he, as it were, considered his life afresh and arrived athis old conclusion, restful in its hopelessness: that it was not forhim to begin anything anew- but that he must live out his life,content to do no harm, and not disturbing himself or desiringanything.BK6|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　Prince Andrew had to see the Marshal of the Nobility for thedistrict in connection with the affairs of the Ryazan estate ofwhich he was trustee. This Marshal was Count Ilya Rostov, and in themiddle of May Prince Andrew went to visit him.

　　It was now hot spring weather. The whole forest was alreadyclothed in green. It was dusty and so hot that on passing near waterone longed to bathe.

　　Prince Andrew, depressed and preoccupied with the business aboutwhich he had to speak to the Marshal, was driving up the avenue in thegrounds of the Rostovs' house at Otradnoe. He heard merry girlishcries behind some trees on the right and saw group of girls running tocross the path of his caleche. Ahead of the rest and nearer to him rana dark-haired, remarkably slim, pretty girl in a yellow chintzdress, with a white handkerchief on her head from under which looselocks of hair escaped. The girl was shouting something but, seeingthat he was a stranger, ran back laughing without looking at him.

　　Suddenly, he did not know why, he felt a pang. The day was sobeautiful, the sun so bright, everything around so gay, but thatslim pretty girl did not know, or wish to know, of his existence andwas contented and cheerful in her own separate- probably foolish-but bright and happy life. "What is she so glad about? What is shethinking of? Not of the military regulations or of the arrangementof the Ryazan serfs' quitrents. Of what is she thinking? Why is she sohappy?" Prince Andrew asked himself with instinctive curiosity.

　　In 1809 Count Ilya Rostov was living at Otradnoe just as he had donein former years, that is, entertaining almost the whole provincewith hunts, theatricals, dinners, and music. He was glad to see PrinceAndrew, as he was to see any new visitor, and insisted on hisstaying the night.

　　During the dull day, in the course of which he was entertained byhis elderly hosts and by the more important of the visitors (the oldcount's house was crowded on account of an approaching name day),Prince Andrew repeatedly glanced at Natasha, gay and laughing amongthe younger members of the company, and asked himself each time, "Whatis she thinking about? Why is she so glad?"

　　That night, alone in new surroundings, he was long unable tosleep. He read awhile and then put out his candle, but relit it. Itwas hot in the room, the inside shutters of which were closed. Hewas cross with the stupid old man (as he called Rostov), who hadmade him stay by assuring him that some necessary documents had notyet arrived from town, and he was vexed with himself for havingstayed.

　　He got up and went to the window to open it. As soon as he openedthe shutters the moonlight, as if it had long been watching forthis, burst into the room. He opened the casement. The night wasfresh, bright, and very still. Just before the window was a row ofpollard trees, looking black on one side and with a silvery light onthe other. Beneath the trees grewsome kind of lush, wet, bushyvegetation with silver-lit leaves and stems here and there. Fartherback beyond the dark trees a roof glittered with dew, to the right wasa leafy tree with brilliantly white trunk and branches, and above itshone the moon, nearly at its full, in a pale, almost starless, springsky. Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the window ledge and hiseyes rested on that sky.

　　His room was on the first floor. Those in the rooms above werealso awake. He heard female voices overhead.

　　"Just once more," said a girlish voice above him which Prince Andrewrecognized 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 lasttime."

　　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, comingnearer to the window. She was evidently leaning right out, for therustle of her dress and even her breathing could be heard.Everything was stone-still, like the moon and its light and theshadows. Prince Andrew, too, dared not stir, for fear of betraying hisunintentional presence.

　　"Sonya! Sonya!" he again heard the first speaker. "Oh, how can yousleep? Only look how glorious it is! Ah, how glorious! Do wake up,Sonya!" she said almost with tears in her voice. "There never, neverwas such a lovely night before!"

　　Sonya made some reluctant reply.

　　"Do just come and see what a moon!... Oh, how lovely! Comehere.... Darling, sweetheart, come here! There, you see? I feel likesitting 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 Sonya'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 sittingthere. 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 bedthen, if it must be!" and she slammed the casement.

　　"For her I might as well not exist!" thought Prince Andrew whilehe listened to her voice, for some reason expecting yet fearing thatshe might say something about him. "There she is again! As if itwere on purpose," thought he.

　　In his soul there suddenly arose such an unexpected turmoil ofyouthful thoughts and hopes, contrary to the whole tenor of hislife, that unable to explain his condition to himself he lay downand fell asleep at once.BK6|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　Next morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and notwaiting for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home.

　　It was already the beginning of June when on his return journey hedrove into the birch forest where the gnarled old oak had made sostrange and memorable an impression on him. In the forest theharness bells sounded yet more muffled than they had done six weeksbefore, for now all was thick, shady, and dense, and the young firsdotted about in the forest did not jar on the general beauty but,lending themselves to the mood around, were delicately green withfluffy young shoots.

　　The whole day had been hot. Somewhere a storm was gathering, butonly a small cloud had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprinklingthe road and the sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark inthe shade, the right side glittered in the sunlight, wet and shiny andscarcely swayed by the breeze. Everything was in blossom, thenightingales trilled, and their voices reverberated now near, nowfar away.

　　"Yes, here in this forest was that oak with which I agreed," thoughtPrince Andrew. "But where is it?" he again wondered, gazing at theleft side of the road, and without recognizing it he looked withadmiration at the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured,spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt andslightly trembling in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarledfingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them inevidence now. Through the hard century-old bark, even where there wereno twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the oldveteran could have produced.

　　"Yes, it is the same oak," thought Prince Andrew, and all at once hewas 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 suddenlyto his mind.

　　"No, life is not over at thirty-one!" Prince Andrew suddenly decidedfinally and decisively. "It is not enough for me to know what I havein me- everyone must know it: Pierre, and that young girl who wantedto fly away into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life maynot 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 livein harmony!"

　　On reaching home Prince Andrew decided to go to Petersburg thatautumn and found all sorts of reasons for this decision. A wholeserics of sensible and logical considerations showing it to beessential for him to go to Petersburg, and even to re-enter theservice, kept springing up in his mind. He could not now understandhow he could ever even have doubted the necessity of taking anactive share in life, just as a month before he had not understood howthe idea of leaving the quiet country could ever enter his head. Itnow seemed clear to him that all his experience of life must besenselessly wasted unless he applied it to some kind of work and againplayed an active part in life. He did not even remember howformerly, on the strength of similar wretched logical arguments, ithad seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if he now, afterthe lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to believe in thepossibility of being useful and in the possibility of happiness orlove. Now reason suggested quite the opposite. After that journey toRyazan he found the country dull; his former pursuits no longerinterested 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 hewould turn away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curleda 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 lookedsimply, merrily, and inquisitively at him. And Prince Andrew, crossinghis arms behind him, long paced the room, now frowning, now smiling,as he reflected on those irrational, inexpressible thoughts, secret asa crime, which altered his whole life and were connected withPierre, with fame, with the girl at the window, the oak, and woman'sbeauty and love. And if anyone came into his room at such moments hewas 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 drylyto his sister, "he could go out in his smock, but as it is cold hemust wear warm clothes, which were designed for that purpose. Thatis what follows from the fact that it is cold; and not that a childwho needs fresh air should remain at home," he would add withextreme logic, as if punishing someone for those secret illogicalemotions that stirred within him.

　　At such moments Princess Mary would think how intellectual workdries men up.BK6|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Prince Andrew arrived in Petersburg in August, 1809. It was the timewhen the youthful Speranski was at the zenith of his fame and hisreforms were being pushed forward with the greatest energy. Thatsame August the Emperor was thrown from his caleche, injured hisleg, and remained three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Speranski everyday and no one else. At that time the two famous decrees were beingprepared that so agitated society- abolishing court ranks andintroducing examinations to qualify for the grades of CollegiateAssessor and State Councilor- and not merely these but a whole stateconstitution, intended to change the existing order of government inRussia: legal, administrative, and financial, from the Council ofState down to the district tribunals. Now those vague liberal dreamswith which the Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne, and which hehad tried to put into effect with the aid of his associates,Czartoryski, Novosiltsev, Kochubey, and Strogonov- whom he himselfin jest had called his Comite de salut public- were taking shape andbeing realized.

　　Now all these men were replaced by Speranski on the civil side,and Arakcheev on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew,as a gentleman of the chamber, presented himself at court and at alevee. The Emperor, though he met him twice, did not favor him witha single word. It had always seemed to Prince Andrew before that hewas antipathetic to the Emperor and that the latter disliked hisface and personality generally, and in the cold, repellent glancethe Emperor gave him, he now found further confirmation of thissurmise. The courtiers explained the Emperor's neglect of him by HisMajesty's displeasure at Bolkonski's not having served since 1805.

　　"I know myself that one cannot help one's sympathies andantipathies," thought Prince Andrew, "so it will not do to presentmy proposal for the reform of the army regulations to the Emperorpersonally, but the project will speak for itself."

　　He mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friendof his father's. The field marshal made an appointment to see him,received him graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A fewdays later Prince Andrew received notice that he was to go to seethe Minister of War, Count Arakcheev.

　　On the appointed day Prince Andrew entered Count Arakcheev's waitingroom at nine in the morning.

　　He did not know Arakcheev personally, had never seen him, and all hehad 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 notconcern myself about his personal qualities: he has beencommissioned to consider my project, so he alone can get itadopted," thought Prince Andrew as he waited among a number ofimportant and unimportant people in Count Arakcheev's waiting room.

　　During his service, chiefly as an adjutant, Prince Andrew had seenthe anterooms of many important men, and the different types of suchrooms were well known to him. Count Arakcheev's anteroom had quite aspecial character. The faces of the unimportant people awaitingtheir turn for an audience showed embarrassment and servility; thefaces of those of higher rank expressed a common feeling ofawkwardness, covered by a mask of unconcern and ridicule ofthemselves, their situation, and the person for whom they werewaiting. Some walked thoughtfully up and down, others whispered andlaughed. Prince Andrew heard the nickname "Sila Andreevich" and thewords, "Uncle will give it to us hot," in reference to CountArakcheev. One general (an important personage), evidently feelingoffended at having to wait so long, sat crossing and uncrossing hislegs and smiling contemptuously to himself.

　　But the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on allfaces- that of fear. Prince Andrew for the second time asked theadjutant on duty to take in his name, but received an ironical lookand was told that his turn would come in due course. After some othershad been shown in and out of the minister's room by the adjutant onduty, an officer who struck Prince Andrew by his humiliated andfrightened air was admitted at that terrible door. This officer'saudience lasted a long time. Then suddenly the grating sound of aharsh voice was heard from the other side of the door, and theofficer- with pale face and trembling lips- came out and passedthrough the waiting room, clutching his head.

　　After this Prince Andrew was conducted to the door and the officeron duty said in a whisper, "To the right, at the window."

　　Prince Andrew entered a plain tidy room and saw at the table a manof forty with a long waist, a long closely cropped head, deepwrinkles, scowling brows above dull greenish-hazel eyes and anoverhanging red nose. Arakcheev turned his head toward him withoutlooking at him.

　　"What is your petition?" asked Arakcheev.

　　"I am not petitioning, your excellency," returned Prince Andrewquietly.

　　Arakcheev's eyes turned toward him.

　　"Sit down," said he. "Prince Bolkonski?"

　　"I am not petitioning about anything. His Majesty the Emperor hasdeigned to send your excellency a project submitted by me..."

　　"You see, my dear sir, I have read your project," interruptedArakcheev, uttering only the first words amiably and then- againwithout looking at Prince Andrew- relapsing gradually into a tone ofgrumbling contempt. "You are proposing new military laws? There aremany laws but no one to carry out the old ones. Nowadays everybodydesigns laws, it is easier writing than doing."

　　"I came at His Majesty the Emperor's wish to learn from yourexcellency how you propose to deal with the memorandum I havepresented," said Prince Andrew politely.

　　"I have endorsed a resolution on your memorandum and sent it tothe committee. I do not approve of it," said Arakcheev, rising andtaking a paper from his writing table. "Here!" and he handed it toPrince Andrew.

　　Across the paper was scrawled in pencil, without capital letters,misspelled, and without punctuation: "Unsoundly constructed becauseresembles an imitation of the French military code and from theArticles of War needlessly deviating."

　　"To what committee has the memorandum been referred?" inquiredPrince Andrew.

　　"To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have recommended thatyour honor should be appointed a member, but without a salary."

　　Prince Andrew smiled.

　　"I don't want one."

　　"A member without salary," repeated Arakcheev. "I have thehonor... Eh! Call the next one! Who else is there?" he shouted, bowingto Prince Andrew.BK6|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　While waiting for the announcement of his appointment to thecommittee 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 theeve of a battle, when troubled by anxious curiosity and irresistiblyattracted to the ruling circles where the future, on which the fate ofmillions depended, was being shaped. From the irritation of theolder men, the curiosity of the uninitiated. the reserve of theinitiated, the hurry and preoccupation of everyone, and theinnumerable committees and commissions of whose existence he learnedevery day, he felt that now, in 1809, here in Petersburg a vastcivil conflict was in preparation, the commander in chief of which wasa mysterious person he did not know, but who was supposed to be aman of genius- Speranski. And this movement of reconstruction of whichPrince Andrew had a vague idea, and Speranski its chief promoter,began to interest him so keenly that the question of the armyregulations quickly receded to a secondary place in his consciousness.

　　Prince Andrew was most favorably placed to secure good receptionin the highest and most diverse Petersburg circles of the day. Thereforming party cordially welcomed and courted him, the first placebecause he was reputed to be clever and very well read, and secondlybecause by liberating his serfs he had obtained the reputation ofbeing a liberal. The party of the old and dissatisfied, who censuredthe innovations, turned to him expecting his sympathy in theirdisapproval of the reforms, simply because he was the son of hisfather. The feminine society world welcomed him gladly, because he wasrich, distinguished, a good match, and almost a newcomer, with ahalo of romance on account of his supposed death and the tragic lossof his wife. Besides this the general opinion of all who had known himpreviously was that he had greatly improved during these last fiveyears, having softened and grown more manly, lost his formeraffectation, pride, and contemptuous irony, and acquired theserenity that comes with years. People talked about him, wereinterested in him, and wanted to meet him.

　　The day after his interview with Count Arakcheev, Prince Andrewspent the evening at Count Kochubey's. He told the count of hisinterview with Sila Andreevich (Kochubey spoke of Arakcheev by thatnickname with the same vague irony Prince Andrew had noticed in theMinister of War's anteroom).

　　"Mon cher, even in this case you can't do without MichaelMikhaylovich Speranski. He manages everything. I'll speak to him. Hehas promised to come this evening."

　　"What has Speranski to do with the army regulations?" asked PrinceAndrew.

　　Kochubey shook his head smilingly, as if surprised at Bolkonski'ssimplicity.

　　"We were talking to him about you a few days ago," Kochubeycontinued, "and about your freed plowmen."

　　"Oh, is it you, Prince, who have freed your serfs?" said an oldman of Catherine's day, turning contemptuously toward Bolkonski.

　　"It was a small estate that brought in no profit," replied PrinceAndrew, trying to extenuate his action so as not to irritate the oldman uselessly.

　　"Afraid of being late..." said the old man, looking at Kochubey.

　　"There's one thing I don't understand," he continued. "Who will plowthe land if they are set free? It is easy to write laws, but difficultto rule.... Just the same as now- I ask you, Count- who will beheads of the departments when everybody has to pass examinations?"

　　"Those who pass the examinations, I suppose," replied Kochubey,crossing his legs and glancing round.

　　"Well, I have Pryanichnikov serving under me, a splendid man, apriceless 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 Kochubey did not finish. He rose, took Prince Andrew by thearm, and went to meet a tall, bald, fair man of about forty with alarge open forehead and a long face of unusual and peculiar whiteness,who was just entering. The newcomer wore a blue swallow-tail coat witha cross suspended from his neck and a star on his left breast. Itwas Speranski. Prince Andrew recognized him at once, and felt athrob within him, as happens at critical moments of life. Whether itwas from respect, envy, or anticipation, he did not know.Speranski's whole figure was of a peculiar type that made him easilyrecognizable. In the society in which Prince Andrew lived he had neverseen anyone who together with awkward and clumsy gestures possessedsuch calmness and self-assurance; he had never seen so resolute yetgentle an expression as that in those half-closed, rather humideyes, or so firm a smile that expressed nothing; nor had he heard sucha refined, smooth, soft voice; above all he had never seen suchdelicate whiteness of face or hands- hands which were broad, butvery plump, soft, and white. Such whiteness and softness Prince Andrewhad only seen on the faces of soldiers who had been long inhospital. This was Speranski, Secretary of State, reporter to theEmperor and his companion at Erfurt, where he had more than once metand talked with Napoleon.

　　Speranski did not shift his eyes from one face to another aspeople involuntarily do on entering a large company and was in nohurry to speak. He spoke slowly, with assurance that he would belistened to, and he looked only at the person with whom he wasconversing.

　　Prince Andrew followed Speranski's every word and movement withparticular attention. As happens to some people, especially to men whojudge those near to them severely, he always on meeting anyone new-especially anyone whom, like Speranski, he knew by reputation-expected to discover in him the perfection of human qualities.

　　Speranski told Kochubey he was sorry he had been unable to comesooner as he had been detained at the palace. He did not say thatthe Emperor had kept him, and Prince Andrew noticed this affectationof modesty. When Kochubey introduced Prince Andrew, Speranski slowlyturned his eyes to Bolkonski with his customary smile and looked athim in silence.

　　"I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I had heard of you, aseveryone has," he said after a pause.

　　Kochubey said a few words about the reception Arakcheev had givenBolkonski. Speranski smiled more markedly.

　　"The chairman of the Committee on Army Regulations is my good friendMonsieur Magnitski," he said, fully articulating every word andsyllable, "and if you like I can put you in touch with him." He pausedat the full stop. "I hope you will find him sympathetic and ready toco-operate in promoting all that is reasonable."

　　A circle soon formed round Speranski, and the old man who had talkedabout his subordinate Pryanichnikov addressed a question to him.

　　Prince Andrew without joining in the conversation watched everymovement of Speranski's: this man, not long since an insignificantdivinity student, who now, Bolkonski thought, held in his hands- thoseplump white hands- the fate of Russia. Prince Andrew was struck by theextraordinarily disdainful composure with which Speranski answered theold man. He appeared to address condescending words to him from animmeasurable height. When the old man began to speak too loud,Speranski smiled and said he could not judge of the advantage ordisadvantage of what pleased the sovereign.

　　Having talked for a little while in the general circle, Speranskirose and coming up to Prince Andrew took him along to the other end ofthe room. It was clear that he thought it necessary to interesthimself in Bolkonski.

　　"I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, during the animatedconversation in which that venerable gentleman involved me," he saidwith a mildly contemptuous smile, as if intimating by that smilethat he and Prince Andrew understood the insignificance of thepeople with whom he had just been talking. This flattered PrinceAndrew. "I have known of you for a long time: first from your actionwith regard to your serfs, a first example, of which it is verydesirable that there should be more imitators; and secondly becauseyou are one of those gentlemen of the chamber who have notconsidered themselves offended by the new decree concerning theranks allotted to courtiers, which is causing so much gossip andtittle-tattle."

　　"No," said Prince Andrew, "my father did not wish me to takeadvantage of the privilege. I began the service from the lower grade."

　　"Your father, a man of the last century, evidently stands aboveour contemporaries who so condemn this measure which merelyreestablishes natural justice."

　　"I think, however, that these condemnations have some ground,"returned Prince Andrew, trying to resist Speranski's influence, ofwhich he began to be conscious. He did not like to agree with him ineverything and felt a wish to contradict. Though he usually spokeeasily and well, he felt a difficulty in expressing himself nowwhile talking with Speranski. He was too much absorbed in observingthe famous man's personality.

　　"Grounds of personal ambition maybe," Speranski put in quietly.

　　"And of state interest to some extent," said Prince Andrew.

　　"What do you mean?" asked Speranski quietly, lowering his eyes.

　　"I am an admirer of Montesquieu," replied Prince Andrew, "and hisidea that le principe des monarchies est l'honneur me paraitincontestable. Certains droits et privileges de la noblesse meparaissent etre 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 meansof maintaining that sentiment."

　　The smile vanished from Speranski's white face, which was muchimproved by the change. Probably Prince Andrew's thought interestedhim.

　　"Si vous envisagez la question sous ce point de vue,"* he began,pronouncing French with evident difficulty, and speaking even slowerthan in Russian but quite calmly.

　　*"If you regard the question from that point of view."

　　Speranski went on to say that honor, l'honeur, cannot be upheld byprivileges harmful to the service; that honor, l'honneur, is eithera negative concept of not doing what is blameworthy or it is asource of emulation in pursuit of commendation and rewards, whichrecognize it. His arguments were concise, simple, and clear.

　　"An institution upholding honor, the source of emulation, is onesimilar to the Legion d'honneur of the great Emperor Napoleon, notharmful but helpful to the success of the service, but not a classor court privilege."

　　"I do not dispute that, but it cannot be denied that courtprivileges have attained the same end," returned Prince Andrew. "Everycourtier considers himself bound to maintain his position worthily."

　　"Yet you do not care to avail yourself of the privilege, Prince,"said Speranski, indicating by a smile that he wished to finish amiablyan argument which was embarrassing for his companion. "If you willdo me the honor of calling on me on Wednesday," he added, "I will,after talking with Magnitski, 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 a la francaise, without taking leave, andtrying to attract as little attention as possible, he left the room.BK6|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　During the first weeks of his stay in Petersburg Prince Andrewfelt the whole trend of thought he had formed during his life ofseclusion quite overshadowed by the trifling cares that engrossedhim in that city.

　　On returning home in the evening he would jot down in his notebookfour or five necessary calls or appointments for certain hours. Themechanism of life, the arrangement of the day so as to be in timeeverywhere, absorbed the greater part of his vital energy. He didnothing, 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 thesame remark on the same day in different circles. But he was so busyfor whole days together that he had no time to notice that he wasthinking of nothing.

　　As he had done on their first meeting at Kochubey's, Speranskiproduced a strong impression on Prince Andrew on the Wednesday, whenhe received him tete-a-tate at his own house and talked to him longand confidentially.

　　To Bolkonski so many people appeared contemptible andinsignificant creatures, and he so longed to find in someone theliving ideal of that perfection toward which he strove, that hereadily believed that in Speranski he had found this ideal of aperfectly rational and virtuous man. Had Speranski sprung from thesame class as himself and possessed the same breeding andtraditions, Bolkonski would soon have discovered his weak, human,unheroic sides; but as it was, Speranski's strange and logical turn ofmind inspired him with respect all the more because he did not quiteunderstand him. Moreover, Speranski, either because he appreciated theother's capacity or because he considered it necessary to win him tohis side, showed off his dispassionate calm reasonableness beforePrince Andrew and flattered him with that subtle flattery which goeshand in hand with self-assurance and consists in a tacit assumptionthat one's companion is the only man besides oneself capable ofunderstanding the folly of the rest of mankind and thereasonableness and profundity of one's own ideas.

　　During their long conversation on Wednesday evening, Speranskimore than once remarked: "We regard everything that is above thecommon level of rooted custom..." or, with a smile: "But we want thewolves to be fed and the sheep to be safe..." or: "They cannotunderstand this..." and all in a way that seemed to say: "We, youand I, understand what they are and who we are."

　　This first long conversation with Speranski only strengthened inPrince Andrew the feeling he had experienced toward him at their firstmeeting. He saw in him a remarkable, clear-thinking man of vastintellect who by his energy and persistence had attained power,which he was using solely for the welfare of Russia. In PrinceAndrew's eyes Speranski was the man he would himself have wished tobe- one who explained all the facts of life reasonably, consideredimportant only what was rational, and was capable of applying thestandard of reason to everything. Everything seemed so simple andclear in Speranski's exposition that Prince Andrew involuntarilyagreed with him about everything. If he replied and argued, it wasonly because he wished to maintain his independence and not submitto Speranski's opinions entirely. Everything was right andeverything was as it should be: only one thing disconcerted PrinceAndrew. This was Speranski's cold, mirrorlike look, which did notallow one to penetrate to his soul, and his delicate white hands,which Prince Andrew involuntarily watched as one does watch thehands of those who possess power. This mirrorlike gaze and thosedelicate hands irritated Prince Andrew, he knew not why. He wasunpleasantly struck, too, by the excessive contempt for others that heobserved in Speranski, and by the diversity of lines of argument heused to support his opinions. He made use of every kind of mentaldevice, except analogy, and passed too boldly, it seemed to PrinceAndrew, from one to another. Now he would take up the position of apractical man and condemn dreamers; now that of a satirist, andlaugh ironically at his opponents; now grow severely logical, orsuddenly rise to the realm of metaphysics. (This last resource was onehe very frequently employed.) He would transfer a question tometaphysical heights, pass on to definitions of space, time, andthought, and, having deduced the refutation he needed, would againdescend to the level of the original discussion.

　　In general the trait of Speranski's mentality which struck PrinceAndrew most was his absolute and unshakable belief in the power andauthority of reason. It was evident that the thought could never occurto him which to Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that it isafter all impossible to express all one thinks; and that he hadnever felt the doubt, "Is not all I think and believe nonsense?" Andit was just this peculiarity of Speranski's mind that particularlyattracted Prince Andrew.

　　During the first period of their acquaintance Bolkonski felt apassionate admiration for him similar to that which he had once feltfor Bonaparte. The fact that Speranski was the son of a villagepriest, and that stupid people might meanly despise him on accountof his humble origin (as in fact many did), caused Prince Andrew tocherish his sentiment for him the more, and unconsciously tostrengthen it.

　　On that first evening Bolkonski spent with him, having mentioned theCommission for the Revision of the Code of Laws, Speranski told himsarcastically that the Commission had existed for a hundred andfifty years, had cost millions, and had done nothing except thatRosenkampf had stuck labels on the corresponding paragraphs of thedifferent 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 haveno laws. That is why it is a sin for men like you, Prince, not toserve in these times!"

　　Prince Andrew said that for that work an education injurisprudence was needed which he did not possess.

　　"But nobody possesses it, so what would you have? It is a viciouscircle from which we must break a way out."

　　A week later Prince Andrew was a member of the Committee on ArmyRegulations and- what he had not at all expected- was chairman of asection of the committee for the revision of the laws. AtSperanski's request he took the first part of the Civil Code thatwas being drawn up and, with the aid of the Code Napoleon and theInstitutes of Justinian, he worked at formulating the section onPersonal Rights.BK6|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Nearly two years before this, in 1808, Pierre on returning toPetersburg after visiting his estates had involuntarily foundhimself in a leading position among the Petersburg Freemasons. Hearranged dining and funeral lodge meetings, enrolled new members,and busied himself uniting various lodges and acquiring authenticcharters. He gave money for the erection of temples and supplementedas far as he could the collection of alms, in regard to which themajority of members were stingy and irregular. He supported almostsinglehanded a poorhouse the order had founded in Petersburg.

　　His life meanwhile continued as before, with the same infatuationsand dissipations. He liked to dine and drink well, and though heconsidered it immoral and humiliating could not resist the temptationsof the bachelor circles in which he moved.

　　Amid the turmoil of his activities and distractions, however, Pierreat the end of a year began to feel that the more firmly he tried torest upon it, the more Masonic ground on which he stood gave way underhim. At the same time he felt that the deeper the ground sank underhim the closer bound he involuntarily became to the order. When he hadjoined the Freemasons he had experienced the feeling of one whoconfidently steps onto the smooth surface of a bog. When he put hisfoot down it sank in. To make quite sure of the firmness the ground,he put his other foot down and sank deeper still, became stuck init, and involuntarily waded knee-deep in the bog.

　　Joseph Alexeevich was not in Petersburg- he had of late stoodaside from the affairs of the Petersburg lodges, and lived almostentirely in Moscow. All the members of the lodges were men Pierre knewin ordinary life, and it was difficult for him to regard them merelyas Brothers in Freemasonry and not as Prince B. or Ivan Vasilevich D.,whom he knew in society mostly as weak and insignificant men. Underthe Masonic aprons and insignia he saw the uniforms and decorations atwhich they aimed in ordinary life. Often after collecting alms, andreckoning up twenty to thirty rubles received for the most part inpromises from a dozen members, of whom half were as well able to payas himself, Pierre remembered the Masonic vow in which each Brotherpromised to devote all his belongings to his neighbor, and doubts onwhich he tried not to dwell arose in his soul.

　　He divided the Brothers he knew into four categories. In the firsthe put those who did not take an active part in the affairs of thelodges or in human affairs, but were exclusively occupied with themystical science of the order: with questions of the threefolddesignation of God, the three primordial elements- sulphur, mercury,and salt- or the meaning of the square and all the various figuresof the temple of Solomon. Pierre respected this class of Brothers towhich the elder ones chiefly belonged, including, Pierre thought,Joseph Alexeevich himself, but he did not share their interests. Hisheart was not in the mystical aspect of Freemasonry.

　　In the second category Pierre reckoned himself and others likehim, seeking and vacillating, who had not yet found in Freemasonry astraight 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 andceremonies, and prized the strict performance of these forms withouttroubling about their purport or significance. Such were Willarski andeven 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 toPierre's observations were men who had no belief in anything, nordesire for anything, but joined the Freemasons merely to associatewith the wealthy young Brothers who were influential through theirconnections 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 himbased merely on externals. He did not think of doubting Freemasonryitself, but suspected that Russian Masonry had taken a wrong pathand deviated from its original principles. And so toward the end ofthe year he went abroad to be initiated into the higher secrets of theorder.

　　In the summer of 1809 Pierre returned to Petersburg. OurFreemasons knew from correspondence with those abroad that Bezukhovhad obtained the confidence of many highly placed persons, had beeninitiated into many mysteries, had been raised to a higher grade,and was bringing back with him much that might conduce to theadvantage of the Masonic cause in Russia. The Petersburg Freemasonsall came to see him, tried to ingratiate themselves with him, and itseemed to them all that he was preparing something for them andconcealing it.

　　A solemn meeting of the lodge of the second degree was convened,at which Pierre promised to communicate to the Petersburg Brotherswhat he had to deliver to them from the highest leaders of theirorder. The meeting was a full one. After the usual ceremonies Pierrerose and began his address.

　　"Dear Brothers," he began, blushing and stammering, with a writtenspeech in his hand, "it is not sufficient to observe our mysteriesin 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 ofvirtue," he read, "we must cleanse men from prejudice, diffuseprinciples in harmony with the spirit of the times, undertake theeducation of the young, unite ourselves in indissoluble bonds with thewisest men, boldly yet prudently overcome superstitions, infidelity,and folly, and form of those devoted to us a body linked together byunity of purpose and possessed of authority and power.

　　"To attain this end we must secure a preponderance of virtue overvice and must endeavor to secure that the honest man may, even in thisworld, receive a lasting reward for his virtue. But in these greatendeavors we are gravely hampered by the political institutions oftoday. What is to be done in these circumstances? To favorrevolutions, overthrow everything, repel force by force?... No! We arevery far from that. Every violent reform deserves censure, for itquite fails to remedy evil while men remain what they are, and alsobecause wisdom needs no violence.

　　"The whole plan of our order should be based on the idea ofpreparing men of firmness and virtue bound together by unity ofconviction- aiming at the punishment of vice and folly, andpatronizing talent and virtue: raising worthy men from the dust andattaching them to our Brotherhood. Only then will our order have thepower unobtrusively to bind the hands of the protectors of disorderand to control them without their being aware of it. In a word, wemust found a form of government holding universal sway, which shouldbe diffused over the whole world without destroying the bonds ofcitizenship, and beside which all other governments can continue intheir customary course and do everything except what impedes the greataim 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 andgood and for their own benefit to follow the example and instructionof the best and wisest men.

　　"At that time, when everything was plunged in darkness, preachingalone was of course sufficient. The novelty of Truth endowed herwith special strength, but now we need much more powerful methods.It is now necessary that man, governed by his senses, should find invirtue a charm palpable to those senses. It is impossible to eradicatethe passions; but we must strive to direct them to a noble aim, and itis therefore necessary that everyone should be able to satisfy hispassions within the limits of virtue. Our order should provide meansto 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 secretaccomplished much for the welfare of mankind."

　　This speech not only made a strong impression, but createdexcitement in the lodge. The majority of the Brothers, seeing in itdangerous designs of Illuminism,* met it with a coldness thatsurprised Pierre. The Grand Master began answering him, and Pierrebegan developing his views with more and more warmth. It was longsince there had been so stormy a meeting. Parties were formed, someaccusing Pierre of Illuminism, others supporting him. At thatmeeting he was struck for the first time by the endless variety ofmen's minds, which prevents a truth from ever presenting itselfidentically to two persons. Even those members who seemed to be on hisside understood him in their own way with limitations andalterations he could not agree to, as what he always wanted most wasto convey his thought to others just as he himself understood it.

　　*The Illuminati sought to substitute republican for monarchicalinstitutions.

　　At the end of the meeting the Grand Master with irony and ill-willreproved Bezukhov for his vehemence and said it was not love of virtuealone, but also a love of strife that had moved him in the dispute.Pierre did not answer him and asked briefly whether his proposal wouldbe accepted. He was told that it would not, and without waiting forthe usual formalities he left the lodge and went home.BK6|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　Again Pierre was overtaken by the depression he so dreaded. Forthree days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on asofa at home receiving no one and going nowhere.

　　It was just then that he received a letter from his wife, whoimplored him to see her, telling him how grieved she was about him andhow she wished to devote her whole life to him.

　　At the end of the letter she informed him that in a few days shewould return to Petersburg from abroad.

　　Following this letter one of the Masonic Brothers whom Pierrerespected less than the others forced his way in to see him and,turning the conversation upon Pierre's matrimonial affairs, by wayof fraternal advice expressed the opinion that his severity to hiswife was wrong and that he was neglecting one of the first rules ofFreemasonry by not forgiving the penitent.

　　At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince Vasili's wife, sent tohim imploring him to come if only for a few minutes to discuss amost important matter. Pierre saw that there was a conspiracyagainst him and that they wanted to reunite him with his wife, andin the mood he then was, this was not even unpleasant to him.Nothing mattered to him. Nothing in life seemed to him of muchimportance, and under the influence of the depression that possessedhim he valued neither his liberty nor his resolution to punish hiswife.

　　"No one is right and no one is to blame; so she too is not toblame," 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 totake any step. Had his wife come to him, he would not have turnedher away. Compared to what preoccupied him, was it not a matter ofindifference whether he lived with his wife or not?

　　Without replying either to his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierrelate one night prepared for a journey and started for Moscow to seeJoseph Alexeevich. This is what he noted in his diary:

　　Moscow, 17th November

　　I have just returned from my benefactor, and hasten to write downwhat I have experienced. Joseph Alexeevich is living poorly and hasfor three years been suffering from a painful disease of thebladder. No one has ever heard him utter a groan or a word ofcomplaint. From morning till late at night, except when he eats hisvery plain food, he is working at science. He received me graciouslyand made me sit down on the bed on which he lay. I made the sign ofthe Knights of the East and of Jerusalem, and he responded in the samemanner, asking me with a mild smile what I had learned and gained inthe Prussian and Scottish lodges. I told him everything as best Icould, and told him what I had proposed to our Petersburg lodge, ofthe bad reception I had encountered, and of my rupture with theBrothers. Joseph Alexeevich, having remained silent and thoughtful fora good while, told me his view of the matter, which at once lit up forme my whole past and the future path I should follow. He surprisedme by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of the order:(1) The preservation and study of the mystery. (2) The purificationand reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) Theimprovement of the human race by striving for such purification. Whichis the principal aim of these three? Certainly self-reformation andself-purification. Only to this aim can we always strive independentlyof circumstances. But at the same time just this aim demands thegreatest efforts of us; and so, led astray by pride, losing sight ofthis aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery which in ourimpurity we are unworthy to receive, or seek the reformation of thehuman race while ourselves setting an example of baseness andprofligacy. Illuminism is not a pure doctrine, just because it isattracted by social activity and puffed up by pride. On this groundJoseph Alexeevich condemned my speech and my whole activity, and inthe depth of my soul I agreed with him. Talking of my family affairshe 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 thedifficulties of our life we shall more quickly reach our aim, but onthe contrary, my dear sir, it is only in the midst of worldly caresthat we can attain our three chief aims: (1) Self-knowledge- for mancan only know himself by comparison, (2) Self-perfecting, which canonly be attained by conflict, and (3) The attainment of the chiefvirtue- love of death. Only the vicissitudes of life can show us itsvanity and develop our innate love of death or of rebirth to a newlife." These words are all the more remarkable because, in spite ofhis great physical sufferings, Joseph Alexeevich is never weary oflife though he loves death, for which- in spite of the purity andloftiness of his inner man- he does not yet feel himselfsufficiently prepared. My benefactor then explained to me fully themeaning of the Great Square of creation and pointed out to me that thenumbers three and seven are the basis of everything. He advised me notto avoid intercourse with the Petersburg Brothers, but to take up onlysecond-grade posts in the lodge, to try, while diverting theBrothers from pride, to turn them toward the true pathself-knowledge and self-perfecting. Besides this he advised me formyself personally above all to keep a watch over myself, and to thatend he gave me a notebook, the one I am now writing in and in whichI 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 tearsand said that Helene was here and that she implored me to hear her;that she was innocent and unhappy at my desertion, and much more. Iknew that if I once let myself see her I should not have strength togo on refusing what she wanted. In my perplexity I did not knowwhose aid and advice to seek. Had my benefactor been here he wouldhave told me what to do. I went to my room and reread JosephAlexeevich's letters and recalled my conversations with him, anddeduced from it all that I ought not to refuse a suppliant, andought to reach a helping hand to everyone- especially to one soclosely bound to me- and that I must bear my cross. But if I forgiveher for the sake of doing right, then let union with her have only aspiritual aim. That is what I decided, and what I wrote to JosephAlexeevich. I told my wife that I begged her to forget the past, toforgive me whatever wrong I may have done her, and that I hadnothing to forgive. It gave me joy to tell her this. She need not knowhow hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled on the upperfloor of this big house and am experiencing a happy feeling ofregeneration.BK6|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　At that time, as always happens, the highest society that met atcourt and at the grand balls was divided into several circles, eachwith its own particular tone. The largest of these was the Frenchcircle of the Napoleonic alliance, the circle of Count Rumyantsevand Caulaincourt. In this group Helene, as soon as she had settledin Petersburg with her husband, took a very prominent place. She wasvisited by the members of the French embassy and by many belongingto that circle and noted for their intellect and polished manners.

　　Helene had been at Erfurt during the famous meeting of theEmperors and had brought from there these connections with theNapoleonic 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 elegantwoman did not surprise Pierre, for she had become even handsomerthan before. What did surprise him was that during these last twoyears his wife had succeeded in gaining the reputation "d' une femmecharmante, aussi spirituelle que belle."*[2] The distinguishedPrince de Ligne wrote her eight-page letters. Bilibin saved up hisepigrams to produce them in Countess Bezukhova's presence. To bereceived in the Countess Bezukhova's salon was regarded as a diplomaof intellect. Young men read books before attending Helene'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 away Helene was a power. Pierre, who knew she was very stupid,sometimes attended, with a strange feeling of perplexity and fear, herevenings and dinner parties, where politics, poetry, and philosophywere discussed. At these parties his feelings were like those of aconjuror who always expects his trick to be found out at any moment.But whether because stupidity was just what was needed to run such asalon, or because those who were deceived found pleasure in thedeception, at any rate it remained unexposed and Helene Bezukhova'sreputation as a lovely and clever woman became so firmly establishedthat she could say the emptiest and stupidest things and everybodywould go into raptures over every word of hers and look for a profoundmeaning 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. Hewas that absent-minded crank, a grand seigneur husband who was in noone's way, and far from spoiling the high tone and generalimpression of the drawing room, he served, by the contrast hepresented to her, as an advantageous background to his elegant andtactful wife. Pierre during the last two years, as a result of hiscontinual absorption in abstract interests and his sincere contemptfor all else, had acquired in his wife's circle, which did notinterest him, that air of unconcern, indifference, and benevolencetoward all, which cannot be acquired artificially and thereforeinspires involuntary respect. He entered his wife's drawing room asone enters a theater, was acquainted with everybody, equally pleasedto see everyone, and equally indifferent to them all. Sometimes hejoined in a conversation which interested him and, regardless ofwhether any "gentlemen of the embassy" were present or not,lispingly expressed his views, which were sometimes not at all inaccord with the accepted tone of the moment. But the general opinionconcerning the queer husband of "the most distinguished woman inPetersburg" was so well established that no one took his freaksseriously.

　　Among the many young men who frequented her house every day, BorisDrubetskoy, who had already achieved great success in the service, wasthe most intimate friend of the Bezukhov household since Helene'sreturn from Erfurt. Helene spoke of him as "mon page" and treatedhim like a child. Her smile for him was the same as for everybody, butsometimes that smile made Pierre uncomfortable. Toward him Borisbehaved with a particularly dignified and sad deference. This shade ofdeference also disturbed Pierre. He had suffered so painfully threeyears before from the mortification to which his wife had subjectedhim that he now protected himself from the danger of its repetition,first by not being a husband to his wife, and secondly by not allowinghimself to suspect.

　　"No, now that she has become a bluestocking she has finallyrenounced her former infatuations," he told himself. "There hasnever been an instance of a bluestocking being carried away by affairsof the heart"- a statement which, though gathered from an unknownsource, he believed implicitly. Yet strange to say Boris' presencein his wife's drawing room (and he was almost always there) had aphysical effect upon Pierre; it constricted his limbs and destroyedthe unconsciousness and freedom of his movements.

　　"What a strange antipathy," thought Pierre, "yet I used to likehim very much."

　　In the eyes of the world Pierre was a great gentleman, the ratherblind and absurd husband of a distinguished wife, a clever crank whodid nothing but harmed nobody and was a first-rate, good-naturedfellow. But a complex and difficult process of internal developmentwas taking place all this time in Pierre's soul, revealing much to himand causing him many spiritual doubts and joys.BK6|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in itduring that time:

　　24th November

　　Got up at eight, read the Scriptures, then went to my duties. [ByJoseph Alexeevich's advice Pierre had entered the service of the stateand served on one of the committees.] Returned home for dinner anddined alone- the countess had many visitors I do not like. I ate anddrank moderately and after dinner copied out some passages for theBrothers. In the evening I went down to the countess and told afunny story about B., and only remembered that I ought not to havedone so when everybody laughed loudly at it.

　　I am going to bed with a happy and tranquil mind. Great God, help meto walk in Thy paths, (1) to conquer anger by calmness anddeliberation, (2) to vanquish lust by self-restraint and repulsion,(3) to withdraw from worldliness, but not avoid (a) the service of thestate, (b) family duties, (c) relations with my friends, and themanagement 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 theScriptures, but without proper feeling. Brother Urusov came and wetalked about worldly vanities. He told me of the Emperor's newprojects. I began to criticize them, but remembered my rules and mybenefactor's words- that a true Freemason should be a zealous workerfor the state when his aid is required and a quiet onlooker when notcalled 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 anew Brother. They laid on me the duty of Rhetor. I feel myself weakand unworthy. Then our talk turned to the interpretation of theseven pillars and steps of the Temple, the seven sciences, the sevenvirtues, 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 themagnificence of the spectacle. It was Boris Drubetskoy who wasadmitted. I nominated him and was the Rhetor. A strange feelingagitated me all the time I was alone with him in the dark chamber. Icaught myself harboring a feeling of hatred toward him which Ivainly tried to overcome. That is why I should really like to save himfrom evil and lead him into the path of truth, but evil thoughts ofhim did not leave me. It seemed to me that his object in enteringthe Brotherhood was merely to be intimate and in favor with members ofour lodge. Apart from the fact that he had asked me several timeswhether N. and S. were members of our lodge (a question to which Icould not reply) and that according to my observation he isincapable of feeling respect for our holy order and is too preoccupiedand satisfied with the outer man to desire spiritual improvement, Ihad no cause to doubt him, but he seemed to me insincere, and allthe time I stood alone with him in the dark temple it seemed to methat he was smiling contemptuously at my words, and I wished really tostab his bare breast with the sword I held to it. I could not beeloquent, nor could I frankly mention my doubts to the Brothers and tothe Grand Master. Great Architect of Nature, help me to find thetrue path out of the labyrinth of lies!

　　After this, three pages were left blank in the diary, and thenthe following was written:

　　I have had a long and instructive talk alone with Brother V., whoadvised me to hold fast by brother A. Though I am unworthy, much wasrevealed to me. Adonai is the name of the creator of the world. Elohimis the name of the ruler of all. The third name is the nameunutterable which means the All. Talks with Brother V. strengthen,refresh, and support me in the path of virtue. In his presence doubthas no place. The distinction between the poor teachings of mundanescience and our sacred all-embracing teaching is clear to me. Humansciences dissect everything to comprehend it, and kill everything toexamine it. In the holy science of our order all is one, all isknown in its entirety and life. The Trinity- the three elements ofmatter- are sulphur, mercury, and salt. Sulphur is of an oily andfiery nature; in combination with salt by its fiery nature itarouses a desire in the latter by means of which it attractsmercury, seizes it, holds it, and in combination produces otherbodies. Mercury is a fluid, volatile, spiritual essence. Christ, theHoly Spirit, Him!...

　　3rd December

　　Awoke late, read the Scriptures but was apathetic. Afterwards wentand paced up and down the large hall. I wished to meditate, butinstead my imagination pictured an occurrence of four years ago,when Dolokhov, meeting me in Moscow after our duel, said he hoped Iwas enjoying perfect peace of mind in spite of my wife's absence. Atthe time I gave him no answer. Now I recalled every detail of thatmeeting and in my mind gave him the most malevolent and bitterreplies. I recollected myself and drove away that thought only whenI found myself glowing with anger, but I did not sufficientlyrepent. Afterwards Boris Drubetskoy came and began relating variousadventures. His coming vexed me from the first, and I said somethingdisagreeable to him. He replied. I flared up and said much that wasunpleasant and even rude to him. He became silent, and I recollectedmyself only when it was too late. My God, I cannot get on with himat all. The cause of this is my egotism. I set myself above him and sobecome much worse than he, for he is lenient to my rudeness while I onthe contrary nourish contempt for him. O God, grant that in hispresence I may rather see my own vileness, and behave so that he toomay benefit. After dinner I fell asleep and as I was drowsing off Iclearly heard a voice saying in my left ear, "Thy day!"

　　I dreamed that I was walking in the dark and was suddenly surroundedby dogs, but I went on undismayed. Suddenly a smallish dog seized myleft thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I began to throttle itwith my hands. Scarcely had I torn it off before another, a biggerone, began biting me. I lifted it up, but the higher I lifted it thebigger and heavier it grew. And suddenly Brother A. came and, takingmy arm, led me to a building to enter which we had to pass along anarrow plank. I stepped on it, but it bent and gave way and I began toclamber up a fence which I could scarcely reach with my hands. Aftermuch effort I dragged myself up, so that my leg hung down on oneside 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. OLord, great Architect of Nature, help me to tear from myself thesedogs- my passions especially the last, which unites in itself thestrength of all the former ones, and aid me to enter that temple ofvirtue to a vision of which I attained in my dream.

　　7th December

　　I dreamed that Joseph Alexeevich was sitting in my house, and that Iwas very glad and wished to entertain him. It seemed as if I chatteredincessantly with other people and suddenly remembered that thiscould not please him, and I wished to come close to him and embracehim. But as soon as I drew near I saw that his face had changed andgrown young, and he was quietly telling me something about theteaching of our order, but so softly that I could not hear it. Then itseemed that we all left the room and something strange happened. Wewere sitting or lying on the floor. He was telling me something, and Iwished to show him my sensibility, and not listening to what he wassaying I began picturing to myself the condition of my inner man andthe grace of God sanctifying me. And tears came into my eyes, and Iwas glad he noticed this. But be looked at me with vexation and jumpedup, breaking off his remarks. I felt abashed and asked whether what hehad been saying did not concern me; but he did not reply, gave me akind look, and then we suddenly found ourselves in my bedroom wherethere is a double bed. He lay down on the edge of it and I burned withlonging to caress him and lie down too. And he said, "Tell mefrankly what is your chief temptation? Do you know it? I think youknow it already." Abashed by this question, I replied that sloth wasmy chief temptation. He shook his head incredulously; and even moreabashed, I said that though I was living with my wife as he advised, Iwas not living with her as her husband. To this he replied that oneshould not deprive a wife of one's embraces and gave me tounderstand that that was my duty. But I replied that I should beashamed to do it, and suddenly everything vanished. And I awoke andfound in my mind the text from the Gospel: "The life was the lightof men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darknesscomprehended it not." Joseph Alexeevich's face had looked young andbright. That day I received a letter from my benefactor in which hewrote about "conjugal duties."

　　9th December

　　I had a dream from which I awoke with a throbbing heart. I sawthat I was in Moscow in my house, in the big sitting room, andJoseph Alexeevich came in from the drawing room. I seemed to know atonce that the process of regeneration had already taken place inhim, 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 lookedat 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 quitechanged. And I said, "I should have known you had I met you bychance," and I thought to myself, "Am I telling the truth?" Andsuddenly I saw him lying like a dead body; then he gradually recoveredand went with me into my study carrying a large book of sheets ofdrawing paper; I said, "I drew that," and he answered by bowing hishead. I opened the book, and on all the pages there were excellentdrawings. And in my dream I knew that these drawings represented thelove adventures of the soul with its beloved. And on its pages I saw abeautiful representation of a maiden in transparent garments andwith a transparent body, flying up to the clouds. And I seemed to knowthat this maiden was nothing else than a representation of the Song ofSongs. And looking at those drawings I dreamed I felt that I was doingwrong, but could not tear myself away from them. Lord, help me! MyGod, if Thy forsaking me is Thy doing, Thy will be done; but if I ammyself the cause, teach me what I should do! I shall perish of mydebauchery if Thou utterly desertest me!BK6|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　The Rostovs' monetary affairs had not improved during the twoyears they had spent in the country.

　　Though Nicholas Rostov had kept firmly to his resolution and wasstill serving modestly in an obscure regiment, spendingcomparatively little, the way of life at Otradnoe- Mitenka'smanagement of affairs, in particular- was such that the debtsinevitably increased every year. The only resource obviouslypresenting itself to the old count was to apply for an officialpost, so he had come to Petersburg to look for one and also, as hesaid, to let the lassies enjoy themselves for the last time.

　　Soon after their arrival in Petersburg Berg proposed to Vera and wasaccepted.

　　Though in Moscow the Rostovs belonged to the best society withoutthemselves giving it a thought, yet in Petersburg their circle ofacquaintances was a mixed and indefinite one. In Petersburg theywere provincials, and the very people they had entertained in Moscowwithout inquiring to what set they belonged, here looked down on them.

　　The Rostovs lived in the same hospitable way in Petersburg as inMoscow, and the most diverse people met at their suppers. Countryneighbors from Otradnoe, impoverished old squires and their daughters,Peronskaya a maid of honor, Pierre Bezukhov, and the son of theirdistrict postmaster who had obtained a post in Petersburg. Among themen who very soon became frequent visitors at the Rostovs' house inPetersburg were Boris, Pierre whom the count had met in the street anddragged home with him, and Berg who spent whole days at the Rostovs'and paid the eldest daughter, Countess Vera, the attentions a youngman pays when he intends to propose.

　　Not in vain had Berg shown everybody his right hand wounded atAusterlitz and held a perfectly unnecessary sword in his left. Henarrated that episode so persistently and with so important an airthat everyone believed in the merit and usefulness of his deed, and hehad obtained two decorations for Austerlitz.

　　In the Finnish war he also managed to distinguish himself. He hadpicked up the scrap of a grenade that had killed an aide-de-campstanding near the commander in chief and had taken it to hiscommander. Just as he had done after Austerlitz, he related thisoccurrence at such length and so insistently that everyone againbelieved it had been necessary to do this, and he received twodecorations for the Finnish war also. In 1809 he was a captain inthe Guards, wore medals, and held some special lucrative posts inPetersburg.

　　Though some skeptics smiled when told of Berg's merits, it could notbe denied that he was a painstaking and brave officer, on excellentterms with his superiors, and a moral young man with a brilliantcareer before him and an assured position in society.

　　Four years before, meeting a German comrade in the stalls of aMoscow theater, Berg had pointed out Vera Rostova to him and hadsaid in German, "das soll mein Weib werden,"* and from that moment hadmade up his mind to marry her. Now in Petersburg, having consideredthe Rostovs' position and his own, he decided that the time had cometo propose.

　　*"That girl shall be my wife."

　　Berg's proposal was at first received with a perplexity that was notflattering to him. At first it seemed strange that the son of anobscure Livonian gentleman should propose marriage to a CountessRostova; but Berg's chief characteristic was such a naive and goodnatured egotism that the Rostovs involuntarily came to think itwould be a good thing, since he himself was so firmly convinced thatit was good, indeed excellent. Moreover, the Rostovs' affairs wereseriously embarrassed, as the suitor could not but know; and aboveall, Vera was twenty-four, had been taken out everywhere, and thoughshe was certainly good-looking and sensible, no one up to now hadproposed to her. So they gave their consent.

　　"You see," said Berg to his comrade, whom he called "friend" onlybecause he knew that everyone has friends, "you see, I have consideredit all, and should not marry if I had not thought it all out or ifit were in any way unsuitable. But on the contrary, my papa andmamma are now provided for- I have arranged that rent for them inthe Baltic Provinces- and I can live in Petersburg on my pay, and withher fortune and my good management we can get along nicely. I am notmarrying for money- I consider that dishonorable- but a wife shouldbring her share and a husband his. I have my position in theservice, she has connections and some means. In our times that isworth something, isn't it? But above all, she is a handsome, estimablegirl, 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 quitedifferent- an unpleasant character and has not the sameintelligence. She is so... you know?... Unpleasant... But myfiancee!... Well, you will be coming," he was going to say, "to dine,"but changed his mind and said "to take tea with us," and quicklydoubling 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 byBerg's proposal, the holiday tone of joyousness usual at such timestook possession of the family, but the rejoicing was external andinsincere. In the family's feeling toward this wedding a certainawkwardness and constraint was evident, as if they were ashamed of nothaving loved Vera sufficiently and of being so ready to get her offtheir hands. The old count felt this most. He would probably have beenunable to state the cause of his embarrassment, but it resulted fromthe state of his affairs. He did not know at all how much he had, whathis debts amounted to, or what dowry he could give Vera. When hisdaughters were born he had assigned to each of them, for her dowry, anestate with three hundred serfs; but one of these estates hadalready been sold, and the other was mortgaged and the interest somuch in arrears that it would have to be sold, so that it wasimpossible to give it to Vera. Nor had he any money.

　　Berg had already been engaged a month, and only a week remainedbefore the wedding, but the count had not yet decided in his ownmind the question of the dowry, nor spoken to his wife about it. Atone time the count thought of giving her the Ryazan estate or ofselling a forest, at another time of borrowing money on a note ofhand. A few days before the wedding Berg entered the count's studyearly one morning and, with a pleasant smile, respectfully asked hisfuture father-in-law to let him know what Vera's dowry would be. Thecount was so disconcerted by this long-foreseen inquiry that withoutconsideration he gave the first reply that came into his head. "I likeyour being businesslike about it.... I like it. You shall besatisfied...."

　　And patting Berg on the shoulder he got up, wishing to end theconversation. But Berg, smiling pleasantly, explained that if he didnot know for certain how much Vera would have and did not receive atleast part of the dowry in advance, he would have to break mattersoff.

　　"Because, consider, Count- if I allowed myself to marry nowwithout having definite means to maintain my wife, I should beacting badly...."

　　The conversation ended by the count, who wished to be generous andto avoid further importunity, saying that he would give a note of handfor eighty thousand rubles. Berg smiled meekly, kissed the count onthe shoulder, and said that he was very grateful, but that it wasimpossible for him to arrange his new life without receiving thirtythousand in ready money. "Or at least twenty thousand, Count," headded, "and then a note of hand for only sixty thousand."

　　"Yes, yes, all right!" said the count hurriedly. "Only excuse me, mydear fellow, I'll give you twenty thousand and a note of hand foreighty thousand as well. Yes, yes! Kiss me."BK6|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　Natasha was sixteen and it was the year 1809, the very year to whichshe had counted on her fingers with Boris after they had kissed fouryears ago. Since then she had not seen him. Before Sonya and hermother, if Boris happened to be mentioned, she spoke quite freely ofthat episode as of some childish, long-forgotten matter that was notworth mentioning. But in the secret depths of her soul the questionwhether her engagement to Boris was a jest or an important, bindingpromise tormented her.

　　Since Boris left Moscow in 1805 to join the army he had had not seenthe Rostovs. He had been in Moscow several times, and had passednear Otradnoe, but had never been to see them.

　　Sometimes it occurred to Natasha that he not wish to see her, andthis conjecture was confirmed by the sad tone in which her eldersspoke of him.

　　"Nowadays old friends are not remembered," the countess would saywhen Boris was mentioned.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna also had of late visited them less frequently,seemed to hold herself with particular dignity, and always spokerapturously and gratefully of the merits of her son and thebrilliant career on which he had entered. When the Rostovs came toPetersburg Boris called on them.

　　He drove to their house in some agitation. The memory of Natasha washis most poetic recollection. But he went with the firm intention ofletting her and her parents feel that the childish relations betweenhimself and Natasha could not be binding either on her or on him. Hehad a brilliant position in society thanks to his intimacy withCountess Bezukhova, a brilliant position in the service thanks tothe patronage of an important personage whose complete confidence heenjoyed, and he was beginning to make plans for marrying one of therichest heiresses in Petersburg, plans which might very easily berealized. When he entered the Rostovs' drawing room Natasha was in herown room. When she heard of his arrival she almost ran into thedrawing room, flushed and beaming with a more than cordial smile.

　　Boris remembered Natasha in a short dress, with dark eyes shiningfrom under her curls and boisterous, childish laughter, as he hadknown her four years before; and so he was taken aback when quite adifferent Natasha entered, and his face expressed rapturousastonishment. This expression on his face pleased Natasha.

　　"Well, do you recognize your little madcap playmate?" asked thecountess.

　　Boris kissed Natasha's hand and said that he was astonished at thechange in her.

　　"How handsome you have grown!"

　　"I should think so!" replied Natasha's laughing eyes.

　　"And is Papa older?" she asked.

　　Natasha sat down and, without joining in Boris' conversation withthe countess, silently and minutely studied her childhood's suitor. Hefelt the weight of that resolute and affectionate scrutiny and glancedat her occasionally.

　　Boris' uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his hair was brushed wereall comme il faut and in the latest fashion. This Natasha noticed atonce. He sat rather sideways in the armchair next to the countess,arranging with his right hand the cleanest of gloves that fitted hisleft hand like a skin, and he spoke with a particularly refinedcompression of his lips about the amusements of the highest Petersburgsociety, recalling with mild irony old times in Moscow and Moscowacquaintances. It was not accidentally, Natasha felt, that he alluded,when speaking of the highest aristocracy, to an ambassador's ball hehad attended, and to invitations he had received from N.N. and S.S.

　　All this time Natasha sat silent, glancing up at him from underher brows. This gaze disturbed and confused Boris more and more. Helooked round more frequently toward her, and broke off in what hewas saying. He did not stay more than ten minutes, then rose andtook his leave. The same inquisitive, challenging, and rathermocking eyes still looked at him. After his first visit Boris saidto himself that Natasha attracted him just as much as ever, but thathe must not yield to that feeling, because to marry her, a girl almostwithout fortune, would mean ruin to his career, while to renew theirformer relations without intending to marry her would be dishonorable.Boris made up his mind to avoid meeting Natasha, but despite thatresolution he called again a few days later and began calling oftenand spending whole days at the Rostovs'. It seemed to him that heought to have an explanation with Natasha and tell her that the oldtimes must be forgotten, that in spite of everything... she couldnot be his wife, that he had no means, and they would never let hermarry him. But he failed to do so and felt awkward about entering onsuch an explanation. From day to day he became more and moreentangled. It seemed to her mother and Sonya that Natasha was inlove with Boris as of old. She sang him his favorite songs, showed himher album, making him write in it, did not allow him to allude tothe past, letting it be understood how was the present; and everyday he went away in a fog, without having said what he meant to, andnot knowing what he was doing or why he came, or how it would all end.He left off visiting Helene and received reproachful notes from herevery day, and yet he continued to spend whole days with the Rostovs.BK6|CH13

　　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 showingunder her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and groaning on a rug andbowing to the ground in prayer, her door creaked and Natasha, alsoin a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare feet and her hair incurlpapers, ran in. The countess- her prayerful mood dispelled- lookedround and frowned. She was finishing her last prayer: "Can it bethat this couch will be my grave?" Natasha, 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. Seeingthat her mother was still praying she ran on tiptoe to the bed and,rapidly slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off herslippers and jumped onto the bed the countess had feared mightbecome her grave. This couch was high, with a feather bed and fivepillows each smaller than the one below. Natasha jumped on it, sankinto the feather bed, rolled over to the wall, and began snugglingup the bedclothes as she settled down, raising her knees to herchin, kicking out and laughing almost inaudibly, now coveringherself up head and all, and now peeping at her mother. The countessfinished her prayers and came to the bed with a stern face, butseeing, that Natasha'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 Natasha. "Now, just one onyour throat and another... that'll do!" And seizing her mother roundthe neck, she kissed her on the throat. In her behavior to hermother Natasha seemed rough, but she was so sensitive and tactful thathowever she clasped her mother she always managed to do it withouthurting her or making her feel uncomfortable or displeased.

　　"Well, what is it tonight?" said the mother, having arranged herpillows and waited until Natasha, after turning over a couple oftimes, had settled down beside her under the quilt, spread out herarms, and assumed a serious expression.

　　These visits of Natasha's at night before the count returned fromhis club were one of the greatest pleasures of both mother, anddaughter.

　　"What is it tonight?- But I have to tell you..."

　　Natasha put her hand on her mother's mouth.

　　"About Boris... I know," she said seriously; "that's what I havecome about. Don't say it- I know. No, do tell me!" and she removed herhand. "Tell me, Mamma! He's nice?"

　　"Natasha, you are sixteen. At your age I was married. You sayBoris is nice. He is very nice, and I love him like a son. But whatthen?... What are you thinking about? You have quite turned hishead, I can see that...."

　　As she said this the countess looked round at her daughter.Natasha was lying looking steadily straight before her at one of themahogany sphinxes carved on the corners of the bedstead, so that thecountess only saw her daughter's face in profile. That face struck herby its peculiarly serious and concentrated expression.

　　Natasha 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 Natasha, without changing her position.

　　"Because he is young, because he is poor, because he is arelation... 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 Natasha.

　　"Leave off talking nonsense," said the countess.

　　"But if I want to..."

　　"Natasha, I am in earnest..."

　　Natasha did not let her finish. She drew the countess' large hand toher, kissed it on the back and then on the palm, then again turnedit over and began kissing first one knuckle, then the space betweenthe 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 herdaughter and in that contemplation seemed to have forgotten all shehad wished to say.

　　"It won't do, my love! Not everyone will understand thisfriendship dating from your childish days, and to see him sointimate with you may injure you in the eyes of other young men whovisit us, and above all it torments him for nothing. He may alreadyhave found a suitable and wealthy match, and now he's half crazy."

　　"Crazy?" repeated Natasha.

　　"I'll tell you some things about myself. I had a cousin..."

　　"I know! Cyril Matveich... but he is old."

　　"He was not always old. But this is what I'll do, Natasha, I'll havea talk with Boris. 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 Natasha 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."Natasha smiled and looked at her mother. "Not to marry, but justso," 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, shewent off into a good humored, unexpected, elderly laugh.

　　"Don't laugh, stop!" cried Natasha. "You're shaking the whole bed!You're awfully like me, just such another giggler.... Wait..." and sheseized the countess' hands and kissed a knuckle of the littlefinger, saying, "June," and continued, kissing, "July, August," on theother 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 thedining-room clock.... Don't you understand? Narrow, you know- gray,light gray..."

　　"What rubbish you're talking!" said the countess.

　　Natasha continued: "Don't you really understand? Nicholas wouldunderstand.... Bezukhov, now, is blue, dark-blue and red, and he issquare."

　　"You flirt with him too," said the countess, laughing.

　　"No, he is a Freemason, I have found out. He is fine, dark-blueand red.... How can I explain it to you?"

　　"Little countess!" the count's voice called from behind the door."You're not asleep?" Natasha 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 noone could understand all that she understood and all there was in her.

　　"Sonya?" she thought, glancing at that curled-up, sleeping littlekitten with her enormous plait of hair. "No, how could she? She'svirtuous. She fell in love with Nicholas and does not wish to knowanything more. Even Mamma does not understand. It is wonderful howclever I am and how... charming she is," she went on, speaking ofherself in the third person, and imagining it was some very wiseman- the wisest and best of men- who was saying it of her. "There iseverything, everything in her," continued this man. "She isunusually intelligent, charming... and then she is pretty,uncommonly pretty, and agile- she swims and rides splendidly... andher voice! One can really say it's a wonderful voice!"

　　She hummed a scrap from her favorite opera by Cherubini, threwherself on her bed, laughed at the pleasant thought that she wouldimmediately fall asleep, called Dunyasha the maid to put out thecandle, and before Dunyasha had left the room had already passedinto yet another happier world of dreams, where everything was aslight and beautiful as in reality, and even more so because it wasdifferent.

　　Next day the countess called Boris aside and had a talk with him,after which he ceased coming to the Rostovs'.BK6|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　On the thirty-first of December, New Year's Eve, 1809 - 10 an oldgrandee 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 glitteredwith innumerable lights. Police were stationed at the brightly litentrance which was carpeted with red baize, and not only gendarmes butdozens of police officers and even the police master himself stoodat the porch. Carriages kept driving away and fresh ones arriving,with red-liveried footmen and footmen in plumed hats. From thecarriages emerged men wearing uniforms, stars, and ribbons, whileladies in satin and ermine cautiously descended the carriage stepswhich were let down for them with a clatter, and then walked hurriedlyand noiselessly over the baize at the entrance.

　　Almost every time a new carriage drove up a whisper ran throughthe crowd and caps were doffed.

　　"The Emperor?... No, a minister.... prince... ambassador. Don'tyou see the plumes?..." was whispered among the crowd.

　　One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyoneand mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day.

　　A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostovs, whowere to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed.

　　There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball inthe Rostov family, many fears that the invitation would not arrive,that the dresses would not be ready, or that something would not bearranged as it should be.

　　Marya Ignatevna Peronskaya, a thin and shallow maid of honor atthe court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend and relation of thecountess and piloted the provincial Rostovs in Petersburg highsociety, was to accompany them to the ball.

　　They were to call for her at her house in the Taurida Gardens at teno'clock, but it was already five minutes to ten, and the girls werenot yet dressed.

　　Natasha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up at eightthat morning and had been in a fever of excitement and activity allday. All her powers since morning had been concentrated on ensuringthat they all- she herself, Mamma, and Sonya- should be as welldressed as possible. Sonya and her mother put themselves entirely inher hands. The countess was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, andthe two girls white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on theirbodices and their hair dressed a la grecque.

　　Everything essential had already been done; feet, hands, necks,and ears washed, perfumed, and powdered, as befits a ball; theopenwork silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons werealready on; the hairdressing was almost done. Sonya was finishingdressing and so was the countess, but Natasha, who had bustled abouthelping them all, was behindhand. She was still sitting before alooking-glass with a dressing jacket thrown over her slendershoulders. Sonya stood ready dressed in the middle of the room and,pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her dainty finger, wasfixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went through it.

　　"That's not the way, that's not the way, Sonya!" cried Natashaturning her head and clutching with both hands at her hair which themaid who was dressing it had not time to release. "That bow is notright. Come here!"

　　Sonya sat down and Natasha pinned the ribbon on differently.

　　"Allow me, Miss! I can't do it like that," said the maid who washolding Natasha's hair.

　　"Oh, dear! Well then, wait. That's right, Sonya."

　　"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 Natasha. "You won't do it right."

　　"But it's already ten."

　　They had decided to be at the ball by half past ten, and Natasha hadstill to get dressed and they had to call at the Taurida Gardens.

　　When her hair was done, Natasha, in her short petticoat from underwhich her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother's dressing jacket,ran up to Sonya, scrutinized her, and then ran to her mother.Turning her mother's head this way and that, she fastened on the capand, hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who wereturning up the hem of her skirt.

　　The cause of the delay was Natasha's skirt, which was too long.Two maids were turning up the hem and hurriedly biting off the ends ofthread. A third with pins in her mouth was running about between thecountess and Sonya, and a fourth held the whole of the gossamergarment up high on one uplifted hand.

　　"Mavra, quicker, darling!"

　　"Give me my thimble, Miss, from there..."

　　"Whenever will you be ready?" asked the count coming to the door."Here is here is some scent. Peronskaya must be tired of waiting."

　　"It's ready, Miss," said the maid, holding up the shortened gauzedress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking something off it, asif by this to express a consciousness of the airiness and purity ofwhat she held.

　　Natasha began putting on the dress.

　　"In a minute! In a minute! Don't come in, Papa!" she cried to herfather as he opened the door- speaking from under the filmy skirtwhich still covered her whole face.

　　Sonya slammed the door to. A minute later they let the count in.He was wearing a blue swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings, andwas perfumed and his hair pomaded.

　　"Oh, Papa! how nice you look! Charming!" cried Natasha, as she stoodin 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 waspulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side ofher mouth to the other with her tongue.

　　"Say what you like," exclaimed Sonya, in a despairing voice as shelooked at Natasha, "say what you like, it's still too long."

　　Natasha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dresswas too long.

　　"Really, madam, it is not at all too long," said Mavra, crawlingon her knees after her young lady.

　　"Well, if it's too long we'll take it up... we'll tack it up inone minute," said the resolute Dunyasha taking a needle that was stuckon the front of her little shawl and, still kneeling on the floor, setto work once more.

　　At that moment, with soft steps, the countess came in shyly, inher cap and velvet gown.

　　"Oo-oo, my beauty!" exclaimed the count, "she looks better thanany of you!"

　　He would have embraced her but, blushing, she stepped asidefearing to be rumpled.

　　"Mamma, your cap, more to this side," said Natasha. "I'll arrangeit," and she rushed forward so that the maids who were tacking upher skirt could not move fast enough and a piece of gauze was tornoff.

　　"Oh goodness! What has happened? Really it was not my fault!"

　　"Never mind, I'll run it up, it won't show," said Dunyasha.

　　"What a beauty- a very queen!" said the nurse as she came to thedoor. "And Sonya! They are lovely!"

　　At a quarter past ten they at last got into their carriages andstarted. But they had still to call at the Taurida Gardens.

　　Peronskaya was quite ready. In spite of her age and plainness shehad gone through the same process as the Rostovs, but with lessflurry- for to her it was a matter of routine. Her ugly old body waswashed, perfumed, and powdered in just the same way. She had washedbehind her ears just as carefully, and when she entered her drawingroom in her yellow dress, wearing her badge as maid of honor, herold lady's maid was as full of rapturous admiration as the Rostovs'servants had been.

　　She praised the Rostovs' toilets. They praised her taste and toilet,and at eleven o'clock, careful of their coiffures and dresses, theysettled themselves in their carriages and drove off.BK6|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　Natasha had not had a moment free since early morning and had notonce 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 herthere at the ball, in those brightly lighted rooms- with music,flowers, dances, the Emperor, and all the brilliant young people ofPetersburg. The prospect was so splendid that she hardly believed itwould come true, so out of keeping was it with the chill darknessand closeness of the carriage. She understood all that awaited heronly when, after stepping over the red baize at the entrance, sheentered the hall, took off her fur cloak, and, beside Sonya and infront of her mother, mounted the brightly illuminated stairs betweenthe flowers. Only then did she remember how she must behave at a ball,and tried to assume the majestic air she considered indispensablefor a girl on such an occasion. But, fortunately for her, she felt hereyes growing misty, she saw nothing clearly, her pulse beat ahundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed at her heart. Shecould not assume that pose, which would have made her ridiculous,and she moved on almost fainting from excitement and trying with allher might to conceal it. And this was the very attitude that becameher best. Before and behind them other visitors were entering, alsotalking in low tones and wearing ball dresses. The mirrors on thelanding reflected ladies in white, pale-blue, and pink dresses, withdiamonds and pearls on their bare necks and arms.

　　Natasha looked in the mirrors and could not distinguish herreflection from the others. All was blended into one brilliantprocession. On entering the ballroom the regular hum of voices,footsteps, and greetings deafened Natasha, and the light and glitterdazzled her still more. The host and hostess, who had already beenstanding at the door for half an hour repeating the same words tothe various arrivals, "Charme de vous voir,"* greeted the Rostovsand Peronskaya in the same manner.

　　*"Delighted to see you."

　　The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose in herblack hair, both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess' eyeinvoluntarily rested longer on the slim Natasha. She looked at her andgave her alone a special smile in addition to her usual smile ashostess. Looking at her she may have recalled the golden,irrecoverable days of her own girlhood and her own first ball. Thehost also followed Natasha with his eyes and asked the count which washis daughter.

　　"Charming!" said he, kissing the tips of his fingers.

　　In the ballroom guests stood crowding at the entrance doors awaitingthe Emperor. The countess took up a position in one of the frontrows of that crowd. Natasha heard and felt that several people wereasking about her and looking at her. She realized that thosenoticing her liked her, and this observation helped to calm her.

　　"There are some like ourselves and some worse," she thought.

　　Peronskaya was pointing out to the countess the most importantpeople 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-graycurly hair, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something hesaid.

　　"Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, Countess Bezukhova," saidPeronskaya, indicating Helene who had just entered. "How lovely! Sheis quite equal to Marya Antonovna. See how the men, young and old, paycourt to her. Beautiful and clever... they say Prince- is quite madabout her. But see, those two, though not good-looking, are evenmore run after."

　　She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a veryplain daughter.

　　"She is a splendid match, a millionairess," said Peronskaya. "Andlook, here come her suitors."

　　"That is Bezukhova's brother, Anatole Kuragin," she said, indicatinga handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them with headerect, looking at something over the heads of the ladies. "He'shandsome, isn't he? I hear they will marry him to that rich girl.But your cousin, Drubetskoy, is also very attentive to her. They sayshe has millions. Oh yes, that's the French ambassador himself!" shereplied to the countess' inquiry about Caulaincourt. "Looks as if hewere a king! All the same, the French are charming, very charming.No one more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, she is stillthe most beautiful of them all, our Marya Antonovna! And how simplyshe is dressed! Lovely! And that stout one in spectacles is theuniversal Freemason," she went on, indicating Pierre. "Put himbeside his wife and he looks a regular buffoon!"

　　Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through thecrowd and nodding to right and left as casually and good-naturedlyas if he were passing through a crowd at a fair. He pushed through,evidently looking for someone.

　　Natasha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, "thebuffoon," as Peronskaya had called him, and knew he was looking forthem, and for her in particular. He had promised to be at the ball andintroduce 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 awindow talking to a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon. Natasha atonce recognized the shorter and younger man in the white uniform: itwas Bolkonski, who seemed to her to have grown much younger,happier, and better-looking.

　　"There's someone else we know- Bolkonski, do you see, Mamma?" saidNatasha, pointing out Prince Andrew. "You remember, he stayed anight with us at Otradnoe."

　　"Oh, you know him?" said Peronskaya. "I can't bear him. Il fait apresent la pluie et le beau temps."* He's too proud for anything.Takes after his father. And he's hand in glove with Speranski, writingsome project or other. Just look how he treats the ladies! There's onetalking 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.BK6|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Suddenly everybody stirred, began talking, and pressed forward andthen back, and between the two rows, which separated, the Emperorentered to the sounds of music that had immediately struck up.Behind him walked his host and hostess. He walked in rapidly, bowingto right and left as if anxious to get the first moments of thereception over. The band played the polonaise in vogue at that time onaccount of the words that had been set to it, beginning: "Alexander,Elisaveta, all our hearts you ravish quite..." The Emperor passed onto the drawing room, the crowd made a rush for the doors, andseveral persons with excited faces hurried there and back again.Then the crowd hastily retired from the drawing-room door, at whichthe Emperor reappeared talking to the hostess. A young man, lookingdistraught, pounced down on the ladies, asking them to move aside.Some ladies, with faces betraying complete forgetfulness of all therules of decorum, pushed forward to the detriment of their toilets.The men began to choose partners and take their places for thepolonaise.

　　Everyone moved back, and the Emperor came smiling out of the drawingroom leading his hostess by the hand but not keeping time to themusic. The host followed with Marya Antonovna Naryshkina; then cameambassadors, ministers, and various generals, whom Peronskayadiligently named. More than half the ladies already had partners andwere taking up, or preparing to take up, their positions for thepolonaise. Natasha felt that she would be left with her mother andSonya among a minority of women who crowded near the wall, nothaving been invited to dance. She stood with her slender armshanging down, her scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regularly,and with bated breath and glittering, frightened eyes gazed straightbefore her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery. Shewas not concerned about the Emperor or any of those great peoplewhom Peronskaya was pointing out- she had but one thought: "Is itpossible no one will ask me, that I shall not be among the first todance? 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 theywere saying, 'Ah, she's not the one I'm after, so it's not worthlooking at her!' No, it's impossible," she thought. "They must knowhow I long to dance, how splendidly I dance, and how they wouldenjoy dancing with me."

　　The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerabletime, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natasha's ears.She wanted to cry. Peronskaya had left them. The count was at theother end of the room. She and the countess and Sonya were standing bythemselves as in the depths of a forest amid that crowd ofstrangers, 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 andlooked at Natasha as one looks at a wall. Boris passed them twiceand each time turned away. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing,came up to them.

　　This family gathering seemed humiliating to Natasha- as if therewere nowhere else for the family to talk but here at the ball. She didnot listen to or look at Vera, who was telling her something about herown green dress.

　　At last the Emperor stopped beside his last partner (he had dancedwith three) and the music ceased. A worried aide-de-camp ran up to theRostovs requesting them to stand farther back, though as it was theywere already close to the wall, and from the gallery resounded thedistinct, precise, enticingly rhythmical strains of a waltz. TheEmperor looked smilingly down the room. A minute passed but no one hadyet begun dancing. An aide-de-camp, the Master of Ceremonies, wentup to Countess Bezukhova and asked her to dance. She smilinglyraised her hand and laid it on his shoulder without looking at him.The aide-de-camp, an adept in his art, grasping his partner firmlyround her waist, with confident deliberation started smoothly, glidingfirst round the edge of the circle, then at the corner of the roomhe caught Helene's left hand and turned her, the only sound audible,apart from the ever-quickening music, being the rhythmic click ofthe spurs on his rapid, agile feet, while at every third beat hispartner's velvet dress spread out and seemed to flash as she whirledround. Natasha gazed at them and was ready to cry because it was notshe who was dancing that first turn of the waltz.

　　Prince Andrew, in the white uniform of a cavalry colonel, wearingstockings and dancing shoes, stood looking animated and bright inthe front row of the circle not far from the Rostovs. Baron Firhoffwas talking to him about the first sitting of the Council of Stateto be held next day. Prince Andrew, as one closely connected withSperanski and participating in the work of the legislative commission,could give reliable information about that sitting, concerning whichvarious rumors were current. But not listening to what Firhoff wassaying, he was gazing now at the sovereign and now at the menintending to dance who had not yet gathered courage to enter thecircle.

　　Prince Andrew was watching these men abashed by the Emperor'spresence, and the women who were breathlessly longing to be asked todance.

　　Pierre came up to him and caught him by the arm.

　　"You always dance. I have a protegee, the young Rostova, here. Askher," he said.

　　"Where is she?" asked Bolkonski. "Excuse me!" he added, turning tothe baron, "we will finish this conversation elsewhere- at a ballone must dance." He stepped forward in the direction Pierre indicated.The despairing, dejected expression of Natasha's face caught hiseye. He recognized her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was herdebut, remembered her conversation at the window, and with anexpression of pleasure on his face approached Countess Rostova.

　　"Allow me to introduce you to my daughter," said the countess,with heightened color.

　　"I have the pleasure of being already acquainted, if the countessremembers me," said Prince Andrew with a low and courteous bow quitebelying Peronskaya's remarks about his rudeness, and approachingNatasha he held out his arm to grasp her waist before he had completedhis invitation. He asked her to waltz. That tremulous expression onNatasha's face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenlybrightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.

　　"I have long been waiting for you," that frightened happy littlegirl seemed to say by the smile that replaced the threatened tears, asshe raised her hand to Prince Andrew's shoulder. They were thesecond couple to enter the circle. Prince Andrew was one of the bestdancers of his day and Natasha danced exquisitely. Her little feetin their white satin dancing shoes did their work swiftly, lightly,and independently of herself, while her face beamed with ecstatichappiness. Her slender bare arms and neck were not beautiful- comparedto Helene's her shoulders looked thin and her bosom undeveloped. ButHelene seemed, as it were, hardened by a varnish left by the thousandsof looks that had scanned her person, while Natasha was like a girlexposed for the first time, who would have felt very much ashamedhad she not been assured that this was absolutely necessary.

　　Prince Andrew liked dancing, and wishing to escape as quickly aspossible from the political and clever talk which everyone addressedto him, wishing also to break up the circle of restraint hedisliked, caused by the Emperor's presence, he danced, and hadchosen Natasha because Pierre pointed her out to him and because shewas the first pretty girl who caught his eye; but scarcely had heembraced that slender supple figure and felt her stirring so closeto him and smiling so near him than the wine of her charm rose tohis head, and he felt himself revived and rejuvenated when afterleaving her he stood breathing deeply and watching the other dancers.BK6|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　After Prince Andrew, Boris came up to ask Natasha for dance, andthen the aide-de-camp who had opened the ball, and several other youngmen, so that, flushed and happy, and passing on her superfluouspartners to Sonya, she did not cease dancing all the evening. Shenoticed and saw nothing of what occupied everyone else. Not only didshe fail to notice that the Emperor talked a long time with the Frenchambassador, and how particularly gracious he was to a certain lady, orthat Prince So-and-so and So-and-so did and said this and that, andthat Helene had great success and was honored was by the specialattention of So-and-so, but she did not even see the Emperor, and onlynoticed that he had gone because the ball became livelier after hisdeparture. For one of the merry cotillions before supper Prince Andrewwas again her partner. He reminded her of their first encounter in theOtradnoe avenue, and how she had been unable to sleep that moonlightnight, and told her how he had involuntarily overheard her. Natashablushed at that recollection and tried to excuse herself, as ifthere had been something to be ashamed of in what Prince Andrew hadoverheard.

　　Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrew likedmeeting someone there not of the conventional society stamp. Andsuch was Natasha, with her surprise, her delight, her shyness, andeven her mistakes in speaking French. With her he behaved with specialcare and tenderness, sitting beside her and talking of the simplestand most unimportant matters; he admired her shy grace. In themiddle of the cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natasha,still out of breath, was returning to her seat when another dancerchose her. She was tired and panting and evidently thought ofdeclining, 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 seehow they keep asking me, and I'm glad of it, I'm happy and I loveeverybody, and you and I understand it all," and much, much more wassaid in her smile. When her partner left her Natasha ran across theroom to choose two ladies for the figure.

　　"If she goes to her cousin first and then to another lady, shewill be my wife," said Prince Andrew to himself quite to his ownsurprise, 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 bemarried.... Such as she are rare here," he thought, as Natasha,readjusting a rose that was slipping on her bodice, settled herselfbeside him.

　　When the cotillion was over the old count in his blue coat came upto the dancers. He invited Prince Andrew to come and see them, andasked his daughter whether she was enjoying herself. Natasha did notanswer at once but only looked up with a smile that saidreproachfully: "How can you ask such a question?"

　　"I have never enjoyed myself so much before!" she said, and PrinceAndrew noticed how her thin arms rose quickly as if to embrace herfather and instantly dropped again. Natasha was happier than she hadever been in her life. She was at that height of bliss when onebecomes completely kind and good and does not believe in thepossibility of evil, unhappiness, or sorrow.

　　At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by theposition his wife occupied in court circles. He was gloomy andabsent-minded. A deep furrow ran across his forehead, and standingby a window he stared over his spectacles seeing no one.

　　On her way to supper Natasha passed him.

　　Pierre's gloomy, unhappy look struck her. She stopped in front ofhim. She wished to help him, to bestow on him the superabundance ofher 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 Natasha."Especially such a capital fellow as Bezukhov!" In Natasha's eyesall the people at the ball alike were good, kind, and splendid people,loving one another; none of them capable of injuring another- and sothey ought all to be happy.BK6|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　Next day Prince Andrew thought of the ball, but his mind did notdwell on it long. "Yes, it was a very brilliant ball," and then..."Yes, that little Rostova is very charming. There's something fresh,original, un-Petersburg-like about her that distinguishes her." Thatwas all he thought about yesterday's ball, and after his morning teahe set to work.

　　But either from fatigue or want of sleep he was ill-disposed forwork 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 Bitski, who served on various committees, frequentedall the societies in Petersburg, and a passionate devotee of the newideas and of Speranski, and a diligent Petersburg newsmonger- one ofthose men who choose their opinions like their clothes according tothe fashion, but who for that very reason appear to be the warmestpartisans. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran intoPrince Andrew's room with a preoccupied air and at once began talking.He had just heard particulars of that morning's sitting of the Councilof State opened by the Emperor, and he spoke of it enthusiastically.The Emperor's speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech suchas only constitutional monarchs deliver. "The Sovereign plainly saidthat the Council and Senate are estates of the realm, he said that thegovernment must rest not on authority but on secure bases. The Emperorsaid that the fiscal system must be reorganized and the accountspublished," recounted Bitski, emphasizing certain words and openinghis eyes significantly.

　　"Ah, yes! Today's events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in ourhistory," he concluded.

　　Prince Andrew listened to the account of the opening of theCouncil of State, which he had so impatiently awaited and to whichhe had attached such importance, and was surprised that this event,now that it had taken place, did not affect him, and even seemed quiteinsignificant. He listened with quiet irony to Bitski's enthusiasticaccount of it. A very simple thought occurred to him: "What does itmatter to me or to Bitski what the Emperor was pleased to say at theCouncil? Can all that make me any happier or better?"

　　And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed all the interestPrince Andrew had felt in the impending reforms. He was going todine that evening at Speranski's, "with only a few friends," as thehost had said when inviting him. The prospect of that dinner in theintimate home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interestedPrince Andrew, especially as he had not yet seen Speranski in hisdomestic surroundings, but now he felt disinclined to go to it.

　　At the appointed hour, however, he entered the modest houseSperanski owned in the Taurida Gardens. In the parqueted dining roomthis small house, remarkable for its extreme cleanliness (suggestingthat of a monastery), Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found thefriendly gathering of Speranski's intimate acquaintances alreadyassembled at five o'clock. There were no ladies present exceptSperanski's little daughter (long-faced like her father) and hergoverness. The other guests were Gervais, Magnitski, and Stolypin.While still in the anteroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and aringing staccato laugh- a laugh such as one hears on the stage.Someone- it sounded like Speranski- was distinctly ejaculatingha-ha-ha. Prince Andrew had never before heard Speranski's famouslaugh, and this ringing, high pitched laughter from a statesman made astrange impression on him.

　　He entered the dining room. The whole company were standingbetween two windows at a small table laid with hors-d'oeuvres.Speranski, wearing a gray swallow-tail coat with a star on the breast,and evidently still the same waistcoat and high white stock he hadworn at the meeting of the Council of State, stood at the table with abeaming countenance. His guests surrounded him. Magnitski,addressing himself to Speranski, was relating an anecdote, andSperanski was laughing in advance at what Magnitski was going tosay. When Prince Andrew entered the room Magnitski's words wereagain crowned by laughter. Stolypin gave a deep bass guffaw as hemunched a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais laughed softly with ahissing chuckle, and Speranski in a high-pitched staccato manner.

　　Still laughing, Speranski held out his soft white hand to PrinceAndrew.

　　"Very pleased to see you, Prince," he said. "One moment..." hewent on, turning to Magnitski and interrupting his story. "We haveagreed that this is a dinner for recreation, with not a word aboutbusiness!" and turning again to the narrator he began to laugh afresh.

　　Prince Andrew looked at the laughing Speranski with astonishment,regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was notSperanski but someone else. Everything that had formerly appearedmysterious and fascinating in Speranski suddenly became plain andunattractive.

　　At dinner the conversation did not cease for a moment and seemedto consist of the contents of a book of funny anecdotes. BeforeMagnitski had finished his story someone else was anxious to relatesomething still funnier. Most of the anecdotes, if not relating to thestate service, related to people in the service. It seemed that inthis company the insignificance of those people was so definitelyaccepted that the only possible attitude toward them was one of goodhumored ridicule. Speranski related how at the Council that morninga deaf dignitary, when asked his opinion, replied that he thought sotoo. Gervais gave a long account of an official revision, remarkablefor the stupidity of everybody concerned. Stolypin, stuttering,broke into the conversation and began excitedly talking of theabuses that existed under the former order of things- threatening togive a serious turn to the conversation. Magnitski starting quizzingStolypin about his vehemence. Gervais intervened with a joke, andthe talk reverted to its former lively tone.

　　Evidently Speranski liked to rest after his labors and findamusement in a circle of friends, and his guests, understanding hiswish, tried to enliven him and amuse themselves. But their gaietyseemed to Prince Andrew mirthless and tiresome. Speranski'shigh-pitched voice struck him unpleasantly, and the incessant laughtergrated on him like a false note. Prince Andrew did not laugh andfeared that he would be a damper on the spirits of the company, but noone 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 hisremarks were tossed aside each time like a cork thrown out of thewater, and he could not jest with them.

　　There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said, it waswitty and might have been funny, but it lacked just that somethingwhich is the salt of mirth, and they were not even aware that such athing existed.

　　After dinner Speranski's daughter and her governess rose. Hepatted the little girl with his white hand and kissed her. And thatgesture, too, seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew.

　　The men remained at table over their port- English fashion. In themidst of a conversation that was started about Napoleon's Spanishaffairs, which they all agreed in approving, Prince Andrew began toexpress a contrary opinion. Speranski smiled and, with an evident wishto prevent the conversation from taking an unpleasant course, told astory that had no connection with the previous conversation. For a fewmoments all were silent.

　　Having sat some time at table, Speranski corked a bottle of wineand, remarking, "Nowadays good wine rides in a carriage and pair,"passed it to the servant and got up. All rose and continuing to talkloudly went into the drawing room. Two letters brought by a courierwere handed to Speranski and he took them to his study. As soon ashe had left the room the general merriment stopped and the guestsbegan to converse sensibly and quietly with one another.

　　"Now for the recitation!" said Speranski on returning from hisstudy. "A wonderful talent!" he said to Prince Andrew, and Magnitskiimmediately assumed a pose and began reciting some humorous versesin French which he had composed about various well-known Petersburgpeople. He was interrupted several times by applause. When theverses were finished Prince Andrew went up to Speranski and took hisleave.

　　"Where are you off to so early?" asked Speranski.

　　"I promised to go to a reception."

　　They said no more. Prince Andrew looked closely into thosemirrorlike, impenetrable eyes, and felt that it had been ridiculous ofhim to have expected anything from Speranski and from any of his ownactivities connected with him, or ever to have attributed importanceto what Speranski was doing. That precise, mirthless laughter rangin Prince Andrew's ears long after he had left the house.

　　When he reached home Prince Andrew began thinking of his life inPetersburg during those last four months as if it were somethingnew. He recalled his exertions and solicitations, and the history ofhis project of army reform, which had been accepted forconsideration and which they were trying to pass over in silencesimply because another, a very poor one, had already been prepared andsubmitted to the Emperor. He thought of the meetings of a committee ofwhich Berg was a member. He remembered how carefully and at whatlength everything relating to form and procedure was discussed atthose meetings, and how sedulously and promptly all that related tothe gist of the business was evaded. He recalled his labors on theLegal Code, and how painstakingly he had translated the articles ofthe Roman and French codes into Russian, and he felt ashamed ofhimself. Then he vividly pictured to himself Bogucharovo, hisoccupations in the country, his journey to Ryazan; he remembered thepeasants and Dron the village elder, and mentally applying to them thePersonal Rights he had divided into paragraphs, he felt astonishedthat he could have spent so much time on such useless work.BK6|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　Next day Prince Andrew called at a few houses he had not visitedbefore, and among them at the Rostovs' with whom he had renewedacquaintance at the ball. Apart from considerations of politenesswhich demanded the call, he wanted to see that original, eager girlwho had left such a pleasant impression on his mind, in her own home.

　　Natasha was one of the first to meet him. She was wearing adark-blue house dress in which Prince Andrew thought her even prettierthan in her ball dress. She and all the Rostov family welcomed himas an old friend, simply and cordially. The whole family, whom hehad formerly judged severely, now seemed to him to consist ofexcellent, simple, and kindly people. The old count's hospitalityand good nature, which struck one especially in Petersburg as apleasant surprise, were such that Prince Andrew could not refuse tostay to dinner. "Yes," he thought, "they are capital people, who ofcourse have not the slightest idea what a treasure they possess inNatasha; but they are kindly folk and form the best possible settingfor this strikingly poetic, charming girl, overflowing with life!"

　　In Natasha Prince Andrew was conscious of a strange world completelyalien to him and brimful of joys unknown to him, a different world,that in the Otradnoe avenue and at the window that moonlight night hadalready begun to disconcert him. Now this world disconcerted him nolonger and was no longer alien to him, but he himself having enteredit found in it a new enjoyment.

　　After dinner Natasha, at Prince Andrew's request, went to theclavichord and began singing. Prince Andrew stood by a windowtalking to the ladies and listened to her. In the midst of a phrase heceased speaking and suddenly felt tears choking him, a thing he hadthought impossible for him. He looked at Natasha as she sang, andsomething new and joyful stirred in his soul. He felt happy and at thesame time sad. He had absolutely nothing to weep about yet he wasready to weep. What about? His former love? The little princess? Hisdisillusionments?... His hopes for the future?... Yes and no. Thechief reason was a sudden, vivid sense of the terrible contrastbetween something infinitely great and illimitable within him and thatlimited and material something that he, and even she, was. Thiscontrast weighed on and yet cheered him while she sang.

　　As soon as Natasha had finished she went up to him and asked howhe liked her voice. She asked this and then became confused, feelingthat she ought not to have asked it. He smiled, looking at her, andsaid he liked her singing as he liked everything she did.

　　Prince Andrew left the Rostovs' late in the evening. He went tobed from habit, but soon realized that he could not sleep. Havinglit his candle he sat up in bed, then got up, then lay down againnot at all troubled by his sleeplessness: his soul was as fresh andjoyful as if he had stepped out of a stuffy room into God's ownfresh air. It did not enter his head that he was in love with Natasha;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 withall its joys, is open to me?" said he to himself. And for the firsttime 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 atutor and putting the boy in his charge, then he ought to retirefrom the service and go abroad, and see England, Switzerland andItaly. "I must use my freedom while I feel so much strength andyouth in me," he said to himself. "Pierre was right when he said onemust believe in the possibility of happiness in order to be happy, andnow I do believe in it. Let the dead bury their dead, but while onehas life one must live and be happy!" thought he.BK6|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody inMoscow and Petersburg, came to see him. Berg arrived in animmaculate brand-new uniform, with his hair pomaded and brushedforward over his temples as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair.

　　"I have just been to see the countess, your wife. Unfortunatelyshe could not grant my request, but I hope, Count, I shall be morefortunate 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 thiswith perfect conviction that this information could not but beagreeable), "and so I wish to arrange just a small party for my ownand my wife's friends." (He smiled still more pleasantly.) "I wishedto ask the countess and you to do me the honor of coming to tea and tosupper."

　　Only Countess Helene, considering the society of such people asthe Bergs beneath her, could be cruel enough to refuse such aninvitation. Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect athis house a small but select company, and why this would give himpleasure, and why though he grudged spending money on cards oranything harmful, he was prepared to run into some expense for thesake of good society- that Pierre could not refuse, and promised tocome.

　　"But don't be late, Count, if I may venture to ask; about tenminutes to eight, please. We shall make up a rubber. Our general iscoming. He is very good to me. We shall have supper, Count. So youwill do me the favor."

　　Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived atthe Bergs' house, not at ten but at fifteen minutes to eight.

　　Having prepared everything necessary for the party, the Bergs werereally for their guests' arrival.

　　In their new, clean, and light study with its small busts andpictures and new furniture sat Berg and his wife. Berg, closelybuttoned up in his new uniform, sat beside his wife explaining toher that one always could and should be acquainted with people aboveone, because only then does one get satisfaction from acquaintances.

　　"You can get to know something, you can ask for something. See how Imanaged from my first promotion." (Berg measured his life not by yearsbut by promotions.) "My comrades are still nobodies, while I am onlywaiting for a vacancy to command a regiment, and have the happiness tobe your husband." (He rose and kissed Vera's hand, and on the way toher straightened out a turned-up corner of the carpet.) "And howhave I obtained all this? Chiefly by knowing how to choose myaquaintances. It goes without saying that one must be conscientiousand methodical."

　　Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority over a weak woman, andpaused, reflecting that this dear wife of his was after all but a weakwoman who could not understand all that constitutes a man's dignity,what it was ein Mann zu sein.* Vera at the same time smiling with asense of superiority over her good, conscientious husband, who all thesame understood life wrongly, as according to Vera all men did.Berg, judging by his wife, thought all women weak and foolish. Vera,judging only by her husband and generalizing from that observation,supposed that all men, though they understand nothing and areconceited and selfish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone.

　　*To be a man.

　　Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully, so as not to crush herlace fichu for which he had paid a good price, kissing her straight onthe lips.

　　"The only thing is, we mustn't have children too soon," hecontinued, following an unconscious sequence of ideas.

　　"Yes," answered Vera, "I don't at all want that. We must live forsociety."

　　"Princess Yusupova wore one exactly like this," said Berg,pointing to the fichu with a happy and kindly smile.

　　Just then Count Bezukhov was announced. Husband and wife glancedat one another, both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each mentallyclaiming the honor of this visit.

　　"This is what 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 Vera, "because I know what interests each of them and what to sayto different people."

　　Berg smiled again.

　　"It can't be helped: men must sometimes have masculineconversation," said he.

　　They received Pierre in their small, new drawing-room, where itwas impossible to sit down anywhere without disturbing its symmetry,neatness, and order; so it was quite comprehensible and not strangethat Berg, having generously offered to disturb the symmetry of anarmchair or of the sofa for his dear guest, but being apparentlypainfully undecided on the matter himself, eventually left the visitorto settle the question of selection. Pierre disturbed the symmetryby moving a chair for himself, and Berg and Vera immediately begantheir evening party, interrupting each other in their efforts toentertain their guest.

　　Vera, having decided in her own mind that Pierre ought to beentertained with conversation about the French embassy, at oncebegan accordingly. Berg, having decided that masculine conversationwas required, interrupted his wife's remarks and touched on thequestion of the war with Austria, and unconsciously jumped from thegeneral subject to personal considerations as to the proposals madehim to take part in the Austrian campaign and the reasons why he haddeclined them. Though the conversation was very incoherent and Verawas angry at the intrusion of the masculine element, both husbandand wife felt with satisfaction that, even if only one guest waspresent, their evening had begun very well and was as like as two peasto every other evening party with its talk, tea, and lighted candles.

　　Before long Boris, Berg's old comrade, arrived. There was a shade ofcondescension and patronage in his treatment of Berg and Vera. AfterBoris came a lady with the colonel, then the general himself, then theRostovs, and the party became unquestionably exactly like all otherevening parties. Berg and Vera could not repress their smiles ofsatisfaction at the sight of all this movement in their drawingroom, at the sound of the disconnected talk, the rustling ofdresses, and the bowing and scraping. Everything was just as everybodyalways has it, especially so the general, who admired the apartment,patted Berg on the shoulder, and with parental authority superintendedthe setting out of the table for boston. The general sat down by CountIlya Rostov, who was next to himself the most important guest. The oldpeople sat with the old, the young with the young, and the hostessat the tea table, on which stood exactly the same kind of cakes in asilver cake basket as the Panins had at their party. Everything wasjust as it was everywhere else.BK6|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　Pierre, as one of the principal guests, had to sit down to bostonwith Count Rostov, the general, and the colonel. At the card tablehe happened to be directly facing Natasha, and was struck by a curiouschange that had come over her since the ball, She was silent, andnot only less pretty than at the ball, but only redeemed fromplainness by her look of gentle indifference to everything around.

　　"What's the matter with her?" thought Pierre, glancing at her. Shewas sitting by her sister at the tea table, and reluctantly, withoutlooking at him, made some reply to Boris who sat down beside her.After playing out a whole suit and to his partner's delight takingfive tricks, Pierre, hearing greetings and the steps of someone whohad entered the room while he was picking up his tricks, glanced againat Natasha.

　　"What has happened to her?" he asked himself with still greatersurprise.

　　Prince Andrew was standing before her, saying something to herwith a look of tender solicitude. She, having raised her head, waslooking up at him, flushed and evidently trying to master her rapidbreathing. And the bright glow of some inner fire that had beensuppressed was again alight in her. She was completely transformed andfrom 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 andyouthful expression in his friend's face.

　　Pierre changed places several times during the game, sitting nowwith his back to Natasha and now facing her, but during the whole ofthe six rubbers he watched her and his friend.

　　"Something very important is happening between them," thoughtPierre, and a feeling that was both joyful and painful agitated himand made him neglect the game.

　　After six rubbers the general got up, saying that it was no useplaying like that, and Pierre was released. Natasha on one side wastalking with Sonya and Boris, and Vera with a subtle smile wassaying something to Prince Andrew. Pierre went up to his friend and,asking whether they were talking secrets, sat down beside them.Vera, having noticed Prince Andrew's attentions to Natasha, decidedthat at a party, a real evening party, subtle allusions to thetender passion were absolutely necessary and, seizing a moment whenPrince Andrew was alone, began a conversation with him aboutfeelings in general and about her sister. With so intellectual a guestas she considered Prince Andrew to be, she felt that she had to employher diplomatic tact.

　　When Pierre went up to them he noticed that Vera was being carriedaway by her self-satisfied talk, but that Prince Andrew seemedembarrassed, a thing that rarely happened with him.

　　"What do you think?" Vera was saying with an arch smile. "You are sodiscerning, Prince, and understand people's characters so well at aglance. What do you think of Natalie? Could she be constant in herattachments? Could she, like other women" (Vera meant herself),"love a man once for all and remain true to him forever? That iswhat I consider true love. What do you think, Prince?"

　　"I know your sister too little," replied Prince Andrew, with asarcastic smile under which he wished to hide his embarrassment, "tobe able to solve so delicate a question, and then I have noticedthat the less attractive a woman is the more constant she is likely tobe," he added, and looked up Pierre who was just approaching them.

　　"Yes, that is true, Prince. In our days," continued Vera- 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- "inour days a girl has so much freedom that the pleasure of being courtedoften stifles real feeling in her. And it must be confessed thatNatalie is very susceptible." This return to the subject of Nataliecaused Prince Andrew to knit his brows with discomfort: he was aboutto rise, but Vera continued with a still more subtle smile:

　　"I think no one has been more courted than she," she went on, "buttill quite lately she never cared seriously for anyone. Now youknow, Count," she said to Pierre, "even our dear cousin Boris, 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 Boris, aren't you?" asked Vera.

　　"Yes, I know him..."

　　"I expect he has told you of his childish love for Natasha?"

　　"Oh, there was childish love?" suddenly asked Prince Andrew,blushing unexpectedly.

　　"Yes, you know between cousins intimacy often leads to love. Lecousinage est un dangereux voisinage.* Don't you think so?"

　　*"Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood."

　　"Oh, undoubtedly!" said Prince Andrew, and with sudden and unnaturalliveliness he began chaffing Pierre about the need to be verycareful with his fifty-year-old Moscow cousins, and in the midst ofthese jesting remarks he rose, taking Pierre by the arm, and drewhim aside.

　　"Well?" asked Pierre, seeing his friend's strange animation withsurprise, and noticing the glance he turned on Natasha as he rose.

　　"I must... I must have a talk with you," said Prince Andrew. "Youknow that pair of women's gloves?" (He referred to the Masonicgloves given to a newly initiated Brother to present to the woman heloved.) "I... but no, I will talk to you later on," and with a strangelight in his eyes and restlessness in his movements, Prince Andrewapproached Natasha and sat down beside her. Pierre saw how PrinceAndrew asked her something and how she flushed as she replied.

　　But at that moment Berg came to Pierre and began insisting that heshould take part in an argument between the general and the colonel onthe affairs in Spain.

　　Berg was satisfied and happy. The smile of pleasure never left hisface. The party was very successful and quite like other parties hehad seen. Everything was similar: the ladies' subtle talk, thecards, the general raising his voice at the card table, and thesamovar and the tea cakes; only one thing was lacking that he hadalways seen at the evening parties he wished to imitate. They hadnot yet had a loud conversation among the men and a dispute aboutsomething important and clever. Now the general had begun such adiscussion and so Berg drew Pierre to it.BK6|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　Next day, having been invited by the count, Prince Andrew dined withthe Rostovs 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 Natasha all day. Notonly in the soul of the frightened yet happy and enraptured Natasha,but in the whole house, there was a feeling of awe at somethingimportant that was bound to happen. The countess looked with sad andsternly serious eyes at Prince Andrew when he talked to Natasha andtimidly started some artificial conversation about trifles as soonas he looked her way. Sonya was afraid to leave Natasha and afraidof being in the way when she was with them. Natasha grew pale, in apanic of expectation, when she remained alone with him for a moment.Prince Andrew surprised her by his timidity. She felt that he wantedto say something to her but could not bring himself to do so.

　　In the evening, when Prince Andrew had left, the countess went up toNatasha and whispered: "Well, what?"

　　"Mamma! For heaven's sake don't ask me anything now! One can'ttalk about that," said Natasha.

　　But all the same that night Natasha, now agitated and nowfrightened, lay long time in her mother's bed gazing straight beforeher. She told her how he had complimented her, how he told her hewas going abroad, asked her where they were going to spend the summer,and then how he had asked her about Boris.

　　"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'mwith him. What does that mean? Does it mean that it's the realthing? Yes? Mamma, are you asleep?"

　　"No, my love; I am frightened myself," answered her mother. "Nowgo!"

　　"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. "Andcould we ever have thought!..."

　　It seemed to Natasha that even at the time she first saw PrinceAndrew at Otradnoe she had fallen in love with him. It was as if shefeared this strange, unexpected happiness of meeting again the veryman she had then chosen (she was firmly convinced she had done so) andof finding him, as it seemed, not indifferent to her.

　　"And it had to happen that he should come specially to Petersburgwhile we are here. And it had to happen that we should meet at thatball. 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 PrinceAndrew had written in Natasha's album.

　　"Mamma, one need not be ashamed of his being a widower?"

　　"Don't, Natasha! Pray to God. 'Marriages are made in heaven,'"said her mother.

　　"Darling Mummy, how I love you! How happy I am!" cried Natasha,shedding tears of joy and excitement and embracing her mother.

　　At that very time Prince Andrew was sitting with Pierre andtelling him of his love for Natasha and his firm resolve to make herhis wife.

　　That day Countess Helene had a reception at her house. The Frenchambassador was there, and a foreign prince of the blood who had oflate become a frequent visitor of hers, and many brilliant ladiesand gentlemen. Pierre, who had come downstairs, walked through therooms and struck everyone by his preoccupied, absent-minded, andmorose air.

　　Since the ball he had felt the approach of a fit of nervousdepression and had made desperate efforts to combat it. Since theintimacy of his wife with the royal prince, Pierre had unexpectedlybeen made a gentleman of the bedchamber, and from that time he hadbegun to feel oppressed and ashamed in court society, and darkthoughts of the vanity of all things human came to him oftener thanbefore. At the same time the feeling he had noticed between hisprotegee Natasha and Prince Andrew accentuated his gloom by thecontrast between his own position and his friend's. He tried equallyto avoid thinking about his wife, and about Natasha and Prince Andrew;and again everything seemed to him insignificant in comparison witheternity; again the question: for what? presented itself; and heforced himself to work day and night at Masonic labors, hoping todrive away the evil spirit that threatened him. Toward midnight, afterhe had left the countess' apartments, he was sitting upstairs in ashabby dressing gown, copying out the original transaction of theScottish lodge of Freemasons at a table in his low room cloudy withtobacco 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 bookwith that air of escaping from the ills of life with which unhappypeople look at their work.

　　Prince Andrew, with a beaming, ecstatic expression of renewed lifeon 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 ityesterday and I have come to do so today. I never experienced anythinglike it before. I am in love, my friend!"

　　Suddenly Pierre heaved a deep sigh and dumped his heavy persondown on the sofa beside Prince Andrew.

　　"With Natasha Rostova, 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 andsuffered, but I would not exchange even that torment for anything inthe world, I have not lived till now. At last I live, but I can't livewithout her! But can she love me?... I am too old for her.... Whydon't you speak?"

　　"I? I? What did I tell you?" said Pierre suddenly, rising andbeginning 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 intoPierre's eyes.

　　"She does, I know," Pierre cried fiercely.

　　"But do listen," returned Prince Andrew, holding him by the arm. "Doyou 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 facereally changed, his brow became smooth, and he listened gladly toPrince Andrew. Prince Andrew seemed, and really was, quite adifferent, quite a new man. Where was his spleen, his contempt forlife, his disillusionment? Pierre was the only person to whom hemade up his mind to speak openly; and to him he told all that was inhis 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 thismarriage and love her, or would do without his consent; then hemarveled 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 ofsuch love," said Prince Andrew. "It is not at all the same feelingthat I knew in the past. The whole world is now for me divided intotwo halves: one half is she, and there all is joy, hope, light: theother half is everything where she is not, and there is all gloomand darkness...."

　　"Darkness and gloom," reiterated Pierre: "yes, yes, I understandthat."

　　"I cannot help loving the light, it is not my fault. And I am veryhappy! You understand me? I know you are glad for my sake."

　　"Yes, yes," Pierre assented, looking at his friend with a touchedand sad expression in his eyes. The brighter Prince Andrew's lotappeared to him, the gloomier seemed his own.BK6|CH23

　　CHAPTER XXIII

　　Prince Andrew needed his father's consent to his marriage, and toobtain 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 toalter his life or introduce anything new into it, when his own lifewas already ending. "If only they would let me end my days as I wantto," thought the old man, "then they might do as they please." Withhis son, however, he employed the diplomacy he reserved forimportant occasions and, adopting a quiet tone, discussed the wholematter.

　　In the first place the marriage was not a brilliant one as regardsbirth, wealth, or rank. Secondly, Prince Andrew was no longer as youngas he had been and his health was poor (the old man laid specialstress on this), while she was very young. Thirdly, he had a sonwhom it would be a pity to entrust to a chit of a girl. "Fourthlyand finally," the father said, looking ironically at his son, "I begyou to put it off for a year: go abroad, take a cure, look out asyou wanted to for a German tutor for Prince Nicholas. Then if yourlove or passion or obstinacy- as you please- is still as great, marry!And that's my last word on it. Mind, the last..." concluded theprince, in a tone which showed that nothing would make him alter hisdecision.

　　Prince Andrew saw clearly that the old man hoped that hisfeelings, or his fiancee's, would not stand a year's test, or thathe (the old prince himself) would die before then, and he decided toconform to his father's wish- to propose, and postpone the wedding fora year.

　　Three weeks after the last evening he had spent with the Rostovs,Prince Andrew returned to Petersburg.

　　Next day after her talk with her mother Natasha expected Bolkonskiall day, but he did not come. On the second and third day it was thesame. Pierre did not come either and Natasha, not knowing thatPrince Andrew had gone to see his father, could not explain hisabsence to herself.

　　Three weeks passed in this way. Natasha had no desire to go outanywhere and wandered from room to room like a shadow, idle andlistless; she wept secretly at night and did not go to her mother inthe evenings. She blushed continually and was irritable. It seemedto her that everybody knew about her disappointment and was laughingat her and pitying her. Strong as was her inward grief, this woundto her vanity intensified her misery.

　　Once she came to her mother, tried to say something, and suddenlybegan to cry. Her tears were those of an offended child who does notknow why it is being punished.

　　The countess began to soothe Natasha, who after first listening toher mother's words, suddenly interrupted her:

　　"Leave off, Mamma! I don't think, and don't want to think aboutit! He just came and then left off, left off..."

　　Her voice trembled, and she again nearly cried, but recovered andwent on quietly:

　　"And I don't at all want to get married. And I am afraid of him; Ihave now become quite calm, quite calm."

　　The day after this conversation Natasha put on the old dress whichshe knew had the peculiar property of conducing to cheerfulness in themornings, and that day she returned to the old way of life which shehad abandoned since the ball. Having finished her morning tea she wentto the ballroom, which she particularly liked for its loudresonance, and began singing her solfeggio. When she had finishedher first exercise she stood still in the middle of the room andsang a musical phrase that particularly pleased her. She listenedjoyfully (as though she had not expected it) to the charm of the notesreverberating, filling the whole empty ballroom, and slowly dyingaway; and all at once she felt cheerful. "What's the good of making somuch of it? Things are nice as it is," she said to herself, and shebegan walking up and down the room, not stepping simply on theresounding parquet but treading with each step from the heel to thetoe (she had on a new and favorite pair of shoes) and listening to theregular tap of the heel and creak of the toe as gladly as she had tothe 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 shecaught sight of herself. "Well, and very nice too! I need nobody."

　　A footman wanted to come in to clear away something in the roombut she would not let him, and having closed the door behind himcontinued her walk. That morning she had returned to her favoritemood- love of, and delight in, herself. "How charming that Natashais!" she said again, speaking as some third, collective, maleperson. "Pretty, a good voice, young, and in nobody's way if only theyleave her in peace." But however much they left her in peace she couldnot now be at peace, and immediately felt this.

　　In the hall the porch door opened, and someone asked, "At home?" andthen footsteps were heard. Natasha was looking at the mirror, butdid not see herself. She listened to the sounds in the hall. Whenshe saw herself, her face was pale. It was he. She knew this forcertain, though she hardly heard his voice through the closed doors.

　　Pale and agitated, Natasha ran into the drawing room.

　　"Mamma! Bolkonski has come!" she said. "Mamma, it is awful, it isunbearable! I don't want... to be tormented? What am I to do?..."

　　Before the countess could answer, Prince Andrew entered the roomwith an agitated and serious face. As soon as he saw Natasha hisface brightened. He kissed the countess' hand and Natasha's, and satdown beside the sofa.

　　"It is long since we had the pleasure..." began the countess, butPrince Andrew interrupted her by answering her intended question,obviously in haste to say what he had to.

　　"I have not been to see all this time because I have been at myfather's. I had to talk over a very important matter with him. Ionly got back last night," he said glancing at Natasha; "I want tohave 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.

　　Natasha knew that she ought to go away, but was unable to do so:something gripped her throat, and regardless of manners she staredstraight 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 shewas not mistaken. Yes, at once, that very instant, her fate would bedecided.

　　"Go, Natasha! I will call you," said the countess in a whisper.

　　Natasha glanced with frightened imploring eyes at Prince Andrewand at her mother and went out.

　　"I have come, Countess, to ask for your daughter's hand," saidPrince 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) "isagreeable 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 itto me?" said Prince Andrew.

　　"Yes," replied the countess. She held out her hand to him, andwith a mixed feeling of estrangement and tenderness pressed her lipsto his forehead as he stooped to kiss her hand. She wished to love himas 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 yourfather..."

　　"My father, to whom I have told my plans, has made it an expresscondition of his consent that the wedding is not to take place for ayear. And I wished to tell you of that," said Prince Andrew.

　　"It is true that Natasha 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.

　　Sonya said that Natasha was in her bedroom. Natasha was sitting onthe bed, pale and dry eyed, and was gazing at the icons and whisperingsomething as she rapidly crossed herself. Seeing her mother she jumpedup and flew to her.

　　"Well, Mamma?... Well?..."

　　"Go, go to him. He is asking for your hand," said the countess,coldly it seemed to Natasha. "Go... go," said the mother, sadly andreproachfully, with a deep sigh, as her daughter ran away.

　　Natasha never remembered how she entered the drawing room. Whenshe came in and saw him she paused. "Is it possible that this strangerhas now become everything to me?" she asked herself, and immediatelyanswered, "Yes, everything! He alone is now dearer to me thaneverything in the world." Prince Andrew came up to her with downcasteyes.

　　"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 impassionedexpression of her face. Her face said: "Why ask? Why doubt what youcannot 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!" Natasha murmured as if in vexation. Then she sighedloudly 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, bentover closer to him, paused for an instant as if asking herself whethershe might, and then kissed him.

　　Prince Andrew held her hands, looked into her eyes, and did not findin his heart his former love for her. Something in him had suddenlychanged; there was no longer the former poetic and mystic charm ofdesire, but there was pity for her feminine and childish weakness,fear at her devotion and trustfulness, and an oppressive yet joyfulsense of the duty that now bound him to her forever. The presentfeeling, though not so bright and poetic as the former, was strongerand more serious.

　　"Did your mother tell you that it cannot be for a year?" askedPrince Andrew, still looking into her eyes.

　　"Is it possible that I- the 'chit of a girl,' as everybody calledme," thought Natasha- "is it possible that I am now to be the wife andthe equal of this strange, dear, clever man whom even my fatherlooks up to? Can it be true? Can it be true that there can be nomore playing with life, that now I am grown up, that on me now liesa responsibility for my every word and deed? Yes, but what did heask me?"

　　"No," she replied, but she had not understood his question.

　　"Forgive me!" he said. "But you are so young, and I have alreadybeen through so much in life. I am afraid for you, you do not yet knowyourself."

　　Natasha listened with concentrated attention, trying but failingto take in the meaning of his words.

　　"Hard as this year which delays my happiness will be," continuedPrince Andrew, "it will give you time to be sure of yourself. I askyou to make me happy in a year, but you are free: our engagement shallremain a secret, and should you find that you do not love me, orshould you come to love..." said Prince Andrew with an unnaturalsmile.

　　"Why do you say that?" Natasha interrupted him. "You know thatfrom the very day you first came to Otradnoe I have loved you," shecried, quite convinced that she spoke the truth.

　　"In a year you will learn to know yourself...."

　　"A whole year!" Natasha repeated suddenly, only now realizing thatthe marriage was to be postponed for a year. "But why a year? Why ayear?..."

　　Prince Andrew began to explain to her the reasons for this delay.Natasha 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!" Natasha suddenly cried, andagain burst into sobs. "I shall die, waiting a year: it'simpossible, it's awful!" She looked into her lover's face and saw init 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 betrothedcouple their blessing.

　　From that day Prince Andrew began to frequent the Rostovs' asNatasha's affianced lover.BK6|CH24

　　CHAPTER XXIV

　　No betrothal ceremony took place and Natasha's engagement toBolkonski was not announced; Prince Andrew insisted on that. He saidthat as he was responsible for the delay he ought to bear the wholeburden of it; that he had given his word and bound himself forever,but that he did not wish to bind Natasha and gave her perfect freedom.If after six months she felt that she did not love him she wouldhave full right to reject him. Naturally neither Natasha nor herparents wished to hear of this, but Prince Andrew was firm. He cameevery day to the Rostovs', but did not behave to Natasha as anaffianced lover: he did not use the familiar thou, but said you toher, and kissed only her hand. After their engagement, quitedifferent, intimate, and natural relations sprang up between them.It was as if they had not known each other till now. Both liked torecall how they had regarded each other when as yet they werenothing to one another; they felt themselves now quite differentbeings: then they were artificial, now natural and sincere. At firstthe family felt some constraint in intercourse with Prince Andrew;he seemed a man from another world, and for a long time Natashatrained the family to get used to him, proudly assuring them allthat he only appeared to be different, but was really just like all ofthem, and that she was not afraid of him and no one else ought tobe. After a few days they grew accustomed to him, and withoutrestraint in his presence pursued their usual way of life, in which hetook his part. He could talk about rural economy with the count,fashions with the countess and Natasha, and about albums and fancyworkwith Sonya. Sometimes the household both among themselves and in hispresence expressed their wonder at how it had all happened, and at theevident omens there had been of it: Prince Andrew's coming to Otradnoeand their coming to Petersburg, and the likeness between Natasha andPrince Andrew which her nurse had noticed on his first visit, andAndrew's encounter with Nicholas in 1805, and many other incidentsbetokening that it had to be.

　　In the house that poetic dullness and quiet reigned which alwaysaccompanies the presence of a betrothed couple. Often when all sittingtogether everyone kept silent. Sometimes the others would get up andgo away and the couple, left alone, still remained silent. They rarelyspoke of their future life. Prince Andrew was afraid and ashamed tospeak of it. Natasha shared this as she did all his feelings, whichshe constantly divined. Once she began questioning him about hisson. Prince Andrew blushed, as he often did now- Natashaparticularly liked it in him- and said that his son would not livewith them.

　　"Why not?" asked Natasha in a frightened tone.

　　"I cannot take him away from his grandfather, and besides..."

　　"How I should have loved him!" said Natasha, immediately guessinghis thought; "but I know you wish to avoid any pretext for findingfault with us."

　　Sometimes the old count would come up, kiss Prince Andrew, and askhis advice about Petya's education or Nicholas' service. The oldcountess sighed as she looked at them; Sonya was always gettingfrightened lest she should be in the way and tried to find excuses forleaving them alone, even when they did not wish it. When Prince Andrewspoke (he could tell a story very well), Natasha listened to himwith pride; when she spoke she noticed with fear and joy that he gazedattentively and scrutinizingly at her. She asked herself inperplexity: "What does he look for in me? He is trying to discoversomething by looking at me! What if what he seeks in me is not there?"Sometimes she fell into one of the mad, merry moods characteristicof her, and then she particularly loved to hear and see how PrinceAndrew laughed. He seldom laughed, but when he did he abandonedhimself entirely to his laughter, and after such a laugh she alwaysfelt nearer to him. Natasha would have been completely happy if thethought of the separation awaiting her and drawing near had notterrified her, just as the mere thought of it made him turn pale andcold.

　　On the eve of his departure from Petersburg Prince Andrew broughtwith him Pierre, who had not been to the Rostovs' once since the ball.Pierre seemed disconcerted and embarrassed. He was talking to thecountess, and Natasha sat down beside a little chess table with Sonya,thereby inviting Prince Andrew to come too. He did so.

　　"You have known Bezukhov 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 ofhis absent-mindedness, some of which had even been invented about him.

　　"Do you know I have entrusted him with our secret? I have knownhim from childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalie,"Prince Andrew said with sudden seriousness- "I am going away andheaven knows what may happen. You may cease to... all right, I knowI am not to say that. Only this, then: whatever may happen to you whenI 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 foradvice and help! He is a most absent-minded and absurd fellow, buthe has a heart of gold."

　　Neither her father, nor her mother, nor Sonya, nor Prince Andrewhimself could have foreseen how the separation from her lover wouldact on Natasha. Flushed and agitated she went about the house all thatday, dry-eyed, occupied with most trivial matters as if notunderstanding what awaited her. She did not even cry when, on takingleave, he kissed her hand for the last time. "Don't go!" she said in atone that made him wonder whether he really ought not to stay andwhich he remembered long afterwards. Nor did she cry when he was gone;but for several days she sat in her room dry-eyed, taking nointerest in anything and only saying now and then, "Oh, why did hego away?"

　　But a fortnight after his departure, to the surprise of those aroundher, she recovered from her mental sickness just as suddenly andbecame 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 offace.BK6|CH25

　　CHAPTER XXV

　　During that year after his son's departure, Prince NicholasBolkonski's health and temper became much worse. He grew still moreirritable, and it was Princess Mary who generally bore the brunt ofhis frequent fits of unprovoked anger. He seemed carefully to seek outher tender spots so as to torture her mentally as harshly as possible.Princess Mary had two passions and consequently two joys- hernephew, little Nicholas, and religion- and these were the favoritesubjects of the prince's attacks and ridicule. Whatever was spokenof he would bring round to the superstitiousness of old maids, orthe petting and spoiling of children. "You want to make him"- littleNicholas- "into an old maid like yourself! A pity! Prince Andrew wantsa son and not an old maid," he would say. Or, turning toMademoiselle Bourienne, he would ask her in Princess Mary's presencehow 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 blametoward her, or could her father, whom she knew loved her in spite ofit all, be unjust? And what is justice? The princess never thoughtof that proud word "justice." All the complex laws of man centered forher in one clear and simple law- the law of love and self-sacrificetaught us by Him who lovingly suffered for mankind though He Himselfwas God. What had she to do with the justice or injustice of otherpeople? She had to endure and love, and that she did.

　　During the winter Prince Andrew had come to Bald Hills and hadbeen gay, gentle, and more affectionate than Princess Mary had knownhim 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 along talk with his father about something, and Princess Mary noticedthat before his departure they were dissatisfied with one another.

　　Soon after Prince Andrew had gone, Princess Mary wrote to her friendJulie Karagina in Petersburg, whom she had dreamed (as all girlsdream) of marrying to her brother, and who was at that time inmourning 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 aspecial providence of God who, loving you, wishes to try you andyour excellent mother. Oh, my friend! Religion, and religion alone,can- I will not say comfort us- but save us from despair. Religionalone can explain to us what without its help man cannot comprehend:why, for what cause, kind and noble beings able to find happiness inlife- not merely harming no one but necessary to the happiness ofothers- are called away to God, while cruel, useless, harmful persons,or such as are a burden to themselves and to others, are leftliving. The first death I saw, and one I shall never forget- that ofmy dear sister-in-law- left that impression on me. Just as you askdestiny why your splendid brother had to die, so I asked why thatangel Lise, who not only never wronged anyone, but in whose soul therewere never any unkind thoughts, had to die. And what do you think,dear friend? Five years have passed since then, and already I, with mypetty understanding, begin to see clearly why she had to die, and inwhat way that death was but an expression of the infinite goodnessof the Creator, whose every action, though generallyincomprehensible to us, is but a manifestation of His infinite lovefor His creatures. Perhaps, I often think, she was too angelicallyinnocent to have the strength to perform all a mother's duties. As ayoung wife she was irreproachable; perhaps she could not have beenso as a mother. As it is, not only has she left us, and particularlyPrince Andrew, with the purest regrets and memories, but probablyshe will there receive a place I dare not hope for myself. But notto speak of her alone, that early and terrible death has had themost beneficent influence on me and on my brother in spite of allour grief. Then, at the moment of our loss, these thoughts could notoccur to me; I should then have dismissed them with horror, but nowthey 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 aprinciple of life: not a single hair of our heads will fall withoutHis will. And His will is governed only by infinite love for us, andso whatever befalls us is for our good.

　　You ask whether we shall spend next winter in Moscow. In spite of mywish to see you, I do not think so and do not want to do so. Youwill be surprised to hear that the reason for this is Buonaparte!The case is this: my father's health is growing noticeably worse, hecannot stand any contradiction and is becoming irritable. Thisirritability is, as you know, chiefly directed to political questions.He cannot endure the notion that Buonaparte is negotiating on equalterms with all the sovereigns of Europe and particularly with our own,the grandson of the Great Catherine! As you know, I am quiteindifferent to politics, but from my father's remarks and his talkswith Michael Ivanovich I know all that goes on in the world andespecially about the honors conferred on Buonaparte, who only atBald Hills in the whole world, it seems, is not accepted as a greatman, still less as Emperor of France. And my father cannot stand this.It seems to me that it is chiefly because of his political viewsthat my father is reluctant to speak of going to Moscow; for heforesees the encounters that would result from his way of expressinghis views regardless of anybody. All the benefit he might derivefrom a course of treatment he would lose as a result of the disputesabout Buonaparte which would be inevitable. In any case it will bedecided very shortly.

　　Our family life goes on in the old way except for my brotherAndrew's absence. He, as I wrote you before, has changed very muchof late. After his sorrow he only this year quite recovered hisspirits. 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 hasrealized, it seems to me, that life is not over for him. Buttogether with this mental change he has grown physically muchweaker. He has become thinner and more nervous. I am anxious about himand glad he is taking this trip abroad which the doctors recommendedlong ago. I hope it will cure him. You write that in Petersburg heis spoken of as one of the most active, cultivated, and capable of theyoung 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 thegentry, is incalculable. On his arrival in Petersburg he received onlyhis due. I always wonder at the way rumors fly from Petersburg toMoscow, especially such false ones as that you write about- I mean thereport of my brother's betrothal to the little Rostova. I do not thinkmy brother will ever marry again, and certainly not her; and this iswhy: first, I know that though he rarely speaks about the wife hehas lost, the grief of that loss has gone too deep in his heart forhim ever to decide to give her a successor and our little angel astepmother. Secondly because, as far as I know, that girl is not thekind of girl who could please Prince Andrew. I do not think he wouldchoose her for a wife, and frankly I do not wish it. But I amrunning 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. Mydear friend, Mademoiselle Bourienne, sends you kisses.

　　MARYBK6|CH26

　　CHAPTER XXVI

　　In the middle of the summer Princess Mary received an unexpectedletter from Prince Andrew in Switzerland in which he gave herstrange and surprising news. He informed her of his engagement toNatasha Rostova. The whole letter breathed loving rapture for hisbetrothed and tender and confiding affection for his sister. Hewrote that he had never loved as he did now and that only now did heunderstand and know what life was. He asked his sister to forgivehim for not having told her of his resolve when he had last visitedBald Hills, though he had spoken of it to his father. He had notdone so for fear Princess Mary should ask her father to give hisconsent, irritating him and having to bear the brunt of hisdispleasure without attaining her object. "Besides," he wrote, "thematter was not then so definitely settled as it is now. My father theninsisted on a delay of a year and now already six months, half of thatperiod, have passed, and my resolution is firmer than ever. If thedoctors 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 knowme and my relations with Father. I want nothing from him. I havebeen and always shall be independent; but to go against his will andarouse his anger, now that he may perhaps remain with us such ashort time, would destroy half my happiness. I am now writing to himabout the same question, and beg you to choose a good moment to handhim the letter and to let me know how he looks at the whole matter andwhether there is hope that he may consent to reduce the term by fourmonths."

　　After long hesitations, doubts, and prayers, Princess Mary gavethe letter to her father. The next day the old prince said to herquietly:

　　"Write and tell your brother to wait till I am dead.... It won'tbe long- I shall soon set him free."

　　The princess was about to reply, but her father would not let herspeak 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 tellhim that he may marry tomorrow if he likes. She will be littleNicholas' stepmother and I'll marry Bourienne!... Ha, ha, ha! Hemustn't be without a stepmother either! Only one thing, no morewomen are wanted in my house- let him marry and live by himself.Perhaps you will go and live with him too?" he added, turning toPrincess Mary. "Go in heavens name! Go out into the frost... thefrost... the frost!

　　After this outburst the prince did not speak any more about thematter. But repressed vexation at his son's poor-spirited behaviorfound expression in his treatment of his daughter. To his formerpretexts for irony a fresh one was now added- allusions to stepmothersand amiabilities to Mademoiselle Bourienne.

　　"Why shouldn't I marry her?" he asked his daughter. "She'll make asplendid princess!"

　　And latterly, to her surprise and bewilderment, Princess Marynoticed that her father was really associating more and more withthe Frenchwoman. She wrote to Prince Andrew about the reception of hisletter, but comforted him with hopes of reconciling their father tothe idea.

　　Little Nicholas and his education, her brother Andrew, andreligion were Princess Mary's joys and consolations; but besides that,since everyone must have personal hopes, Princess Mary in theprofoundest depths of her heart had a hidden dream and hope thatsupplied the chief consolation of her life. This comforting dreamand hope were given her by God's folk- the half-witted and otherpilgrims who visited her without the prince's knowledge. The longershe lived, the more experience and observation she had of life, thegreater was her wonder at the short-sightedness of men who seekenjoyment 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 thatwas not enough: he wanted to bind his happiness to another woman.Her father objected to this because he wanted a more distinguished andwealthier match for Andrew. And they all struggled and suffered andtormented one another and injured their souls, their eternal souls,for the attainment of benefits which endure but for an instant. Notonly do we know this ourselves, but Christ, the Son of God, camedown to earth and told us that this life is but for a moment and isa probation; yet we cling to it and think to find happiness in it."How is it that no one realizes this?" thought Princess Mary. "Noone except these despised God's folk who, wallet on back, come to meby the back door, afraid of being seen by the prince, not for fearof ill-usage by him but for fear of causing him to sin. To leavefamily, home, and all the cares of worldly welfare, in order withoutclinging to anything to wander in hempen rags from place to placeunder 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 fiftycalled Theodosia, who for over thirty years had gone about barefootand worn heavy chains. Princess Mary was particularly fond of her.Once, when in a room with a lamp dimly lit before the icon Theodosiawas talking of her life, the thought that Theodosia alone had foundthe true path of life suddenly came to Princess Mary with such forcethat she resolved to become a pilgrim herself. When Theodosia had goneto sleep Princess Mary thought about this for a long time, and at lastmade up her mind that, strange as it might seem, she must go on apilgrimage. She disclosed this thought to no one but to her confessor,Father Akinfi, the monk, and he approved of her intention. Under guiseof a present for the pilgrims, Princess Mary prepared a pilgrim'scomplete costume for herself: a coarse smock, bast shoes, a roughcoat, and a black kerchief. Often, approaching the chest of drawerscontaining this secret treasure, Princess Mary paused, uncertainwhether the time had not already come to put her project intoexecution.

　　Often, listening to the pilgrims' tales, she was so stimulated bytheir simple speech, mechanical to them but to her so full of deepmeaning, that several times she was on the point of abandoningeverything and running away from home. In imagination she alreadypictured 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 fromenvy, earthly love, or desire, and reaching at last the place wherethere is no more sorrow or sighing, but eternal joy and bliss.

　　"I shall come to a place and pray there, and before having time toget used to it or getting to love it, I shall go farther. I will go ontill my legs fail, and I'll lie down and die somewhere, and shall atlast reach that eternal, quiet haven, where there is neither sorrownor sighing..." thought Princess Mary.

　　But afterwards, when she saw her father and especially little Koko(Nicholas), her resolve weakened. She wept quietly, and felt thatshe 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 acondition of the first man's blessedness before the Fall. Fallen manhas retained a love of idleness, but the curse weighs on the racenot only because we have to seek our bread in the sweat of ourbrows, but because our moral nature is such that we cannot be bothidle and at ease. An inner voice tells us we are in the wrong if weare idle. If man could find a state in which he felt that thoughidle he was fulfilling his duty, he would have found one of theconditions of man's primitive blessedness. And such a state ofobligatory and irreproachable idleness is the lot of a whole class-the military. The chief attraction of military service has consistedand will consist in this compulsory and irreproachable idleness.

　　Nicholas Rostov experienced this blissful condition to the fullwhen, after 1807, he continued to serve in the Pavlograd regiment,in which he already commanded the squadron he had taken over fromDenisov.

　　Rostov had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, whom his Moscowacquaintances would have considered rather bad form, but who was likedand respected by his comrades, subordinates, and superiors, and waswell contented with his life. Of late, in 1809, he found in lettersfrom home more frequent complaints from his mother that theiraffairs were falling into greater and greater disorder, and that itwas time for him to come back to gladden and comfort his old parents.

　　Reading these letters, Nicholas felt a dread of their wanting totake him away from surroundings in which, protected from all theentanglements of life, he was living so calmly and quietly. He feltthat sooner or later he would have to re-enter that whirlpool of life,with its embarrassments and affairs to be straightened out, itsaccounts with stewards, quarrels, and intrigues, its ties, society,and with Sonya's love and his promise to her. It was all dreadfullydifficult 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. In1810 he received letters from his parents, in which they told him ofNatasha's engagement to Bolkonski, and that the wedding would be ina year's time because the old prince made difficulties. This lettergrieved and mortified Nicholas. In the first place he was sorry thatNatasha, for whom he cared more than for anyone else in the family,should be lost to the home; and secondly, from his hussar point ofview, he regretted not to have been there to show that fellowBolkonski that connection with him was no such great honor afterall, and that if he loved Natasha he might dispense with permissionfrom his dotard father. For a moment he hesitated whether he shouldnot apply for leave in order to see Natasha before she was married,but then came the maneuvers, and considerations about Sonya andabout the confusion of their affairs, and Nicholas again put it off.But in the spring of that year, he received a letter from hismother, written without his father's knowledge, and that letterpersuaded him to return. She wrote that if he did not come and takematters in hand, their whole property would be sold by auction andthey would all have to go begging. The count was so weak, andtrusted Mitenka so much, and was so good-natured, that everybodytook advantage of him and things were going from bad to worse. "ForGod's sake, I implore you, come at once if you do not wish to makeme and the whole family wretched," wrote the countess.

　　This letter touched Nicholas. He had that common sense of amatter-of-fact man which showed him what he ought to do.

　　The right thing now was, if not to retire from the service, at anyrate to go home on leave. Why he had to go he did not know; butafter his after-dinner nap he gave orders to saddle Mars, an extremelyvicious gray stallion that had not been ridden for a long time, andwhen he returned with the horse all in a lather, he informed Lavrushka(Denisov's servant who had remained with him) and his comrades whoturned up in the evening that he was applying for leave and wasgoing home. Difficult and strange as it was for him to reflect that hewould go away without having heard from the staff- and this interestedhim extremely- whether he was promoted to a captaincy or would receivethe Order of St. Anne for the last maneuvers; strange as it was tothink that he would go away without having sold his three roans to thePolish Count Golukhovski, who was bargaining for the horses Rostov hadbetted he would sell for two thousand rubles; incomprehensible as itseemed that the ball the hussars were giving in honor of the PolishMademoiselle Przazdziecka (out of rivalry to the Uhlans who hadgiven one in honor of their Polish Mademoiselle Borzozowska) wouldtake place without him- he knew he must go away from this good, brightworld to somewhere where everything was stupid and confused. A weeklater he obtained his leave. His hussar comrades- not only those ofhis own regiment, but the whole brigade- gave Rostov a dinner to whichthe subscription was fifteen rubles a head, and at which there weretwo bands and two choirs of singers. Rostov danced the Trepak withMajor Basov; the tipsy officers tossed, embraced, and droppedRostov; the soldiers of the third squadron tossed him too, and shouted"hurrah!" and then they put him in his sleigh and escorted him asfar as the first post station.

　　During the first half of the journey- from Kremenchug to Kiev- allRostov's thoughts, as is usual in such cases, were behind him, withthe squadron; but when he had gone more than halfway he began toforget his three roans and Dozhoyveyko, his quartermaster, and towonder anxiously how things would be at Otradnoe and what he wouldfind there. Thoughts of home grew stronger the nearer he approachedit- far stronger, as though this feeling of his was subject to the lawby which the force of attraction is in inverse proportion to thesquare of the distance. At the last post station before Otradnoe hegave the driver a three-ruble tip, and on arriving he ranbreathlessly, like a boy, up the steps of his home.

　　After the rapture of meeting, and after that odd feeling ofunsatisfied expectation- the feeling that "everything is just thesame, so why did I hurry?"- Nicholas began to settle down in his oldhome world. His father and mother were much the same, only a littleolder. What was new in them was a certain uneasiness and occasionaldiscord, which there used not to be, and which, as Nicholas soon foundout, was due to the bad state of their affairs. Sonya was nearlytwenty; she had stopped growing prettier and promised nothing morethan she was already, but that was enough. She exhaled happiness andlove from the time Nicholas returned, and the faithful, unalterablelove of this girl had a gladdening effect on him. Petya and Natashasurprised Nicholas most. Petya was a big handsome boy of thirteen,merry, witty, and mischievous, with a voice that was already breaking.As for Natasha, for a long while Nicholas wondered and laughedwhenever 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 toher.

　　"Yes, yes, yes!" cried Natasha, joyfully.

　　She told him about her romance with Prince Andrew and of his visitto Otradnoe and showed him his last letter.

　　"Well, are you glad?" Natasha asked. "I am so tranquil and happynow."

　　"Very glad," answered Nicholas. "He is an excellent fellow.... Andare you very much in love?"

　　"How shall I put it?" replied Natasha. "I was in love with Boris,with my teacher, and with Denisov, but this is quite different. I feelat peace and settled. I know that no better man than he exists, andI am calm and contented now. Not at all as before."

　　Nicholas expressed his disapproval of the postponement of themarriage for a year; but Natasha attacked her brother withexasperation, proving to him that it could not be otherwise, andthat it would be a bad thing to enter a family against the father'swill, 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 seemat 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. Thisamazed Nicholas and even made him regard Bolkonski's courtshipskeptically. He could not believe that her fate was sealed, especiallyas he had not seen her with Prince Andrew. It always seemed to himthat there was something not quite right about this intended marriage.

　　"Why this delay? Why no betrothal?" he thought. Once, when he hadtouched on this topic with his mother, he discovered, to hissurprise and somewhat to his satisfaction, that in the depth of hersoul she too had doubts about this marriage.

　　"You see he writes," said she, showing her son a letter of PrinceAndrew's, with that latent grudge a mother always has in regard to adaughter's future married happiness, "he writes that he won't comebefore December. What can be keeping him? Illness, probably! Hishealth is very delicate. Don't tell Natasha. And don't attachimportance to her being so bright: that's because she's living throughthe last days of her girlhood, but I know what she is like everytime we receive a letter from him! However, God grant thateverything turns out well!" (She always ended with these words.) "Heis an excellent man!"BK7|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　After reaching home Nicholas was at first serious and even dull.He was worried by the impending necessity of interfering in the stupidbusiness matters for which his mother had called him home. To throwoff this burden as quickly as possible, on the third day after hisarrival he went, angry and scowling and without answering questions asto where he was going, to Mitenka's lodge and demanded an account ofeverything. But what an account of everything might be Nicholas kneweven less than the frightened and bewildered Mitenka. The conversationand the examination of the accounts with Mitenka did not last long.The village elder, a peasant delegate, and the village clerk, who werewaiting in the passage, heard with fear and delight first the youngcount's voice roaring and snapping and rising louder and louder, andthen words of abuse, dreadful words, ejaculated one after the other.

　　"Robber!... Ungrateful wretch!... I'll hack the dog to pieces! I'mnot my father!... Robbing us!..." and so on.

　　Then with no less fear and delight they saw how the young count, redin the face and with bloodshot eyes, dragged Mitenka out by the scruffof the neck and applied his foot and knee to him behind with greatagility at convenient moments between the words, shouting, "Be off!Never let me see your face here again, you villain!"

　　Mitenka flew headlong down the six steps and ran away into theshrubbery. (This shrubbery was a well-known haven of refuge forculprits at Otradnoe. Mitenka himself, returning tipsy from thetown, used to hide there, and many of the residents at Otradnoe,hiding from Mitenka, knew of its protective qualities.)

　　Mitenka's wife and sisters-in-law thrust their heads andfrightened faces out of the door of a room where a bright samovarwas boiling and where the steward's high bedstead stood with itspatchwork quilt.

　　The young count paid no heed to them, but, breathing hard, passed bywith resolute strides and went into the house.

　　The countess, who heard at once from the maids what had happenedat the lodge, was calmed by the thought that now their affairs wouldcertainly improve, but on the other hand felt anxious as to the effectthis excitement might have on her son. She went several times to hisdoor on tiptoe and listened, as he lighted one pipe after another.

　　Next day the old count called his son aside and, with an embarrassedsmile, said to him:

　　"But you know, my dear boy, it's a pity you got excited! Mitenka hastold me all about it."

　　"I knew," thought Nicholas, "that I should never understand anythingin this crazy world."

　　"You were angry that he had not entered those 700 rubles. But theywere 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 havedone, 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 hehad mismanaged his wife's property and was to blame toward hischildren, but he did not know how to remedy it). "No, I beg you toattend to the business. I am old. I..."

　　"No, Papa. Forgive me if I have caused you unpleasantness. Iunderstand it all less than you do."

　　"Devil take all these peasants, and money matters, and carryingsforward from page to page," he thought. "I used to understand what a'corner' and the stakes at cards meant, but carrying forward toanother page I don't understand at all," said he to himself, and afterthat he did not meddle in business affairs. But once the countesscalled her son and informed him that she had a promissory note fromAnna Mikhaylovna for two thousand rubles, and asked him what hethought of doing with it.

　　"This," answered Nicholas. "You say it rests with me. Well, Idon't like Anna Mikhaylovna and I don't like Boris, but they wereour friends and poor. Well then, this!" and he tore up the note, andby so doing caused the old countess to weep tears of joy. Afterthat, young Rostov took no further part in any business affairs, butdevoted himself with passionate enthusiasm to what was to him a newpursuit- the chase- for which his father kept a large establishment.BK7|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　The weather was already growing wintry and morning frostscongealed an earth saturated by autumn rains. The verdure hadthickened and its bright green stood out sharply against thebrownish strips of winter rye trodden down by the cattle, andagainst the pale-yellow stubble of the spring buckwheat. The woodedravines and the copses, which at the end of August had still beengreen islands amid black fields and stubble, had become golden andbright-red islands amid the green winter rye. The hares had alreadyhalf changed their summer coats, the fox cubs were beginning toscatter, and the young wolves were bigger than dogs. It was the besttime of the year for the chase. The hounds of that ardent youngsportsman Rostov had not merely reached hard winter condition, butwere so jaded that at a meeting of the huntsmen it was decided to givethem a three days' rest and then, on the sixteenth of September, to goon a distant expedition, starting from the oak grove where there wasan undisturbed litter of wolf cubs.

　　All that day the hounds remained at home. It was frosty and theair was sharp, but toward evening the sky became overcast and it beganto thaw. On the fifteenth, when young Rostov, in his dressing gown,looked out of the window, he saw it was an unsurpassable morning forhunting: it was as if the sky were melting and sinking to the earthwithout any wind. The only motion in the air was that of the dripping,microscopic particles of drizzling mist. The bare twigs in thegarden were hung with transparent drops which fell on the freshlyfallen leaves. The earth in the kitchen garden looked wet and blackand glistened like poppy seed and at a short distance merged intothe dull, moist veil of mist. Nicholas went out into the wet and muddyporch. There was a smell of decaying leaves and of dog. Milka, ablack-spotted, broad-haunched bitch with prominent black eyes, gotup on seeing her master, stretched her hind legs, lay down like ahare, and then suddenly jumped up and licked him right on his nose andmustache. Another borzoi, a dog, catching sight of his master from thegarden path, arched his back and, rushing headlong toward the porchwith lifted tail, began rubbing himself against his legs.

　　"O-hoy!" came at that moment, that inimitable huntsman's callwhich unites the deepest bass with the shrillest tenor, and roundthe corner came Daniel the head huntsman and head kennelman, a gray,wrinkled old man with hair cut straight over his forehead, Ukrainianfashion, a long bent whip in his hand, and that look of independenceand scorn of everything that is only seen in huntsmen. He doffed hisCircassian cap to his master and looked at him scornfully. Thisscorn was not offensive to his master. Nicholas knew that this Daniel,disdainful of everybody and who considered himself above them, was allthe same his serf and huntsman.

　　"Daniel!" Nicholas said timidly, conscious at the sight of theweather, the hounds, and the huntsman that he was being carried awayby that irresistible passion for sport which makes a man forget allhis previous resolutions, as a lover forgets in the presence of hismistress.

　　"What orders, your excellency?" said the huntsman in his deepbass, deep as a proto-deacon's and hoarse with hallooing- and twoflashing black eyes gazed from under his brows at his master, whowas silent. "Can you resist it?" those eyes seemed to be asking.

　　"It's a good day, eh? For a hunt and a gallop, eh?" askedNicholas, scratching Milka behind the ears.

　　Daniel did not answer, but winked instead.

　　"I sent Uvarka at dawn to listen," his bass boomed out after aminute's pause. "He says she's moved them into the Otradnoe enclosure.They were howling there." (This meant that the she-wolf, about whomthey both knew, had moved with her cubs to the Otradnoe copse, a smallplace a mile and a half from the house.)

　　"We ought to go, don't you think so?" said Nicholas. "Come to mewith Uvarka."

　　"As you please."

　　"Then put off feeding them."

　　"Yes, sir."

　　Five minutes later Daniel and Uvarka were standing in Nicholas'big study. Though Daniel was not a big man, to see him in a room waslike seeing a horse or a bear on the floor among the furniture andsurroundings of human life. Daniel himself felt this, and as usualstood just inside the door, trying to speak softly and not move, forfear of breaking something in the master's apartment, and hehastened to say all that was necessary so as to get from under thatceiling, out into the open under the sky once more.

　　Having finished his inquiries and extorted from Daniel an opinionthat the hounds were fit (Daniel himself wished to go hunting),Nicholas ordered the horses to be saddled. But just as Daniel wasabout to go Natasha came in with rapid steps, not having done up herhair or finished dressing and with her old nurse's big shawl wrappedround her. Petya ran in at the same time.

　　"You are going?" asked Natasha. "I knew you would! Sonya said youwouldn't go, but I knew that today is the sort of day when youcouldn't help going."

　　"Yes, we are going," replied Nicholas reluctantly, for today, ashe intended to hunt seriously, he did not want to take Natasha andPetya. "We are going, but only wolf hunting: it would be dull foryou."

　　"You know it is my greatest pleasure," said Natasha. "It's not fair;you are going by yourself, are having the horses saddled and saidnothing to us about it."

　　"'No barrier bars a Russian's path'- we'll go!" shouted Petya.

　　"But you can't. Mamma said you mustn't," said Nicholas to Natasha.

　　"Yes, I'll go. I shall certainly go," said Natasha decisively."Daniel, tell them to saddle for us, and Michael must come with mydogs," she added to the huntsman.

　　It seemed to Daniel irksome and improper to be in a room at all, butto 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 hisbusiness, careful as he went not to inflict any accidental injury onthe young lady.BK7|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　The old count, who had always kept up an enormous huntingestablishment but had now handed it all completely over to his son'scare, 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 notime for attending to trifles, went past Natasha and Petya who weretrying to tell him something. He had a look at all the details ofthe hunt, sent a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to find thequarry, mounted his chestnut Donets, and whistling to his own leash ofborzois, set off across the threshing ground to a field leading to theOtradnoe wood. The old count's horse, a sorrel gelding calledViflyanka, was led by the groom in attendance on him, while thecount himself was to drive in a small trap straight to a spot reservedfor him.

　　They were taking fifty-four hounds, with six hunt attendants andwhippers-in. Besides the family, there were eight borzoi kennelmen andmore than forty borzois, so that, with the borzois on the leashbelonging to members of the family, there were about a hundred andthirty dogs and twenty horsemen.

　　Each dog knew its master and its call. Each man in the hunt knew hisbusiness. his place, what he had to do. As soon as they had passed thefence they all spread out evenly and quietly, without noise or talk,along the road and field leading to the Otradnoe covert.

　　The horses stepped over the field as over a thick carpet, now andthen splashing into puddles as they crossed a road. The misty skystill seemed to descend evenly and imperceptibly toward the earth, theair was still, warm, and silent. Occasionally the whistle of ahuntsman, the snort of a horse, the crack of a whip, or the whine of astraggling hound could be heard.

　　When they had gone a little less than a mile, five more riderswith dogs appeared out of the mist, approaching the Rostovs. Infront rode a fresh-looking, handsome old man with a large graymustache.

　　"Good morning, Uncle!" said Nicholas, when the old man drew near.

　　"That's it. Come on!... I was sure of it," began "Uncle." (He wasa distant relative of the Rostovs', a man of small means, and theirneighbor.) "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist it and it's a goodthing you're going. That's it! Come on! (This was "Uncle's" favoriteexpression.) "Take the covert at once, for my Girchik says the Ilaginsare at Korniki with their hounds. That's it. Come on!... They'lltake the cubs from under your very nose."

　　"That's where I'm going. Shall we join up our packs?" askedNicholas.

　　The hounds were joined into one pack, and "Uncle" and Nicholasrode on side by side. Natasha, muffled up in shawls which did not hideher eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them. She was followedby Petya who always kept close to her, by Michael, a huntsman, andby a groom appointed to look after her. Petya, who was laughing,whipped and pulled at his horse. Natasha sat easily and confidently onher black Arabchik and reined him in without effort with a firm hand.

　　"Uncle" looked round disapprovingly at Petya and Natasha. He did notlike to combine frivolity with the serious business of hunting.

　　"Good morning, Uncle! We are going too!" shouted Petya.

　　"Good morning, good morning! But don't go overriding the hounds,"said "Uncle" sternly.

　　"Nicholas, what a fine dog Trunila is! He knew me," said Natasha,referring to her favorite hound.

　　"In the first place, Trunila is not a 'dog,' but a harrier," thoughtNicholas, and looked sternly at his sister, trying to make her feelthe distance that ought to separate them at that moment. Natashaunderstood 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 youdon't fall off your horse," he added, "because- that's it, come on!-you've nothing to hold on to."

　　The oasis of the Otradnoe covert came in sight a few hundred yardsoff, the huntsmen were already nearing it. Rostov, having finallysettled with "Uncle" where they should set on the hounds, and havingshown Natasha where she was to stand- a spot where nothing couldpossibly run out- went round above the ravine.

　　"Well, nephew, you're going for a big wolf," said "Uncle." "Mind anddon't let her slip!"

　　"That's as may happen," answered Rostov. "Karay, here!" heshouted, answering "Uncle's" remark by this call to his borzoi.Karay was a shaggy old dog with a hanging jowl, famous for havingtackled a big wolf unaided. They all took up their places.

　　The old count, knowing his son's ardor in the hunt, hurried so asnot to be late, and the hunstmen had not yet reached their places whenCount Ilya Rostov, cheerful, flushed, and with quivering cheeks, droveup with his black horses over the winter rye to the place reserved forhim, where a wolf might come out. Having straightened his coat andfastened on his hunting knives and horn, he mounted his good, sleek,well-fed, and comfortable horse, Viflyanka, which was turning gray,like himself. His horses and trap were sent home. Count Ilya Rostov,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, arrangedhis reins, settled himself in the saddle, and, feeling that he wasready, looked about with a smile.

　　Beside him was Simon Chekmar, his personal attendant, an oldhorseman now somewhat stiff in the saddle. Chekmar held in leash threeformidable wolfhounds, who had, however, grown fat like their masterand his horse. Two wise old dogs lay down unleashed. Some hundredpaces farther along the edge of the wood stood Mitka, the count'sother groom, a daring horseman and keen rider to hounds. Before thehunt, by old custom, the count had drunk a silver cupful of mulledbrandy, taken a snack, and washed it down with half a bottle of hisfavorite Bordeaux.

　　He was somewhat flushed with the wine and the drive. His eyes wererather moist and glittered more than usual, and as he sat in hissaddle, wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like a child taken outfor an outing.

　　The thin, hollow-cheeked Chekmar, having got everything ready,kept glancing at his master with whom he had lived on the best ofterms for thirty years, and understanding the mood he was inexpected a pleasant chat. A third person rode up circumspectly throughthe wood (it was plain that he had had a lesson) and stopped behindthe count. This person was a gray-bearded old man in a woman'scloak, with a tall peaked cap on his head. He was the buffoon, whowent by a woman's name, Nastasya Ivanovna.

　　"Well, Nastasya Ivanovna!" 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 Nastasya Ivanovna.

　　"Hush!" whispered the count and turned to Simon. "Have you seenthe young countess?" he asked. "Where is she?"

　　"With young Count Peter, by the Zharov rank grass," answeredSimon, smiling. "Though she's a lady, she's very fond of hunting."

　　"And you're surprised at the way she rides, Simon, eh?" said thecount. "She's as good as many a man!"

　　"Of course! It's marvelous. So bold, so easy!"

　　"And Nicholas? Where is he? By the Lyadov upland, isn't he?"

　　"Yes, sir. He knows where to stand. He understands the matter sowell that Daniel and I are often quite astounded," said Simon, wellknowing 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 theZavarzinsk thicket the other day! Leaped a fearful place; what a sightwhen they rushed from the covert... the horse worth a thousandrubles and the rider beyond all price! Yes, one would have to searchfar to find another as smart."

　　"To search far..." repeated the count, evidently sorry Simon had notsaid more. "To search far," he said, turning back the skirt of hiscoat to get at his snuffbox.

　　"The other day when he came out from Mass in full uniform, MichaelSidorych..." Simon did not finish, for on the still air he haddistinctly caught the music of the hunt with only two or threehounds giving tongue. He bent down his head and listened, shaking awarning finger at his master. "They are on the scent of the cubs..." he whispered, "straight to the Lyadov uplands."

　　The count, forgetting to smooth out the smile on his face, lookedinto the distance straight before him, down the narrow open space,holding the snuffbox in his hand but not taking any. After the cryof the hounds came the deep tones of the wolf call from Daniel'shunting horn; the pack joined the first three hounds and they could beheard in full cry, with that peculiar lift in the note thatindicates that they are after a wolf. The whippers-in no longer set onthe hounds, but changed to the cry of ulyulyu, and above the othersrose Daniel's voice, now a deep bass, now piercingly shrill. His voiceseemed to fill the whole wood and carried far beyond out into the openfield.

　　After listening a few moments in silence, the count and hisattendant convinced themselves that the hounds had separated intotwo packs: the sound of the larger pack, eagerly giving tongue,began to die away in the distance, the other pack rushed by the woodpast the count, and it was with this that Daniel's voice was heardcalling ulyulyu. The sounds of both packs mingled and broke apartagain, but both were becoming more distant.

　　Simon sighed and stooped to straighten the leash a young borzoihad entangled; the count too sighed and, noticing the snuffbox inhis hand, opened it and took a pinch. "Back!" cried Simon to aborzoi that was pushing forward out of the wood. The count started anddropped the snuffbox. Nastasya Ivanovna dismounted to pick it up.The count and Simon were looking at him.

　　Then, unexpectedly, as often happens, the sound of the hunt suddenlyapproached, as if the hounds in full cry and Daniel ulyulyuing werejust in front of them.

　　The count turned and saw on his right Mitka staring at him with eyesstarting out of his head, raising his cap and pointing before him tothe other side.

　　"Look out!" he shouted, in a voice plainly showing that he hadlong fretted to utter that word, and letting the borzois slip hegalloped toward the count.

　　The count and Simon galloped out of the wood and saw on their left awolf which, softly swaying from side to side, was coming at a quietlope farther to the left to the very place where they were standing.The angry borzois whined and getting free of the leash rushed past thehorses' feet at the wolf.

　　The wolf paused, turned its heavy forehead toward the dogsawkwardly, like a man suffering from the quinsy, and, still slightlyswaying from side to side, gave a couple of leaps and with a swishof its tail disappeared into the skirt of the wood. At the sameinstant, with a cry like a wail, first one hound, then another, andthen another, sprang helter-skelter from the wood opposite and thewhole pack rushed across the field toward the very spot where the wolfhad disappeared. The hazel bushes parted behind the hounds andDaniel's chestnut horse appeared, dark with sweat. On its long backsat Daniel, hunched forward, capless, his disheveled gray hair hangingover his flushed, perspiring face.

　　"Ulyulyulyu! ulyulyu!..." he cried. When he caught sight of thecount his eyes flashed lightning.

　　"Blast you!" he shouted, holding up his whip threateningly at thecount.

　　"You've let the wolf go!... What sportsmen! and as if scorning tosay more to the frightened and shamefaced count, he lashed the heavingflanks of his sweating chestnut gelding with all the anger the counthad aroused and flew off after the hounds. The count, like apunished schoolboy, looked round, trying by a smile to win Simon'ssympathy for his plight. But Simon was no longer there. He wasgalloping round by the bushes while the field was coming up on bothsides, all trying to head the wolf, but it vanished into the woodbefore they could do so.BK7|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　Nicholas Rostov meanwhile remained at his post, waiting for thewolf. By the way the hunt approached and receded, by the cries ofthe dogs whose notes were familiar to him, by the way the voices ofthe huntsmen approached, receded, and rose, he realized what washappening at the copse. He knew that young and old wolves werethere, that the hounds had separated into two packs, that somewherea wolf was being chased, and that something had gone wrong. Heexpected the wolf to come his way any moment. He made thousands ofdifferent conjectures as to where and from what side the beast wouldcome and how he would set upon it. Hope alternated with despair.Several times he addressed a prayer to God that the wolf should comehis way. He prayed with that passionate and shame-faced feeling withwhich men pray at moments of great excitement arising from trivialcauses. "What would it be to Thee to do this for me?" he said toGod. "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 Karayspring at it- in sight of 'Uncle' who is watching from over there- andseize it by the throat in a death grip!" A thousand times duringthat half-hour Rostov cast eager and restless glances over the edge ofthe wood, with the two scraggy oaks rising above the aspen undergrowthand the gully with its water-worn side and "Uncle's" cap justvisible above the bush on his right.

　　"No, I shan't have such luck," thought Rostov, "yet what wouldn't itbe worth! It is not to be! Everywhere, at cards and in war, I amalways unlucky." Memories of Austerlitz and of Dolokhov flashedrapidly and clearly through his mind. "Only once in my life to getan old wolf, I want only that!" thought he, straining eyes and earsand looking to the left and then to the right and listening to theslightest variation of note in the cries of the dogs.

　　Again he looked to the right and saw something running toward himacross the deserted field. "No, it can't be!" thought Rostov, taking adeep breath, as a man does at the coming of something long hopedfor. The height of happiness was reached- and so simply, withoutwarning, or noise, or display, that Rostov could not believe hiseyes and remained in doubt for over a second. The wolf ran forward andjumped heavily over a gully that lay in her path. She was an oldanimal with a gray back and big reddish belly. She ran withouthurry, evidently feeling sure that no one saw her. Rostov, holding hisbreath, looked round at the borzois. They stood or lay not seeingthe wolf or understanding the situation. Old Karay had turned his headand was angrily searching for fleas, baring his yellow teeth andsnapping at his hind legs.

　　"Ulyulyulyu!" whispered Rostov, pouting his lips. The borzois jumpedup, jerking the rings of the leashes and pricking their ears. Karayfinished scratching his hindquarters and, cocking his ears, got upwith quivering tail from which tufts of matted hair hung down.

　　"Shall I loose them or not?" Nicholas asked himself as the wolfapproached him coming from the copse. Suddenly the wolf's wholephysiognomy changed: she shuddered, seeing what she had probably neverseen before- human eyes fixed upon her- and turning her head alittle toward Rostov, she paused.

　　"Back or forward? Eh, no matter, forward..." the wolf seemed tosay to herself, and she moved forward without again looking roundand with a quiet, long, easy yet resolute lope.

　　"Ulyulyu!" cried Nicholas, in a voice not his own, and of its ownaccord his good horse darted headlong downhill, leaping over gulliesto 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 onlythe wolf, who, increasing her speed, bounded on in the samedirection along the hollow. The first to come into view was Milka,with her black markings and powerful quarters, gaining upon thewolf. Nearer and nearer... now she was ahead of it; but the wolfturned its head to face her, and instead of putting on speed as sheusually did Milka suddenly raised her tail and stiffened her forelegs.

　　"Ulyulyulyulyu!" shouted Nicholas.

　　The reddish Lyubim rushed forward from behind Milka, sprangimpetuously at the wolf, and seized it by its hindquarters, butimmediately jumped aside in terror. The wolf crouched, gnashed herteeth, and again rose and bounded forward, followed at the distance ofa couple of feet by all the borzois, who did not get any closer toher.

　　"She'll get away! No, it's impossible!" thought Nicholas, stillshouting with a hoarse voice.

　　"Karay, ulyulyu!..." he shouted, looking round for the old borzoiwho was now his only hope. Karay, with all the strength age had lefthim, stretched himself to the utmost and, watching the wolf,galloped heavily aside to intercept it. But the quickness of thewolf's lope and the borzoi's slower pace made it plain that Karayhad miscalculated. Nicholas could already see not far in front ofhim the wood where the wolf would certainly escape should she reachit. But, coming toward him, he saw hounds and a huntsman gallopingalmost straight at the wolf. There was still hope. A long, yellowishyoung borzoi, one Nicholas did not know, from another leash, rushedimpetuously at the wolf from in front and almost knocked her over. Butthe wolf jumped up more quickly than anyone could have expected and,gnashing her teeth, flew at the yellowish borzoi, which, with apiercing yelp, fell with its head on the ground, bleeding from agash in its side.

　　"Karay? 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 withinfive paces of it. As if aware of her danger, the wolf turned hereyes on Karay, tucked her tail yet further between her legs, andincreased her speed. But here Nicholas only saw that somethinghappened to Karay- the borzoi was suddenly on the wolf, and theyrolled together down into a gully just in front of them.

　　That instant, when Nicholas saw the wolf struggling in the gullywith the dogs, while from under them could be seen her gray hair andoutstretched hind leg and her frightened choking head, with her earslaid back (Karay was pinning her by the throat), was the happiestmoment of his life. With his hand on his saddlebow, he was ready todismount and stab the wolf, when she suddenly thrust her head upfrom among that mass of dogs, and then her forepaws were on the edgeof the gully. She clicked her teeth (Karay no longer had her by thethroat), leaped with a movement of her hind legs out of the gully, andhaving disengaged herself from the dogs, with tail tucked in again,went forward. Karay, his hair bristling, and probably bruised orwounded, 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 thewolf'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, wereall riding round the wolf, crying "ulyulyu!" shouting and preparing todismount each moment that the wolf crouched back, and starting forwardagain every time she shook herself and moved toward the wood where shewould be safe.

　　Already, at the beginning of this chase, Daniel, hearing theulyulyuing, had rushed out from the wood. He saw Karay seize the wolf,and checked his horse, supposing the affair to be over. But when hesaw that the horsemen did not dismount and that the wolf shook herselfand ran for safety, Daniel set his chestnut galloping, not at the wolfbut straight toward the wood, just as Karay had run to cut theanimal off. As a result of this, he galloped up to the wolf justwhen she had been stopped a second time by "Uncle's" borzois.

　　Daniel galloped up silently, holding a naked dagger in his left handand thrashing the laboring sides of his chestnut horse with his whipas 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 bodyand saw Daniel lying on the wolf's back among the dogs, trying toseize her by the ears. It was evident to the dogs, the hunters, and tothe wolf herself that all was now over. The terrified wolf pressedback 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 iflying down to rest, fell on the wolf, seizing her by the ears.Nicholas was about to stab her, but Daniel whispered, "Don't! We'llgag 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 herover once or twice from side to side.

　　With happy, exhausted faces, they laid the old wolf, alive, on ashying and snorting horse and, accompanied by the dogs yelping at her,took her to the place where they were all to meet. The hounds hadkilled two of the cubs and the borzois three. The huntsmen assembledwith their booty and their stories, and all came to look at thewolf, which, with her broad-browed head hanging down and the bittenstick between her jaws, gazed with great glassy eyes at this crowdof dogs and men surrounding her. When she was touched, she jerkedher bound legs and looked wildly yet simply at everybody. Old CountRostov also rode up and touched the wolf.

　　"Oh, what a formidable one!" said he. "A formidable one, eh?" heasked 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 withDaniel.

　　"Ah, but you are a crusty fellow, friend!" said the count.

　　For sole reply Daniel gave him a shy, childlike, meek, and amiablesmile.BK7|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　The old count went home, and Natasha and Petya promised to returnvery soon, but as it was still early the hunt went farther. Atmidday they put the hounds into a ravine thickly overgrown withyoung trees. Nicholas standing in a fallow field could see all hiswhips.

　　Facing him lay a field of winter rye, there his own huntsman stoodalone in a hollow behind a hazel bush. The hounds had scarcely beenloosed before Nicholas heard one he knew, Voltorn, giving tongue atintervals; other hounds joined in, now pausing and now again givingtongue. A moment later he heard a cry from the wooded ravine that afox had been found, and the whole pack, joining together, rushed alongthe ravine toward the ryefield and away from Nicholas.

　　He saw the whips in their red caps galloping along the edge of theravine, he even saw the hounds, and was expecting a fox to show itselfat 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 goinghard across the field. The borzois bore down on it.... Now they drewclose to the fox which began to dodge between the field in sharper andsharper curves, trailing its brush, when suddenly a strange whiteborzoi dashed in followed by a black one, and everything was inconfusion; the borzois formed a star-shaped figure, scarcely swayingtheir bodies and with tails turned away from the center of thegroup. Two huntsmen galloped up to the dogs; one in a red cap, theother, a stranger, in a green coat.

　　"What's this?" thought Nicholas. "Where's that huntsman from? Heis not 'Uncle's' man."

　　The huntsmen got the fox, but stayed there a long time withoutstrapping it to the saddle. Their horses, bridled and with highsaddles, stood near them and there too the dogs were lying. Thehuntsmen waved their arms and did something to the fox. Then from thatspot came the sound of a horn, with the signal agreed on in case ofa fight.

　　"That's Ilagin's huntsman having a row with our Ivan," saidNicholas' groom.

　　Nicholas sent the man to call Natasha and Petya to him, and rodeat a footpace to the place where the whips were getting the houndstogether. Several of the field galloped to the spot where the fightwas going on.

　　Nicholas dismounted, and with Natasha and Petya, who had riddenup, stopped near the hounds, waiting to see how the matter wouldend. Out of the bushes came the huntsman who had been fighting androde toward his young master, with the fox tied to his crupper.While still at a distance he took off his cap and tried to speakrespectfully, 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 mygray bitch that caught it! Go to law, indeed!... He snatches at thefox! I gave him one with the fox. Here it is on my saddle! Do you wanta taste of this?..." said the huntsman, pointing to his dagger andprobably imagining himself still speaking to his foe.

　　Nicholas, not stopping to talk to the man, asked his sister andPetya to wait for him and rode to the spot where the enemy's,Ilagin'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 Ilagin, with whom the Rostovs had a quarreland were at law, hunted over places that belonged by custom to theRostovs, and had now, as if purposely, sent his men to the verywoods the Rostovs were hunting and let his man snatch a fox their dogshad chased.

　　Nicholas, though he had never seen Ilagin, with his usual absence ofmoderation in judgment, hated him cordially from reports of hisarbitrariness and violence, and regarded him as his bitterest foe.He rode in angry agitation toward him, firmly grasping his whip andfully prepared to take the most resolute and desperate steps to punishhis enemy.

　　Hardly had he passed an angle of the wood before a stout gentlemanin a beaver cap came riding toward him on a handsome raven-blackhorse, accompanied by two hunt servants.

　　Instead of an enemy, Nicholas found in Ilagin a stately andcourteous gentleman who was particularly anxious to make the youngcount's acquaintance. Having ridden up to Nicholas, Ilagin raisedhis beaver cap and said he much regretted what had occurred andwould have the man punished who had allowed himself to seize a foxhunted by someone else's borzois. He hoped to become better acquaintedwith the count and invited him to draw his covert.

　　Natasha, afraid that her brother would do something dreadful, hadfollowed him in some excitement. Seeing the enemies exchangingfriendly greetings, she rode up to them. Ilagin lifted his beavercap still higher to Natasha and said, with a pleasant smile, thatthe young countess resembled Diana in her passion for the chase aswell as in her beauty, of which he had heard much.

　　To expiate his huntsman's offense, Ilagin pressed the Rostovs tocome to an upland of his about a mile away which he usually kept forhimself and which, he said, swarmed with hares. Nicholas agreed, andthe hunt, now doubled, moved on.

　　The way to Iligin's upland was across the fields. The huntservants fell into line. The masters rode together. "Uncle," Rostov,and Ilagin kept stealthily glancing at one another's dogs, tryingnot to be observed by their companions and searching uneasily forrivals to their own borzois.

　　Rostov was particularly struck by the beauty of a small,pure-bred, red-spotted bitch on Ilagin's leash, slender but withmuscles like steel, a delicate muzzle, and prominent black eyes. Hehad heard of the swiftness of Ilagin's borzois, and in thatbeautiful bitch saw a rival to his own Milka.

　　In the middle of a sober conversation begun by Ilagin about theyear's harvest, Nicholas pointed to the red-spotted bitch.

　　"A fine little bitch, that!" said he in a careless tone. "Is sheswift?"

　　"That one? Yes, she's a good dog, gets what she's after," answeredIlagin indifferently, of the red-spotted bitch Erza, for which, a yearbefore, he had given a neighbor three families of house serfs. "Soin your parts, too, the harvest is nothing to boast of, Count?" hewent on, continuing the conversation they had begun. And consideringit polite to return the young count's compliment, Ilagin looked at hisborzois and picked out Milka who attracted his attention by herbreadth. "That black-spotted one of yours is fine- well shaped!"said he.

　　"Yes, she's fast enough," replied Nicholas, and thought: "If onlya full-grown hare would cross the field now I'd show you what sortof borzoi she is," and turning to his groom, he said he would give aruble to anyone who found a hare.

　　"I don't understand," continued Ilagin, "how some sportsmen can beso jealous about game and dogs. For myself, I can tell you, Count, Ienjoy riding in company such as this... what could be better?" (heagain raised his cap to Natasha) "but as for counting skins and whatone takes, I don't care about that."

　　"Of course not!"

　　"Or being upset because someone else's borzoi and not mine catchessomething. All I care about is to enjoy seeing the chase, is it notso, 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 whipaloft, and again repeated his long-drawn cry, "A-tu!" (This call andthe uplifted whip meant that he saw a sitting hare.)

　　"Ah, he has found one, I think," said Ilagin carelessly. "Yes, wemust ride up.... Shall we both course it?" answered Nicholas, seeingin Erza and "Uncle's" red Rugay two rivals he had never yet had achance of pitting against his own borzois. "And suppose they outdomy Milka at once!" he thought as he rode with "Uncle" and Ilagintoward the hare.

　　"A full-grown one?" asked Ilagin as he approached the whip who hadsighted the hare- and not without agitation he looked round andwhistled to Erza.

　　"And you, Michael Nikanorovich?" 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 yourborzois! That's it, come on! Yours are worth thousands. Try yoursagainst one another, you two, and I'll look on!"

　　"Rugay, hey, hey!" he shouted. "Rugayushka!" he added, involuntarilyby this diminutive expressing his affection and the hopes he placed onthis red borzoi. Natasha saw and felt the agitation the two elderlymen and her brother were trying to conceal, and was herself excited byit.

　　The huntsman stood halfway up the knoll holding up his whip andthe gentlefolk rode up to him at a footpace; the hounds that werefar off on the horizon turned away from the hare, and the whips, butnot the gentlefolk, also moved away. All were moving slowly andsedately.

　　"How is it pointing?" asked Nicholas, riding a hundred pacestoward the whip who had sighted the hare.

　　But before the whip could reply, the hare, scenting the frost comingnext morning, was unable to rest and leaped up. The pack on leashrushed downhill in full cry after the hare, and from all sides theborzois that were not on leash darted after the hounds and the hare.All the hunt, who had been moving slowly, shouted, "Stop!" callingin the hounds, while the borzoi whips, with a cry of "A-tu!"gallopedacross the field setting the borzois on the hare. The tranquil Ilagin,Nicholas, Natasha, and "Uncle" flew, reckless of where and how theywent, seeing only the borzois and the hare and fearing only to losesight even for an instant of the chase. The hare they had startedwas a strong and swift one. When he jumped up he did not run atonce, but pricked his ears listening to the shouting and tramplingthat resounded from all sides at once. He took a dozen bounds, notvery quickly, letting the borzois gain on him, and, finally havingchosen his direction and realized his danger, laid back his ears andrushed off headlong. He had been lying in the stubble, but in front ofhim was the autumn sowing where the ground was soft. The two borzoisof the huntsman who had sighted him, having been the nearest, were thefirst to see and pursue him, but they had not gone far before Ilagin'sred-spotted Erza passed them, got within a length, flew at the harewith terrible swiftness aiming at his scut, and, thinking she hadseized him, rolled over like a ball. The hare arched his back andbounded off yet more swiftly. From behind Erza rushed thebroad-haunched, black-spotted Milka and began rapidly gaining on thehare.

　　"Milashka, dear!" rose Nicholas' triumphant cry. It looked as ifMilka would immediately pounce on the hare, but she overtook him andflew past. The hare had squatted. Again the beautiful Erza reachedhim, but when close to the hare's scut paused as if measuring thedistance, so as not to make a mistake this time but seize his hindleg.

　　"Erza, darling! Ilagin wailed in a voice unlike his own. Erza didnot hearken to his appeal. At the very moment when she would haveseized her prey, the hare moved and darted along the balk betweenthe winter rye and the stubble. Again Erza and Milka were abreast,running like a pair of carriage horses, and began to overtake thehare, but it was easier for the hare to run on the balk and theborzois did not overtake him so quickly.

　　"Rugay, Rugayushka! That's it, come on!" came a third voice justthen, and "Uncle's" red borzoi, straining and curving its back, caughtup with the two foremost borzois, pushed ahead of them regardless ofthe terrible strain, put on speed close to the hare, knocked it offthe balk onto the ryefield, again put on speed still more viciously,sinking to his knees in the muddy field, and all one could see washow, muddying his back, he rolled over with the hare. A ring ofborzois surrounded him. A moment later everyone had drawn up round thecrowd of dogs. Only the delighted "Uncle" dismounted, and cut off apad, shaking the hare for the blood to drip off, and anxiouslyglancing round with restless eyes while his arms and legs twitched. Hespoke without himself knowing whom to or what about. "That's it,come on! That's a dog!... There, it has beaten them all, thethousand-ruble as well as the one-ruble borzois. That's it, comeon!" said he, panting and looking wrathfully around as if he wereabusing someone, as if they were all his enemies and had insulted him,and only now had he at last succeeded in justifying himself. "Thereare your thousand-ruble ones.... That's it, come on!..."

　　"Rugay, here's a pad for you!" he said, throwing down the hare'smuddy 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 ofwhether he were heard or not.

　　"But what is there in running across it like that?" said Ilagin'sgroom.

　　"Once she had missed it and turned it away, any mongrel could takeit," Ilagin was saying at the same time, breathless from his gallopand his excitement. At the same moment Natasha, without drawingbreath, screamed joyously, ecstatically, and so piercingly that it seteveryone's ear tingling. By that shriek she expressed what theothers expressed by all talking at once, and it was so strange thatshe must herself have been ashamed of so wild a cry and everyoneelse would have been amazed at it at any other time. "Uncle" himselftwisted up the hare, threw it neatly and smartly across his horse'sback as if by that gesture he meant to rebuke everybody, and, withan air of not wishing to speak to anyone, mounted his bay and rodeoff. The others all followed, dispirited and shamefaced, and only muchlater were they able to regain their former affectation ofindifference. For a long time they continued to look at red Rugay 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 aconqueror.

　　"Well, I am like any other dog as long as it's not a question ofcoursing. But when it is, then look out!" his appearance seem toNicholas to be saying.

　　When, much later, "Uncle" rode up to Nicholas and began talking tohim, he felt flattered that, after what had happened, "Uncle"deigned to speak to him.BK7|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Toward evening Ilagin took leave of Nicholas, who found that theywere so far from home that he accepted "Uncle's" offer that thehunting party should spend the night in his little village ofMikhaylovna.

　　"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 couldrest, and the little countess could be driven home in a trap."

　　"Uncle's" offer was accepted. A huntsman was sent to Otradnoe fora trap, while Nicholas rode with Natasha and Petya to "Uncle's" house.

　　Some five male domestic serfs, big and little, rushed out to thefront porch to meet their master. A score of women serfs, old andyoung, as well as children, popped out from the back entrance tohave a look at the hunters who were arriving. The presence of Natasha-a woman, a lady, and on horseback- raised the curiosity of the serfsto such a degree that many of them came up to her, stared her in theface, and unabashed by her presence made remarks about her as thoughshe were some prodigy on show and not a human being able to hear orunderstand what was said about her.

　　"Arinka! Look, she sits sideways! There she sits and her skirtdangles.... 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 Natasha directly.

　　"Uncle" dismounted at the porch of his little wooden house whichstood in the midst of an overgrown garden and, after a glance at hisretainers, shouted authoritatively that the superfluous ones shouldtake themselves off and that all necessary preparations should be madeto receive the guests and the visitors.

　　The serfs all dispersed. "Uncle" lifted Natasha off her horse andtaking her hand led her up the rickety wooden steps of the porch.The house, with its bare, unplastered log walls, was not overclean- itdid not seem that those living in it aimed at keeping it spotless- butneither was it noticeably neglected. In the entry there was a smell offresh apples, and wolf and fox skins hung about.

　　"Uncle" led the visitors through the anteroom into a small hall witha folding table and red chairs, then into the drawing room with around birchwood table and a sofa, and finally into his private roomwhere there was a tattered sofa, a worn carpet, and portraits ofSuvorov, of the host's father and mother, and of himself in militaryuniform. The study smelt strongly of tobacco and dogs. "Uncle" askedhis visitors to sit down and make themselves at home, and then wentout of the room. Rugay, his back still muddy, came into the room andlay down on the sofa, cleaning himself with his tongue and teeth.Leading from the study was a passage in which a partition withragged curtains could be seen. From behind this came women'slaughter and whispers. Natasha, Nicholas, and Petya took off theirwraps and sat down on the sofa. Petya, leaning on his elbow, fellasleep at once. Natasha and Nicholas were silent. Their facesglowed, they were hungry and very cheerful. They looked at one another(now that the hunt was over and they were in the house, Nicholas nolonger considered it necessary to show his manly superiority overhis sister), Natasha gave him a wink, and neither refrained longfrom bursting into a peal of ringing laughter even before they had apretext ready to account for it.

　　After a while "Uncle" came in, in a Cossack coat, blue trousers, andsmall top boots. And Natasha felt that this costume, the very oneshe had regarded with surprise and amusement at Otradnoe, was just theright 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 thebrother's and sister's laughter (it could never enter his head thatthey might be laughing at his way of life) he himself joined in themerriment.

　　"That's right, young countess, that's it, come on! I never sawanyone like her!" said he, offering Nicholas a pipe with a long stemand, with a practiced motion of three fingers, taking down anotherthat had been cut short. "She's ridden all day like a man, and is asfresh as ever!

　　Soon after "Uncle's" reappearance the door was opened, evidentlyfrom the sound by a barefooted girl, and a stout, rosy, good-lookingwoman of about forty, with a double chin and full red lips, enteredcarrying a large loaded tray. With hospitable dignity and cordialityin her glance and in every motion, she looked at the visitors and,with a pleasant smile, bowed respectfully. In spite of her exceptionalstoutness, which caused her to protrude her chest and stomach andthrow back her head, this woman (who was "Uncle's" housekeeper) trodvery lightly. She went to the table, set down the tray, and with herplump white hands deftly took from it the bottles and various horsd'oeuvres and dishes and arranged them on the table. When she hadfinished, she stepped aside and stopped at the door with a smile onher face. "Here I am. I am she! Now do you understand 'Uncle'?" herexpression said to Rostov. How could one help understanding? Notonly Nicholas, but even Natasha understood the meaning of his puckeredbrow and the happy complacent smile that slightly puckered his lipswhen Anisya Fedorovna entered. On the tray was a bottle of herbwine, different kinds of vodka, pickled mushrooms, rye cakes made withbuttermilk, honey in the comb, still mead and sparkling mead,apples, nuts (raw and roasted), and nut-and-honey sweets. Afterwardsshe brought a freshly roasted chicken, ham, preserves made with honey,and preserves made with sugar.

　　All this was the fruit of Anisya Fedorovna's housekeeping,gathered and prepared by her. The smell and taste of it all had asmack of Anisya Fedorovna herself: a savor of juiciness,cleanliness, whiteness, and pleasant smiles.

　　"Take this, little Lady-Countess!" she kept saying, as she offeredNatasha first one thing and then another.

　　Natasha ate of everything and thought she had never seen or eatensuch buttermilk cakes, such aromatic jam, such honey-and-nut sweets,or such a chicken anywhere. Anisya Fedorovna left the room.

　　After supper, over their cherry brandy, Rostov and "Uncle" talked ofpast and future hunts, of Rugay and Ilagin's dogs, while Natasha satupright on the sofa and listened with sparkling eyes. She triedseveral times to wake Petya that he might eat something, but he onlymuttered incoherent words without waking up. Natasha felt solighthearted and happy in these novel surroundings that she onlyfeared the trap would come for her too soon. After a casual pause,such as often occurs when receiving friends for the first time inone's own house, "Uncle," answering a thought that was in hisvisitors' mind, 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 saidthis. Involuntarily Rostov recalled all the good he had heard abouthim from his father and the neighbors. Throughout the whole province"Uncle" had the reputation of being the most honorable anddisinterested of cranks. They called him in to decide family disputes,chose him as executor, confided secrets to him, elected him to be ajustice and to other posts; but he always persistently refusedpublic appointments, passing the autumn and spring in the fields onhis bay gelding, sitting at home in winter, and lying in his overgrowngarden 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, comeon! I can't make head or tail of it. That's for you- I haven'tbrains 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, asthey called the room for the hunt servants.

　　There was a rapid patter of bare feet, and an unseen hand opened thedoor into the huntsmen's room, from which came the clear sounds of abalalayka on which someone, who was evidently a master of the art, wasplaying. Natasha had been listening to those strains for some time andnow went out into the passage to hear better.

　　"That's Mitka, my coachman.... I have got him a good balalayka.I'm fond of it," said "Uncle."

　　It was the custom for Mitka to play the balalayka in thehuntsmen's room when "Uncle" returned from the chase. "Uncle" was fondof such music.

　　"How good! Really very good!" said Nicholas with someunintentional superciliousness, as if ashamed to confess that thesounds pleased him very much.

　　"Very good?" said Natasha reproachfully, noticing her brother'stone. "Not 'very good' it's simply delicious!"

　　Just as "Uncle's" pickled mushrooms, honey, and cherry brandy hadseemed to her the best in the world, so also that song, at thatmoment, seemed to her the acme of musical delight.

　　"More, please, more!" cried Natasha at the door as soon as thebalalayka ceased. Mitka tuned up afresh, and recommenced thrumming thebalalayka to the air of My Lady, with trills and variations. "Uncle"sat listening, slightly smiling, with his head on one side. The airwas repeated a hundred times. The balalayka was retuned severaltimes and the same notes were thrummed again, but the listeners didnot grow weary of it and wished to hear it again and again. AnisyaFedorovna came in and leaned her portly person against the doorpost.

　　"You like listening?" she said to Natasha, with a smile extremelylike "Uncle's." "That's a good player of ours," she added.

　　"He doesn't play that part right!" said "Uncle" suddenly, with anenergetic gesture. "Here he ought to burst out- that's it, come on!-ought to burst out."

　　"Do you play then?" asked Natasha.

　　"Uncle" did not answer, but smiled.

　　"Anisya, go and see if the strings of my guitar are all right. Ihaven't touched it for a long time. That's it- come on! I've givenit up."

　　Anisya Fedorovna, with her light step, willingly went to fulfill hererrand and brought back the guitar.

　　Without looking at anyone, "Uncle" blew the dust off it and, tappingthe case with his bony fingers, tuned the guitar and settled himselfin his armchair. He took the guitar a little above the fingerboard,arching his left elbow with a somewhat theatrical gesture, and, with awink at Anisya Fedorovna, struck a single chord, pure and sonorous,and then quietly, smoothly, and confidently began playing in very slowtime, not My Lady, but the well-known song: Came a maiden down thestreet. The tune, played with precision and in exact time, began tothrill in the hearts of Nicholas and Natasha, arousing in them thesame kind of sober mirth as radiated from Anisya Fedorovna's wholebeing. Anisya Fedorovna flushed, and drawing her kerchief over herface went laughing out of the room. "Uncle" continued to playcorrectly, carefully, with energetic firmness, looking with achanged and inspired expression at the spot where Anisya Fedorovna hadjust stood. Something seemed to be laughing a little on one side ofhis face under his gray mustaches, especially as the song grew briskerand the time quicker and when, here and there, as he ran his fingersover the strings, something seemed to snap.

　　"Lovely, lovely! Go on, Uncle, go on!" shouted Natasha as soon as hehad finished. She jumped up and hugged and kissed him. "Nicholas,Nicholas!" she said, turning to her brother, as if asking him: "Whatis it moves me so?"

　　Nicholas too was greatly pleased by "Uncle's" playing, and "Uncle"played the piece over again. Anisya Fedorovna's smiling facereappeared 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 thestrings, and then he stopped short and jerked his shoulders.

　　"Go on, Uncle dear," Natasha wailed in an imploring tone as if herlife depended on it.

　　"Uncle" rose, and it was as if there were two men in him: one ofthem smiled seriously at the merry fellow, while the merry fellowstruck a naive and precise attitude preparatory to a folk dance.

　　"Now then, niece!" he exclaimed, waving to Natasha the hand that hadjust struck a chord.

　　Natasha threw off the shawl from her shoulders, ran forward toface "Uncle," and setting her arms akimbo also made a motion withher shoulders and struck an attitude.

　　Where, how, and when had this young countess, educated by an emigreeFrench governess, imbibed from the Russian air she breathed thatspirit and obtained that manner which the pas de chale* would, onewould have supposed, long ago have effaced? But the spirit and themovements were those inimitable and unteachable Russian ones that"Uncle" had expected of her. As soon as she had struck her pose, andsmiled triumphantly, proudly, and with sly merriment, the fear thathad at first seized Nicholas and the others that she might not dothe 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 completeprecision, that Anisya Fedorovna, who had at once handed her thehandkerchief she needed for the dance, had tears in her eyes, thoughshe laughed as she watched this slim, graceful countess, reared insilks and velvets and so different from herself, who yet was able tounderstand all that was in Anisya and in Anisya's father and motherand aunt, and in every Russian man and woman.

　　"Well, little countess; that's it- come on!" cried "Uncle," with ajoyous laugh, having finished the dance. "Well done, niece! Now a fineyoung 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 Natasha,who nodded her head with a happy smile.

　　"And such a one!" she said. But as soon as she had said it a newtrain of thoughts and feelings arose in her. "What did Nicholas' smilemean when he said 'chosen already'? Is he glad of it or not? It isas if he thought my Bolkonski would not approve of or understand ourgaiety. 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 downagain smilingly beside "Uncle," begging him to play something more.

　　"Uncle" played another song and a valse; then after a pause hecleared 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 naive conviction thatthe whole meaning of a song lies in the words and that the tunecomes of itself, and that apart from the words there is no tune, whichexists only to give measure to the words. As a result of this theunconsidered tune, like the song of a bird, was extraordinarilygood. Natasha was in ecstasies over "Uncle's" singing. She resolved togive 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 beensent to look for them, arrived to fetch Natasha and Petya. The countand countess did not know where they were and were very anxious,said one of the men.

　　Petya was carried out like a log and laid in the larger of the twotraps. Natasha and Nicholas got into the other. "Uncle" wrappedNatasha 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 becrossed, so that they had to go round by the ford, and he senthuntsmen to ride in front with lanterns.

　　"Good-by, dear niece," his voice called out of the darkness- not thevoice Natasha had known previously, but the one that had sung As 'twasgrowing dark last night.

　　In the village through which they passed there were red lights and acheerful smell of smoke.

　　"What a darling Uncle is!" said Natasha, when they had come out ontothe highroad.

　　"Yes," returned Nicholas. "You're not cold?"

　　"No. I'm quite, quite all right. I feel so comfortable!" answeredNatasha, almost perplexed by her feelings. They remained silent a longwhile. The night was dark and damp. They could not see the horses, butonly heard them splashing through the unseen mud.

　　What was passing in that receptive childlike soul that so eagerlycaught and assimilated all the diverse impressions of life? How didthey all find place in her? But she was very happy. As they werenearing home she suddenly struck up the air of As 'twas growing darklast night- the tune of which she had all the way been trying to getand had at last caught.

　　"Got it?" said Nicholas.

　　"What were you thinking about just now, Nicholas?" inquired Natasha.

　　They were fond of asking one another that question.

　　"I?" said Nicholas, trying to remember. "Well, you see, first Ithought that Rugay, the red hound, was like Uncle, and that if he werea man he would always keep Uncle near him, if not for his riding, thenfor 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 drivingalong and imagining that we are going home, but that heaven knowswhere we are really going in the darkness, and that we shall arriveand suddenly find that we are not in Otradnoe, but in Fairyland. Andthen I thought... No, nothing else."

　　"I know, I expect you thought of him," said Nicholas, smiling asNatasha knew by the sound of his voice.

　　"No," said Natasha, though she had in reality been thinking aboutPrince Andrew at the same time as of the rest, and of how he wouldhave liked "Uncle." "And then I was saying to myself all the way, 'Howwell Anisya carried herself, how well!'" And Nicholas heard herspontaneous, happy, ringing laughter. "And do you know," shesuddenly said, "I know that I shall never again be as happy andtranquil as I am now."

　　"Rubbish, nonsense, humbug!" exclaimed Nicholas, and he thought:"How charming this Natasha of mine is! I have no other friend like herand never shall have. Why should she marry? We might always driveabout together!

　　"What a darling this Nicholas of mine is!" thought Natasha.

　　"Ah, there are still lights in the drawingroom!" she said,pointing to the windows of the house that gleamed invitingly in themoist velvety darkness of the night.BK7|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　Count Ilya Rostov had resigned the position of Marshal of theNobility because it involved him in too much expense, but still hisaffairs did not improve. Natasha and Nicholas often noticed theirparents conferring together anxiously and privately and heardsuggestions of selling the fine ancestral Rostov house and estate nearMoscow. It was not necessary to entertain so freely as when thecount had been Marshal, and life at Otradnoe was quieter than informer years, but still the enormous house and its lodges were full ofpeople and more than twenty sat down to table every day. These wereall their own people who had settled down in the house almost asmembers of the family, or persons who were, it seemed, obliged to livein the count's house. Such were Dimmler the musician and his wife,Vogel the dancing master and his family, Belova, an old maiden lady,an inmate of the house, and many others such as Petya's tutors, thegirls' former governess, and other people who simply found itpreferable and more advantageous to live in the count's house thanat home. They had not as many visitors as before, but the old habitsof life without which the count and countess could not conceive ofexistence remained unchanged. There was still the huntingestablishment which Nicholas had even enlarged, the same fiftyhorses and fifteen grooms in the stables, the same expensivepresents 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 lethimself be plundered of hundreds of rubles every day by his neighbors,who looked upon an opportunity to play a rubber with Count Rostov as amost profitable source of income.

　　The count moved in his affairs as in a huge net, trying not tobelieve that he was entangled but becoming more and more so at everystep, and feeling too feeble to break the meshes or to set to workcarefully and patiently to disentangle them. The countess, with herloving heart, felt that her children were being ruined, that it wasnot the count's fault for he could not help being what he was- that(though he tried to hide it) he himself suffered from theconsciousness of his own and his children's ruin, and she tried tofind means of remedying the position. From her feminine point ofview she could see only one solution, namely, for Nicholas to marrya rich heiress. She felt this to be their last hope and that ifNicholas refused the match she had found for him, she would have toabandon the hope of ever getting matters right. This match was withJulie Karagina, the daughter of excellent and virtuous parents, a girlthe Rostovs had known from childhood, and who had now become a wealthyheiress through the death of the last of her brothers.

　　The countess had written direct to Julie's mother in Moscowsuggesting a marriage between their children and had received afavorable answer from her. Karagina had replied that for her partshe was agreeable, and everything depend on her daughter'sinclination. She invited Nicholas to come to Moscow.

　　Several times the countess, with tears in her eyes, told her sonthat now both her daughters were settled, her only wish was to see himmarried. She said she could lie down in her grave peacefully if thatwere accomplished. Then she told him that she knew of a splendidgirl and tried to discover what he thought about marriage.

　　At other times she praised Julie to him and advised him to go toMoscow during the holidays to amuse himself. Nicholas guessed what hismother's remarks were leading to and during one of these conversationsinduced her to speak quite frankly. She told him that her only hope ofgetting their affairs disentangled now lay in his marrying JulieKaragina.

　　"But, Mamma, suppose I loved a girl who has no fortune, would youexpect me to sacrifice my feelings and my honor for the sake ofmoney?" he asked his mother, not realizing the cruelty of his questionand only wishing to show his noble-mindedness.

　　"No, you have not understood me," said his mother, not knowing howto justify herself. "You have not understood me, Nikolenka. It is yourhappiness I wish for," she added, feeling that she was telling anuntruth and was becoming entangled. She began to cry.

　　"Mamma, don't cry! Only tell me that you wish it, and you know Iwill give my life, anything, to put you at ease," said Nicholas. "Iwould sacrifice anything for you- even my feelings."

　　But the countess did not want the question put like that: she didnot want a sacrifice from her son, she herself wished to make asacrifice for him.

　　"No, you have not understood me, don't let us talk about it," shereplied, wiping away her tears.

　　"Maybe I do love a poor girl," said Nicholas to himself. "Am I tosacrifice my feelings and my honor for money? I wonder how Mamma couldspeak so to me. Because Sonya is poor I must not love her," hethought, "must not respond to her faithful, devoted love? Yet I shouldcertainly be happier with her than with some doll-like Julie. I canalways sacrifice my feelings for my family's welfare," he said tohimself, "but I can't coerce my feelings. If I love Sonya, thatfeeling is for me stronger and higher than all else."

　　Nicholas did not go to Moscow, and the countess did not renew theconversation with him about marriage. She saw with sorrow, andsometimes with exasperation, symptoms of a growing attachmentbetween her son and the portionless Sonya. Though she blamed herselffor it, she could not refrain from grumbling at and worrying Sonya,often pulling her up without reason, addressing her stiffly as "mydear," and using the formal "you" instead of the intimate "thou" inspeaking to her. The kindhearted countess was the more vexed withSonya 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 wereno grounds for finding fault with her.

　　Nicholas was spending the last of his leave at home. A fourth letterhad come from Prince Andrew, from Rome, in which he wrote that hewould have been on his way back to Russia long ago had not his woundunexpectedly reopened in the warm climate, which obliged him todefer his return till the beginning of the new year. Natasha was stillas much in love with her betrothed, found the same comfort in thatlove, and was still as ready to throw herself into all the pleasuresof life as before; but at the end of the fourth month of theirseparation she began to have fits of depression which she could notmaster. She felt sorry for herself: sorry that she was being wastedall this time and of no use to anyone- while she felt herself socapable of loving and being loved.

　　Things were not cheerful in the Rostovs' home.BK7|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Christmas came and except for the ceremonial Mass, the solemn andwearisome Christmas congratulations from neighbors and servants, andthe new dresses everyone put on, there were no special festivities,though the calm frost of twenty degrees Reaumur, the dazzling sunshineby day, and the starlight of the winter nights seemed to call for somespecial celebration of the season.

　　On the third day of Christmas week, after the midday dinner, all theinmates of the house dispersed to various rooms. It was the dullesttime of the day. Nicholas, who had been visiting some neighbors thatmorning, was asleep on the sitting-room sofa. The old count wasresting in his study. Sonya sat in the drawing room at the roundtable, copying a design for embroidery. The countess was playingpatience. Nastasya Ivanovna the buffoon sat with a sad face at thewindow with two old ladies. Natasha came into the room, went up toSonya, glanced at what she was doing, and then went up to her motherand 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 Natasha,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 turnedquickly to hide them and left the room.

　　She passed into the sitting room, stood there thinking awhile, andthen went into the maids' room. There an old maidservant was grumblingat a young girl who stood panting, having just run in through the coldfrom the serfs' quarters.

　　"Stop playing- there's a time for everything," said the old woman.

　　"Let her alone, Kondratevna," said Natasha. "Go, Mavrushka, go."

　　Having released Mavrushka, Natasha crossed the dancing hall and wentto the vestibule. There an old footman and two young ones were playingcards. They broke off and rose as she entered.

　　"What can I do with them?" thought Natasha.

　　"Oh, Nikita, please go... where can I send him?... Yes, go to theyard and fetch a fowl, please, a cock, and you, Misha, bring me someoats."

　　"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 asamovar, though it was not at all the time for tea.

　　Foka, the butler, was the most ill-tempered person in the house.Natasha liked to test her power over him. He distrusted the orderand asked whether the samovar was really wanted.

　　"Oh dear, what a young lady!" said Foka, pretending to frown atNatasha.

　　No one in the house sent people about or gave them as much troubleas Natasha did. She could not see people unconcernedly, but had tosend them on some errand. She seemed to be trying whether any ofthem would get angry or sulky with her; but the serfs fulfilled noone's orders so readily as they did hers. "What can I do, where canI go?" thought she, as she went slowly along the passage.

　　"Nastasya Ivanovna, what sort of children shall I have?" she askedthe 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 amI to do with myself?" And tapping with her heels, she ran quicklyupstairs to see Vogel and his wife who lived on the upper story.

　　Two governesses were sitting with the Vogels at a table, on whichwere plates of raisins, walnuts, and almonds. The governesses werediscussing whether it was cheaper to live in Moscow or Odessa. Natashasat 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 MadameSchoss who asked her what she was saying, she went out of the room.

　　Her brother Petya was upstairs too; with the man in attendance onhim he was preparing fireworks to let off that night.

　　"Petya! Petya!" she called to him. "Carry me downstairs."

　　Petya ran up and offered her his back. She jumped on it, putting herarms round his neck, and he pranced along with her.

　　"No, don't... the island of Madagascar!" she said, and jumping offhis back she went downstairs.

　　Having as it were reviewed her kingdom, tested her power, and madesure that everyone was submissive, but that all the same it wasdull, Natasha betook herself to the ballroom, picked up her guitar,sat down in a dark corner behind a bookcase, and began to run herfingers over the strings in the bass, picking out a passage sherecalled from an opera she had heard in Petersburg with Prince Andrew.What she drew from the guitar would have had no meaning for otherlisteners, but in her imagination a whole series of reminiscencesarose from those sounds. She sat behind the bookcase with her eyesfixed on a streak of light escaping from the pantry door andlistened to herself and pondered. She was in a mood for brooding onthe past.

　　Sonya passed to the pantry with a glass in her hand. Natasha glancedat her and at the crack in the pantry door, and it seemed to herthat she remembered the light failing through that crack once beforeand Sonya passing with a glass in her hand. "Yes it was exactly thesame," thought Natasha.

　　"Sonya, what is this?" she cried, twanging a thick string.

　　"Oh, you are there!" said Sonya with a start, and came near andlistened. "I don't know. A storm?" she ventured timidly, afraid ofbeing wrong.

　　"There! That's just how she started and just how she came up smilingtimidly when all this happened before," thought Natasha, "and injust the same way I thought there was something lacking in her."

　　"No, it's the chorus from The Water-Carrier, listen! " and Natashasang the air of the chorus so that Sonya should catch it. "Wherewere 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 Natasha. "Andwhere's Nicholas?"

　　"Asleep, I think."

　　"Sonya, go and wake him," said Natasha. "Tell him I want him to comeand sing."

　　She sat awhile, wondering what the meaning of it all having happenedbefore could be, and without solving this problem, or at allregretting not having done so, she again passed in fancy to the timewhen 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'tthen be in me what there is now. But perhaps he'll come today, willcome immediately. Perhaps he has come and is sitting in the drawingroom. 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, werealready at the tea table. The servants stood round the table- butPrince Andrew was not there and life was going on as before.

　　"Ah, here she is!" said the old count, when he saw Natasha enter."Well, sit down by me." But Natasha stayed by her mother and glancedround 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 betweenthe elders and Nicholas, who had also come to the table. "My God, myGod! The same faces, the same talk, Papa holding his cup and blowingin the same way!" thought Natasha, feeling with horror a sense ofrepulsion rising up in her for the whole household, because theywere always the same.

　　After tea, Nicholas, Sonya, and Natasha went to the sitting room, totheir favorite corner where their most intimate talks always began.BK7|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Does it ever happen to you," said Natasha to her brother, whenthey settled down in the sitting room, "does it ever happen to youto feel as if there were nothing more to come- nothing; thateverything good is past? And to feel not exactly dull, but sad?"

　　"I should think so!" he replied. "I have felt like that wheneverything was all right and everyone was cheerful. The thought hascome into my mind that I was already tired of it all, and that we mustall die. Once in the regiment I had not gone to some merrymaking wherethere was music... and suddenly I felt so depressed..."

　　"Oh yes, I know, I know, I know!" Natasha interrupted him. "When Iwas quite little that used to be so with me. Do you remember when Iwas punished once about some plums? You were all dancing, and I satsobbing in the schoolroom? I shall never forget it: I felt sad andsorry for everyone, for myself, and for everyone. And I wasinnocent- that was the chief thing," said Natasha. "Do you remember?"

　　"I remember," answered Nicholas. "I remember that I came to youafterwards and wanted to comfort you, but do you know, I feltashamed to. We were terribly absurd. I had a funny doll then andwanted to give it to you. Do you remember?"

　　"And do you remember," Natasha asked with a pensive smile, "howonce, long, long ago, when we were quite little, Uncle called usinto the study- that was in the old house- and it was dark- we went inand suddenly there stood..."

　　"A Negro," chimed in Nicholas with a smile of delight. "Of courseI remember. Even now I don't know whether there really was a Negro, orif we only dreamed it or were told about him."

　　"He was gray, you remember, and had white teeth, and stood andlooked at us..."

　　"Sonya, do you remember?" asked Nicholas.

　　"Yes, yes, I do remember something too," Sonya answered timidly.

　　"You know I have asked Papa and Mamma about that Negro," saidNatasha, "and they say there was no Negro at all. But you see, youremember!"

　　"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? Wasthat real or not? Do you remember what fun it was?"

　　"Yes, and you remember how Papa in his blue overcoat fired a gunin the porch?"

　　So they went through their memories, smiling with pleasure: notthe sad memories of old age, but poetic, youthful ones- thoseimpressions of one's most distant past in which dreams and realitiesblend- and they laughed with quiet enjoyment.

　　Sonya, as always, did not quite keep pace with them, though theyshared the same reminiscences.

　　Much that they remembered had slipped from her mind, and what sherecalled 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 Sonya's firstarrival. She told them how afraid she had been of Nicholas becausehe 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 acabbage," said Natasha, and I remember that I dared not disbelieveit 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 otherdoor of the sitting room.

　　"They have brought the cock, Miss," she said in a whisper.

　　"It isn't wanted, Petya. Tell them to take it away," repliedNatasha.

　　In the middle of their talk in the sitting room, Dimmler came in andwent up to the harp that stood there in a corner. He took off itscloth covering, and the harp gave out a jarring sound.

　　"Mr. Dimmler, please play my favorite nocturne by Field," came theold countess' voice from the drawing room.

　　Dimmler struck a chord and, turning to Natasha, Nicholas, and Sonya,remarked: "How quiet you young people are!"

　　"Yes, we're philosophizing," said Natasha, glancing round for amoment and then continuing the conversation. They were nowdiscussing dreams.

　　Dimmler began to play; Natasha went on tiptoe noiselessly to thetable, took up a candle, carried it out, and returned, seating herselfquietly in her former place. It was dark in the room especiallywhere they were sitting on the sofa, but through the big windows thesilvery light of the full moon fell on the floor. Dimmler had finishedthe 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 Natasha in a whisper, moving closer toNicholas and Sonya, "that when one goes on and on recallingmemories, one at last begins to remember what happened before onewas in the world..."

　　"That is metempsychosis," said Sonya, who had always learned well,and remembered everything. "The Egyptians believed that our souls havelived in animals, and will go back into animals again."

　　"No, I don't believe we ever were in animals," said Natasha, stillin a whisper though the music had ceased. "But I am certain that wewere angels somewhere there, and have been here, and that is why weremember...."

　　"May I join you?" said Dimmler who had come up quietly, and he satdown 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 wasbefore?" Natasha rejoined with conviction. "The soul is immortal- wellthen, if I shall always live I must have lived before, lived for awhole eternity."

　　"Yes, but it is hard for us to imagine eternity," remarkedDimmler, who had joined the young folk with a mildly condescendingsmile but now spoke as quietly and seriously as they.

　　"Why is it hard to imagine eternity?" said Natasha. "It is nowtoday, and it will be tomorrow, and always; and there was yesterday,and the day before..."

　　"Natasha! Now it's your turn. Sing me something," they heard thecountess say. "Why are you sitting there like conspirators?"

　　"Mamma, I don't at all want to," replied Natasha, but all the sameshe rose.

　　None of them, not even the middle-aged Dimmler, wanted to breakoff their conversation and quit that corner in the sitting room, butNatasha got up and Nicholas sat down at the clavichord. Standing asusual in the middle of the hall and choosing the place where theresonance was best, Natasha began to sing her mother's favorite song.

　　She had said she did not want to sing, but it was long since she hadsung, and long before she again sang, as she did that evening. Thecount, from his study where he was talking to Mitenka, heard herand, like a schoolboy in a hurry to run out to play, blundered inhis talk while giving orders to the steward, and at last stopped,while Mitenka stood in front of him also listening and smiling.Nicholas did not take his eyes off his sister and drew breath intime with her. Sonya, as she listened, thought of the immensedifference there was between herself and her friend, and howimpossible it was for her to be anything like as bewitching as hercousin. The old countess sat with a blissful yet sad smile and withtears in her eyes, occasionally shaking her head. She thought ofNatasha and of her own youth, and of how there was something unnaturaland dreadful in this impending marriage of Natasha and Prince Andrew.

　　Dimmler, who had seated himself beside the countess, listened withclosed eyes.

　　"Ah, Countess," he said at last, "that's a European talent, shehas 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 herthat Natasha had too much of something, and that because of this shewould not be happy. Before Natasha had finished singing,fourteen-year-old Petya rushed in delightedly, to say that somemummers had arrived.

　　Natasha stopped abruptly.

　　"Idiot!" she screamed at her brother and, running to a chair,threw herself on it, sobbing so violently that she could not stopfor a long time.

　　"It's nothing, Mamma, really it's nothing; only Petya startledme," she said, trying to smile, but her tears still flowed and sobsstill choked her.

　　The mummers (some of the house serfs) dressed up as bears, Turks,innkeepers, and ladies- frightening and funny- bringing in with themthe cold from outside and a feeling of gaiety, crowded, at firsttimidly, into the anteroom, then hiding behind one another they pushedinto the ballroom where, shyly at first and then more and more merrilyand heartily, they started singing, dancing, and playing Christmasgames. The countess, when she had identified them and laughed at theircostumes, went into the drawing room. The count sat in the ballroom,smiling radiantly and applauding the players. The young people haddisappeared.

　　Half an hour later there appeared among the other mummers in theballroom an old lady in a hooped skirt- this was Nicholas. A Turkishgirl was Petya. A clown was Dimmler. An hussar was Natasha, and aCircassian was Sonya with burnt-cork mustache and eyebrows.

　　After the condescending surprise, nonrecognition, and praise, fromthose who were not themselves dressed up, the young people decidedthat their costumes were so good that they ought to be shownelsewhere.

　　Nicholas, who, as the roads were in splendid condition, wanted totake them all for a drive in his troyka, proposed to take with themabout a dozen of the serf mummers and drive to "Uncle's."

　　"No, why disturb the old fellow?" said the countess. "Besides, youwouldn't have room to turn round there. If you must go, go to theMelyukovs'"

　　Melyukova was a widow, who, with her family and their tutors andgovernesses, lived three miles from the Rostovs.

　　"That's right, my dear," chimed in the old count, thoroughlyaroused. "I'll dress up at once and go with them. I'll make Pashetteopen her eyes."

　　But the countess would not agree to his going; he had had a badleg all these last days. It was decided that the count must not go,but that if Louisa Ivanovna (Madame Schoss) would go with them, theyoung ladies might go to the Melyukovs', Sonya, generally so timid andshy, more urgently than anyone begging Louisa Ivanovna not to refuse.

　　Sonya's costume was the best of all. Her mustache and eyebrowswere extraordinarily becoming. Everyone told her she looked veryhandsome, and she was in a spirited and energetic mood unusual withher. Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would bedecided, and in her male attire she seemed quite a different person.Louisa Ivanovna consented to go, and in half an hour four troykasleighs with large and small bells, their runners squeaking andwhistling over the frozen snow, drove up to the porch.

　　Natasha was foremost in setting a merry holiday tone, which, passingfrom one to another, grew stronger and stronger and reached its climaxwhen 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 wasthe old count's with a trotter from the Orlov stud as shaft horse, thefourth was Nicholas' own with a short shaggy black shaft horse.Nicholas, in his old lady's dress over which he had belted hishussar overcoat, stood in the middle of the sleigh, reins in hand.

　　It was so light that he could see the moonlight reflected from themetal harness disks and from the eyes of the horses, who lookedround in alarm at the noisy party under the shadow of the porch roof.

　　Natasha, Sonya, Madame Schoss, and two maids got into Nicholas'sleigh; Dimmler, his wife, and Petya, into the old count's, and therest of the mummers seated themselves in the other two sleighs.

　　"You go ahead, Zakhar!" 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, itsdeep-toned bell clanging. The side horses, pressing against the shaftsof the middle horse, sank in the snow, which was dry and glitteredlike sugar, and threw it up.

　　Nicholas set off, following the first sleigh; behind him theothers moved noisily, their runners squeaking. At first they droveat a steady trot along the narrow road. While they drove past thegarden the shadows of the bare trees often fell across the road andhid the brilliant moonlight, but as soon as they were past thefence, the snowy plain bathed in moonlight and motionless spread outbefore them glittering like diamonds and dappled with bluishshadows. Bang, bang! went the first sleigh over a cradle hole in thesnow of the road, and each of the other sleighs jolted in the sameway, and rudely breaking the frost-bound stillness, the troykasbegan to speed along the road, one after the other.

　　"A hare's track, a lot of tracks!" rang out Natasha's voicethrough the frost-bound air.

　　"How light it is, Nicholas!" came Sonya's voice.

　　Nicholas glanced round at Sonya, and bent down to see her facecloser. Quite a new, sweet face with black eyebrows and mustachespeeped up at him from her sable furs- so close and yet so distant-in the moonlight.

　　"That used to be Sonya," thought he, and looked at her closer andsmiled.

　　"What is it, Nicholas?"

　　"Nothing," said he and turned again to the horses.

　　When they came out onto the beaten highroad- polished by sleighrunners and cut up by rough-shod hoofs, the marks of which werevisible in the moonlight- the horses began to tug at the reins oftheir own accord and increased their pace. The near side horse,arching his head and breaking into a short canter, tugged at histraces. The shaft horse swayed from side to side, moving his ears asif asking: "Isn't it time to begin now?" In front, already far aheadthe deep bell of the sleigh ringing farther and farther off, the blackhorses driven by Zakhar could be clearly seen against the whitesnow. From that sleigh one could hear the shouts, laughter, and voicesof the mummers.

　　"Gee up, my darlings!" shouted Nicholas, pulling the reins to oneside and flourishing the whip.

　　It was only by the keener wind that met them and the jerks givenby 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 shafthorses to gallop- the other sleighs followed. The shaft horse swungsteadily beneath the bow over its head, with no thought ofslackening pace and ready to put on speed when required.

　　Nicholas overtook the first sleigh. They were driving downhill andcoming out upon a broad trodden track across a meadow, near a river.

　　"Where are we?" thought he. "It's the Kosoy meadow, I suppose. Butno- this is something new I've never seen before. This isn't the Kosoymeadow nor the Demkin hill, and heaven only knows what it is! It issomething new and enchanted. Well, whatever it may be..." And shoutingto his horses, he began to pass the first sleigh.

　　Zakhar held back his horses and turned his face, which was alreadycovered with hoarfrost to his eyebrows.

　　Nicholas gave the horses the rein, and Zakhar, stretching out hisarms, 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 thefeet of the galloping side horses. Nicholas began to draw ahead.Zakhar, while still keeping his arms extended, raised one hand withthe reins.

　　"No you won't, master!" he shouted.

　　Nicholas put all his horses to a gallop and passed Zakhar. Thehorses showered the fine dry snow on the faces of those in the sleigh-beside them sounded quick ringing bells and they caught confusedglimpses of swiftly moving legs and the shadows of the troyka theywere passing. The whistling sound of the runners on the snow and thevoices of girls shrieking were heard from different sides.

　　Again checking his horses, Nicholas looked around him. They werestill surrounded by the magic plain bathed in moonlight and spangledwith stars.

　　"Zakhar is shouting that I should turn to the left, but why to theleft?" thought Nicholas. "Are we getting to the Melyukovs'? Is thisMelyukovka? Heaven only knows where we are going, and heaven knowswhat is happening to us- but it is very strange and pleasantwhatever it is." And he looked round in the sleigh.

　　"Look, his mustache and eyelashes are all white!" said one of thestrange, pretty, unfamiliar people- the one with fine eyebrows andmustache.

　　"I think this used to be Natasha," thought Nicholas, "and that wasMadame Schoss, but perhaps it's not, and this Circassian with themustache 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 sleighbehind shouted something- probably something funny- but they could notmake out what he said.

　　"Yes, yes!" some voices answered, laughing.

　　"But here was a fairy forest with black moving shadows, and aglitter of diamonds and a flight of marble steps and the silverroofs of fairy buildings and the shrill yells of some animals. Andif this is really Melyukovka, it is still stranger that we droveheaven knows where and have come to Melyukovka," thought Nicholas.

　　It really was Melyukovka, and maids and footmen with merry facescame 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 somevoices.BK7|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Pelageya Danilovna Melyukova, a broadly built, energetic womanwearing spectacles, sat in the drawing room in a loose dress,surrounded by her daughters whom she was trying to keep from feelingdull. They were quietly dropping melted wax into snow and looking atthe shadows the wax figures would throw on the wall, when they heardthe steps and voices of new arrivals in the vestibule.

　　Hussars, ladies, witches, clowns, and bears, after clearing theirthroats and wiping the hoarfrost from their faces in the vestibule,came into the ballroom where candles were hurriedly lighted. Theclown- Dimmler- and the lady- Nicholas- started a dance. Surrounded bythe screaming children the mummers, covering their faces anddisguising their voices, bowed to their hostess and arrangedthemselves about the room.

　　"Dear me! there's no recognizing them! And Natasha! See whom shelooks like! She really reminds me of somebody. But Herr Dimmler- isn'the good! I didn't know him! And how he dances. Dear me, there's aCircassian. Really, how becoming it is to dear Sonya. And who is that?Well, you have cheered us up! Nikita 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..." differentvoices were saying.

　　Natasha, the young Melyukovs' favorite, disappeared with them intothe back rooms where a cork and various dressing gowns and malegarments were called for and received from the footman by bare girlisharms from behind the door. Ten minutes later, all the youngMelyukovs joined the mummers.

　　Pelageya Danilovna, having given orders to clear the rooms for thevisitors 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 torecognize any of them. It was not merely Dimmler and the Rostovs shefailed to recognize, she did not even recognize her own daughters,or her late husband's, dressing gowns and uniforms, which they had puton.

　　"And who is is this?" she asked her governess, peering into the faceof her own daughter dressed up as a Kazan-Tartar. "I suppose it is oneof the Rostovs! Well, Mr. Hussar, and what regiment do you servein?" she asked Natasha. "Here, hand some fruit jelly to the Turk!" sheordered the butler who was handing things round. "That's not forbiddenby his law."

　　Sometimes, as she looked at the strange but amusing capers cut bythe dancers, who- having decided once for all that being disguised, noone would recognize them- were not at all shy, Pelageya Danilovnahid her face in her handkerchief, and her whole stout body shookwith irrepressible, kindly, elderly laughter.

　　"My little Sasha! Look at Sasha!" she said.

　　After Russian country dances and chorus dances, Pelageya Danilovnamade the serfs and gentry join in one large circle: a ring, astring, and a silver ruble were fetched and they all played gamestogether.

　　In an hour, all the costumes were crumpled and disordered. Thecorked eyebrows and mustaches were smeared over the perspiring,flushed, and merry faces. Pelageya Danilovna began to recognize themummers, admired their cleverly contrived costumes, and particularlyhow they suited the young ladies, and she thanked them all forhaving entertained her so well. The visitors were invited to supper inthe drawing room, and the serfs had something served to them in theballroom.

　　"Now to tell one's fortune in the empty bathhouse is frightening!"said an old maid who lived with the Melyukovs, during supper.

　　"Why?" said the eldest Melyukov girl.

　　"You wouldn't go, it takes courage..."

　　"I'll go," said Sonya.

　　"Tell what happened to the young lady!" said the second Melyukovgirl.

　　"Well," began the old maid, "a young lady once went out, took acock, laid the table for two, all properly, and sat down. Aftersitting a while, she suddenly hears someone coming... a sleighdrives 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 totable with her."

　　"Ah! ah!" screamed Natasha, rolling her eyes with horror.

　　"Yes? And how... did he speak?"

　　"Yes, like a man. Everything quite all right, and he beganpersuading her; and she should have kept him talking till cockcrow,but she got frightened, just got frightened and hid her face in herhands. Then he caught her up. It was lucky the maids ran in justthen..."

　　"Now, why frighten them?" said Pelageya Danilovna.

　　"Mamma, you used to try your fate yourself..." said her daughter.

　　"And how does one do it in a barn?" inquired Sonya.

　　"Well, say you went to the barn now, and listened. It depends onwhat you hear; hammering and knocking- that's bad; but a sound ofshifting grain is good and one sometimes hears that, too."

　　"Mamma, tell us what happened to you in the barn."

　　Pelageya Danilovna smiled.

　　"Oh, I've forgotten..." she replied. "But none of you would go?"

　　"Yes, I will; Pelageya Danilovna, let me! I'll go," said Sonya.

　　"Well, why not, if you're not afraid?"

　　"Louisa Ivanovna, may I?" asked Sonya.

　　Whether they were playing the ring and string game or the ruble gameor talking as now, Nicholas did not leave Sonya's side, and gazed ather with quite new eyes. It seemed to him that it was only today,thanks to that burnt-cork mustache, that he had fully learned toknow her. And really, that evening, Sonya 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 thoughtgazing at her sparkling eyes, and under the mustache a happy rapturoussmile dimpled her cheeks, a smile he had never seen before.

　　"I'm not afraid of anything," said Sonya. "May I go at once?" Shegot up.

　　They told her where the barn was and how she should stand andlisten, and they handed her a fur cloak. She threw this over herhead and shoulders and glanced at Nicholas.

　　"What a darling that girl is!" thought he. "And what have I beenthinking of till now?"

　　Sonya went out into the passage to go to the barn. Nicholas wenthastily to the front porch, saying he felt too hot. The crowd ofpeople really had made the house stuffy.

　　Outside, there was the same cold stillness and the same moon, buteven brighter than before. The light was so strong and the snowsparkled with so many stars that one did not wish to look up at thesky 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?" thoughtNicholas. and running out from the porch he went round the corner ofthe house and along the path that led to the back porch. He knew Sonyawould pass that way. Halfway lay some snow-covered piles of firewoodand across and along them a network of shadows from the bare oldlime trees fell on the snow and on the path. This path led to thebarn. The log walls of the barn and its snow-covered roof, that lookedas if hewn out of some precious stone, sparkled in the moonlight. Atree in the garden snapped with the frost, and then all was againperfectly silent. His bosom seemed to inhale not air but thestrength of eternal youth and gladness.

　　From the back porch came the sound of feet descending the steps, thebottom step upon which snow had fallen gave a ringing creak and heheard the voice of an old maidservant saying, "Straight, straight,along the path, Miss. Only, don't look back."

　　"I am not afraid," answered Sonya's voice, and along the path towardNicholas came the crunching, whistling sound of Sonya's feet in herthin shoes.

　　Sonya came along, wrapped in her cloak. She was only a couple ofpaces away when she saw him, and to her too he was not the Nicholasshe had known and always slightly feared. He was in a woman's dress,with tousled hair and a happy smile new to Sonya. She ran rapidlytoward him.

　　"Quite different and yet the same," thought Nicholas, looking at herface all lit up by the moonlight. He slipped his arms under thecloak that covered her head, embraced her, pressed her to him, andkissed her on the lips that wore a mustache and had a smell of burntcork. Sonya kissed him full on the lips, and disengaging her littlehands pressed them to his cheeks.

　　"Sonya!... Nicholas!"... was all they said. They ran to the barn andthen back again, re-entering, he by the front and she by the backporch.BK7|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　When they all drove back from Pelageya Danilovna's, Natasha, whoalways saw and noticed everything, arranged that she and Madame Schossshould go back in the sleigh with Dimmler, and Sonya with Nicholas andthe maids.

　　On the way back Nicholas drove at a steady pace instead of racingand kept peering by that fantastic all-transforming light into Sonya'sface and searching beneath the eyebrows and mustache for his formerand his present Sonya from whom he had resolved never to be partedagain. He looked and recognizing in her both the old and the newSonya, and being reminded by the smell of burnt cork of thesensation of her kiss, inhaled the frosty air with a full breastand, looking at the ground flying beneath him and at the sparklingsky, felt himself again in fairyland.

　　"Sonya, 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 andran for a moment to Natasha's sleigh and stood on its wing.

　　"Natasha!" he whispered in French, "do you know I have made up mymind about Sonya?"

　　"Have you told her?" asked Natasha, suddenly beaming all over withjoy.

　　"Oh, how strange you are with that mustache and those eyebrows!...Natasha- are you glad?"

　　"I am so glad, so glad! I was beginning to be vexed with you. Idid not tell you, but you have been treating her badly. What a heartshe has, Nicholas! I am horrid sometimes, but I was ashamed to behappy while Sonya was not," continued Natasha. "Now I am so glad!Well, run back to her."

　　"No, wait a bit.... Oh, how funny you look!" cried Nicholas, peeringinto her face and finding in his sister too something new, unusual,and bewitchingly tender that he had not seen in her before."Natasha, 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 shouldlong 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 ofSonya, for there is nothing but good in her."

　　"Then it's all right?" said Nicholas, again scrutinizing theexpression of his sister's face to see if she was in earnest. Thenhe jumped down and, his boots scrunching the snow, ran back to hissleigh. The same happy, smiling Circassian, with mustache andbeaming eyes looking up from under a sable hood, was still sittingthere, and that Circassian was Sonya, and that Sonya was certainly hisfuture happy and loving wife.

　　When they reached home and had told their mother how they hadspent the evening at the Melyukovs', the girls went to theirbedroom. When they had undressed, but without washing off the corkmustaches, they sat a long time talking of their happiness. Theytalked of how they would live when they were married, how theirhusbands would be friends, and how happy they would be. On Natasha'stable stood two looking glasses which Dunyasha had preparedbeforehand.

　　"Only when will all that be? I am afraid never.... It would be toogood!" said Natasha, rising and going to the looking glasses.

　　"Sit down, Natasha; perhaps you'll see him," said Sonya.

　　Natasha lit the candles, one on each side of one of the lookingglasses, and sat down.

　　"I see someone with a mustache," said Natasha, seeing her own face.

　　"You mustn't laugh, Miss," said Dunyasha.

　　With Sonya's help and the maid's, Natasha got the glass she heldinto the right position opposite the other; her face assumed a seriousexpression and she sat silent. She sat a long time looking at thereceding 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 wasto 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 thelooking glasses.

　　"Why is it others see things and I don't?" she said. "You sit downnow, Sonya. You absolutely must, tonight! Do it for me.... Today Ifeel so frightened!"

　　Sonya sat down before the glasses, got the right position, and beganlooking.

　　"Now, Miss Sonya is sure to see something," whispered Dunyasha;"while you do nothing but laugh."

　　Sonya heard this and Natasha's whisper:

　　"I know she will. She saw something last year."

　　For about three minutes all were silent.

　　"Of course she will!" whispered Natasha, but did not finish...suddenly Sonya pushed away the glass she was holding and covered hereyes with her hand.

　　"Oh, Natasha!" she cried.

　　"Did you see? Did you? What was it?" exclaimed Natasha, holding upthe looking glass.

　　Sonya had not seen anything, she was just wanting to blink and toget up when she heard Natasha say, "Of course she will!" She did notwish to disappoint either Dunyasha or Natasha, but it was hard tosit still. She did not herself know how or why the exclamation escapedher when she covered her eyes.

　　"You saw him?" urged Natasha, seizing her hand.

　　"Yes. Wait a bit... I... saw him," Sonya could not help saying,not yet knowing whom Natasha meant by him, Nicholas or Prince Andrew.

　　"But why shouldn't I say I saw something? Others do see! Besides whocan tell whether I saw anything or not?" flashed through Sonya's mind.

　　"Yes, I saw him," she said.

　　"How? Standing or lying?"

　　"No, I saw... At first there was nothing, then I saw him lyingdown."

　　"Andrew lying? Is he ill?" asked Natasha, her frightened eyesfixed on her friend.

　　"No, on the contrary, on the contrary! His face was cheerful, and heturned to me." And when saying this she herself fancied she had reallyseen what she described.

　　"Well, and then, Sonya?..."

　　"After that, I could not make out what there was; something blue andred..."

　　"Sonya! When will he come back? When shall I see him! O, God, howafraid I am for him and for myself and about everything!..." Natashabegan, and without replying to Sonya's words of comfort she got intobed, and long after her candle was out lay open-eyed and motionless,gazing at the moonlight through the frosty windowpanes.BK7|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　Soon after the Christmas holidays Nicholas told his mother of hislove for Sonya and of his firm resolve to marry her. The countess, whohad long noticed what was going on between them and was expecting thisdeclaration, listened to him in silence and then told her son thathe might marry whom he pleased, but that neither she nor his fatherwould give their blessing to such a marriage. Nicholas, for thefirst time, felt that his mother was displeased with him and that,despite her love for him, she would not give way. Coldly, withoutlooking 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'spresence, but unable to restrain herself she burst into tears ofvexation and left the room. The old count began irresolutely toadmonish Nicholas and beg him to abandon his purpose. Nicholas repliedthat he could not go back on his word, and his father, sighing andevidently disconcerted, very soon became silent and went in to thecountess. In all his encounters with his son, the count was alwaysconscious of his own guilt toward him for having wasted the familyfortune, and so he could not be angry with him for refusing to marryan heiress and choosing the dowerless Sonya. On this occasion, hewas only more vividly conscious of the fact that if his affairs hadnot been in disorder, no better wife for Nicholas than Sonya couldhave been wished for, and that no one but himself with his Mitenka andhis uncomfortable habits was to blame for the condition of thefamily finances.

　　The father and mother did not speak of the matter to their sonagain, but a few days later the countess sent for Sonya and, with acruelty neither of them expected, reproached her niece for trying tocatch Nicholas and for ingratitude. Sonya listened silently withdowncast eyes to the countess' cruel words, without understanding whatwas required of her. She was ready to sacrifice everything for herbenefactors. Self-sacrifice was her most cherished idea but in thiscase she could not see what she ought to sacrifice, or for whom. Shecould not help loving the countess and the whole Rostov family, butneither could she help loving Nicholas and knowing that hishappiness depended on that love. She was silent and sad and did notreply. Nicholas felt the situation to be intolerable and went tohave an explanation with his mother. He first implored her toforgive him and Sonya and consent to their marriage, then hethreatened that if she molested Sonya he would at once marry hersecretly.

　　The countess, with a coldness her son had never seen in herbefore, replied that he was of age, that Prince Andrew was marryingwithout his father's consent, and he could do the same, but that shewould never receive that intriguer as her daughter.

　　Exploding at the word intriguer, Nicholas, raising his voice, toldhis mother he had never expected her to try to force him to sell hisfeelings, but if that were so, he would say for the last time....But he had no time to utter the decisive word which the expressionof his face caused his mother to await with terror, and which wouldperhaps have forever remained a cruel memory to them both. He hadnot time to say it, for Natasha, with a pale and set face, entered theroom from the door at which she had been listening.

　　"Nicholas, you are talking nonsense! Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, Itell you!..." she almost screamed, so as to drown his voice.

　　"Mamma darling, it's not at all so... my poor, sweet darling," shesaid to her mother, who conscious that they had been on the brink of arupture gazed at her son with terror, but in the obstinacy andexcitement of the conflict could not and would not give way.

　　"Nicholas, I'll explain to you. Go away! Listen, Mamma darling,"said Natasha.

　　Her words were incoherent, but they attained the purpose at whichshe was aiming.

　　The countess, sobbing heavily, hid her face on her daughter'sbreast, while Nicholas rose, clutching his head, and left the room.

　　Natasha set to work to effect a reconciliation, and so far succeededthat Nicholas received a promise from his mother that Sonya should notbe troubled, while he on his side promised not to undertake anythingwithout his parents' knowledge.

　　Firmly resolved, after putting his affairs in order in the regiment,to retire from the army and return and marry Sonya, 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 hisregiment.

　　After Nicholas had gone things in the Rostov household were moredepressing than ever, and the countess fell ill from mental agitation.

　　Sonya was unhappy at the separation from Nicholas and still moreso on account of the hostile tone the countess could not help adoptingtoward her. The count was more perturbed than ever by the condition ofhis affairs, which called for some decisive action. Their town houseand estate near Moscow had inevitably to be sold, and for this theyhad to go to Moscow. But the countess' health obliged them to delaytheir departure from day to day.

　　Natasha, who had borne the first period of separation from herbetrothed lightly and even cheerfully, now grew more agitated andimpatient every day. The thought that her best days, which she wouldhave employed in loving him, were being vainly wasted, with noadvantage to anyone, tormented her incessantly. His letters for themost part irritated her. It hurt her to think that while she livedonly in the thought of him, he was living a real life, seeing newplaces and new people that interested him. The more interesting hisletters were the more vexed she felt. Her letters to him, far fromgiving her any comfort, seemed to her a wearisome and artificialobligation. She could not write, because she could not conceive thepossibility of expressing sincerely in a letter even a thousandth partof what she expressed by voice, smile, and glance. She wrote to himformal, monotonous, and dry letters, to which she attached noimportance herself, and in the rough copies of which the countesscorrected her mistakes in spelling.

　　There was still no improvement in the countess' health, but it wasimpossible to defer the journey to Moscow any longer. Natasha'strousseau had to be ordered and the house sold. Moreover, PrinceAndrew was expected in Moscow, where old Prince Bolkonski was spendingthe winter, and Natasha felt sure he had already arrived.

　　So the countess remained in the country, and the count, taking Sonyaand Natasha with him, went to Moscow at the end of January.

　　BOOK EIGHT: 1811 - 12

　　CHAPTER I

　　After Prince Andrews engagement to Natasha, Pierre without anyapparent cause suddenly felt it impossible to go on living asbefore. Firmly convinced as he was of the truths revealed to him byhis benefactor, and happy as he had been in perfecting his innerman, to which he had devoted himself with such ardor- all the zestof such a life vanished after the engagement of Andrew and Natasha andthe death of Joseph Alexeevich, the news of which reached him almostat the same time. Only the skeleton of life remained: his house, abrilliant wife who now enjoyed the favors of a very importantpersonage, acquaintance with all Petersburg, and his court servicewith its dull formalities. And this life suddenly seemed to Pierreunexpectedly loathsome. He ceased keeping a diary, avoided the companyof the Brothers, began going to the Club again, drank a great deal,and came once more in touch with the bachelor sets, leading such alife that the Countess Helene thought it necessary to speak severelyto him about it. Pierre felt that she right, and to avoid compromisingher went away to Moscow.

　　In Moscow as soon as he entered his huge house in which the fadedand fading princesses still lived, with its enormous retinue; assoon as, driving through the town, he saw the Iberian shrine withinnumerable tapers burning before the golden covers of the icons,the Kremlin Square with its snow undisturbed by vehicles, the sleighdrivers and hovels of the Sivtsev Vrazhok, those old Moscovites whodesired nothing, hurried nowhere, and were ending their daysleisurely; when he saw those old Moscow ladies, the Moscow balls,and the English Club, he felt himself at home in a quiet haven. InMoscow he felt at peace, at home, warm and dirty as in an old dressinggown.

　　Moscow society, from the old women down to the children, receivedPierre like a long-expected guest whose place was always readyawaiting him. For Moscow society Pierre was the nicest, kindest,most intellectual, merriest, and most magnanimous of cranks, aheedless, genial nobleman of the old Russian type. His purse wasalways empty because it was open to everyone.

　　Benefit performances, poor pictures, statues, benevolentsocieties, gypsy choirs, schools, subscription dinners, sprees,Freemasons, churches, and books- no one and nothing met with a refusalfrom him, and had it not been for two friends who had borrowed largesums from him and taken him under their protection, he would havegiven everything away. There was never a dinner or soiree at theClub without him. As soon as he sank into his place on the sofaafter two bottles of Margaux he was surrounded, and talking,disputing, and joking began. When there were quarrels, his kindlysmile and well-timed jests reconciled the antagonists. The Masonicdinners were dull and dreary when he was not there.

　　When after a bachelor supper he rose with his amiable and kindlysmile, yielding to the entreaties of the festive company to driveoff somewhere with them, shouts of delight and triumph arose among theyoung men. At balls he danced if a partner was needed. Young ladies,married and unmarried, liked him because without making love to any ofthem, he was equally amiable to all, especially after supper. "Ilest 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 therewere hundreds good-humoredly ending their days in Moscow.

　　How horrified he would have been seven years before, when he firstarrived from abroad, had he been told that there was no need for himto seek or plan anything, that his rut had long been shaped, eternallypredetermined, and that wriggle as he might, he would be what all inhis position were. He could not have believed it! Had he not at onetime longed with all his heart to establish a republic in Russia; thenhimself to be a Napoleon; then to be a philosopher; and then astrategist and the conqueror of Napoleon? Had he not seen thepossibility of, and passionately desired, the regeneration of thesinful human race, and his own progress to the highest degree ofperfection? Had he not established schools and hospitals and liberatedhis serfs?

　　But instead of all that- here he was, the wealthy husband of anunfaithful wife, a retired gentleman-in-waiting, fond of eating anddrinking and, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, of abusing thegovernment a bit, a member of the Moscow English Club, and a universalfavorite in Moscow society. For a long time he could not reconcilehimself to the idea that he was one of those same retired Moscowgentlemen-in-waiting he had so despised seven years before.

　　Sometimes he consoled himself with the thought that he was onlyliving this life temporarily; but then he was shocked by the thoughtof how many, like himself, had entered that life and that Clubtemporarily, with all their teeth and hair, and had only left itwhen not a single tooth or hair remained.

　　In moments of pride, when he thought of his position it seemed tohim that he was quite different and distinct from those otherretired gentlemen-in-waiting he had formerly despised: they wereempty, 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 andsought something new, a path in life of their own, and like me werebrought by force of circumstances, society, and race- by thatelemental force against which man is powerless- to the condition Iam in," said he to himself in moments of humility; and after livingsome time in Moscow he no longer despised, but began to grow fondof, to respect, and to pity his comrades in destiny, as he pitiedhimself.

　　Pierre longer suffered moments of despair, hypochondria, and disgustwith life, but the malady that had formerly found expression in suchacute attacks was driven inwards and never left him for a moment."What for? Why? What is going on in the world?" he would ask himselfin perplexity several times a day, involuntarily beginning toreflect anew on the meaning of the phenomena of life; but knowing byexperience that there were no answers to these questions he made hasteto turn away from them, and took up a book, or hurried of to theClub or to Apollon Nikolaevich's, to exchange the gossip of the town.

　　"Helene, who has never cared for anything but her own body and isone of the stupidest women in the world," thought Pierre, "is regardedby people as the acme of intelligence and refinement, and they payhomage to her. Napoleon Bonaparte was despised by all as long as hewas great, but now that he has become a wretched comedian theEmperor Francis wants to offer him his daughter in an illegalmarriage. The Spaniards, through the Catholic clergy, offer praiseto God for their victory over the French on the fourteenth of June,and the French, also through the Catholic clergy, offer praise becauseon that same fourteenth of June they defeated the Spaniards. Mybrother Masons swear by the blood that they are ready to sacrificeeverything for their neighbor, but they do not give a ruble each tothe collections for the poor, and they intrigue, the Astraea Lodgeagainst the Manna Seekers, and fuss about an authentic Scotch carpetand a charter that nobody needs, and the meaning of which the very manwho wrote it does not understand. We all profess the Christian lawof forgiveness of injuries and love of our neighbors, the law in honorof which we have built in Moscow forty times forty churches- butyesterday a deserter was knouted to death and a minister of thatsame law of love and forgiveness, a priest, gave the soldier a crossto kiss before his execution." So thought Pierre, and the whole ofthis general deception which everyone accepts, accustomed as he was toit, astonished him each time as if it were something new. "Iunderstand the deception and confusion," he thought, "but how am Ito tell them all that I see? I have tried, and have always foundthat 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 unfortunatecapacity many men, especially Russians, have of seeing and believingin the possibility of goodness and truth, but of seeing the evil andfalsehood 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 anddeception. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he engaged in, the eviland 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 beunder the burden of these insoluble problems, so he abandonedhimself to any distraction in order to forget them. He frequentedevery kind of society, drank much, bought pictures, engaged inbuilding, 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 bookand began to read. From reading he passed to sleeping, from sleepingto gossip in drawing rooms of the Club, from gossip to carousals andwomen; from carousals back to gossip, reading, and wine. Drinkingbecame more and more a physical and also a moral necessity. Though thedoctors warned him that with his corpulence wine was dangerous forhim, he drank a great deal. He was only quite at ease when havingpoured several glasses of wine mechanically into his large mouth hefelt a pleasant warmth in his body, an amiability toward all hisfellows, and a readiness to respond superficially to every ideawithout probing it deeply. Only after emptying a bottle or two didhe feel dimly that the terribly tangled skein of life which previouslyhad terrified him was not as dreadful as he had thought. He was alwaysconscious of some aspect of that skein, as with a buzzing in hishead after dinner or supper he chatted or listened to conversationor read. But under the influence of wine he said to himself: "Itdoesn't matter. I'll get it unraveled. I have a solution ready, buthave no time now- I'll think it all out later on!" But the later onnever came.

　　In the morning, on an empty stomach, all the old questionsappeared as insoluble and terrible as ever, and Pierre hastilypicked up a book, and if anyone came to see him he was glad.

　　Sometimes he remembered how he had heard that soldiers in war whenentrenched under the enemy's fire, if they have nothing to do, tryhard to find some occupation the more easily to bear the danger. ToPierre all men seemed like those soldiers, seeking refuge from life:some in ambition, some in cards, some in framing laws, some inwomen, some in toys, some in horses, some in politics, some insport, some in wine, and some in governmental affairs. "Nothing istrivial, and nothing is important, it's all the same- only to saveoneself from it as best one can," thought Pierre. "Only not to see it,that dreadful it!"BK8|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　At the beginning of winter Prince Nicholas Bolkonski and hisdaughter moved to Moscow. At that time enthusiasm for the EmperorAlexander's regime had weakened and a patriotic and anti-Frenchtendency prevailed there, and this, together with his past and hisintellect and his originality, at once made Prince NicholasBolkonski an object of particular respect to the Moscovites and thecenter of the Moscow opposition to the government.

　　The prince had aged very much that year. He showed marked signs ofsenility by a tendency to fall asleep, forgetfulness of quite recentevents, remembrance of remote ones, and the childish vanity with whichhe accepted the role of head of the Moscow opposition. In spite ofthis the old man inspired in all his visitors alike a feeling ofrespectful veneration- especially of an evening when he came in to teain his old-fashioned coat and powdered wig and, aroused by anyone,told his abrupt stories of the past, or uttered yet more abrupt andscathing criticisms of the present. For them all, that old-fashionedhouse with its gigantic mirrors, pre-Revolution furniture, powderedfootmen, and the stern shrewd old man (himself a relic of the pastcentury) with his gentle daughter and the pretty Frenchwoman whowere reverently devoted to him presented a majestic and agreeablespectacle. But the visitors did not reflect that besides the couple ofhours during which they saw their host, there were also twenty-twohours in the day during which the private and intimate life of thehouse continued.

　　Latterly that private life had become very trying for Princess Mary.There in Moscow she was deprived of her greatest pleasures- talks withthe pilgrims and the solitude which refreshed her at Bald Hills- andshe had none of the advantages and pleasures of city life. She did notgo out into society; everyone knew that her father would not let hergo anywhere without him, and his failing health prevented his goingout himself, so that she was not invited to dinners and eveningparties. She had quite abandoned the hope of getting married. Shesaw the coldness and malevolence with which the old prince receivedand dismissed the young men, possible suitors, who sometimesappeared at their house. She had no friends: during this visit toMoscow she had been disappointed in the two who had been nearest toher. Mademoiselle Bourienne, with whom she had never been able to bequite frank, had now become unpleasant to her, and for various reasonsPrincess Mary avoided her. Julie, with whom she had corresponded forthe last five years, was in Moscow, but proved to be quite alien toher when they met. Just then Julie, who by the death of her brothershad become one of the richest heiresses in Moscow, was in the fullwhirl of society pleasures. She was surrounded by young men who, shefancied, had suddenly learned to appreciate her worth. Julie was atthat stage in the life of a society woman when she feels that her lastchance of marrying has come and that her fate must be decided now ornever. On Thursdays Princess Mary remembered with a mournful smilethat she now had no one to write to, since Julie- whose presencegave her no pleasure was here and they met every week. Like the oldemigre who declined to marry the lady with whom he had spent hisevenings for years, she regretted Julie's presence and having no oneto write to. In Moscow Princess Mary had no one to talk to, no oneto whom to confide her sorrow, and much sorrow fell to her lot justthen. The time for Prince Andrew's return and marriage wasapproaching, but his request to her to prepare his father for it hadnot been carried out; in fact, it seemed as if matters were quitehopeless, for at every mention of the young Countess Rostova the oldprince (who apart from that was usually in a bad temper) lostcontrol of himself. Another lately added sorrow arose from the lessonsshe gave her six year-old nephew. To her consternation she detected inherself in relation to little Nicholas some symptoms of her father'sirritability. However often she told herself that she must not getirritable when teaching her nephew, almost every time that, pointer inhand, she sat down to show him the French alphabet, she so longed topour her own knowledge quickly and easily into the child- who wasalready afraid that Auntie might at any moment get angry- that athis slightest inattention she trembled, became flustered and heated,raised her voice, and sometimes pulled him by the arm and put him inthe corner. Having put him in the corner she would herself begin tocry over her cruel, evil nature, and little Nicholas, following herexample, would sob, and without permission would leave his corner,come to her, pull her wet hands from her face, and comfort her. Butwhat distressed the princess most of all was her father'sirritability, which was always directed against her and had of lateamounted to cruelty. Had he forced her to prostrate herself to theground 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; butthis loving despot- the more cruel because he loved her and for thatreason tormented himself and her- knew how not merely to hurt andhumiliate her deliberately, but to show her that she was always toblame for everything. Of late he had exhibited a new trait thattormented Princess Mary more than anything else; this was hisever-increasing intimacy with Mademoiselle Bourienne. The idea that atthe first moment of receiving the news of his son's intentions hadoccurred to him in jest- that if Andrew got married he himself wouldmarry Bourienne- had evidently pleased him, and latterly he hadpersistently, and as it seemed to Princess Mary merely to offendher, shown special endearments to the companion and expressed hisdissatisfaction with his daughter by demonstrations of love ofBourienne.

　　One day in Moscow in Princess Mary's presence (she thought herfather did it purposely when she was there) the old prince kissedMademoiselle Bourienne's hand and, drawing her to him, embraced heraffectionately. Princess Mary flushed and ran out of the room. A fewminutes later Mademoiselle Bourienne came into Princess Mary's roomsmiling and making cheerful remarks in her agreeable voice. PrincessMary hastily wiped away her tears, went resolutely up toMademoiselle Bourienne, and evidently unconscious of what she wasdoing began shouting in angry haste at the Frenchwoman, her voicebreaking: "It's horrible, vile, inhuman, to take advantage of theweakness..." She did not finish. "Leave my room," she exclaimed, andburst into sobs.

　　Next day the prince did not say a word to his daughter, but shenoticed that at dinner he gave orders that Mademoiselle Bourienneshould be served first. After dinner, when the footman handed coffeeand from habit began with the princess, the prince suddenly grewfurious, threw his stick at Philip, and instantly gave instructions tohave him conscripted for the army.

　　"He doesn't obey... I said it twice... and he doesn't obey! She isthe first person in this house; she's my best friend," cried theprince. "And if you allow yourself," he screamed in a fury, addressingPrincess Mary for the first time, "to forget yourself again before heras you dared to do yesterday, I will show you who is master in thishouse. Go! Don't let me set eyes on you; beg her pardon!"

　　Princess Mary asked Mademoiselle Bourienne's pardon, and also herfather's pardon for herself and for Philip the footman, who had beggedfor her intervention.

　　At such moments something like a pride of sacrifice gathered inher soul. And suddenly that father whom she had judged would lookfor his spectacles in her presence, fumbling near them and notseeing them, or would forget something that had just occurred, or takea false step with his failing legs and turn to see if anyone hadnoticed his feebleness, or, worst of all, at dinner when there were novisitors to excite him would suddenly fall asleep, letting hisnapkin drop and his shaking head sink over his plate. "He is old andfeeble, and I dare to condemn him!" she thought at such moments,with a feeling of revulsion against herself.BK8|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　In 1811 there was living in Moscow a French doctor- Metivier- whohad rapidly become the fashion. He was enormously tall, handsome,amiable as Frenchmen are, and was, as all Moscow said, anextraordinarily clever doctor. He was received in the best housesnot merely as a doctor, but as an equal.

　　Prince Nicholas had always ridiculed medicine, but latterly onMademoiselle Bourienne's advice had allowed this doctor to visit himand had grown accustomed to him. Metivier came to see the prince abouttwice a week.

　　On December 6- St. Nicholas' Day and the prince's name day- allMoscow came to the prince's front door but he gave orders to admitno one and to invite to dinner only a small number, a list of whomhe gave to Princess Mary.

　　Metivier, who came in the morning with his felicitations, consideredit proper in his quality of doctor de forcer la consigne,* as hetold Princess Mary, and went in to see the prince. It happened that onthat 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 witheveryone and pretending not to understand what was said to him and notto be understood himself. Princess Mary well knew this mood of quietabsorbed querulousness, which generally culminated in a burst of rage,and she went about all that morning as though facing a cocked andloaded gun and awaited the inevitable explosion. Until the doctor'sarrival the morning had passed off safely. After admitting the doctor,Princess Mary sat down with a book in the drawing room near the doorthrough which she could hear all that passed in the study.

　　*To force the guard.

　　At first she heard only Metivier's voice, then her father's, thenboth voices began speaking at the same time, the door was flungopen, and on the threshold appeared the handsome figure of theterrified Metivier with his shock of black hair, and the prince in hisdressing gown and fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupilsof 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..."

　　Metivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to Mademoiselle Bouriennewho 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 Metivier; and putting hisfingers 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 myown house!"

　　After Metivier's departure the old prince called his daughter in,and the whole weight of his wrath fell on her. She was to blame that aspy had been admitted. Had he not told her, yes, told her to make alist, and not to admit anyone who was not on that list? Then why wasthat scoundrel admitted? She was the cause of it all. With her, hesaid, 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 theroom. Then, as if afraid she might find some means of consolation,he returned and trying to appear calm added: "And don't imagine I havesaid this in a moment of anger. I am calm. I have thought it over, andit will be carried out- we must part; so find some place foryourself...." But he could not restrain himself and with the virulenceof 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 Rostopchin, Prince Lopukhin withhis nephew, General Chatrov an old war comrade of the prince's, and ofthe younger generation Pierre and Boris Drubetskoy- awaited the princein the drawing room.

　　Boris, who had come to Moscow on leave a few days before, had beenanxious to be presented to Prince Nicholas Bolkonski, and hadcontrived to ingratiate himself so well that the old prince in hiscase made an exception to the rule of not receiving bachelors in hishouse.

　　The prince's house did not belong to what is known as fashionablesociety, but his little circle- though not much talked about intown- was one it was more flattering to be received in than any other.Boris had realized this the week before when the commander in chief inhis presence invited Rostopchin to dinner on St. Nicholas' Day, andRostopchin had replied that he could not come:

　　"On that day I always go to pay my devotions to the relics of PrinceNicholas Bolkonski."

　　"Oh, yes, yes!" replied the commander in chief. "How is he?..."

　　The small group that assembled before dinner in the loftyold-fashioned drawing room with its old furniture resembled the solemngathering of a court of justice. All were silent or talked in lowtones. Prince Nicholas came in serious and taciturn. Princess Maryseemed even quieter and more diffident than usual. The guests werereluctant to address her, feeling that she was in no mood for theirconversation. Count Rostopchin alone kept the conversation going,now relating the latest town news, and now the latest politicalgossip.

　　Lopukhin and the old general occasionally took part in theconversation. Prince Bolkonski listened as a presiding judgereceives a report, only now and then, silently or by a brief word,showing that he took heed of what was being reported to him. Thetone of the conversation was such as indicated that no one approved ofwhat was being done in the political world. Incidents were relatedevidently confirming the opinion that everything was going from bad toworse, but whether telling a story or giving an opinion the speakeralways stopped, or was stopped, at the point beyond which hiscriticism might touch the sovereign himself.

　　At dinner the talk turned on the latest political news: Napoleon'sseizure 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," saidCount Rostopchin, repeating a phrase he had uttered several timesbefore. "One only wonders at the long-suffering or blindness of thecrowned heads. Now the Pope's turn has come and Bonaparte doesn'tscruple to depose the head of the Catholic Church- yet all keepsilent! Our sovereign alone has protested against the seizure of theDuke of Oldenburg's territory, and even..." Count Rostopchin paused,feeling that he had reached the limit beyond which censure wasimpossible.

　　"Other territories have been offered in exchange for the Duchy ofOldenburg," said Prince Bolkonski. "He shifts the Dukes about as Imight move my serfs from Bald Hills to Bogucharovo or my Ryazanestates."

　　"The Duke of Oldenburg bears his misfortunes with admirable strengthof character and resignation," remarked Boris, joining inrespectfully.

　　He said this because on his journey from Petersburg he had had thehonor of being presented to the Duke. Prince Bolkonski glanced atthe young man as if about to say something in reply, but changed hismind, evidently considering him too young.

　　"I have read our protests about the Oldenburg affair and wassurprised how badly the Note was worded," remarked Count Rostopchin inthe casual tone of a man dealing with a subject quite familiar to him.

　　Pierre looked at Rostopchin with naive astonishment, notunderstanding why he should be disturbed by the bad composition of theNote.

　　"Does it matter, Count, how the Note is worded," he asked, "solong as its substance is forcible?"

　　"My dear fellow, with our five hundred thousand troops it shouldbe easy to have a good style," returned Count Rostopchin.

　　Pierre now understood the count's dissatisfaction with the wordingof 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 awhole volume of laws for Russia. Nowadays they are always writing!"and he laughed unnaturally.

　　There was a momentary pause in the conversation; the old generalcleared his throat to draw attention.

　　"Did you hear of the last event at the review in Petersburg? Thefigure cut by the new French ambassador."

　　"Eh? Yes, I heard something: he said something awkward in HisMajesty's presence."

　　"His Majesty drew attention to the Grenadier division and to themarch past," continued the general, "and it seems the ambassadortook no notice and allowed himself to reply that: 'We in France pay noattention to such trifles!' The Emperor did not condescend to reply.At the next review, they say, the Emperor did not once deign toaddress him."

　　All were silent. On this fact relating to the Emperor personally, itwas impossible to pass any judgment.

　　"Impudent fellows!" said the prince. "You know Metivier? I turnedhim out of my house this morning. He was here; they admitted him spiteof my request that they should let no one in," he went on, glancingangrily at his daughter.

　　And he narrated his whole conversation with the French doctor andthe reasons that convinced him that Metivier was a spy. Though thesereasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one made any rejoinder.

　　After the roast, champagne was served. The guests rose tocongratulate 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 toldher that he had not forgotten the morning's talk, that his decisionremained in force, and only the presence of visitors hindered hisspeaking of it to her now.

　　When they went into the drawing room where coffee was served, theold men sat together.

　　Prince Nicholas grew more animated and expressed his views on theimpending war.

　　He said that our wars with Bonaparte would be disastrous so longas we sought alliances with the Germans and thrust ourselves intoEuropean affairs, into which we had been drawn by the Peace of Tilsit."We ought not to fight either for or against Austria. Our politicalinterests are all in the East, and in regard to Bonaparte the onlything is to have an armed frontier and a firm policy, and he willnever dare to cross the Russian frontier, as was the case in 1807!"

　　"How can we fight the French, Prince?" said Count Rostopchin. "Canwe arm ourselves against our teachers and divinities? Look at ouryouths, look at our ladies! The French are our Gods: Paris is ourKingdom of Heaven."

　　He began speaking louder, evidently to be heard by everyone.

　　"French dresses, French ideas, French feelings! There now, youturned Metivier out by the scruff of his neck because he is aFrenchman and a scoundrel, but our ladies crawl after him on theirknees. I went to a party last night, and there out of five ladiesthree were Roman Catholics and had the Pope's indulgence for doingwoolwork on Sundays. And they themselves sit there nearly naked,like the signboards at our Public Baths if I may say so. Ah, whenone looks at our young people, Prince, one would like to take Peterthe Great's old cudgel out of the museum and belabor them in theRussian way till all the nonsense jumps out of them."

　　All were silent. The old prince looked at Rostopchin with a smileand wagged his head approvingly.

　　"Well, good-by, your excellency, keep well!" said Rostopchin,getting up with characteristic briskness and holding out his hand tothe prince.

　　"Good-by, my dear fellow.... His words are music, I never tire ofhearing him!" said the old prince, keeping hold of the hand andoffering his cheek to be kissed.

　　Following Rostopchin's example the others also rose.BK8|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Princess Mary as she sat listening to the old men's talk andfaultfinding, understood nothing of what she heard; she onlywondered whether the guests had all observed her father's hostileattitude toward her. She did not even notice the special attentionsand amiabilities shown her during dinner by Boris Drubetskoy, whowas visiting them for the third time already.

　　Princess Mary turned with absent-minded questioning look toPierre, who hat in hand and with a smile on his face was the last ofthe guests to approach her after the old prince had gone out andthey were left alone in the drawing room.

　　"May I stay a little longer?" he said, letting his stout body sinkinto an armchair beside her.

　　"Oh yes," she answered. "You noticed nothing?" her look asked.

　　Pierre was in an agreeable after-dinner mood. He looked straightbefore him and smiled quietly.

　　"Have you known that young man long, Princess?" he asked.

　　"Who?"

　　"Drubetskoy."

　　"No, not long..."

　　"Do you like him?"

　　"Yes, he is an agreeable young man.... Why do you ask me that?" saidPrincess Mary, still thinking of that morning's conversation withher father.

　　"Because I have noticed that when a young man comes on leave fromPetersburg to Moscow it is usually with the object of marrying anheiress."

　　"You have observed that?" said Princess Mary.

　　"Yes," returned Pierre with a smile, "and this young man now managesmatters so that where there is a wealthy heiress there he is too. Ican read him like a book. At present he is hesitating whom to laysiege to- you or Mademoiselle Julie Karagina. He is very attentiveto her."

　　"He visits them?"

　　"Yes, very often. And do you know the new way of courting?" saidPierre with an amused smile, evidently in that cheerful mood of goodhumored raillery for which he so often reproached himself in hisdiary.

　　"No," replied Princess Mary.

　　"To please Moscow girls nowadays one has to be melancholy. He isvery melancholy with Mademoiselle Karagina," said Pierre.

　　"Really?" asked Princess Mary, looking into Pierre's kindly face andstill thinking of her own sorrow. "It would be a relief," thought she,"if I ventured to confide what I am feeling to someone. I shouldlike to tell everything to Pierre. He is kind and generous. It wouldbe 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 butgrieve him, and to know that you cannot alter this. Then there is onlyone 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 burstinto tears.

　　"I don't know what is the matter with me today. Don't take anynotice- forget what I have said!"

　　Pierre's gaiety vanished completely. He anxiously questioned theprincess, 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 notrouble except the one he knew of- that Prince Andrew's marriagethreatened to cause a rupture between father and son.

　　"Have you any news of the Rostovs?" she asked, to change thesubject. "I was told they are coming soon. I am also expectingAndrew any day. I should like them to meet here."

　　"And how does he now regard the matter?" asked Pierre, referringto the old prince.

　　Princess Mary shook her head.

　　"What is to be done? In a few months the year will be up. Thething is impossible. I only wish I could spare my brother the firstmoments. I wish they would come sooner. I hope to be friends with her.You have known them a long time," said Princess Mary. "Tell mehonestly the whole truth: what sort of girl is she, and what do youthink of her?- The real truth, because you know Andrew is risking somuch doing this against his father's will that I should like toknow..."

　　An undefined instinct told Pierre that these explanations, andrepeated requests to be told the whole truth, expressed ill-will onthe princess' part toward her future sister-in-law and a wish thathe should disapprove of Andrew's choice; but in reply he said whathe felt rather than what he thought.

　　"I don't know how to answer your question," he said, blushingwithout 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 Idon'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 beclever.... 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 herfuture sister-in-law as soon as the Rostovs arrived and to try toaccustom the old prince to her.BK8|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　Boris had not succeeded in making a wealthy match in Petersburg,so with the same object in view he came to Moscow. There he waveredbetween the two richest heiresses, Julie and Princess Mary. ThoughPrincess Mary despite her plainness seemed to him more attractive thanJulie, he, without knowing why, felt awkward about paying court toher. When they had last met on the old prince's name day, she hadanswered at random all his attempts to talk sentimentally, evidentlynot listening to what he was saying.

　　Julie on the contrary accepted his attentions readily, though in amanner peculiar to herself.

　　She was twenty-seven. After the death of her brothers she had becomevery wealthy. She was by now decidedly plain, but thought herselfnot merely as good-looking as before but even far more attractive. Shewas confirmed in this delusion by the fact that she had become avery wealthy heiress and also by the fact that the older she grewthe less dangerous she became to men, and the more freely they couldassociate with her and avail themselves of her suppers, soirees, andthe animated company that assembled at her house, without incurringany obligation. A man who would have been afraid ten years before ofgoing every day to the house when there was a girl of seventeen there,for fear of compromising her and committing himself, would now goboldly every day and treat her not as a marriageable girl but as asexless acquaintance.

　　That winter the Karagins' house was the most agreeable andhospitable in Moscow. In addition to the formal evening and dinnerparties, a large company, chiefly of men, gathered there every day,supping at midnight and staying till three in the morning. Julie nevermissed a ball, a promenade, or a play. Her dresses were always ofthe latest fashion. But in spite of that she seemed to bedisillusioned about everything and told everyone that she did notbelieve either in friendship or in love, or any of the joys of life,and expected peace only "yonder." She adopted the tone of one whohas suffered a great disappointment, like a girl who has either lostthe man she loved or been cruelly deceived by him. Though nothing ofthe kind had happened to her she was regarded in that light, and hadeven herself come to believe that she had suffered much in life.This melancholy, which did not prevent her amusing herself, did nothinder the young people who came to her house from passing the timepleasantly. Every visitor who came to the house paid his tribute tothe melancholy mood of the hostess, and then amused himself withsociety gossip, dancing, intellectual games, and bouts rimes, whichwere in vogue at the Karagins'. Only a few of these young men, amongthem Boris, entered more deeply into Julie's melancholy, and withthese she had prolonged conversations in private on the vanity ofall worldly things, and to them she showed her albums filled withmournful sketches, maxims, and verses.

　　To Boris, Julie was particularly gracious: she regretted his earlydisillusionment with life, offered him such consolation offriendship as she who had herself suffered so much could render, andshowed him her album. Boris 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.Julia said this was charming

　　"There is something so enchanting in the smile of melancholy," shesaid to Boris, repeating word for word a passage she had copied from abook. "It is a ray of light in the darkness, a shade between sadnessand despair, showing the possibility of consolation."

　　In reply Boris wrote these lines:

　　Aliment de poison d'une ame trop sensible,

　　Toi, sans qui le bonheur me serait impossible,

　　Tendre melancholie, ah, viens me consoler,

　　Viens calmer les tourments de ma sombre retraite,

　　Et mele une douceur secrete

　　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 Boris, Julie played most doleful nocturnes on her harp. Borisread Poor Liza aloud to her, and more than once interrupted thereading because of the emotions that choked him. Meeting at largegatherings Julie and Boris looked on one another as the only souls whounderstood one another in a world of indifferent people.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna, who often visited the Karagins, while playingcards with the mother made careful inquiries as to Julie's dowry(she was to have two estates in Penza and the Nizhegorod forests).Anna Mikhaylovna regarded the refined sadness that united her son tothe wealthy Julie with emotion, and resignation to the Divine will.

　　"You are always charming and melancholy, my dear Julie," she said tothe daughter. "Boris says his soul finds repose at your house. Hehas suffered so many disappointments and is so sensitive," said she tothe mother. "Ah, my dear, I can't tell you how fond I have grown ofJulie latterly," she said to her son. "But who could help lovingher? She is an angelic being! Ah, Boris, Boris!"- she paused. "And howI pity her mother," she went on; "today she showed me her accounts andletters from Penza (they have enormous estates there), and she, poorthing, has no one to help her, and they do cheat her so!"

　　Boris smiled almost imperceptibly while listening to his mother.He laughed blandly at her naive diplomacy but listened to what she hadto say, and sometimes questioned her carefully about the Penza andNizhegorod estates.

　　Julie had long been expecting a proposal from her melancholyadorer and was ready to accept it; but some secret feeling ofrepulsion for her, for her passionate desire to get married, for herartificiality, and a feeling of horror at renouncing the possibilityof real love still restrained Boris. His leave was expiring. Hespent every day and whole days at the Karagins', and every day onthinking the matter over told himself that he would proposetomorrow. But in Julie's presence, looking at her red face and chin(nearly always powdered), her moist eyes, and her expression ofcontinual readiness to pass at once from melancholy to an unnaturalrapture of married bliss, Boris could not utter the decisive words,though in imagination he had long regarded himself as the possessor ofthose Penza and Nizhegorod estates and had apportioned the use ofthe income from them. Julie saw Boris' indecision, and sometimes thethought occurred to her that she was repulsive to him, but herfeminine self-deception immediately supplied her with consolation, andshe told herself that he was only shy from love. Her melancholy,however, began to turn to irritability, and not long before Boris'departure she formed a definite plan of action. Just as Boris' leaveof absence was expiring, Anatole Kuragin made his appearance inMoscow, and of course in the Karagins' drawing room, and Julie,suddenly abandoning her melancholy, became cheerful and very attentiveto Kuragin.

　　"My dear," said Anna Mikhaylovna to her son, "I know from a reliablesource that Prince Vasili has sent his son to Moscow to get himmarried to Julie. I am so fond of Julie that I should be sorry forher. What do you think of it, my dear?"

　　The idea of being made a fool of and of having thrown away thatwhole month of arduous melancholy service to Julie, and of seeingall the revenue from the Penza estates which he had already mentallyapportioned and put to proper use fall into the hands of another,and especially into the hands of that idiot Anatole, pained Boris.He drove to the Karagins' with the firm intention of proposing.Julie met him in a gay, careless manner, spoke casually of how she hadenjoyed yesterday's ball, and asked when he was leaving. ThoughBoris had come intentionally to speak of his love and thereforemeant to be tender, he began speaking irritably of feminineinconstancy, of how easily women can turn from sadness to joy, and howtheir moods depend solely on who happens to be paying court to them.Julie was offended and replied that it was true that a woman needsvariety, and the same thing over and over again would weary anyone.

　　"Then I should advise you..." Boris began, wishing to sting her; butat that instant the galling thought occurred to him that he might haveto leave Moscow without having accomplished his aim, and have vainlywasted his efforts- which was a thing he never allowed to happen.

　　He checked himself in the middle of the sentence, lowered his eyesto avoid seeing her unpleasantly irritated and irresolute face, andsaid:

　　"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 irritabilityhad suddenly quite vanished, and her anxious, imploring eyes werefixed on him with greedy expectation. "I can always arrange so asnot to see her often," thought Boris. "The affair has been begun andmust be finished!" He blushed hotly, raised his eyes to hers, andsaid:

　　"You know my feelings for you!"

　　There was no need to say more: Julie's face shone with triumph andself-satisfaction; but she forced Boris to say all that is said onsuch occasions- that he loved her and had never loved any otherwoman more than her. She knew that for the Penza estates andNizhegorod forests she could demand this, and she received what shedemanded.

　　The affianced couple, no longer alluding to trees that shed gloomand melancholy upon them, planned the arrangements of a splendid housein Petersburg, paid calls, and prepared everything for a brilliantwedding.BK8|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　At the end of January old Count Rostov went to Moscow with Natashaand Sonya. The countess was still unwell and unable to travel but itwas impossible to wait for her recovery. Prince Andrew was expected inMoscow any day, the trousseau had to be ordered and the estate nearMoscow had to be sold, besides which the opportunity of presenting hisfuture daughter-in-law to old Prince Bolkonski while he was inMoscow could not be missed. The Rostovs' Moscow house had not beenheated that winter and, as they had come only for a short time and thecountess was not with them, the count decided to stay with MaryaDmitrievna Akhrosimova, who had long been pressing her hospitalityon them.

　　Late one evening the Rostovs' four sleighs drove into MaryaDmitrievna's courtyard in the old Konyusheny street. MaryaDmitrievna 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 reproachto others for any weakness, passion, or temptation- the possibility ofwhich she did not admit. From early in the morning, wearing a dressingjacket, she attended to her household affairs, and then she drove out:on holy days to church and after the service to jails and prisons onaffairs of which she never spoke to anyone. On ordinary days, afterdressing, she received petitioners of various classes, of whom therewere always some. Then she had dinner, a substantial and appetizingmeal at which there were always three or four guests; after dinner sheplayed a game of boston, and at night she had the newspapers or anew book read to her while she knitted. She rarely made an exceptionand went out to pay visits, and then only to the most importantpersons in the town.

　　She had not yet gone to bed when the Rostovs arrived and thepulley of the hall door squeaked from the cold as it let in theRostovs and their servants. Marya Dmitrievna, with her spectacleshanging down on her nose and her head flung back, stood in the halldoorway looking with a stern, grim face at the new arrivals. One mighthave thought she was angry with the travelers and would immediatelyturn them out, had she not at the same time been giving carefulinstructions to the servants for the accommodation of the visitors andtheir belongings.

　　"The count's things? Bring them here," she said, pointing to theportmanteaus and not greeting anyone. "The young ladies'? There to theleft. Now what are you dawdling for?" she cried to the maids. "Get thesamovar ready!... You've grown plumper and prettier," she remarked,drawing Natasha (whose cheeks were glowing from the cold) to her bythe hood. "Foo! You are cold! Now take off your things, quick!" sheshouted to the count who was going to kiss her hand. "You're halffrozen, I'm sure! Bring some rum for tea!... Bonjour, Sonya dear!" sheadded, turning to Sonya and indicating by this French greeting herslightly contemptuous though affectionate attitude toward her.

　　When they came in to tea, having taken off their outdoor thingsand tidied themselves up after their journey, Marya Dmitrievnakissed them all in due order.

　　"I'm heartily glad you have come and are staying with me. It washigh time," she said, giving Natasha a significant look. "The oldman is here and his son's expected any day. You'll have to make hisaquaintance. But we'll speak of that later on," she added, glancing atSonya with a look that showed she did not want to speak of it in herpresence. "Now listen," she said to the count. "What do you wanttomorrow? Whom will you send for? Shinshin?" she crooked one of herfingers. "The sniveling Anna Mikhaylovna? That's two. She's herewith her son. The son is getting married! Then Bezukhov, eh? He ishere too, with his wife. He ran away from her and she came gallopingafter him. He dined with me on Wednesday. As for them"- and shepointed to the girls- "tomorrow I'll take them first to the Iberianshrine of the Mother of God, and then we'll drive to theSuper-Rogue's. I suppose you'll have everything new. Don't judge byme: sleeves nowadays are this size! The other day young Princess IrinaVasilevna came to see me; she was an awful sight- looked as if she hadput two barrels on her arms. You know not a day passes now withoutsome new fashion.... And what have you to do yourself?" she askedthe count sternly.

　　"One thing has come on top of another: her rags to buy, and now apurchaser has turned up for the Moscow estate and for the house. Ifyou will be so kind, I'll fix a time and go down to the estate justfor a day, and leave my lassies with you."

　　"All right. All right. They'll be safe with me, as safe as inChancery! I'll take them where they must go, scold them a bit, and petthem a bit," said Marya Dmitrievna, touching her goddaughter andfavorite, Natasha, on the cheek with her large hand.

　　Next morning Marya Dmitrievna took the young ladies to the Iberianshrine of the Mother of God and to Madame Suppert-Roguet, who was soafraid of Marya Dmitrievna that she always let her have costumes ata loss merely to get rid of her. Marya Dmitrievna ordered almost thewhole trousseau. When they got home she turned everybody out of theroom except Nataisha, 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 knownhim since he was so high." She held her hand a couple of feet from theground. Natasha blushed happily. "I like him and all his family. Nowlisten! You know that old Prince Nicholas much dislikes his son'smarrying. The old fellow's crotchety! Of course Prince Andrew is not achild and can shift without him, but it's not nice to enter a familyagainst 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 useyour wits. Then all will be well."

　　Natasha remained silent, from shyness Marya Dmitrievna supposed, butreally because she disliked anyone interfering in what touched herlove of Prince Andrew, which seemed to her so apart from all humanaffairs that no one could understand it. She loved and knew PrinceAndrew, he loved her only, and was to come one of these days andtake her. She wanted nothing more.

　　"You see I have known him a long time and am also fond of Mary, yourfuture sister-in-law. 'Husbands' sisters bring up blisters,' butthis one wouldn't hurt a fly. She has asked me to bring you twotogether. Tomorrow you'll go with your father to see her. Be very niceand affectionate to her: you're younger than she. When he comes, he'llfind 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," Natasha answered reluctantly.BK8|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Next day, by Marya Dmitrievna's advice, Count Rostov took Natasha tocall on Prince Nicholas Bolkonski. The count did not set outcheerfully on this visit, at heart he felt afraid. He wellremembered the last interview he had had with the old prince at thetime of the enrollment, when in reply to an invitation to dinner hehad had to listen to an angry reprimand for not having provided hisfull quota of men. Natasha, on the other hand, having put on herbest 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 doanything they wish, so ready to be fond of him- for being hisfather- and of her- for being his sister- that there is no reasonfor them not to like me..."

　　They drove up to the gloomy old house on the Vozdvizhenka andentered the vestibule.

　　"Well, the Lord have mercy on us!" said the count, half in jest,half in earnest; but Natasha noticed that her father was flurried onentering the anteroom and inquired timidly and softly whether theprince and princess were at home.

　　When they had been announced a perturbation was noticeable among theservants. The footman who had gone to announce them was stopped byanother in the large hall and they whispered to one another. Then amaidservant ran into the hall and hurriedly said something, mentioningthe princess. At last an old, cross looking footman came and announcedto the Rostovs that the prince was not receiving, but that theprincess begged them to walk up. The first person who came to meet thevisitors was Mademoiselle Bourienne. She greeted the father anddaughter with special politeness and showed them to the princess'room. The princess, looking excited and nervous, her face flushed inpatches, ran in to meet the visitors, treading heavily, and vainlytrying to appear cordial and at ease. From the first glance PrincessMary did not like Natasha. She thought her too fashionably dressed,frivolously gay and vain. She did not at all realize that beforehaving seen her future sister-in-law she was prejudiced against her byinvoluntary envy of her beauty, youth, and happiness, as well as byjealousy of her brother's love for her. Apart from this insuperableantipathy to her, Princess Mary was agitated just then because onthe Rostovs' being announced, the old prince had shouted that he didnot wish to see them, that Princess Mary might do so if she chose, butthey were not to be admitted to him. She had decided to receivethem, but feared lest the prince might at any moment indulge in somefreak, as he seemed much upset by the Rostovs' visit.

　　"There, my dear princess, I've brought you my songstress," saidthe count, bowing and looking round uneasily as if afraid the oldprince might appear. "I am so glad you should get to know oneanother... very sorry the prince is still ailing," and after a fewmore commonplace remarks he rose. "If you'll allow me to leave myNatasha in your hands for a quarter of an hour, Princess, I'll driveround to see Anna Semenovna, 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 toldhis daughter) to give the future sisters-in-law an opportunity to talkto one another freely, but another motive was to avoid the danger ofencountering the old prince, of whom he was afraid. He did not mentionthis to his daughter, but Natasha noticed her father's nervousness andanxiety and felt mortified by it. She blushed for him, grew stillangrier at having blushed, and looked at the princess with a boldand defiant expression which said that she was not afraid ofanybody. The princess told the count that she would be delighted,and only begged him to stay longer at Anna Semenovna's, and hedeparted.

　　Despite the uneasy glances thrown at her by Princess Mary- whowished to have a tete-a-tete with Natasha- Mademoiselle Bourienneremained in the room and persistently talked about Moscow amusementsand theaters. Natasha felt offended by the hesitation she hadnoticed in the anteroom, by her father's nervousness, and by theunnatural manner of the princess who- she thought- was making afavor of receiving her, and so everything displeased her. She didnot like Princess Mary, whom she thought very plain, affected, anddry. Natasha suddenly shrank into herself and involuntarily assumed anoffhand air which alienated Princess Mary still more. After fiveminutes of irksome, constrained conversation, they heard the soundof slippered feet rapidly approaching. Princess Mary lookedfrightened.

　　The door opened and the old prince, in a dress, ing gown and a whitenightcap, came in.

　　"Ah, madam!" he began. "Madam, Countess... Countess Rostova, if I amnot mistaken... I beg you to excuse me, to excuse me... I did notknow, madam. God is my witness, I did not know you had honored us witha visit, and I came in such a costume only to see my daughter. I begyou to excuse me... God is my witness, I didn't know-" he repeated,stressing the word "God" so unnaturally and so unpleasantly thatPrincess Mary stood with downcast eyes not daring to look either ather father or at Natasha.

　　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 notknow," muttered the old man, and after looking Natasha over fromhead to foot he went out.

　　Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to recover herself after thisapparition and began speaking about the prince's indisposition.Natasha and Princess Mary looked at one another in silence, and thelonger they did so without saying what they wanted to say, the greatergrew their antipathy to one another.

　　When the count returned, Natasha was impolitely pleased and hastenedto get away: at that moment she hated the stiff, elderly princess, whocould place her in such an embarrassing position and had spent half anhour with her without once mentioning Prince Andrew. "I couldn't begintalking about him in the presence of that Frenchwoman," thoughtNatasha. The same thought was meanwhile tormenting Princess Mary.She knew what she ought to have said to Natasha, but she had beenunable to say it because Mademoiselle Bourienne was in the way, andbecause, without knowing why, she felt it very difficult to speak ofthe marriage. When the count was already leaving the room, PrincessMary went up hurriedly to Natasha, took her by the hand, and said witha deep sigh:

　　"Wait, I must..."

　　Natasha glanced at her ironically without knowing why.

　　"Dear Natalie," said Princess Mary, "I want you to know that I amglad my brother has found happiness...."

　　She paused, feeling that she was not telling the truth. Natashanoticed 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 tearschoking her.

　　"What have I said and what have I done?" thought she, as soon as shewas out of the room.

　　They waited a long time for Natasha to come to dinner that day.She sat in her room crying like a child, blowing her nose and sobbing.Sonya stood beside her, kissing her hair.

　　"Natasha, what is it about?" she asked. "What do they matter to you?It will all pass, Natasha."

　　"But if you only knew how offensive it was... as if I..."

　　"Don't talk about it, Natasha. It wasn't your fault so why shouldyou mind? Kiss me," said Sonya.

　　Natasha raised her head and, kissing her friend on the lips, pressedher wet face against her.

　　"I can't tell you, I don't know. No one's to blame," said Natasha-"It's my fault. But it all hurts terribly. Oh, why doesn't hecome?..."

　　She came in to dinner with red eyes. Marya Dmitrievna, who knewhow the prince had received the Rostovs, pretended not to notice howupset Natasha was and jested resolutely and loudly at table with thecount and the other guests.BK8|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　That evening the Rostovs went to the Opera, for which MaryaDmitrievna had taken a box.

　　Natasha did not want to go, but could not refuse MaryaDmitrievna's kind offer which was intended expressly for her. When shecame ready dressed into the ballroom to await her father, andlooking in the large mirror there saw that she was pretty, verypretty, 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, butdifferently. I would not be silly and afraid of things, I would simplyembrace him, cling to him, and make him look at me with thosesearching 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- howI see those eyes!" thought Natasha. "And what do his father and sistermatter to me? I love him alone, him, him, with that face and thoseeyes, with his smile, manly and yet childlike.... No, I had better notthink of him; not think of him but forget him, quite forget him forthe 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 Sonya love Nicholas so calmly and quietly and wait solong and so patiently?" thought she, looking at Sonya, who also camein quite ready, with a fan in her hand. "No, she's altogetherdifferent. I can't!"

　　Natasha at that moment felt so softened and tender that it was notenough for her to love and know she was beloved, she wanted now, atonce, to embrace the man she loved, to speak and hear from him wordsof love such as filled her heart. While she sat in the carriage besideher father, pensively watching the lights of the street lampsflickering on the frozen window, she felt still sadder and more inlove, and forgot where she was going and with whom. Having fallen intothe line of carriages, the Rostovs' carriage drove up to thetheater, its wheels squeaking over the snow. Natasha and Sonya,holding up their dresses, jumped out quickly. The count got out helpedby the footmen, and, passing among men and women who were entering andthe program sellers, they all three went along the corridor to thefirst row of boxes. Through the closed doors the music was alreadyaudible.

　　"Natasha, your hair!..." whispered Sonya.

　　An attendant deferentially and quickly slipped before the ladies andopened the door of their box. The music sounded louder and through thedoor rows of brightly lit boxes in which ladies sat with bare arms andshoulders, and noisy stalls brilliant with uniforms, glitteredbefore their eyes. A lady entering the next box shot a glance offeminine envy at Natasha. The curtain had not yet risen and theoverture was being played. Natasha, smoothing her gown, went in withSonya and sat down, scanning the brilliant tiers of boxes opposite.A sensation she had not experienced for a long time- that ofhundreds of eyes looking at her bare arms and neck- suddenlyaffected her both agreeably and disagreeably and called up a wholecrowd of memories, desires and emotions associated with that feeling.

　　The two remarkably pretty girls, Natasha and Sonya, with CountRostov who had not been seen in Moscow for a long time, attractedgeneral attention. Moreover, everybody knew vaguely of Natasha'sengagement to Prince Andrew, and knew that the Rostovs had lived inthe country ever since, and all looked with curiosity at a fiancee whowas making one of the best matches in Russia.

　　Natasha's looks, as everyone told her, had improved in thecountry, and that evening thanks to her agitation she was particularlypretty. She struck those who saw her by her fullness of life andbeauty, combined with her indifference to everything about her. Herblack eyes looked at the crowd without seeking anyone, and herdelicate arm, bare to above the elbow, lay on the velvet edge of thebox, while, evidently unconsciously, she opened and closed her hand intime to the music, crumpling her program. "Look, there's Alenina,"said Sonya, "with her mother, isn't it?"

　　"Dear me, Michael Kirilovich has grown still stouter!" remarkedthe count.

　　"Look at our Anna Mikhaylovna- what a headdress she has on!"

　　"The Karagins, Julie- and Boris with them. One can see at oncethat they're engaged...."

　　"Drubetskoy has proposed?"

　　"Oh yes, I heard it today," said Shinshin, coming into theRostovs' box.

　　Natasha looked in the direction in which her father's eyes wereturned and saw Julie sitting beside her mother with a happy look onher face and a string of pearls round her thick red neck- whichNatasha knew was covered with powder. Behind them, wearing a smile andleaning over with an ear to Julie's mouth, was Boris' handsomesmoothly brushed head. He looked the Rostovs from under his browsand said something, smiling, to his betrothed.

　　"They are talking about us, about me and him!" thought Natasha. "Andhe no doubt is calming her jealousy of me. They needn't troublethemselves! If only they knew how little I am concerned about any ofthem."

　　Behind them sat Anna Mikhaylovna wearing a green headdress andwith a happy look of resignation to the will of God on her face. Theirbox was pervaded by that atmosphere of an affianced couple whichNatasha knew so well and liked so much. She turned away and suddenlyremembered 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, andbegan looking at the faces, some strange and some familiar, in thestalls. In the front, in the very center, leaning back against theorchestra rail, stood Dolokhov in a Persian dress, his curly hairbrushed 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 atease as though he were in his own room. Around him thronged Moscow'smost brilliant young men, whom he evidently dominated.

　　The count, laughing, nudged the blushing Sonya and pointed to herformer adorer.

　　"Do you recognize him?" said he. "And where has he sprung from?"he asked, turning to Shinshin. "Didn't he vanish somewhere?"

　　"He did," replied Shinshin. "He was in the Caucasus and ran awayfrom there. They say he has been acting as minister to some rulingprince in Persia, where he killed the Shah's brother. Now all theMoscow ladies are mad about him! It's 'Dolokhov the Persian' that doesit! We never hear a word but Dolokhov is mentioned. They swear by him,they offer him to you as they would a dish of choice sterlet. Dolokhovand Anatole Kuragin have turned all our ladies' heads."

　　A tall, beautiful woman with a mass of plaited hair and much exposedplump white shoulders and neck, round which she wore a double stringof large pearls, entered the adjoining box rustling her heavy silkdress and took a long time settling into her place.

　　Natasha involuntarily gazed at that neck, those shoulders, andpearls and coiffure, and admired the beauty of the shoulders and thepearls. While Natasha was fixing her gaze on her for the second timethe lady looked round and, meeting the count's eyes, nodded to him andsmiled. She was the Countess Bezukhova, Pierre's wife, and thecount, who knew everyone in society, leaned over and spoke to her.

　　"Have you been here long, Countess?" he inquired. "I'll call, I'llcall to kiss your hand. I'm here on business and have brought my girlswith me. They say Semenova acts marvelously. Count Pierre never usedto forget us. Is he here?"

　　"Yes, he meant to look in," answered Helene, and glanced attentivelyat Natasha.

　　Count Rostov resumed his seat.

　　"Handsome, isn't she?" he whispered to Natasha.

　　"Wonderful!" answered Natasha. "She's a woman one could easilyfall in love with."

　　Just then the last chords of the overture were heard and theconductor tapped with his stick. Some latecomers took their seats inthe 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, andall the women with gems on their bare flesh, turned their wholeattention with eager curiosity to the stage. Natasha too began to lookat it.BK8|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　The floor of the stage consisted of smooth boards, at the sideswas some painted cardboard representing trees, and at the back was acloth stretched over boards. In the center of the stage sat some girlsin red bodices and white skirts. One very fat girl in a white silkdress sat apart on a low bench, to the back of which a piece ofgreen cardboard was glued. They all sang something. When they hadfinished their song the girl in white went up to the prompter's boxand a man with tight silk trousers over his stout legs, and holdinga plume and a dagger, went up to her and began singing, waving hisarms about.

　　First the man in the tight trousers sang alone, then she sang,then they both paused while the orchestra played and the manfingered the hand of the girl in white, obviously awaiting the beat tostart singing with her. They sang together and everyone in the theaterbegan clapping and shouting, while the man and woman on the stage- whorepresented lovers- began smiling, spreading out their arms, andbowing.

　　After her life in the country, and in her present serious mood,all this seemed grotesque and amazing to Natasha. She could not followthe opera nor even listen to the music; she saw only the paintedcardboard and the queerly dressed men and women who moved, spoke,and sang so strangely in that brilliant light. She knew what it wasall meant to represent, but it was so pretentiously false andunnatural that she first felt ashamed for the actors and then amusedat them. She looked at the faces of the audience, seeking in themthe same sense of ridicule and perplexity she herself experienced, butthey all seemed attentive to what was happening on the stage, andexpressed delight which to Natasha seemed feigned. "I suppose it hasto be like this!" she thought. She kept looking round in turn at therows of pomaded heads in the stalls and then at the seminude womenin the boxes, especially at Helene in the next box, who- apparentlyquite unclothed- sat with a quiet tranquil smile, not taking hereyes off the stage. And feeling the bright light that flooded thewhole place and the warm air heated by the crowd, Natasha little bylittle began to pass into a state of intoxication she had notexperienced for a long while. She did not realize who and where shewas, nor what was going on before her. As she looked and thought,the strangest fancies unexpectedly and disconnectedly passed throughher mind: the idea occurred to her of jumping onto the edge of the boxand singing the air the actress was singing, then she wished totouch with her fan an old gentleman sitting not far from her, thento lean over to Helene 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 Rostovs' boxcreaked, and the steps of a belated arrival were heard. "There'sKuragin!" whispered Shinshin. Countess Bezukhova turned smiling to thenewcomer, and Natasha, following the direction of that look, saw anexceptionally handsome adjutant approaching their box with aself-assured yet courteous bearing. This was Anatole Kuragin whomshe had seen and noticed long ago at the ball in Petersburg. He wasnow in an adjutant's uniform with one epaulet and a shoulder knot.He moved with a restrained swagger which would have been ridiculoushad he not been so good-looking and had his handsome face not wornsuch an expression of good-humored complacency and gaiety. Thoughthe performance was proceeding, he walked deliberately down thecarpeted gangway, his sword and spurs slightly jingling and hishandsome perfumed head held high. Having looked at Natasha heapproached his sister, laid his well gloved hand on the edge of herbox, nodded to her, and leaning forward asked a question, with amotion toward Natasha.

　　"Mais charmante!" said he, evidently referring to Natasha, who didnot exactly hear his words but understood them from the movement ofhis lips. Then he took his place in the first row of the stalls andsat down beside Dolokhov, nudging with his elbow in a friendly andoffhand way that Dolokhov whom others treated so fawningly. Hewinked at him gaily, smiled, and rested his foot against the orchestrascreen.

　　"How like the brother is to the sister," remarked the count. "Andhow handsome they both are!"

　　Shinshin, lowering his voice, began to tell the count of someintrigue of Kuragin's in Moscow, and Natasha tried to overhear it justbecause he had said she was "charmante."

　　The first act was over. In the stalls everyone began moving about,going out and coming in.

　　Boris came to the Rostovs' box, received their congratulationsvery simply, and raising his eyebrows with an absent-minded smileconveyed to Natasha and Sonya his fiancee's invitation to her wedding,and went away. Natasha with a gay, coquettish smile talked to him, andcongratulated on his approaching wedding that same Boris with whom shehad formerly been in love. In the state of intoxication she was in,everything seemed simple and natural.

　　The scantily clad Helene smiled at everyone in the same way, andNatasha gave Boris a similar smile.

　　Helene's box was filled and surrounded from the stalls by the mostdistinguished and intellectual men, who seemed to vie with one anotherin their wish to let everyone see that they knew her.

　　During the whole of that entr'acte Kuragin stood with Dolokhov infront of the orchestra partition, looking at the Rostovs' box. Natashaknew he was talking about her and this afforded her pleasure. She eventurned so that he should see her profile in what she thought was itsmost becoming aspect. Before the beginning of the second act Pierreappeared in the stalls. The Rostovs had not seen him since theirarrival. His face looked sad, and he had grown still stouter sinceNatasha last saw him. He passed up to the front rows, not noticinganyone. Anatole went up to him and began speaking to him, looking atand indicating the Rostovs' box. On seeing Natasha Pierre grewanimated and, hastily passing between the rows, came toward their box.When he got there he leaned on his elbows and, smiling, talked toher for a long time. While conversing with Pierre, Natasha heard aman's voice in Countess Bezukhova's box and something told her itwas Kuragin. She turned and their eyes met. Almost smiling, he gazedstraight into her eyes with such an enraptured caressing look thatit seemed strange to be so near him, to look at him like that, to beso sure he admired her, and not to be acquainted with him.

　　In the second act there was scenery representing tombstones, therewas a round hole in the canvas to represent the moon, shades wereraised over the footlights, and from horns and contrabass came deepnotes while many people appeared from right and left wearing blackcloaks and holding things like daggers in their hands. They beganwaving their arms. Then some other people ran in and began draggingaway 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 longtime and then at last dragged her off, and behind the scenes somethingmetallic was struck three times and everyone knelt down and sang aprayer. All these things were repeatedly interrupted by theenthusiastic shouts of the audience.

　　During this act every time Natasha looked toward the stalls shesaw Anatole Kuragin with an arm thrown across the back of his chair,staring at her. She was pleased to see that he was captivated by herand it did not occur to her that there was anything wrong in it.

　　When the second act was over Countess Bezukhova rose, turned tothe Rostovs' box- her whole bosom completely exposed- beckoned the oldcount with a gloved finger, and paying no attention to those who hadentered her box began talking to him with an amiable smile.

　　"Do make me acquainted with your charming daughters," said she. "Thewhole town is singing their praises and I don't even know then!"

　　Natasha rose and curtsied to the splendid countess. She was sopleased by praise from this brilliant beauty that she blushed withpleasure.

　　"I want to become a Moscovite too, now," said Helene. "How is ityou're not ashamed to bury such pearls in the country?"

　　Countess Bezukhova quite deserved her reputation of being afascinating woman. She could say what she did not think- especiallywhat was flattering- quite simply and naturally.

　　"Dear count, you must let me look after your daughters! Though Iam not staying here long this time- nor are you- I will try to amusethem. I have already heard much of you in Petersburg and wanted to getto know you," said she to Natasha with her stereotyped and lovelysmile. "I had heard about you from my page, Drubetskoy. Have you heardhe is getting married? And also from my husband's friend Bolkonski,Prince Andrew Bolkonski," she went on with special emphasis,implying that she knew of his relation to Natasha. To get betteracquainted she asked that one of the young ladies should come into herbox for the rest of the performance, and Natasha moved over to it.

　　The scene of the third act represented a palace in which manycandles were burning and pictures of knights with short beards hung onthe walls. In the middle stood what were probably a king and aqueen. The king waved his right arm and, evidently nervous, sangsomething badly and sat down on a crimson throne. The maiden who hadbeen first in white and then in light blue, now wore only a smock, andstood beside the throne with her hair down. She sang somethingmournfully, addressing the queen, but the king waved his arm severely,and men and women with bare legs came in from both sides and begandancing all together. Then the violins played very shrilly and merrilyand one of the women with thick bare legs and thin arms, separatingfrom the others, went behind the wings, adjusted her bodice,returned to the middle of the stage, and began jumping and strikingone foot rapidly against the other. In the stalls everyone clapped andshouted "bravo!" Then one of the men went into a corner of thestage. The cymbals and horns in the orchestra struck up more loudly,and this man with bare legs jumped very high and waved his feetabout very rapidly. (He was Duport, who received sixty thousand rublesa year for this art.) Everybody in the stalls, boxes, and galleriesbegan clapping and shouting with all their might, and the manstopped and began smiling and bowing to all sides. Then other menand women danced with bare legs. Then the king again shouted to thesound of music, and they all began singing. But suddenly a stormcame on, chromatic scales and diminished sevenths were heard in theorchestra, everyone ran off, again dragging one of their numberaway, and the curtain dropped. Once more there was a terrible noiseand clatter among the audience, and with rapturous faces everyonebegan shouting: "Duport! Duport! Duport!" Natasha no longer thoughtthis strange. She look about with pleasure, smiling joyfully.

　　"Isn't Duport delightful?" Helene asked her.

　　"Oh, yes," replied Natasha.BK8|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　During the entr'acte a whiff of cold air came into Helene's box, thedoor opened, and Anatole entered, stooping and trying not to brushagainst anyone.

　　"Let me introduce my brother to you," said Helene, her eyes shiftinguneasily from Natasha to Anatole.

　　Natasha turned her pretty little head toward the elegant youngofficer and smiled at him over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who wasas handsome at close quarters as at a distance, sat down beside herand told her he had long wished to have this happiness- ever since theNaryshkins' ball in fact, at which he had had the well-rememberedpleasure of seeing her. Kuragin was much more sensible and simple withwomen than among men. He talked boldly and naturally, and Natashawas strangely and agreeably struck by the fact that there wasnothing formidable in this man about whom there was so much talk,but that on the contrary his smile was most naive, cheerful, andgood-natured.

　　Kuragin asked her opinion of the performance and told her how at aprevious performance Semenova had fallen down on the stage.

　　"And do you know, Countess," he said, suddenly addressing her asan old, familiar acquaintance, "we are getting up a costumetournament; you ought to take part in it! It will be great fun. Weshall all meet at the Karagins'! Please come! No! Really, eh?" saidhe.

　　While saying this he never removed his smiling eyes from her face,her neck, and her bare arms. Natasha knew for certain that he wasenraptured by her. This pleased her, yet his presence made her feelconstrained and oppressed. When she was not looking at him she feltthat he was looking at her shoulders, and she involuntarily caught hiseye so that he should look into hers rather than this. But lookinginto his eyes she was frightened, realizing that there was not thatbarrier of modesty she had always felt between herself and othermen. She did not know how it was that within five minutes she had cometo feel herself terribly near to this man. When she turned away shefeared he might seize her from behind by her bare arm and kiss heron the neck. They spoke of most ordinary things, yet she felt thatthey were closer to one another than she had ever been to any man.Natasha kept turning to Helene and to her father, as if asking what itall meant, but Helene was engaged in conversation with a general anddid not answer her look, and her father's eyes said nothing but whatthey always said: "Having a good time? Well, I'm glad of it!"

　　During one of these moments of awkward silence when Anatole'sprominent eyes were gazing calmly and fixedly at her, Natasha, tobreak the silence, asked him how he liked Moscow. She asked thequestion and blushed. She felt all the time that by talking to him shewas doing something improper. Anatole smiled as though to encourageher.

　　"At first I did not like it much, because what makes a town pleasantce sont les jolies femmes,* isn't that so? But now I like it very muchindeed," he said, looking at her significantly. "You'll come to thecostume tournament, Countess? Do come!" and putting out his hand toher bouquet and dropping his voice, he added, "You will be theprettiest there. Do come, dear countess, and give me this flower asa pledge!"

　　*Are the pretty women.

　　Natasha did not understand what he was saying any more than he didhimself, but she felt that his incomprehensible words had animproper intention. She did not know what to say and turned away as ifshe had not heard his remark. But as soon as she had turned away shefelt that he was there, behind, so close behind her.

　　"How is he now? Confused? Angry? Ought I to put it right?" she askedherself, and she could not refrain from turning round. She lookedstraight into his eyes, and his nearness, self-assurance, and thegood-natured tenderness of his smile vanquished her. She smiled justas he was doing, gazing straight into his eyes. And again she feltwith horror that no barrier lay between him and her.

　　The curtain rose again. Anatole left the box, serene and gay.Natasha went back to her father in the other box, now quite submissiveto the world she found herself in. All that was going on before hernow seemed quite natural, but on the other hand all her previousthoughts of her betrothed, of Princess Mary, or of life in the countrydid not once recur to her mind and were as if belonging to a remotepast.

　　In the fourth act there was some sort of devil who sang waving hisarm about, till the boards were withdrawn from under him and hedisappeared down below. That was the only part of the fourth actthat Natasha saw. She felt agitated and tormented, and the cause ofthis was Kuragin whom she could not help watching. As they wereleaving the theater Anatole came up to them, called their carriage,and helped them in. As he was putting Natasha in he pressed her armabove the elbow. Agitated and flushed she turned round. He was lookingat her with glittering eyes, smiling tenderly.

　　Only after she had reached home was Natasha able clearly to thinkover what had happened to her, and suddenly remembering PrinceAndrew she was horrified, and at tea to which all had sat down afterthe opera, she gave a loud exclamation, flushed, and ran out of theroom.

　　"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 torealize what had happened to her, but was unable either tounderstand what had happened or what she felt. Everything seemed dark,obscure, and terrible. There in that enormous, illuminated theaterwhere the bare-legged Duport, in a tinsel-decorated jacket, jumpedabout to the music on wet boards, and young girls and old men, and thenearly naked Helene with her proud, calm smile, rapturously cried"bravo!"- there in the presence of that Helene it had all seemed clearand simple; but now, alone by herself, it was incomprehensible."What is it? What was that terror I felt of him? What is thisgnawing of conscience I am feeling now?" she thought.

　　Only to the old countess at night in bed could Natasha have told allshe was feeling. She knew that Sonya with her severe and simpleviews would either not understand it at all or would be horrified atsuch a confession. So Natasha tried to solve what was torturing her byherself.

　　"Am I spoiled for Andrew's love or not?" she asked herself, and withsoothing irony replied: "What a fool I am to ask that! What did happento 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 torepent of, and Andrew can love me still. But why 'still?' O God, whyisn't he here?" Natasha quieted herself for a moment, but again someinstinct told her that though all this was true, and though nothinghad happened, yet the former purity of her love for Prince Andrewhad perished. And again in imagination she went over her wholeconversation with Kuragin, and again saw the face, gestures, andtender smile of that bold handsome man when he pressed her arm.BK8|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Anatole Kuragin was staying in Moscow because his father had senthim away from Petersburg, where he had been spending twenty thousandrubles 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 forthe last time, but only on condition that he went to Moscow asadjutant to the commander in chief- a post his father had procured forhim- and would at last try to make a good match there. He indicated tohim Princess Mary and Julie Karagina.

　　Anatole consented and went to Moscow, where he put up at Pierre'shouse. Pierre received him unwillingly at first, but got used to himafter a while, sometimes even accompanied him on his carousals, andgave him money under the guise of loans.

　　As Shinshin had remarked, from the time of his arrival Anatole hadturned the heads of the Moscow ladies, especially by the fact thathe slighted them and plainly preferred the gypsy girls and Frenchactresses- with the chief of whom, Mademoiselle George, he was said tobe on intimate relations. He had never missed a carousal atDanilov's or other Moscow revelers', drank whole nights through,outvying everyone else, and was at all the balls and parties of thebest 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 runafter the unmarried girls, especially the rich heiresses who were mostof them plain. There was a special reason for this, as he had gotmarried two years before- a fact known only to his most intimatefriends. At that time while with his regiment in Poland, a Polishlandowner of small means had forced him to marry his daughter. Anatolehad very soon abandoned his wife and, for a payment which he agreed tosend to his father-in-law, had arranged to be free to pass himself offas a bachelor.

　　Anatole was always content with his position, with himself, and withothers. He was instinctively and thoroughly convinced that wasimpossible for him to live otherwise than as he did and that he hadnever in his life done anything base. He was incapable ofconsidering how his actions might affect others or what theconsequences of this or that action of his might be. He wasconvinced that, as a duck is so made that it must live in water, soGod had made him such that he must spend thirty thousand rubles a yearand always occupy a prominent position in society. He believed this sofirmly that others, looking at him, were persuaded of it too and didnot refuse him either a leading place in society or money, which heborrowed 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. Stillless could he be accused of ambition. More than once he had vexedhis father by spoiling his own career, and he laughed atdistinctions of all kinds. He was not mean, and did not refuseanyone who asked of him. All he cared about was gaiety and women,and as according to his ideas there was nothing dishonorable inthese tastes, and he was incapable of considering what thegratification of his tastes entailed for others, he honestlyconsidered himself irreproachable, sincerely despised rogues and badpeople, and with a tranquil conscience carried his head high.

　　Rakes, those male Magdalenes, have a secret feeling of innocencesimilar to that which female Magdalenes have, based on the same hopeof forgiveness. "All will be forgiven her, for she loved much; and allwill be forgiven him, for he enjoyed much."

　　Dolokhov, who had reappeared that year in Moscow after his exile andhis Persian adventures, and was leading a life of luxury, gambling,and dissipation, associated with his old Petersburg comrade Kuraginand made use of him for his own ends.

　　Anatole was sincerely fond of Dolokhov for his cleverness andaudacity. Dolokhov, who needed Anatole Kuragin's name, position, andconnections as a bait to draw rich young men into his gambling set,made use of him and amused himself at his expense without lettingthe other feel it. Apart from the advantage he derived from Anatole,the very process of dominating another's will was in itself apleasure, a habit, and a necessity to Dolokhov.

　　Natasha had made a strong impression on Kuragin. At supper after theopera he described to Dolokhov with the air of a connoisseur theattractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and hair and expressed hisintention of making love to her. Anatole had no notion and wasincapable of considering what might come of such love-making, as henever had any notion of the outcome of any of his actions.

　　"She's first-rate, my dear fellow, but not for us," repliedDolokhov.

　　"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,'" saidDolokhov who knew of Kuragin's marriage. "Take care!"

　　"Well, that can't happen twice! Eh?" said Anatole, with agood-humored laugh.BK8|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　The day after the opera the Rostovs went nowhere and nobody cameto see them. Marya Dmitrievna talked to the count about somethingwhich they concealed from Natasha. Natasha guessed they were talkingabout the old prince and planning something, and this disquieted andoffended her. She was expecting Prince Andrew any moment and twicethat day sent a manservant to the Vozdvizhenka to ascertain whether hehad come. He had not arrived. She suffered more now than during herfirst days in Moscow. To her impatience and pining for him were nowadded the unpleasant recollection of her interview with PrincessMary and the old prince, and a fear and anxiety of which she did notunderstand the cause. She continually fancied that either he wouldnever come or that something would happen to her before he came. Shecould no longer think of him by herself calmly and continuously as shehad done before. As soon as she began to think of him, therecollection of the old prince, of Princess Mary, of the theater,and of Kuragin mingled with her thoughts. The question again presenteditself whether she was not guilty, whether she had not alreadybroken faith with Prince Andrew, and again she found herself recallingto the minutest detail every word, every gesture, and every shade inthe play of expression on the face of the man who had been able toarouse in her such an incomprehensible and terrifying feeling. Tothe family Natasha seemed livelier than usual, but she was far lesstranquil and happy than before.

　　On Sunday morning Marya Dmitrievna invited her visitors to Mass ather parish church- the Church of the Assumption built over thegraves of victims of the plague.

　　"I don't like those fashionable churches," she said, evidentlypriding herself on her independence of thought. "God is the same everywhere. We have an excellent priest, he conducts the service decentlyand with dignity, and the deacon is the same. What holiness is therein giving concerts in the choir? I don't like it, it's justself-indulgence!"

　　Marya Dmitrievna liked Sundays and knew how to keep them. Herwhole house was scrubbed and cleaned on Saturdays; neither she nor theservants worked, and they all wore holiday dress and went to church.At her table there were extra dishes at dinner, and the servants hadvodka and roast goose or suckling pig. But in nothing in the house wasthe holiday so noticeable as in Marya Dmitrievna's broad, sternface, which on that day wore an invariable look of solemn festivity.

　　After Mass, when they had finished their coffee in the dining roomwhere the loose covers had been removed from the furniture, aservant announced that the carriage was ready, and Marya Dmitrievnarose with a stern air. She wore her holiday shawl, in which she paidcalls, and announced that she was going to see Prince NicholasBolkonski to have an explanation with him about Natasha.

　　After she had gone, a dressmaker from Madame Suppert-Roguet waitedon the Rostovs, and Natasha, very glad of this diversion, havingshut herself into a room adjoining the drawing room, occupiedherself trying on the new dresses. Just as she had put on a bodicewithout sleeves and only tacked together, and was turning her headto see in the glass how the back fitted, she heard in the drawing roomthe animated sounds of her father's voice and another's- a woman's-that made her flush. It was Helene. Natasha had not time to take offthe bodice before the door opened and Countess Bezukhova, dressed in apurple velvet gown with a high collar, came into the room beaming withgood-humored amiable smiles.

　　"Oh, my enchantress!" she cried to the blushing Natasha."Charming! No, this is really beyond anything, my dear count," saidshe to Count Rostov who had followed her in. "How can you live inMoscow and go nowhere? No, I won't let you off! Mademoiselle Georgewill recite at my house tonight and there'll be some people, and ifyou don't bring your lovely girls- who are prettier thanMademoiselle George- I won't know you! My husband is away in Tver or Iwould 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 curtsiedrespectfully to her, and seated herself in an armchair beside thelooking glass, draping the folds of her velvet dress picturesquely.She did not cease chattering good-naturedly and gaily, continuallypraising Natasha's beauty. She looked at Natasha's dresses and praisedthem, as well as a new dress of her own made of "metallic gauze,"which she had received from Paris, and advised Natasha to have onelike it.

　　"But anything suits you, my charmer!" she remarked.

　　A smile of pleasure never left Natasha's face. She felt happy and asif she were blossoming under the praise of this dear CountessBezukhova who had formerly seemed to her so unapproachable andimportant and was now so kind to her. Natasha brightened up and feltalmost in love with this woman, who was so beautiful and so kind.Helene for her part was sincerely delighted with Natasha and wished togive her a good time. Anatole had asked her to bring him and Natashatogether, and she was calling on the Rostovs for that purpose. Theidea of throwing her brother and Natasha together amused her.

　　Though at one time, in Petersburg, she had been annoyed with Natashafor drawing Boris away, she did not think of that now, and in herown way heartily wished Natasha well. As she was leaving the Rostovsshe called her protegee 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."

　　Natasha blushed scarlet when she heard this.

　　"How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty!" said Helene. "Youmust certainly come. If you love somebody, my charmer, that is not areason to shut yourself up. Even if you are engaged, I am sure yourfiance would wish you to go into society rather than be bored todeath."

　　"So she knows I am engaged, and she and her husband Pierre- thatgood Pierre- have talked and laughed about this. So it's all right."And again, under Helene's influence, what had seemed terrible nowseemed simple and natural. "And she is such a grande dame, so kind,and evidently likes me so much. And why not enjoy myself?" thoughtNatasha, gazing at Helene with wide-open, wondering eyes.

　　Marya Dmitrievna came back to dinner taciturn and serious, havingevidently suffered a defeat at the old prince's. She was still tooagitated by the encounter to be able to talk of the affair calmly.In answer to the count's inquiries she replied that things were allright and that she would tell about it next day. On hearing ofCountess Bezukhova's visit and the invitation for that evening,Marya Dmitrievna remarked:

　　"I don't care to have anything to do with Bezukhova and don't adviseyou to; however, if you've promised- go. It will divert yourthoughts," she added, addressing Natasha.BK8|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　Count Rostov took the girls to Countess Bezukhova's. There were agood many people there, but nearly all strangers to Natasha. CountRostov was displeased to see that the company consisted almostentirely of men and women known for the freedom of their conduct.Mademoiselle George was standing in a corner of the drawing roomsurrounded by young men. There were several Frenchmen present, amongthem Metivier who from the time Helene reached Moscow had been anintimate in her house. The count decided not to sit down to cards orlet his girls out of his sight and to get away as soon as MademoiselleGeorge's performance was over.

　　Anatole was at the door, evidently on the lookout for the Rostovs.Immediately after greeting the count he went up to Natasha andfollowed her. As soon as she saw him she was seized by the samefeeling she had had at the opera- gratified vanity at his admirationof her and fear at the absence of a moral barrier between them.

　　Helene welcomed Natasha delightedly and was loud in admiration ofher beauty and her dress. Soon after their arrival Mademoiselle Georgewent out of the room to change her costume. In the drawing room peoplebegan arranging the chairs and taking their seats. Anatole moved achair for Natasha and was about to sit down beside her, but the count,who never lost sight of her, took the seat himself. Anatole sat downbehind her.

　　Mademoiselle George, with her bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a redshawl draped over one shoulder, came into the space left vacant forher, and assumed an unnatural pose. Enthusiastic whispering wasaudible.

　　Mademoiselle George looked sternly and gloomily at the audienceand began reciting some French verses describing her guilty love forher son. In some places she raised her voice, in others she whispered,lifting her head triumphantly; sometimes she paused and uttered hoarsesounds, rolling her eyes.

　　"Adorable! divine! delicious!" was heard from every side.

　　Natasha looked at the fat actress, but neither saw nor heard norunderstood anything of what went on before her. She only feltherself again completely borne away into this strange senseless world-so remote from her old world- a world in which it was impossible toknow what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless. Behind her satAnatole, and conscious of his proximity she experienced a frightenedsense of expectancy.

　　After the first monologue the whole company rose and surroundedMademoiselle George, expressing their enthusiasm.

　　"How beautiful she is!" Natasha remarked to her father who hadalso risen and was moving through the crowd toward the actress.

　　"I don't think so when I look at you!" said Anatole, followingNatasha. He said this at a moment when she alone could hear him."You are enchanting... from the moment I saw you I have neverceased..."

　　"Come, come, Natasha!" said the count, as he turned back for hisdaughter. "How beautiful she is!" Natasha without saying anythingstepped up to her father and looked at him with surprised inquiringeyes.

　　After giving several recitations, Mademoiselle George left, andCountess Bezukhova asked her visitors into the ballroom.

　　The count wished to go home, but Helene entreated him not to spoilher improvised ball, and the Rostovs stayed on. Anatole askedNatasha for a valse and as they danced he pressed her waist and handand told her she was bewitching and that he loved her. During theecossaise, which she also danced with him, Anatole said nothing whenthey happened to be by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Natashalifted her frightened eyes to him, but there was such confidenttenderness 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 Iam madly, madly, in love with you! Is it my fault that you areenchanting?... It's our turn to begin."

　　Natasha, animated and excited, looked about her with wide-openfrightened eyes and seemed merrier than usual. She understood hardlyanything that went on that evening. They danced the ecossaise andthe Grossvater. Her father asked her to come home, but she begged toremain. Wherever she went and whomever she was speaking to, she felthis eyes upon her. Later on she recalled how she had asked herfather to let her go to the dressing room to rearrange her dress, thatHelene had followed her and spoken laughingly of her brother's love,and that she again met Anatole in the little sitting room. Helenehad disappeared leaving them alone, and Anatole had taken her hand andsaid in a tender voice:

　　"I cannot come to visit you but is it possible that I shall neversee you? I love you madly. Can I never...?" and, blocking her path, hebrought his face close to hers.

　　His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so close to hers that shesaw nothing but them.

　　"Natalie?" he whispered inquiringly while she felt her hands beingpainfully 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 shefelt herself released, and Helene's footsteps and the rustle of herdress were heard in the room. Natasha looked round at her, and then,red and trembling, threw a frightened look of inquiry at Anatole andmoved 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 toher what had happened and to which she could find no answer.

　　"Natalie, just a word, only one!" he kept repeating, evidently notknowing what to say and he repeated it till Helene came up to them.

　　Helene returned with Natasha to the drawing room. The Rostovs wentaway without staying for supper.

　　After reaching home Natasha did not sleep all night. She wastormented by the insoluble question whether she loved Anatole orPrince Andrew. She loved Prince Andrew- she remembered distinctlyhow deeply she loved him. But she also loved Anatole, of that therewas no doubt. "Else how could all this have happened?" thought she."If, after that, I could return his smile when saying good-by, if Iwas able to let it come to that, it means that I loved him from thefirst. It means that he is kind, noble, and splendid, and I couldnot help loving him. What am I to do if I love him and the other onetoo?" she asked herself, unable to find an answer to these terriblequestions.BK8|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　Morning came with its cares and bustle. Everyone got up and began tomove about and talk, dressmakers came again. Marya Dmitrievnaappeared, and they were called to breakfast. Natasha kept lookinguneasily at everybody with wide-open eyes, as if wishing tointercept every glance directed toward her, and tried to appear thesame as usual.

　　After breakfast, which was her best time, Marya Dmitrievna satdown in her armchair and called Natasha and the count to her.

　　"Well, friends, I have now thought the whole matter over and this ismy advice," she began. "Yesterday, as you know, I went to see PrinceBolkonski. Well, I had a talk with him.... He took it into his head tobegin shouting, but I am not one to be shouted down. I said what I hadto say!"

　　"Well, and he?" asked the count.

　　"He? He's crazy... he did not want to listen. But what's the useof talking? As it is we have worn the poor girl out," said MaryaDmitrievna. "My advice to you is finish your business and go back hometo Otradnoe... and wait there."

　　"Oh, no!" exclaimed Natasha.

　　"Yes, go back," said Marya Dmitrievna, "and wait there. If yourbetrothed comes here now- there will be no avoiding a quarrel; butalone with the old man he will talk things over and then come on toyou."

　　Count Rostov approved of this suggestion, appreciating itsreasonableness. If the old man came round it would be all the betterto visit him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on; and if not, thewedding, against his wishes, could only be arranged at Otradnoe.

　　"That is perfectly true. And I am sorry I went to see him and tookher," said the old count.

　　"No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to pay your respects. Butif he won't- that's his affair," said Marya Dmitrievna, looking forsomething in her reticule. "Besides, the trousseau is ready, sothere is nothing to wait for; and what is not ready I'll send afteryou. 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 handedit to Natasha. It was a letter from Princess Mary.

　　"She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing! She'safraid you might think that she does not like you."

　　"But she doesn't like me," said Natasha.

　　"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Marya Dmitrievna.

　　"I shan't believe anyone, I know she doesn't like me," repliedNatasha boldly as she took the letter, and her face expressed a coldand angry resolution that caused Marya Dmitrievna to look at hermore intently and to frown.

　　"Don't answer like that, my good girl!" she said. "What I say istrue! Write an answer!" Natasha did not reply and went to her own roomto read Princess Mary's letter.

　　Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair at themisunderstanding that had occurred between them. Whatever her father'sfeelings might be, she begged Natasha to believe that she could nothelp loving her as the one chosen by her brother, for whosehappiness she was ready to sacrifice everything.

　　"Do not think, however," she wrote, "that my father isill-disposed toward you. He is an invalid and an old man who must beforgiven; but he is good and magnanimous and will love her who makeshis son happy." Princess Mary went on to ask Natasha to fix a timewhen she could see her again.

　　After reading the letter Natasha sat down at the writing table toanswer it. "Dear Princess," she wrote in French quickly andmechanically, and then paused. What more could she write after allthat had happened the evening before? "Yes, yes! All that hashappened, and now all is changed," she thought as she sat with theletter she had begun before her. "Must I break off with him? Must Ireally? That's awful... and to escape from these dreadful thoughts shewent to Sonya and began sorting patterns with her.

　　After dinner Natasha went to her room and again took up PrincessMary's letter. "Can it be that it is all over?" she thought. "Can itbe that all this has happened so quickly and has destroyed all thatwent before?" She recalled her love for Prince Andrew in all itsformer strength, and at the same time felt that she loved Kuragin. Shevividly pictured herself as Prince Andrew's wife, and the scenes ofhappiness with him she had so often repeated in her imagination, andat the same time, aglow with excitement, recalled every detail ofyesterday's interview with Anatole.

　　"Why could that not be as well?" she sometimes asked herself incomplete bewilderment. "Only so could I be completely happy; but now Ihave 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 itfrom him are both equally impossible. But with that one nothing isspoiled. But am I really to abandon forever the joy of Prince Andrew'slove, in which I have lived so long?"

　　"Please, Miss!" whispered a maid entering the room with a mysteriousair. "A man told me to give you this-" and she handed Natasha aletter.

　　"Only, for Christ's sake..." the girl went on, as Natasha, withoutthinking, mechanically broke the seal and read a love letter fromAnatole, of which, without taking in a word, she understood onlythat it was a letter from him- from the man she loved. Yes, sheloved 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 Natasha held that passionate love letterwhich Dolokhov had composed for Anatole, and as she read it shefound 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 youor to die. There is no other way for me," the letter began. Then hewent on to say that he knew her parents would not give her to him- forthis there were secret reasons he could reveal only to her- but thatif she loved him she need only say the word yes, and no human powercould hinder their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would steal heraway and carry her off to the ends of the earth.

　　"Yes, yes! I love him!" thought Natasha, reading the letter forthe twentieth time and finding some peculiarly deep meaning in eachword of it.

　　That evening Marya Dmitrievna was going to the Akharovs' andproposed to take the girls with her. Natasha, pleading a headache,remained at home.BK8|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　On returning late in the evening Sonya went to Natasha's room, andto her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Openon the table, beside her lay Anatole's letter. Sonya picked it upand read it.

　　As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natasha, trying to find inher face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not findit. Her face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutching her breast to keepherself from choking, Sonya, pale and trembling with fear andagitation, sat down in an armchair and burst into tears.

　　"How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far? Can shehave left off loving Prince Andrew? And how could she let Kuragin goto such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain, that's plain! Whatwill Nicholas, dear noble Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this isthe meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural look the day beforeyesterday, yesterday, and today," thought Sonya. "But it can't be thatshe loves him! She probably opened the letter without knowing who itwas from. Probably she is offended by it. She could not do such athing!"

　　Sonya wiped away her tears and went up to Natasha, again scanningher face.

　　"Natasha!" she said, just audibly.

　　Natasha awoke and saw Sonya.

　　"Ah, you're back?"

　　And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the momentof awakening, she embraced her friend, but noticing Sonya's look ofembarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion.

　　"Sonya, you've read that letter?" she demanded.

　　"Yes," answered Sonya softly.

　　Natasha smiled rapturously.

　　"No, Sonya, I can't any longer!" she said. "I can't hide it from youany longer. You know, we love one another! Sonya, darling, hewrites... Sonya..."

　　Sonya stared open-eyed at Natasha, unable to believe her ears.

　　"And Bolkonski?" she asked.

　　"Ah, Sonya, if you only knew how happy I am!" cried Natasha. "Youdon't know what love is...."

　　"But, Natasha, can that be all over?"

　　Natasha looked at Sonya with wide-open eyes as if she could notgrasp the question.

　　"Well, then, are you refusing Prince Andrew?" said Sonya.

　　"Oh, you don't understand anything! Don't talk nonsense, justlisten!" said Natasha, with momentary vexation.

　　"But I can't believe it," insisted Sonya. "I don't understand. Howis it you have loved a man for a whole year and suddenly... Why, youhave only seen him three times! Natasha, I don't believe you, you'rejoking! In three days to forget everything and so..."

　　"Three days?" said Natasha. "It seems to me I've loved him a hundredyears. It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before. You can'tunderstand it.... Sonya, wait a bit, sit here," and Natasha embracedand kissed her.

　　"I had heard that it happens like this, and you must have heard ittoo, but it's only now that I feel such love. It's not the same asbefore. As soon as I saw him I felt he was my master and I hisslave, and that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave!Whatever he orders I shall do. You don't understand that. What can Ido? What can I do, Sonya?" cried Natasha with a happy yet frightenedexpression.

　　"But think what you are doing," cried Sonya. "I can't leave itlike this. This secret correspondence... How could you let him go sofar?" she went on, with a horror and disgust she could hardly conceal.

　　"I told you that I have no will," Natasha replied. "Why can't youunderstand? I love him!"

　　"Then I won't let it come to that... I shall tell!" cried Sonya,bursting into tears.

　　"What do you mean? For God's sake... If you tell, you are my enemy!"declared Natasha. "You want me to be miserable, you want us to beseparated...."

　　When she saw Natasha's fright, Sonya shed tears of shame and pityfor her friend.

　　"But what has happened between you?" she asked. "What has he said toyou? Why doesn't he come to the house?"

　　Natasha did not answer her questions.

　　"For God's sake, Sonya, don't tell anyone, don't torture me,"Natasha entreated. "Remember no one ought to interfere in suchmatters! I have confided in you...."

　　"But why this secrecy? Why doesn't he come to the house?" askedSonya. "Why doesn't he openly ask for your hand? You know PrinceAndrew gave you complete freedom- if it is really so; but I don'tbelieve it! Natasha, have you considered what these secret reasons canbe?"

　　Natasha looked at Sonya with astonishment. Evidently this questionpresented itself to her mind for the first time and she did not knowhow to answer it.

　　"I don't know what the reasons are. But there must be reasons!"

　　Sonya sighed and shook her head incredulously.

　　"If there were reasons..." she began.

　　But Natasha, guessing her doubts, interrupted her in alarm.

　　"Sonya, one can't doubt him! One can't, one can't! Don't youunderstand?" she cried.

　　"Does he love you?"

　　"Does he love me?" Natasha repeated with a smile of pity at herfriend's lack of comprehension. "Why, you have read his letter and youhave seen him."

　　"But if he is dishonorable?"

　　"He! dishonorable? If you only knew!" exclaimed Natasha.

　　"If he is an honorable man he should either declare his intentionsor cease seeing you; and if you won't do this, I will. I will write tohim, and I will tell Papa!" said Sonya resolutely.

　　"But I can't live without him!" cried Natasha.

　　"Natasha, I don't understand you. And what are you saying! Thinkof your father and of Nicholas."

　　"I don't want anyone, I don't love anyone but him. How dare yousay he is dishonorable? Don't you know that I love him?" screamedNatasha. "Go away, Sonya! I don't want to quarrel with you, but go,for God's sake go! You see how I am suffering!" Natasha cried angrily,in a voice of despair and repressed irritation. Sonya burst intosobs and ran from the room.

　　Natasha went to the table and without a moment's reflection wrotethat answer to Princess Mary which she had been unable to write allthe morning. In this letter she said briefly that all theirmisunderstandings were at an end; that availing herself of themagnanimity of Prince Andrew who when he went abroad had given her hershe begged Princess Mary to forget everything and forgive her if shehad been to blame toward her, but that she could not be his wife. Atthat moment this all seemed quite easy, simple, and clear to Natasha.

　　On Friday the Rostovs were to return to the country, but onWednesday the count went with the prospective purchaser to hisestate near Moscow.

　　On the day the count left, Sonya and Natasha were invited to a bigdinner party at the Karagins', and Marya Dmitrievna took them there.At that party Natasha again met Anatole, and Sonya noticed that shespoke to him, trying not to be overheard, and that all throughdinner she was more agitated than ever. When they got home Natasha wasthe first to begin the explanation Sonya expected.

　　"There, Sonya, you were talking all sorts of nonsense about him,"Natasha began in a mild voice such as children use when they wish tobe praised. "We have had an explanation today."

　　"Well, what happened? What did he say? Natasha, how glad I am you'renot angry with me! Tell me everything- the whole truth. What did hesay?"

　　Natasha became thoughtful.

　　"Oh, Sonya, if you knew him as I do! He said... He asked me what Ihad promised Bolkonski. He was glad I was free to refuse him."

　　Sonya sighed sorrowfully.

　　"But you haven't refused Bolkonski?" said she.

　　"Perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between me and Bolkonski. Whydo you think so badly of me?"

　　"I don't think anything, only I don't understand this..."

　　"Wait a bit, Sonya, you'll understand everything. You'll see whata man he is! Now don't think badly of me or of him. I don't thinkbadly of anyone: I love and pity everybody. But what am I to do?"

　　Sonya did not succumb to the tender tone Natasha used toward her.The more emotional and ingratiating the expression of Natasha's facebecame, the more serious and stern grew Sonya's.

　　"Natasha," said she, "you asked me not to speak to you, and Ihaven't spoken, but now you yourself have begun. I don't trust him,Natasha. Why this secrecy?"

　　"Again, again!" interrupted Natasha.

　　"Natasha, I am afraid for you!"

　　"Afraid of what?"

　　"I am afraid you're going to your ruin," said Sonya resolutely,and was herself horrified at what she had said.

　　Anger again showed in Natasha's face.

　　"And I'll go to my ruin, I will, as soon as possible! It's notyour business! It won't be you, but I, who'll suffer. Leave mealone, leave me alone! I hate you!"

　　Natasha!" moaned Sonya, aghast.

　　"I hate you, I hate you! You're my enemy forever!" And Natasha ranout of the room.

　　Natasha did not speak to Sonya again and avoided her. With thesame expression of agitated surprise and guilt she went about thehouse, taking up now one occupation, now another, and at onceabandoning them.

　　Hard as it was for Sonya, she watched her friend and did not let herout of her sight.

　　The day before the count was to return, Sonya noticed that Natashasat by the drawingroom window all the morning as if expectingsomething and that she made a sign to an officer who drove past,whom Sonya took to be Anatole.

　　Sonya began watching her friend still more attentively and noticedthat at dinner and all that evening Natasha was in a strange andunnatural state. She answered questions at random, began sentences shedid not finish, and laughed at everything.

　　After tea Sonya noticed a housemaid at Natasha's door timidlywaiting to let her pass. She let the girl go in, and then listening atthe door learned that another letter had been delivered.

　　Then suddenly it became clear to Sonya that Natasha had somedreadful plan for that evening. Sonya knocked at her door. Natasha didnot let her in.

　　"She will run away with him!" thought Sonya. "She is capable ofanything. There was something particularly pathetic and resolute inher face today. She cried as she said good-by to Uncle," Sonyaremembered. "Yes, that's it, she means to elope with him, but whatam I to do?" thought she, recalling all the signs that clearlyindicated that Natasha had some terrible intention. "The count isaway. What am I to do? Write to Kuragin demanding an explanation?But what is there to oblige him to reply? Write to Pierre, as PrinceAndrew asked me to in case of some misfortune?... But perhaps shereally has already refused Bolkonski- she sent a letter to PrincessMary yesterday. And Uncle is away...." To tell Marya Dmitrievna whohad such faith in Natasha seemed to Sonya terrible. "Well, anyway,"thought Sonya as she stood in the dark passage, "now or never I mustprove that I remember the family's goodness to me and that I loveNicholas. Yes! If I don't sleep for three nights I'll not leave thispassage and will hold her back by force and will and not let thefamily be disgraced," thought she.BK8|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Anatole had lately moved to Dolokhov's. The plan for NatalieRostova's abduction had been arranged and the preparations made byDolokhov a few days before, and on the day that Sonya, after listeningat Natasha's door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have beenput into execution. Natasha had promised to come out to Kuragin at theback porch at ten that evening. Kuragin was to put her into a troykahe would have ready and to drive her forty miles to the village ofKamenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform amarriage ceremony over them. At Kamenka a relay of horses was towait which would take them to the Warsaw highroad, and from there theywould hasten abroad with post horses.

　　Anatole had a passport, an order for post horses, ten thousandrubles he had taken from his sister and another ten thousandborrowed with Dolokhov's help.

　　Two witnesses for the mock marriage- Khvostikov, a retired pettyofficial whom Dolokhov made use of in his gambling transactions, andMakarin, a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fellow who had anunbounded affection for Kuragin- were sitting at tea in Dolokhov'sfront room.

　　In his large study, the walls of which were hung to the ceiling withPersian rugs, bearskins, and weapons, sat Dolokhov in a travelingcloak and high boots, at an open desk on which lay abacus and somebundles of paper money. Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, walked toand fro from the room where the witnesses were sitting, through thestudy to the room behind, where his French valet and others werepacking the last of his things. Dolokhov was counting the money andnoting something down.

　　"Well," he said, "Khvostikov must have two thousand."

　　"Give it to him, then," said Anatole.

　　"Makarka" (their name for Makarin) "will go through fire and waterfor you for nothing. So here are our accounts all settled," saidDolokhov, showing him the memorandum. "Is that right?"

　　"Yes, of course," returned Anatole, evidently not listening toDolokhov and looking straight before him with a smile that did notleave his face.

　　Dolokhov banged down the or of his and turned to Anatole with anironic smile:

　　"Do you know? You'd really better drop it all. There's still time!"

　　"Fool," retorted Anatole. "Don't talk nonsense! If you onlyknew... it's the devil knows what!"

　　"No, really, give it up!" said Dolokhov. "I am speaking seriously.It's no joke, this plot you've hatched."

　　"What, teasing again? Go to the devil! Eh?" said Anatole, making agrimace. "Really it's no time for your stupid jokes," and he leftthe room.

　　Dolokhov smiled contemptuously and condescendingly when Anatolehad gone out.

　　"You wait a bit," he called after him. "I'm not joking, I'mtalking sense. Come here, come here!"

　　Anatole returned and looked at Dolokhov, trying to give him hisattention and evidently submitting to him involuntarily.

　　"Now listen to me. I'm telling you this for the last time. Whyshould I joke about it? Did I hinder you? Who arranged everythingfor you? Who found the priest and got the passport? Who raised themoney? I did it all."

　　"Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am not grateful?" AndAnatole sighed and embraced Dolokhov.

　　"I helped you, but all the same I must tell you the truth; it is adangerous business, and if you think about it- a stupid business.Well, you'll carry her off- all right! Will they let it stop atthat? It will come out that you're already married. Why, they'llhave you in the criminal court...."

　　"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" Anatole ejaculated and again made agrimace. "Didn't I explain to you? What?" And Anatole, with thepartiality dull-witted people have for any conclusion they havereached by their own reasoning, repeated the argument he had alreadyput to Dolokhov a hundred times. "Didn't I explain to you that Ihave come to this conclusion: if this marriage is invalid," he wenton, crooking one finger, "then I have nothing to answer for; but if itis 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 amess!"

　　"Go to the devil!" cried Anatole and, clutching his hair, left theroom, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front ofDolokhov with his feet turned under him. "It's the very devil! What?Feel how it beats!" He took Dolokhov's hand and put it on his heart."What a foot, my dear fellow! What a glance! A goddess!" he added inFrench. "What?"

　　Dolokhov with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome insolent eyeslooked at him- evidently wishing to get some more amusement out ofhim.

　　"Well and when the money's gone, what then?"

　　"What then? Eh?" repeated Anatole, sincerely perplexed by athought of the future. "What then?... Then, I don't know.... But whytalk 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 theservants.

　　Dolokhov put away the money, called a footman whom he ordered tobring something for them to eat and drink before the journey, and wentinto the room where Khvostikov and Makarin were sitting.

　　Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning on his elbow andsmiling pensively, while his handsome lips muttered tenderly tohimself.

　　"Come and eat something. Have a drink!" Dolokhov shouted to him fromthe other room.

　　"I don't want to," answered Anatole continuing to smile.

　　"Come! Balaga is here."

　　Anatole rose and went into the dining room. Balaga was a famoustroyka driver who had known Dolokhov and Anatole some six years andhad given them good service with his troykas. More than once whenAnatole's regiment was stationed at Tver he had taken him from Tver inthe evening, brought him to Moscow by daybreak, and driven him backagain the next night. More than once he had enabled Dolokhov to escapewhen pursued. More than once he had driven them through the townwith gypsies and "ladykins" as he called the cocottes. More thanonce in their service he had run over pedestrians and upset vehiclesin the streets of Moscow and had always been protected from theconsequences by "my gentlemen" as he called them. He had ruined morethan 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 themwhich would long ago have sent an ordinary man to Siberia. Theyoften called Balaga into their orgies and made him drink and danceat the gypsies', and more than one thousand rubles of their moneyhad passed through his hands. In their service he risked his skinand his life twenty times a year, and in their service had lost morehorses than the money he had from them would buy. But he liked them;liked that mad driving at twelve miles an hour, liked upsetting adriver or running down a pedestrian, and flying at full gallop throughthe Moscow streets. He liked to hear those wild, tipsy shouts behindhim: "Get on! Get on!" when it was impossible to go any faster. Heliked giving a painful lash on the neck to some peasant who, more deadthan alive, was already hurrying out of his way. "Real gentlemen!"he considered them.

　　Anatole and Dolokhov liked Balaga too for his masterly driving andbecause he liked the things they liked. With others Balagabargained, charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours' drive, andrarely drove himself, generally letting his young men do so. Butwith "his gentlemen" he always drove himself and never demandedanything for his work. Only a couple of times a year- when he knewfrom their valets that they had money in hand- he would turn up of amorning 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 Ivanych, sir," or "your excellency," hewould say. "I am quite out of horses. Let me have what you can to goto the fair."

　　And Anatole and Dolokhov, when they had money, would give him athousand or a couple of thousand rubles.

　　Balaga was a fair-haired, short, and snub-nosed peasant of abouttwenty-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 thefront corner of the room, and went up to Dolokhov, holding out asmall, black hand.

　　"Theodore Ivanych!" he said, bowing.

　　"How d'you do, friend? Well, here he is!"

　　"Good day, your excellency!" he said, again holding out his handto Anatole who had just come in.

　　"I say, Balaga," said Anatole, putting his hands on the man'sshoulders, "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 Balaga.

　　"Well, listen, Balaga! Drive all three to death but get me therein three hours. Eh?"

　　"When they are dead, what shall I drive?" said Balaga 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 mygentlemen anything! As fast as ever the horses can gallop, so fastwe'll go!"

　　"Ah!" said Anatole. "Well, sit down."

　　"Yes, sit down!" said Dolokhov.

　　"I'll stand, Theodore Ivanych."

　　"Sit down; nonsense! Have a drink!" said Anatole, and filled a largeglass of Madeira for him.

　　The driver's eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine. Afterrefusing it for manners' sake, he drank it and wiped his mouth witha 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,Balaga! You'll get there in time? Eh?"

　　"That depends on our luck in starting, else why shouldn't we bethere in time?" replied Balaga. "Didn't we get you to Tver in sevenhours? 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 Makarin who gazedrapturously at him with wide-open eyes. "Will you believe it, Makarka,it took one's breath away, the rate we flew. We came across a train ofloaded sleighs and drove right over two of them. Eh?"

　　"Those were horses!" Balaga continued the tale. "That time I'dharnessed two young side horses with the bay in the shafts," he wenton, turning to Dolokhov. "Will you believe it, Theodore Ivanych, thoseanimals flew forty miles? I couldn't hold them in, my hands grewnumb in the sharp frost so that I threw down the reins- 'Catch holdyourself, your excellency!' says I, and I just tumbled on the bottomof the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasn't a case of urging themon, there was no holding them in till we reached the place. The devilstook us there in three hours! Only the near one died of it."BK8|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　Anatole went out of the room and returned a few minutes laterwearing a fur coat girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntilyset on one side and very becoming to his handsome face. Havinglooked in a mirror, and standing before Dolokhov in the same pose hehad 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 amoment "...of my youth, farewell!" he said, turning to Makarin and theothers.

　　Though they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wished tomake something touching and solemn out of this address to hiscomrades. He spoke slowly in a loud voice and throwing out his chestslightly swayed one leg.

　　"All take glasses; you too, Balaga. Well, comrades and friends of myyouth, we've had our fling and lived and reveled. Eh? And now, whenshall we meet again? I am going abroad. We have had a good time- nowfarewell, lads! To our health! Hurrah!..." he cried, and emptyinghis glass flung it on the floor.

　　"To your health!" said Balaga who also emptied his glass, andwiped his mouth with his handkerchief.

　　Makarin 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.

　　Balaga 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 allwent out into the vestibule.

　　"And where's the fur cloak?" asked Dolokhov. "Hey, Ignatka! Go toMatrena Matrevna and ask her for the sable cloak. I have heard whatelopements are like," continued Dolokhov with a wink. "Why, she'llrush out more dead than alive just in the things she is wearing; ifyou delay at all there'll be tears and 'Papa' and 'Mamma,' and she'sfrozen in a minute and must go back- but you wrap the fur cloakround 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, Matrena, the sable!" heshouted so that his voice rang far through the rooms.

　　A handsome, slim, and pale-faced gypsy girl with glittering blackeyes and curly blue-black hair, wearing a red shawl, ran out with asable mantle on her arm.

　　"Here, I don't grudge it- take it!" she said, evidently afraid ofher master and yet regretful of her cloak.

　　Dolokhov, without answering, took the cloak, threw it overMatrena, and wrapped her up in it.

　　"That's the way," said Dolokhov, "and then so!" and he turned thecollar 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 tomeet the gap left by the collar, through which Matrena's brilliantsmile was seen.

　　"Well, good-by, Matrena," said Anatole, kissing her. "Ah, myrevels here are over. Remember me to Steshka. There, good-by! Good-by,Matrena, wish me luck!"

　　"Well, Prince, may God give you great luck!" said Matrena in hergypsy accent.

　　Two troykas were standing before the porch and two young driverswere holding the horses. Balaga took his seat in the front one andholding his elbows high arranged the reins deliberately. Anatole andDolokhov got in with him. Makarin, Khvostikov, and a valet seatedthemselves in the other sleigh.

　　"Well, are you ready?" asked Balaga.

　　"Go!" he cried, twisting the reins round his hands, and the troykatore down the Nikitski Boulevard.

　　"Tproo! Get out of the way! Hi!... Tproo!..." The shouting of Balagaand of the sturdy young fellow seated on the box was all that could beheard. On the Arbat Square the troyka caught against a carriage;something cracked, shouts were heard, and the troyka flew along theArbat Street.

　　After taking a turn along the Podnovinski Boulevard, Balaga began torein in, and turning back drew up at the crossing of the oldKonyusheny Street.

　　The young fellow on the box jumped down to hold the horses andAnatole and Dolokhov went along the pavement. When they reached thegate Dolokhov whistled. The whistle was answered, and a maidservantran out.

　　"Come into the courtyard or you'll be seen; she'll come outdirectly," said she.

　　Dolokhov stayed by the gate. Anatole followed the maid into thecourtyard, turned the corner, and ran up into the porch.

　　He was met by Gabriel, Marya Dmitrievna'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 breathlesswhisper.

　　"Kindly step in, my orders are to bring you in."

　　"Kuragin! Come back!" shouted Dolokhov. "Betrayed! Back!"

　　Dolokhov, after Anatole entered, had remained at the wicket gate andwas struggling with the yard porter who was trying to lock it. Witha last desperate effort Dolokhov pushed the porter aside, and whenAnatole ran back seized him by the arm, pulled him through the wicket,and ran back with him to the troyka.BK8|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　Marya Dmitrievna, having found Sonya weeping in the corridor, madeher confess everything, and intercepting the note to Natasha sheread it and went into Natasha's room with it in her hand.

　　"You shameless good-for-nothing!" said she. "I won't hear a word."

　　Pushing back Natasha who looked at her with astonished buttearless eyes, she locked her in; and having given orders to theyard porter to admit the persons who would be coming that evening, butnot to let them out again, and having told the footman to bring themup to her, she seated herself in the drawing room to await theabductors.

　　When Gabriel came to inform her that the men who had come had runaway again, she rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind her pacedthrough the rooms a long time considering what she should do. Towardmidnight she went to Natasha's room fingering the key in her pocket.Sonya was sitting sobbing in the corridor. "Marya Dmitrievna, forGod's sake let me in to her!" she pleaded, but Marya Dmitrievnaunlocked the door and went in without giving her an answer...."Disgusting, abominable... In my house... horrid girl, hussy! I'm onlysorry for her father!" thought she, trying to restrain her wrath."Hard as it may be, I'll tell them all to hold their tongues andwill hide it from the count." She entered the room with resolutesteps. Natasha lying on the sofa, her head hidden in her hands, andshe did not stir. She was in just the same position in which MaryaDmitrievna had left her.

　　"A nice girl! Very nice!" said Marya Dmitrievna. "Arranging meetingswith lovers in my house! It's no use pretending: you listen when Ispeak to you!" And Marya Dmitrievna touched her arm. "Listen when whenI speak! You've disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies. I'dtreat you differently, but I'm sorry for your father, so I willconceal it."

　　Natasha did not change her position, but her whole body heavedwith noiseless, convulsive sobs which choked her. Marya Dmitrievnaglanced round at Sonya and seated herself on the sofa beside Natasha.

　　"It's lucky for him that he escaped me; but I'll find him!" she saidin her rough voice. "Do you hear what I am saying or not?" she added.

　　She put her large hand under Natasha's face and turned it towardher. Both Marya Dmitrievna and Sonya were amazed when they saw howNatasha 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 Marya Dmitrievna's hands with a viciouseffort and sinking down again into her former position.

　　"Natalie!" said Marya Dmitrievna. "I wish for your good. Liestill, stay like that then, I won't touch you. But listen. I won'ttell you how guilty you are. You know that yourself. But when yourfather comes back tomorrow what am I to tell him? Eh?"

　　Again Natasha's body shook with sobs.

　　"Suppose he finds out, and your brother, and your betrothed?"

　　"I have no betrothed: I have refused him!" cried Natasha.

　　"That's all the same," continued Dmitrievna. "If they hear ofthis, will they let it pass? He, your father, I know him... if hechallenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?"

　　"Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at all? Why? Why? Whoasked you to?" shouted Natasha, raising herself on the sofa andlooking malignantly at Marya Dmitrievna.

　　"But what did you want?" cried Marya Dmitrievna, growing angryagain. "Were you kept under lock and key? Who hindered his coming tothe house? Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singinggirl?... Well, if he had carried you off... do you think they wouldn'thave found him? Your father, or brother, or your betrothed? And he's ascoundrel, a wretch- that's a fact!"

　　"He is better than any of you!" exclaimed Natasha getting up. "Ifyou hadn't interfered... Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it?Sonya, why?... Go away!"

　　And she burst into sobs with the despairing vehemence with whichpeople bewail disasters they feel they have themselves occasioned.Marya Dmitrievna was to speak again but Natasha cried out:

　　"Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!" and she threwherself back on the sofa.

　　Marya Dmitrievna went on admonishing her for some time, enjoining onher that it must all be kept from her father and assuring her thatnobody would know anything about it if only Natasha herself wouldundertake to forget it all and not let anyone see that something hadhappened. Natasha did not reply, nor did she sob any longer, but shegrew cold and had a shivering fit. Marya Dmitrievna put a pillow underher head, covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her somelime-flower water, but Natasha did not respond to her.

　　"Well, let her sleep," said Marya Dmitrievna as she went of the roomsupposing Natasha to be asleep.

　　But Natasha was not asleep; with pale face and fixed wide-openeyes she looked straight before her. All that night she did notsleep or weep and did not speak to Sonya who got up and went to herseveral times.

　　Next day Count Rostov returned from his estate near Moscow in timefor lunch as he had promised. He was in very good spirits; theaffair with the purchaser was going on satisfactorily, and there wasnothing to keep him any longer in Moscow, away from the countesswhom he missed. Marya Dmitrievna met him and told him that Natasha hadbeen very unwell the day before and that they had sent for the doctor,but that she was better now. Natasha had not left her room thatmorning. With compressed and parched lips and dry fixed eyes, shesat at the window, uneasily watching the people who drove past andhurriedly glancing round at anyone who entered the room. She wasevidently expecting news of him and that he would come or wouldwrite to her.

　　When the count came to see her she turned anxiously round at thesound of a man's footstep, and then her face resumed its cold andmalevolent expression. She did not even get up to greet him. "Whatis the matter with you, my angel? Are you ill?" asked the count.

　　After a moment's silence Natasha answered: "Yes, ill."

　　In reply to the count's anxious inquiries as to why she was sodejected and whether anything had happened to her betrothed, sheassured him that nothing had happened and asked him not to worry.Marya Dmitrievna confirmed Natasha's assurances that nothing hadhappened. From the pretense of illness, from his daughter'sdistress, and by the embarrassed faces of Sonya and MaryaDmitrievna, the count saw clearly that something had gone wrong duringhis absence, but it was so terrible for him to think that anythingdisgraceful had happened to his beloved daughter, and he so prized hisown cheerful tranquillity, that he avoided inquiries and tried toassure himself that nothing particularly had happened; and he was onlydissatisfied that her indisposition delayed their return to thecountry.BK8|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　From the day his wife arrived in Moscow Pierre had been intending togo away somewhere, so as not to be near her. Soon after the Rostovscame to Moscow the effect Natasha had on him made him hasten tocarry out his intention. He went to Tver to see Joseph Alexeevich'swidow, who had long since promised to hand over to him some papersof her deceased husband's.

　　When he returned to Moscow Pierre was handed a letter from MaryaDmitrievna asking him to come and see her on a matter of greatimportance relating to Andrew Bolkonski and his betrothed. Pierrehad been avoiding Natasha because it seemed to him that his feelingfor her was stronger than a married man's should be for his friend'sfiancee. Yet some fate constantly threw them together.

　　"What can have happened? And what can they want with me?" thought heas he dressed to go to Marya Dmitrievna's. "If only Prince Andrewwould hurry up and come and marry her!" thought he on his way to thehouse.

　　On the Tverskoy 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 bespatteringthe dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant companion Makarindashed past. Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose ofmilitary dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by his beavercollar and his head slightly bent. His face was fresh and rosy, hiswhite-plumed hat, tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomadedhair besprinkled with powdery snow.

　　"Yes, indeed, that's a true sage," thought Pierre. "He seesnothing beyond the pleasure of the moment, nothing troubles him and sohe is always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. What wouldn't I giveto be like him!" he thought enviously.

　　In Marya Dmitrievna's anteroom the footman who helped him off withhis fur coat said that the mistress asked him to come to her bedroom.

　　When he opened the ballroom door Pierre saw Natasha sitting at thewindow, with a thin, pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round athim, frowned, and left the room with an expression of cold dignity.

　　"What has happened?" asked Pierre, entering Marya Dmitrievna's room.

　　"Fine doings!" answered Dmitrievna. "For fifty-eight years have Ilived in this world and never known anything so disgraceful!"

　　And having put him on his honor not to repeat anything she told him,Marya Dmitrievna informed him that Natasha had refused Prince Andrewwithout her parents' knowledge and that the cause of this wasAnatole Kuragin into whose society Pierre's wife had thrown her andwith whom Natasha had tried to elope during her father's absence, inorder to be married secretly.

　　Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open-mouthed to what wastold him, scarcely able to believe his own ears. That PrinceAndrew's deeply loved affianced wife- the same Natasha Rostova whoused to be so charming- should give up Bolkonski for that fool Anatolewho was already secretly married (as Pierre knew), and should be so inlove with him as to agree to run away with him, was something Pierrecould not conceive and could not imagine.

　　He could not reconcile the charming impression he had of Natasha,whom he had known from a child, with this new conception of herbaseness, folly, and cruelty. He thought of his wife. "They are allalike!" he said to himself, reflecting that he was not the only manunfortunate enough to be tied to a bad woman. But still he pitiedPrince Andrew to the point of tears and sympathized with his woundedpride, and the more he pitied his friend the more did he think withcontempt and even with disgust of that Natasha who had just passed himin the ballroom with such a look of cold dignity. He did not know thatNatasha's soul was overflowing with despair, shame, and humiliation,and that it was not her fault that her face happened to assume anexpression of calm dignity and severity.

　　"But how get married?" said Pierre, in answer to Marya Dmitrievna."He could not marry- he is married!"

　　"Things get worse from hour to hour!" ejaculated Marya Dmitrievna."A nice youth! What a scoundrel! And she's expecting him- expectinghim since yesterday. She must be told! Then at least she won't go onexpecting him."

　　After hearing the details of Anatole's marriage from Pierre, andgiving vent to her anger against Anatole in words of abuse, MaryaDmitrievna told Pierre why she had sent for him. She was afraid thatthe count or Bolkonski, who might arrive at any moment, if they knewof this affair (which she hoped to hide from them) might challengeAnatole to a duel, and she therefore asked Pierre to tell hisbrother-in-law in her name to leave Moscow and not dare to let her seteyes on him again. Pierre- only now realizing the danger to the oldcount, Nicholas, and Prince Andrew- promised to do as she wished.Having briefly and exactly explained her wishes to him, she let him goto the drawing room.

　　"Mind, the count knows nothing. Behave as if you know nothingeither," she said. "And I will go and tell her it is no useexpecting him! And stay to dinner if you care to!" she called afterPierre.

　　Pierre met the old count, who seemed nervous and upset. That morningNatasha had told him that she had rejected Bolkonski.

　　"Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow!" he said to Pierre. "Whattroubles one has with these girls without their mother! I do so regrethaving come here.... I will be frank with you. Have you heard shehas broken off her engagement without consulting anybody? It's truethis engagement never was much to my liking. Of course he is anexcellent man, but still, with his father's disapproval theywouldn't have been happy, and Natasha won't lack suitors. Still, ithas been going on so long, and to take such a step without father's ormother'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 thesubject, but the count returned to his troubles.

　　Sonya entered the room with an agitated face.

　　"Natasha is not quite well; she's in her room and would like tosee you. Marya Dmitrievna is with her and she too asks you to come."

　　"Yes, you are a great friend of Bolkonski's, no doubt she wants tosend him a message," said the count. "Oh dear! Oh dear! How happy itall was!"

　　And clutching the spare gray locks on his temples the count left theroom.

　　When Marya Dmitrievna told Natasha that Anatole was married, Natashadid not wish to believe it and insisted on having it confirmed byPierre himself. Sonya told Pierre this as she led him along thecorridor to Natasha's room.

　　Natasha, pale and stern, was sitting beside Marya Dmitrievna, andher eyes, glittering feverishly, met Pierre with a questioning lookthe moment he entered. She did not smile or nod, but only gazedfixedly at him, and her look asked only one thing: was he a friend, orlike the others an enemy in regard to Anatole? As for Pierre, heevidently did not exist for her.

　　"He knows all about it," said Marya Dmitrievna pointing to Pierreand addressing Natasha. "Let him tell you whether I have told thetruth."

　　Natasha looked from one to the other as a hunted and woundedanimal looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen.

　　"Natalya Ilynichna," Pierre began, dropping his eyes with afeeling 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 handsthat they should leave her alone.BK8|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　Pierre did not stay for dinner, but left the room and went away atonce. He drove through the town seeking Anatole Kuragin, at thethought of whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt adifficulty in breathing. He was not at the ice hills, nor at thegypsies', nor at Komoneno's. Pierre drove to the Club. In the Club allwas going on as usual. The members who were assembling for dinner weresitting about in groups; they greeted Pierre and spoke of the townnews. The footman having greeted him, knowing his habits and hisacquaintances, told him there was a place left for him in the smalldining room and that Prince Michael Zakharych was in the library,but Paul Timofeevich had not yet arrived. One of Pierre'sacquaintances, while they were talking about the weather, asked ifhe had heard of Kuragin's abduction of Rostova which was talked ofin the town, and was it true? Pierre laughed and said it wasnonsense for he had just come from the Rostovs'. He asked everyoneabout Anatole. One man told him he had not come yet, and anotherthat he was coming to dinner. Pierre felt it strange to see this calm,indifferent crowd of people unaware of what was going on in hissoul. He paced through the ballroom, waited till everyone had come,and as Anatole had not turned up did not stay for dinner but drovehome.

　　Anatole, for whom Pierre was looking, dined that day withDolokhov, consulting him as to how to remedy this unfortunateaffair. It seemed to him essential to see Natasha. In the evening hedrove to his sister's to discuss with her how to arrange a meeting.When Pierre returned home after vainly hunting all over Moscow, hisvalet informed him that Prince Anatole was with the countess. Thecountess' drawing room was full of guests.

　　Pierre without greeting his wife whom he had not seen since hisreturn- 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. "Youdon'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 ofthat rage and strength which she knew and had herself experiencedafter his duel with Dolokhov.

　　"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, readyto follow Pierre. Pierre, taking him by the arm, pulled him towardhimself and was leading him from the room.

　　"If you allow yourself in my drawing room..." whispered Helene,but Pierre did not reply and went out of the room.

　　Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty step but his facebetrayed anxiety.

　　Having entered his study Pierre closed the door and addressedAnatole without looking at him.

　　"You promised Countess Rostova to marry her and were about toelope with her, is that so?"

　　"Mon cher," answered Anatole (their whole conversation was inFrench), "I don't consider myself bound to answer questions put tome in that tone."

　　Pierre's face, already pale, became distorted by fury. He seizedAnatole by the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook himfrom side to side till Anatole's face showed a sufficient degree ofterror.

　　"When I tell you that I must talk to you!..." repeated Pierre.

　　"Come now, this is stupid. What?" said Anatole, fingering a buttonof 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 deprivesme 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 onceput 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, movingtoward Anatole.

　　Anatole glanced at him and immediately thrust his hand into hispocket and drew out his pocketbook.

　　Pierre took the letter Anatole handed him and, pushing aside a tablethat stood in his way, threw himself on the sofa.

　　"I shan't be violent, don't be afraid!" said Pierre in answer to afrightened gesture of Anatole's. "First, the letters," said he, asif repeating a lesson to himself. "Secondly," he continued after ashort pause, again rising and again pacing the room, "tomorrow youmust get out of Moscow."

　　"But how can I?..."

　　"Thirdly," Pierre continued without listening to him, "you mustnever breathe a word of what has passed between you and CountessRostova. I know I can't prevent your doing so, but if you have a sparkof 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 thereis such a thing as other people's happiness and peace, and that youare ruining a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself! Amuseyourself with women like my wife- with them you are within yourrights, for they know what you want of them. They are armed againstyou by the same experience of debauchery; but to promise a maid tomarry her... to deceive, to kidnap.... Don't you understand that it isas mean as beating an old man or a child?..."

　　Pierre paused and looked at Anatole no longer with an angry but witha questioning look.

　　"I don't know about that, eh?" said Anatole, growing moreconfident as Pierre mastered his wrath. "I don't know that and don'twant to," he said, not looking at Pierre and with a slight tremor ofhis lower jaw, "but you have used such words to me- 'mean' and soon- which as a man of honor I can't allow anyone to use."

　　Pierre glanced at him with amazement, unable to understand what hewanted.

　　"Though it was tete-a-tete," 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 doas you wish, eh?"

　　"I take them back, I take them back!" said Pierre, "and I ask you toforgive me." Pierre involuntarily glanced at the loose button. "And ifyou 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.BK8|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　Pierre drove to Marya Dmitrievna's to tell her of the fulfillment ofher wish that Kuragin should be banished from Moscow. The wholehouse was in a state of alarm and commotion. Natasha was very ill,having, as Marya Dmitrievna told him in secret, poisoned herself thenight after she had been told that Anatole was married, with somearsenic she had stealthily procured. After swallowing a little she hadbeen so frightened that she woke Sonya and told her what she had done.The necessary antidotes had been administered in time and she wasnow out of danger, though still so weak that it was out of thequestion to move her to the country, and so the countess had been sentfor. Pierre saw the distracted count, and Sonya, who had atear-stained face, but he could not see Natasha.

　　Pierre dined at the club that day and heard on all sides gossipabout the attempted abduction of Rostova. He resolutely denied theserumors, assuring everyone that nothing had happened except that hisbrother-in-law had proposed to her and been refused. It seemed toPierre that it was his duty to conceal the whole affair andre-establish Natasha's reputation.

　　He was awaiting Prince Andrew's return with dread and went every dayto the old prince's for news of him.

　　Old Prince Bolkonski heard all the rumors current in the town fromMademoiselle Bourienne and had read the note to Princess Mary in whichNatasha had broken off her engagement. He seemed in better spiritsthan usual and awaited his son with great impatience.

　　Some days after Anatole's departure Pierre received a note fromPrince Andrew, informing him of his arrival and asking him to cometo see him.

　　As soon as he reached Moscow, Prince Andrew had received from hisfather Natasha's note to Princess Mary breaking off her engagement(Mademoiselle Bourienne had purloined it from Princess Mary andgiven it to the old prince), and he heard from him the story ofNatasha's elopement, with additions.

　　Prince Andrew had arrived in the evening and Pierre came to seehim next morning. Pierre expected to find Prince Andrew in almostthe same state as Natasha and was therefore surprised on enteringthe drawing room to hear him in the study talking in a loud animatedvoice about some intrigue going on in Petersburg. The old prince'svoice and another now and then interrupted him. Princess Mary came outto meet Pierre. She sighed, looking toward the door of the roomwhere Prince Andrew was, evidently intending to express her sympathywith his sorrow, but Pierre saw by her face that she was glad bothat what had happened and at the way her brother had taken the newsof Natasha's faithlessness.

　　"He says he expected it," she remarked. "I know his pride will notlet him express his feelings, but still he has taken it better, farbetter, 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 notunderstand how he could ask such a question. Pierre went into thestudy. Prince Andrew, greatly changed and plainly in better health,but with a fresh horizontal wrinkle between his brows, stood incivilian dress facing his father and Prince Meshcherski, warmlydisputing and vigorously gesticulating. The conversation was aboutSperanski- the news of whose sudden exile and alleged treachery hadjust reached Moscow.

　　"Now he is censured and accused by all who were enthusiastic abouthim a month ago," Prince Andrew was saying, "and by those who wereunable to understand his aims. To judge a man who is in disfavor andto 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 thisreign it was done by him, by him alone."

　　He paused at the sight of Pierre. His face quivered andimmediately assumed a vindictive expression.

　　"Posterity will do him justice," he concluded, and at once turned toPierre.

　　"Well, how are you? Still getting stouter?" he said withanimation, but the new wrinkle on his forehead deepened. "Yes, I amwell," he said in answer to Pierre's question, and smiled.

　　To Pierre that smile said plainly: "I am well, but my health isnow of no use to anyone."

　　After a few words to Pierre about the awful roads from the Polishfrontier, about people he had met in Switzerland who knew Pierre,and about M. Dessalles, whom he had brought from abroad to be hisson's tutor, Prince Andrew again joined warmly in the conversationabout Speranski 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. "Ido not, and never did, like Speranski personally, but I like justice!"

　　Pierre now recognized in his friend a need with which he was onlytoo familiar, to get excited and to have arguments about extraneousmatters in order to stifle thoughts that were too oppressive and toointimate. When Prince Meshcherski had left, Prince Andrew tookPierre's arm and asked him into the room that had been assigned him. Abed had been made up there, and some open portmanteaus and trunksstood 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 silentlyand very quickly. He stood up and coughed. His face was gloomy and hislips compressed.

　　"Forgive me for troubling you..."

　　Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to speak of Natasha, and hisbroad face expressed pity and sympathy. This expression irritatedPrince Andrew, and in a determined, ringing, and unpleasant tone hecontinued:

　　"I have received a refusal from Countess Rostova and have heardreports of your brother-in-law having sought her hand, or something ofthat kind. Is that true?"

　　"Both true and untrue," Pierre began; but Prince Andrewinterrupted 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 PrinceKuragin?" he added quickly.

　　"He left long ago. She has been at death's door."

　　"I much regret her illness," said Prince Andrew; and he smiledlike his father, coldly, maliciously, and unpleasantly.

　　"So Monsieur Kuragin has not honored Countess Rostova with hishand?" 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 hisfather.

　　"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 CountessRostova that she was and is perfectly free and that I wish her allthat is good."

　　Pierre took the packet. Prince Andrew, as if trying to rememberwhether he had something more to say, or waiting to see if Pierrewould 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 womanshould 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 herhand again, be magnanimous, and so on?... Yes, that would be verynoble, but I am unable to follow in that gentleman's footsteps. If youwish 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 sameas always, but beneath her sympathy for her brother, Pierre noticedher satisfaction that the engagement had been broken off. Looking atthem Pierre realized what contempt and animosity they all felt for theRostovs, and that it was impossible in their presence even tomention the name of her who could give up Prince Andrew for anyoneelse.

　　At dinner the talk turned on the war, the approach of which wasbecoming evident. Prince Andrew talked incessantly, arguing now withhis father, now with the Swiss tutor Dessalles, and showing anunnatural animation, the cause of which Pierre so well understood.BK8|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　That same evening Pierre went to the Rostovs' to fulfill thecommission entrusted to him. Natasha was in bed, the count at theClub, and Pierre, after giving the letters to Sonya, went to MaryaDmitrievna who was interested to know how Prince Andrew had takenthe news. Ten minutes later Sonya came to Marya Dmitrievna.

　　"Natasha insists on seeing Count Peter Kirilovich," said she.

　　"But how? Are we to take him up to her? The room there has notbeen tidied up."

　　"No, she has dressed and gone into the drawing room," said Sonya.

　　Marya Dmitrievna 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 theheart to scold her, she is so much to be pitied, so much to bepitied."

　　Natasha was standing in the middle of the drawing room, emaciated,with a pale set face, but not at all shamefaced as Pierre expectedto find her. When he appeared at the door she grew flurried, evidentlyundecided 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 asusual; but she, stepping up to him, stopped, breathing heavily, herarms hanging lifelessly just in the pose she used to stand in when shewent to the middle of the ballroom to sing, but with quite a differentexpression of face.

　　"Peter Kirilovich," she began rapidly, "Prince Bolkonski was yourfriend- is your friend," she corrected herself. (It seemed to her thateverything that had once been must now be different.) "He told me onceto apply to you..."

　　Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but did not speak. Till thenhe had reproached her in his heart and tried to despise her, but henow felt so sorry for her that there was no room in his soul forreproach.

　　"He is here now: tell him... to for... forgive me!" She stoppedand breathed still more quickly, but did not shed tears.

　　"Yes... I will tell him," answered Pierre; "but..."

　　He did not know what to say.

　　Natasha was evidently dismayed at the thought of what he might thinkshe had meant.

　　"No, I know all is over," she said hurriedly. "No, that can neverbe. I'm only tormented by the wrong I have done him. Tell him onlythat 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," saidPierre. "But... I should like to know one thing...."

　　"Know what?" Natasha's eyes asked.

　　"I should like to know, did you love..." Pierre did not know howto refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of him- "did you lovethat bad man?"

　　"Don't call him bad!" said Natasha. "But I don't know, don't know atall...."

　　She began to cry and a still greater sense of pity, tenderness,and love welled up in Pierre. He felt the tears trickle under hisspectacles and hoped they would not be noticed.

　　"We won't speak of it any more, my dear," said Pierre, and hisgentle, cordial tone suddenly seemed very strange to Natasha.

　　"We won't speak of it, my dear- I'll tell him everything; but onething 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 whenyour 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!" exclaimedNatasha 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 ithe 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 andself-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 thismoment ask on my knees for your hand and your love!"

　　For the first time for many days Natasha wept tears of gratitude andtenderness, 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 withoutfinding the sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on and got into hissleigh.

　　"Where to now, your excellency?" asked the coachman.

　　"Where to?" Pierre asked himself. "Where can I go now? Surely not tothe Club or to pay calls?" All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, incomparison with this feeling of tenderness and love he experienced: incomparison with that softened, grateful, last look she had given himthrough her tears.

　　"Home!" said Pierre, and despite twenty-two degrees of frostFahrenheit he threw open the bearskin cloak from his broad chest andinhaled the air with joy.

　　It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill-lit streets, above theblack roofs, stretched the dark starry sky. Only looking up at the skydid Pierre cease to feel how sordid and humiliating were all mundanethings compared with the heights to which his soul had just beenraised. At the entrance to the Arbat Square an immense expanse of darkstarry sky presented itself to his eyes. Almost in the center of it,above the Prechistenka Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on allsides by stars but distinguished from them all by its nearness tothe earth, its white light, and its long uplifted tail, shone theenormous and brilliant comet of 18l2- the comet which was said toportend all kinds of woes and the end of the world. In Pierre,however, that comet with its long luminous tail aroused no feelingof fear. On the contrary he gazed joyfully, his eyes moist with tears,at this bright comet which, having traveled in its orbit withinconceivable 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 whitelight amid countless other scintillating stars. It seemed to Pierrethat this comet fully responded to what was passing in his ownsoftened and uplifted soul, now blossoming into a new life.

　　BOOK NINE: 1812

　　CHAPTER I

　　From the close of the year 1811 intensified arming and concentratingof 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 whichsince 1811 Russian forces had been similarly drawn. On the twelfthof June, 1812, the forces of Western Europe crossed the Russianfrontier and war began, that is, an event took place opposed tohuman reason and to human nature. Millions of men perpetratedagainst 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 ofall the law courts of the world, but which those who committed themdid not at the time regard as being crimes.

　　What produced this extraordinary occurrence? What were its causes?The historians tell us with naive assurance that its causes were thewrongs inflicted on the Duke of Oldenburg, the nonobservance of theContinental System, the ambition of Napoleon, the firmness ofAlexander, the mistakes of the diplomatists, and so on.

　　Consequently, it would only have been necessary for Metternich,Rumyantsev, or Talleyrand, between a levee and an evening party, tohave taken proper pains and written a more adroit note, or forNapoleon to have written to Alexander: "My respected Brother, Iconsent to restore the duchy to the Duke of Oldenburg"- and therewould have been no war.

　　We can understand that the matter seemed like that tocontemporaries. It naturally seemed to Napoleon that the war wascaused by England's intrigues (as in fact he said on the island of St.Helena). It naturally seemed to members of the English Parliament thatthe cause of the war was Napoleon's ambition; to the Duke ofOldenburg, that the cause of the war was the violence done to him;to businessmen that the cause of the way was the Continental Systemwhich was ruining Europe; to the generals and old soldiers that thechief reason for the war was the necessity of giving thememployment; to the legitimists of that day that it was the need ofre-establishing les bons principes, and to the diplomatists of thattime that it all resulted from the fact that the alliance betweenRussia and Austria in 1809 had not been sufficiently well concealedfrom Napoleon, and from the awkward wording of Memorandum No. 178.It is natural that these and a countless and infinite quantity ofother reasons, the number depending on the endless diversity of pointsof view, presented themselves to the men of that day; but to us, toposterity who view the thing that happened in all its magnitude andperceive its plain and terrible meaning, these causes seeminsufficient. To us it is incomprehensible that millions ofChristian men killed and tortured each other either because Napoleonwas ambitious or Alexander was firm, or because England's policy wasastute or the Duke of Oldenburg wronged. We cannot grasp whatconnection such circumstances have with the actual fact of slaughterand violence: why because the Duke was wronged, thousands of menfrom the other side of Europe killed and ruined the people of Smolenskand Moscow and were killed by them.

　　To us, their descendants, who are not historians and are not carriedaway by the process of research and can therefore regard the eventwith unclouded common sense, an incalculable number of causespresent themselves. The deeper we delve in search of these causesthe more of them we find; and each separate cause or whole series ofcauses appears to us equally valid in itself and equally false byits insignificance compared to the magnitude of the events, and by itsimpotence- apart from the cooperation of all the other coincidentcauses- to occasion the event. To us, the wish or objection of this orthat French corporal to serve a second term appears as much a cause asNapoleon's refusal to withdraw his troops beyond the Vistula and torestore the duchy of Oldenburg; for had he not wished to serve, andhad a second, a third, and a thousandth corporal and private alsorefused, there would have been so many less men in Napoleon's army andthe war could not have occurred.

　　Had Napoleon not taken offense at the demand that he should withdrawbeyond the Vistula, and not ordered his troops to advance, there wouldhave been no war; but had all his sergeants objected to serving asecond term then also there could have been no war. Nor could therehave been a war had there been no English intrigues and no Duke ofOldenburg, and had Alexander not felt insulted, and had there not beenan autocratic government in Russia, or a Revolution in France and asubsequent dictatorship and Empire, or all the things that producedthe French Revolution, and so on. Without each of these causes nothingcould have happened. So all these causes- myriads of causes- coincidedto bring it about. And so there was no one cause for thatoccurrence, but it had to occur because it had to. Millions of men,renouncing their human feelings and reason, had to go from west toeast to slay their fellows, just as some centuries previously hordesof men had come from the east to the west, slaying their fellows.

　　The actions of Napoleon and Alexander, on whose words the eventseemed to hang, were as little voluntary as the actions of any soldierwho was drawn into the campaign by lot or by conscription. Thiscould not be otherwise, for in order that the will of Napoleon andAlexander (on whom the event seemed to depend) should be carriedout, the concurrence of innumerable circumstances was needed withoutany one of which the event could not have taken place. It wasnecessary that millions of men in whose hands lay the real power-the soldiers who fired, or transported provisions and guns- shouldconsent to carry out the will of these weak individuals, and shouldhave been induced to do so by an infinite number of diverse andcomplex causes.

　　We are forced to fall back on fatalism as an explanation ofirrational events (that is to say, events the reasonableness ofwhich we do not understand). The more we try to explain such events inhistory reasonably, the more unreasonable and incomprehensible do theybecome to us.

　　Each man lives for himself, using his freedom to attain his personalaims, and feels with his whole being that he can now do or abstainfrom doing this or that action; but as soon as he has done it, thataction performed at a certain moment in time becomes irrevocable andbelongs to history, in which it has not a free but a predestinedsignificance.

　　There are two sides to the life of every man, his individual life,which is the more free the more abstract its interests, and hiselemental hive life in which he inevitably obeys laws laid down forhim.

　　Man lives consciously for himself, but is an unconsciousinstrument in the attainment of the historic, universal, aims ofhumanity. A deed done is irrevocable, and its result coinciding intime with the actions of millions of other men assumes an historicsignificance. The higher a man stands on the social ladder, the morepeople he is connected with and the more power he has over others, themore evident is the predestination and inevitability of his everyaction.

　　"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 thanever that it depended on him, verser (ou ne pas verser) le sang de sespeuples*- as Alexander expressed it in the last letter he wrote him-he had never been so much in the grip of inevitable laws, whichcompelled him, while thinking that he was acting on his ownvolition, 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, andby the law of coincidence thousands of minute causes fitted in andco-ordinated to produce that movement and war: reproaches for thenonobservance of the Continental System, the Duke of Oldenburg'swrongs, the movement of troops into Prussia- undertaken (as itseemed to Napoleon) only for the purpose of securing an armed peace,the French Emperor's love and habit of war coinciding with hispeople's inclinations, allurement by the grandeur of the preparations,and the expenditure on those preparations and the need of obtainingadvantages to compensate for that expenditure, the intoxicating honorshe received in Dresden, the diplomatic negotiations which, in theopinion of contemporaries, were carried on with a sincere desire toattain peace, but which only wounded the self-love of both sides,and millions and millions of other causes that adapted themselves tothe event that was happening or coincided with it.

　　When an apple has ripened and falls, why does it fall? Because ofits attraction to the earth, because its stalk withers, because itis dried by the sun, because it grows heavier, because the wind shakesit, or because the boy standing below wants to eat it?

　　Nothing is the cause. All this is only the coincidence of conditionsin which all vital organic and elemental events occur. And thebotanist who finds that the apple falls because the cellular tissuedecays and so forth is equally right with the child who stands underthe tree and says the apple fell because he wanted to eat it andprayed for it. Equally right or wrong is he who says that Napoleonwent to Moscow because he wanted to, and perished because Alexanderdesired his destruction, and he who says that an undermined hillweighing a million tons fell because the last navvy struck it forthe last time with his mattock. In historic events the so-called greatmen are labels giving names to events, and like labels they have butthe 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 wholecourse of history and predestined from eternity.BK9|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　On the twenty-ninth of May Napoleon left Dresden, where he had spentthree weeks surrounded by a court that included princes, dukes, kings,and even an emperor. Before leaving, Napoleon showed favor to theemperor, kings, and princes who had deserved it, reprimanded the kingsand princes with whom he was dissatisfied, presented pearls anddiamonds 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 herhusband, though he had left another wife in Paris- left her grieved bythe parting which she seemed hardly able to bear. Though thediplomatists still firmly believed in the possibility of peace andworked zealously to that end, and though the Emperor Napoleonhimself wrote a letter to Alexander, calling him Monsieur mon frere,and sincerely assured him that he did not want war and would alwayslove and honor him- yet he set off to join his army, and at everystation gave fresh orders to accelerate the movement of his troopsfrom west to east. He went in a traveling coach with six horses,surrounded by pages, aides-de-camp, and an escort, along the road toPosen, Thorn, Danzig, and Konigsberg. At each of these towns thousandsof people met him with excitement and enthusiasm.

　　The army was moving from west to east, and relays of six horsescarried him in the same direction. On the tenth of June,* coming upwith the army, he spent the night in apartments prepared for him onthe estate of a Polish count in the Vilkavisski forest.

　　*Old style.

　　Next day, overtaking the army, he went in a carriage to theNiemen, and, changing into a Polish uniform, he drove to the riverbankin order to select a place for the crossing.

　　Seeing, on the other side, some Cossacks (les Cosaques) and thewide-spreading steppes in the midst of which lay the holy city ofMoscow (Moscou, la ville sainte), the capital of a realm such as theScythia into which Alexander the Great had marched- Napoleonunexpectedly, and contrary alike to strategic and diplomaticconsiderations, ordered an advance, and the next day his army began tocross 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, andlooked through a spyglass at the streams of his troops pouring outof the Vilkavisski forest and flowing over the three bridges thrownacross the river. The troops, knowing of the Emperor's presence,were on the lookout for him, and when they caught sight of a figure inan overcoat and a cocked hat standing apart from his suite in front ofhis tent on the hill, they threw up their caps and shouted: "Vivel'Empereur!" and one after another poured in a ceaseless stream out ofthe vast forest that had concealed them and, separating, flowed on andon 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! Sothese are the steppes of Asia! It's a nasty country all the same. Aurevoir, Beauche; I'll keep the best palace in Moscow for you! Aurevoir. Good luck!... Did you see the Emperor? Vive l'Empereur!...preur!- If they make me Governor of India, Gerard, I'll make youMinister of Kashmir- that's settled. Vive l'Empereur! Hurrah!hurrah! hurrah! The Cossacks- those rascals- see how they run! Vivel'Empereur! There he is, do you see him? I've seen him twice, as I seeyou now. The little corporal... I saw him give the cross to one of theveterans.... Vive l'Empereur!" came the voices of men, old andyoung, of most diverse characters and social positions. On the facesof all was one common expression of joy at the commencement of thelong-expected campaign and of rapture and devotion to the man in thegray coat who was standing on the hill.

　　On the thirteenth of June a rather small, thoroughbred Arab horsewas brought to Napoleon. He mounted it and rode at a gallop to oneof the bridges over the Niemen, deafened continually by incessantand rapturous acclamations which he evidently endured only becauseit was impossible to forbid the soldiers to express their love ofhim by such shouting, but the shouting which accompanied himeverywhere disturbed him and distracted him from the military caresthat had occupied him from the time he joined the army. He rode acrossone of the swaying pontoon bridges to the farther side, turned sharplyto the left, and galloped in the direction of Kovno, preceded byenraptured, mounted chasseurs of the Guard who, breathless withdelight, galloped ahead to clear a path for him through the troops. Onreaching the broad river Viliya, he stopped near a regiment ofPolish Uhlans stationed by the river.

　　"Vivat!" shouted the Poles, ecstatically, breaking their ranks andpressing against one another to see him.

　　Napoleon looked up and down the river, dismounted, and sat down on alog that lay on the bank. At a mute sign from him, a telescope washanded him which he rested on the back of a happy page who had runup to him, and he gazed at the opposite bank. Then he becameabsorbed in a map laid out on the logs. Without lifting his head hesaid something, and two of his aides-de-camp galloped off to thePolish Uhlans.

　　"What? What did he say?" was heard in the ranks of the Polish Uhlanswhen one of the aides-de-camp rode up to them.

　　The order was to find a ford and to cross the river. The colonelof the Polish Uhlans, a handsome old man, flushed and, fumbling in hisspeech from excitement, asked the aide-de-camp whether he would bepermitted 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 ona horse, he begged to be allowed to swim across the river before theEmperor's eyes. The aide-de-camp replied that probably the Emperorwould not be displeased at this excess of zeal.

　　As soon as the aide-de-camp had said this, the old mustachedofficer, with happy face and sparkling eyes, raised his saber, shouted"Vivat!" and, commanding the Uhlans to follow him, spurred his horseand galloped into the river. He gave an angry thrust to his horse,which had grown restive under him, and plunged into the water, headingfor the deepest part where the current was swift. Hundreds of Uhlansgalloped in after him. It was cold and uncanny in the rapid current inthe middle of the stream, and the Uhlans caught hold of one another asthey fell off their horses. Some of the horses were drowned and someof the men; the others tried to swim on, some in the saddle and someclinging to their horses' manes. They tried to make their wayforward to the opposite bank and, though there was a ford one third ofa mile away, were proud that they were swimming and drowning in thisriver under the eyes of the man who sat on the log and was not evenlooking at what they were doing. When the aide-de-camp, havingreturned and choosing an opportune moment, ventured to draw theEmperor's attention to the devotion of the Poles to his person, thelittle man in the gray overcoat got up and, having summonedBerthier, began pacing up and down the bank with him, giving himinstructions and occasionally glancing disapprovingly at thedrowning Uhlans who distracted his attention.

　　For him it was no new conviction that his presence in any part ofthe world, from Africa to the steppes of Muscovy alike, was enoughto dumfound people and impel them to insane self-oblivion. He calledfor his horse and rode to his quarters.

　　Some forty Uhlans were drowned in the river, though boats weresent to their assistance. The majority struggled back to the bank fromwhich they had started. The colonel and some of his men got across andwith difficulty clambered out on the further bank. And as soon as theyhad got out, in their soaked and streaming clothes, they shouted"Vivat!" and looked ecstatically at the spot where Napoleon had beenbut where he no longer was and at that moment considered themselveshappy.

　　That evening, between issuing one order that the forged Russianpaper money prepared for use in Russia should be delivered asquickly as possible and another that a Saxon should be shot, on whom aletter containing information about the orders to the French armyhad been found, Napoleon also gave instructions that the Polishcolonel who had needlessly plunged into the river should be enrolledin the Legion d'honneur of which Napoleon was himself the head.

　　Quos vult perdere dementat.*

　　*Those whom (God) wishes to destroy he drives mad.BK9|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　The Emperor of Russia had, meanwhile, been in Vilna for more thana month. reviewing troops and holding maneuvers. Nothing was ready forthe war that everyone expected and to prepare for which the Emperorhad come from Petersburg. There was no general plan of action. Thevacillation between the various plans that were proposed had evenincreased after the Emperor had been at headquarters for a month. Eachof the three armies had its own commander in chief, but there was nosupreme commander of all the forces, and the Emperor did not assumethat responsibility himself.

　　The longer the Emperor remained in Vilna the less did everybody-tired of waiting- prepare for the war. All the efforts of those whosurrounded the sovereign seemed directed merely to making him spendhis time pleasantly and forget that war was impending.

　　In June, after many balls and fetes given by the Polish magnates, bythe courtiers, and by the Emperor himself, it occurred to one of thePolish aides-de-camp in attendance that a dinner and ball should begiven for the Emperor by his aides-de-camp. This idea was eagerlyreceived. The Emperor gave his consent. The aides-de-camp collectedmoney by subscription. The lady who was thought to be most pleasing tothe Emperor was invited to act as hostess. Count Bennigsen, being alandowner in the Vilna province, offered his country house for thefete, 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, andhis vanguard, driving off the Cossacks, crossed the Russianfrontier, Alexander spent the evening at the entertainment given byhis aides-de-camp at Bennigsen's country house.

　　It was a gay and brilliant fete. Connoisseurs of such mattersdeclared that rarely had so many beautiful women been assembled in oneplace. Countess Bezukhova was present among other Russian ladies whohad followed the sovereign from Petersburg to Vilna and eclipsed therefined Polish ladies by her massive, so called Russian type ofbeauty. The Emperor noticed her and honored her with a dance.

　　Boris Drubetskoy, having left his wife in Moscow and being for thepresent en garcon (as he phrased it), was also there and, though notan aide-de-camp, had subscribed a large sum toward the expenses. Boriswas now a rich man who had risen to high honors and no longer soughtpatronage but stood on an equal footing with the highest of those ofhis own age. He was meeting Helene in Vilna after not having seenher for a long time and did not recall the past, but as Helene wasenjoying the favors of a very important personage and Boris had onlyrecently married, they met as good friends of long standing.

　　At midnight dancing was still going on. Helene, not having asuitable partner, herself offered to dance the mazurka with Boris.They were the third couple. Boris, coolly looking at Helene's dazzlingbare shoulders which emerged from a dark, gold-embroidered, gauzegown, talked to her of old acquaintances and at the same time, unawareof it himself and unnoticed by others, never for an instant ceasedto observe the Emperor who was in the same room. The Emperor was notdancing, he stood in the doorway, stopping now one pair and nowanother with gracious words which he alone knew how to utter.

　　As the mazurka began, Boris saw that Adjutant General Balashev,one of those in closest attendance on the Emperor, went up to himand contrary to court etiquette stood near him while he was talking toa Polish lady. Having finished speaking to her, the Emperor lookedinquiringly at Balashev and, evidently understanding that he onlyacted thus because there were important reasons for so doing, noddedslightly to the lady and turned to him. Hardly had Balashev begun tospeak before a look of amazement appeared on the Emperor's face. Hetook Balashev by the arm and crossed the room with him,unconsciously clearing a path seven yards wide as the people on bothsides made way for him. Boris noticed Arakcheev's excited face whenthe sovereign went out with Balashev. Arakcheev looked at theEmperor from under his brow and, sniffing with his red nose, steppedforward from the crowd as if expecting the Emperor to address him.(Boris understood that Arakcheev envied Balashev and was displeasedthat evidently important news had reached the Emperor otherwise thanthrough himself.)

　　But the Emperor and Balashev passed out into the illuminatedgarden without noticing Arakcheev who, holding his sword andglancing wrathfully around, followed some twenty paces behind them.

　　All the time Boris was going through the figures of the mazurka,he was worried by the question of what news Balashev had brought andhow he could find it out before others. In the figure in which hehad to choose two ladies, he whispered to Helene that he meant tochoose Countess Potocka who, he thought, had gone out onto theveranda, and glided over the parquet to the door opening into thegarden, where, seeing Balashev and the Emperor returning to theveranda, he stood still. They were moving toward the door. Boris,fluttering as if he had not had time to withdraw, respectfully pressedclose to the doorpost with bowed head.

　　The Emperor, with the agitation of one who has been personallyaffronted, was finishing with these words:

　　"To enter Russia without declaring war! I will not make peace aslong as a single armed enemy remains in my country!" It seemed toBoris that it gave the Emperor pleasure to utter these words. He wassatisfied with the form in which he had expressed his thoughts, butdispleased that Boris had overheard it.

　　"Let no one know of it! " the Emperor added with a frown.

　　Boris understood that this was meant for him and, closing hiseyes, slightly bowed his head. The Emperor re-entered the ballroom andremained there about another half-hour.

　　Boris was thus the first to learn the news that the French armyhad crossed the Niemen and, thanks to this, was able to show certainimportant personages that much that was concealed from others wasusually known to him, and by this means he rose higher in theirestimation.

　　The unexpected news of the French having crossed the Niemen wasparticularly startling after a month of unfulfilled expectations,and at a ball. On first receiving the news, under the influence ofindignation and resentment the Emperor had found a phrase that pleasedhim, fully expressed his feelings, and has since become famous. Onreturning home at two o'clock that night he sent for his secretary,Shishkov, and told him to write an order to the troops and arescript to Field Marshal Prince Saltykov, in which he insisted on thewords being inserted that he would not make peace so long as asingle armed Frenchman remained on Russian soil.

　　Next day the following letter was sent to Napoleon:

　　Monsieur mon frere,

　　Yesterday I learned that, despite the loyalty which I have kept myengagements with Your Majesty, your troops have crossed the Russianfrontier, and I have this moment received from Petersburg a note, inwhich Count Lauriston informs me, as a reason for this aggression,that Your Majesty has considered yourself to be in a state of war withme from the time Prince Kuragin asked for his passports. The reasonson which the Duc de Bassano based his refusal to deliver them to himwould never have led me to suppose that that could serve as apretext for aggression. In fact, the ambassador, as he himself hasdeclared, was never authorized to make that demand, and as soon as Iwas informed of it I let him know how much I disapproved of it andordered him to remain at his post. If Your Majesty does not intendto shed the blood of our peoples for such a misunderstanding, andconsents to withdraw your troops from Russian territory, I will regardwhat has passed as not having occurred and an understanding between uswill be possible. In the contrary case, Your Majesty, I shall seemyself forced to repel an attack that nothing on my part has provoked.It still depends on Your Majesty to preserve humanity from thecalamity of another war. I am, etc.,

　　(signed) AlexanderBK9|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　At two in the morning of the fourteenth of June, the Emperor, havingsent for Balashev and read him his letter to Napoleon, ordered himto take it and hand it personally to the French Emperor. Whendispatching Balashev, the Emperor repeated to him the words that hewould not make peace so long as a single armed enemy remained onRussian soil and told him to transmit those words to Napoleon.Alexander did not insert them in his letter to Napoleon, becausewith his characteristic tact he felt it would be injudicious to usethem at a moment when a last attempt at reconciliation was being made,but he definitely instructed Balashev to repeat them personally toNapoleon.

　　Having set off in the small hours of the fourteenth, accompaniedby a bugler and two Cossacks, Balashev reached the French outpostsat the village of Rykonty, 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 uniformand a shaggy cap, shouted to the approaching Balashev to halt.Balashev did not do so at once, but continued to advance along theroad at a walking pace.

　　The noncommissioned officer frowned and, muttering words of abuse,advanced his horse's chest against Balashev, put his hand to hissaber, and shouted rudely at the Russian general, asking: was hedeaf that he did not do as he was told? Balashev mentioned who he was.The noncommissioned officer began talking with his comrades aboutregimental matters without looking at the Russian general.

　　After living at the seat of the highest authority and power, afterconversing with the Emperor less than three hours before, and ingeneral being accustomed to the respect due to his rank in theservice, Balashev found it very strange here on Russian soil toencounter this hostile, and still more this disrespectful, applicationof brute force to himself.

　　The sun was only just appearing from behind the clouds, the airwas fresh and dewy. A herd of cattle was being driven along the roadfrom the village, and over the fields the larks rose trilling, oneafter another, like bubbles rising in water.

　　Balashev looked around him, awaiting the arrival of an officerfrom the village. The Russian Cossacks and bugler and the Frenchhussars 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 theirhorses all looked smart and well kept.

　　It was that first period of a campaign when troops are still in fulltrim, almost like that of peacetime maneuvers, but with a shade ofmartial swagger in their clothes, and a touch of the gaiety and spiritof enterprise which always accompany the opening of a campaign.

　　The French colonel with difficulty repressed a yawn, but waspolite and evidently understood Balashev's importance. He led him pasthis soldiers and behind the outposts and told him that his wish tobe presented to the Emperor would most likely be satisfiedimmediately, as the Emperor's quarters were, he believed, not far off.

　　They rode through the village of Rykonty, past tethered Frenchhussar horses, past sentinels and men who saluted their colonel andstared with curiosity at a Russian uniform, and came out at theother end of the village. The colonel said that the commander of thedivision was a mile and a quarter away and would receive Balashevand 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 agroup of horsemen coming toward them. In front of the group, on ablack horse with trappings that glittered in the sun, rode a tallman with plumes in his hat and black hair curling down to hisshoulders. He wore a red mantle, and stretched his long legs forwardin French fashion. This man rode toward Balashev at a gallop, hisplumes flowing and his gems and gold lace glittering in the brightJune sunshine.

　　Balashev was only two horses' length from the equestrian with thebracelets, plunies, necklaces, and gold embroidery, who wasgalloping toward him with a theatrically solemn countenance, whenJulner, the French colonel, whispered respectfully: "The King ofNaples!" It was, in fact, Murat, now called "King of Naples." Thoughit was quite incomprehensible why he should be King of Naples, hewas called so, and was himself convinced that he was so, and thereforeassumed a more solemn and important air than formerly. He was sosure that he really was the King of Naples that when, on the eve ofhis departure from that city, while walking through the streets withhis wife, some Italians called out to him: "Viva il re!"* he turned tohis wife with a pensive smile and said: "Poor fellows, they don't knowthat I am leaving them tomorrow!"

　　*"Long live the king."

　　But though he firmly believed himself to be King of Naples andpitied the grief felt by the subjects he was abandoning, latterly,after he had been ordered to return to military service- andespecially since his last interview with Napoleon in Danzig, whenhis august brother-in-law had told him: "I made you King that youshould reign in my way, but not in yours!"- he had cheerfully taken uphis familiar business, and- like a well-fed but not overfat horse thatfeels himself in harness and grows skittish between the shafts- hedressed up in clothes as variegated and expensive as possible, andgaily and contentedly galloped along the roads of Poland, withouthimself knowing why or whither.

　　On seeing the Russian general he threw back his head, with itslong hair curling to his shoulders, in a majestically royal manner,and looked inquiringly at the French colonel. The colonel respectfullyinformed His Majesty of Balashev's mission, whose name he could notpronounce.

　　"De Bal-macheve!" said the King (overcoming by his assurance thedifficulty that had presented itself to the colonel). "Charmed to makeyour acquaintance, General!" he added, with a gesture of kinglycondescension.

　　As soon as the King began to speak loud and fast his royal dignityinstantly forsook him, and without noticing it he passed into hisnatural tone of good-natured familiarity. He laid his hand on thewithers of Balashev's horse and said:

　　"Well, General, it all looks like war," as if regretting acircumstance of which he was unable to judge.

　　"Your Majesty," replied Balashev, "my master, the Emperor, doesnot desire war and as Your Majesty sees..." said Balashev, using thewords Your Majesty at every opportunity, with the affectationunavoidable in frequently addressing one to whom the title was still anovelty.

　　Murat's face beamed with stupid satisfaction as he listened to"Monsieur de Bal-macheve." But royaute oblige!* and he felt itincumbent on him, as a king and an ally, to confer on state affairswith Alexander's envoy. He dismounted, took Balashev's arm, and movinga few steps away from his suite, which waited respectfully, began topace up and down with him, trying to speak significantly. Hereferred to the fact that the Emperor Napoleon had resented the demandthat he should withdraw his troops from Prussia, especially whenthat demand became generally known and the dignity of France wasthereby offended.

　　*"Royalty has its obligations."

　　Balashev replied that there was nothing offensive in the demand,because..." but Murat interrupted him.

　　"Then you don't consider the Emperor Alexander the aggressor?" heasked unexpectedly, with a kindly and foolish smile.

　　Balashev told him why he considered Napoleon to be the originator ofthe war.

　　"Oh, my dear general!" Murat again interrupted him, "with all myheart I wish the Emperors may arrange the affair between them, andthat the war begun by no wish of mine may finish as quickly aspossible!" said he, in the tone of a servant who wants to remaingood friends with another despite a quarrel between their masters.

　　And he went on to inquiries about the Grand Duke and the state ofhis health, and to reminiscences of the gay and amusing times he hadspent with him in Naples. Then suddenly, as if remembering his royaldignity, Murat solemnly drew himself up, assumed the pose in whichhe had stood at his coronation. and, waving his right arm, said:

　　"I won't detain you longer, General. I wish success to yourmission," and with his embroidered red mantle, his flowing feathers,and his glittering ornaments, he rejoined his suite who wererespectfully awaiting him.

　　Balashev rode on, supposing from Murat's words that he would verysoon be brought before Napoleon himself. But instead of that, at thenext village the sentinels of Davout's infantry corps detained himas the pickets of the vanguard had done, and an adjutant of thecorps commander, who was fetched, conducted him into the village toMarshal Davout.BK9|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　Davout was to Napoleon what Arakcheev was to Alexander- though not acoward like Arakcheev, he was as precise, as cruel, and as unable toexpress his devotion to his monarch except by cruelty.

　　In the organism of states such men are necessary, as wolves arenecessary in the organism of nature, and they always exist, alwaysappear and hold their own, however incongruous their presence andtheir proximity to the head of the government may be. Thisinevitability alone can explain how the cruel Arakcheev, who toreout a grenadier's mustache with his own hands, whose weak nervesrendered him unable to face danger, and who was neither an educatedman nor a courtier, was able to maintain his powerful position withAlexander, whose own character was chivalrous, noble, and gentle.

　　Balashev found Davout seated on a barrel in the shed of apeasant's hut, writing- he was auditing accounts. Better quarterscould have been found him, but Marshal Davout was one of those men whopurposely put themselves in most depressing conditions to have ajustification for being gloomy. For the same reason they are alwayshard at work and in a hurry. "How can I think of the bright side oflife when, as you see, I am sitting on a barrel and working in a dirtyshed?" the expression of his face seemed to say. The chief pleasureand necessity of such men, when they encounter anyone who showsanimation, is to flaunt their own dreary, persistent activity.Davout allowed himself that pleasure when Balashev was brought in.He became still more absorbed in his task when the Russian generalentered, and after glancing over his spectacles at Balashev's face,which was animated by the beauty of the morning and by his talk withMurat, he did not rise or even stir, but scowled still more andsneered malevolently.

　　When he noticed in Balashev's face the disagreeable impressionthis reception produced, Davout raised his head and coldly askedwhat he wanted.

　　Thinking he could have been received in such a manner only becauseDavout did not know that he was adjutant general to the EmperorAlexander and even his envoy to Napoleon, Balashev hastened toinform 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 sendit to the Emperor."

　　Balashev replied that he had been ordered to hand it personally tothe Emperor.

　　"Your Emperor's orders are obeyed in your army, but here," saidDavout, "you must do as you're told."

　　And, as if to make the Russian general still more conscious of hisdependence on brute force, Davout sent an adjutant to call the officeron duty.

　　Balashev took out the packet containing the Emperor's letter andlaid it on the table (made of a door with its hinges still hangingon it, laid across two barrels). Davout took the packet and read theinscription.

　　"You are perfectly at liberty to treat me with respect or not,"protested Balashev, "but permit me to observe that I have the honor tobe adjutant general to His Majesty...."

　　Davout glanced at him silently and plainly derived pleasure from thesigns of agitation and confusion which appeared on Balashev's face.

　　"You will be treated as is fitting," said he and, putting the packetin his pocket, left the shed.

　　A minute later the marshal's adjutant, de Castres, came in andconducted Balashev to the quarters assigned him.

　　That day he dined with the marshal, at the same board on thebarrels.

　　Next day Davout rode out early and, after asking Balashev to come tohim, peremptorily requested him to remain there, to move on with thebaggage train should orders come for it to move, and to talk to no oneexcept Monsieur de Castres.

　　After four days of solitude, ennui, and consciousness of hisimpotence and insignificance- particularly acute by contrast withthe sphere of power in which he had so lately moved- and after severalmarches with the marshal's baggage and the French army, which occupiedthe whole district, Balashev was brought to Vilna- now occupied by theFrench- through the very gate by which he had left it four dayspreviously.

　　Next day the imperial gentleman-in-waiting, the Comte de Turenne,came to Balashev and informed him of the Emperor Napoleon's wish tohonor him with an audience.

　　Four days before, sentinels of the Preobrazhensk regiment hadstood in front of the house to which Balashev was conducted, and nowtwo French grenadiers stood there in blue uniforms unfastened in frontand with shaggy caps on their heads, and an escort of hussars andUhlans 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 receivedBalashev in the very house in Vilna from which Alexander haddispatched him on his mission.BK9|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Though Balashev was used to imperial pomp, he was amazed at theluxury and magnificence of Napoleon's court.

　　The Comte de Turenne showed him into a big reception room where manygenerals, gentlemen-in-waiting, and Polish magnates- several of whomBalashev had seen at the court of the Emperor of Russia- were waiting.Duroc said that Napoleon would receive the Russian general beforegoing for his ride.

　　After some minutes, the gentleman-in-waiting who was on duty cameinto the great reception room and, bowing politely, asked Balashevto follow him.

　　Balashev went into a small reception room, one door of which ledinto a study, the very one from which the Russian Emperor haddispatched him on his mission. He stood a minute or two, waiting. Heheard hurried footsteps beyond the door, both halves of it were openedrapidly; all was silent and then from the study the sound was heard ofother steps, firm and resolute- they were those of Napoleon. He hadjust finished dressing for his ride, and wore a blue uniform,opening in front over a white waistcoat so long that it covered hisrotund stomach, white leather breeches tightly fitting the fatthighs of his short legs, and Hessian boots. His short hair hadevidently just been brushed, but one lock hung down in the middle ofhis broad forehead. His plump white neck stood out sharply above theblack collar of his uniform, and he smelled of Eau de Cologne. Hisfull face, rather young-looking, with its prominent chin, wore agracious and majestic expression of imperial welcome.

　　He entered briskly, with a jerk at every step and his headslightly thrown back. His whole short corpulent figure with broadthick shoulders, and chest and stomach involuntarily protruding, hadthat imposing and stately appearance one sees in men of forty who livein comfort. It was evident, too, that he was in the best of spiritsthat day.

　　He nodded in answer to Balashav's low and respectful bow, and comingup to him at once began speaking like a man who values every moment ofhis time and does not condescend to prepare what he has to say butis sure he will always say the right thing and say it well.

　　"Good day, General!" said he. "I have received the letter youbrought from the Emperor Alexander and am very glad to see you." Heglanced with his large eyes into Balashav's face and immediatelylooked past him.

　　It was plain that Balashev's personality did not interest him atall. Evidently only what took place within his own mind interestedhim. Nothing outside himself had any significance for him, becauseeverything in the world, it seemed to him, depended entirely on hiswill.

　　"I do not, and did not, desire war," he continued, "but it hasbeen forced on me. Even now" (he emphasized the word) "I am ready toreceive any explanations you can give me."

　　And he began clearly and concisely to explain his reasons fordissatisfaction with the Russian government. Judging by the calmlymoderate and amicable tone in which the French Emperor spoke, Balashevwas firmly persuaded that he wished for peace and intended to enterinto negotiations.

　　When Napoleon, having finished speaking, looked inquiringly at theRussian envoy, Balashev began a speech he had prepared long before:"Sire! The Emperor, my master..." but the sight of the Emperor'seyes bent on him confused him. "You are flurried- compose yourself!"Napoleon seemed to say, as with a scarcely perceptible smile he lookedat Balashev's uniform and sword.

　　Balashev recovered himself and began to speak. He said that theEmperor Alexander did not consider Kurakin's demand for hispassports a sufficient cause for war; that Kurakin had acted on hisown initiative and without his sovereign's assent, that the EmperorAlexander did not desire war, and had no relations with England.

　　"Not yet!" interposed Napoleon, and, as if fearing to give vent tohis feelings, he frowned and nodded slightly as a sign that Balashevmight proceed.

　　After saying all he had been instructed to say, Balashev addedthat the Emperor Alexander wished for peace, but would not enterinto negotiations except on condition that... Here Balashev hesitated:he remembered the words the Emperor Alexander had not written in hisletter, but had specially inserted in the rescript to Saltykov and hadtold Balashev to repeat to Napoleon. Balashev remembered thesewords, "So long as a single armed foe remains on Russian soil," butsome complex feeling restrained him. He could not utter them, thoughhe wished to do so. He grew confused and said: "On condition thatthe French army retires beyond the Niemen."

　　Napoleon noticed Balashev's embarrassment when uttering these lastwords; his face twitched and the calf of his left leg began toquiver rhythmically. Without moving from where he stood he beganspeaking in a louder tone and more hurriedly than before. During thespeech that followed, Balashev, who more than once lowered his eyes,involuntarily noticed the quivering of Napoleon's left leg whichincreased 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 tobegin negotiations, what is demanded of me?" he said, frowning andmaking an energetic gesture of inquiry with his small white plumphand.

　　"The withdrawal of your army beyond the Niemen, sire," repliedBalashev.

　　"The Niemen?" repeated Napoleon. "So now you want me to retirebeyond the Niemen- only the Niemen?" repeated Napoleon, lookingstraight at Balashev.

　　The latter bowed his head respectfully.

　　Instead of the demand of four months earlier to withdraw fromPomerania, 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 Niemenbefore commencing negotiations, but in just the same way two monthsago the demand was that I should withdraw beyond the Vistula and theOder, and yet you are willing to negotiate."

　　He went in silence from one corner of the room to the other andagain stopped in front of Balashev. Balashev noticed that his left legwas quivering faster than before and his face seemed petrified inits stern expression. This quivering of his left leg was a thingNapoleon was conscious of. "The vibration of my left calf is a greatsign with me," he remarked at a later date.

　　"Such demands as to retreat beyond the Vistula and Oder may bemade to a Prince of Baden, but not to me!" Napoleon almost screamed,quite to his own surprise. "If you gave me Petersburg and Moscow Icould not accept such conditions. You say I have begun this war! Butwho first joined his army? The Emperor Alexander, not I! And you offerme negotiations when I have expended millions, when you are inalliance with England, and when your position is a bad one. Youoffer me negotiations! But what is the aim of your alliance withEngland? What has she given you?" he continued hurriedly, evidently nolonger trying to show the advantages of peace and discuss itspossibility, but only to prove his own rectitude and power andAlexander's errors and duplicity.

　　The commencement of his speech had obviously been made with theintention of demonstrating the advantages of his position andshowing that he was nevertheless willing to negotiate. But he hadbegun talking, and the more he talked the less could he control hiswords.

　　The whole purport of his remarks now was evidently to exalthimself and insult Alexander- just what he had least desired at thecommencement of the interview.

　　"I hear you have made peace with Turkey?"

　　Balashev bowed his head affirmatively.

　　"Peace has been concluded..." he began.

　　But Napoleon did not let him speak. He evidently wanted to do allthe talking himself, and continued to talk with the sort ofeloquence and unrestrained irritability to which spoiled people are soprone.

　　"Yes, I know you have made peace with the Turks without obtainingMoldavia and Wallachia; I would have given your sovereign thoseprovinces as I gave him Finland. Yes," he went on, "I promised andwould have given the Emperor Alexander Moldavia and Wallachia, and nowhe won't have those splendid provinces. Yet he might have unitedthem to his empire and in a single reign would have extended Russiafrom the Gulf of Bothnia to the mouths of the Danube. Catherine theGreat could not have done more," said Napoleon, growing more andmore excited as he paced up and down the room, repeating to Balashevalmost the very words he had used to Alexander himself at Tilsit. "Allthat, he would have owed to my friendship. Oh, what a splendid reign!"he repeated several times, then paused, drew from his pocket a goldsnuffbox, 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 Balashev, and as soon as the lattertried to make some rejoinder hastily interrupted him.

　　"What could he wish or look for that he would not have obtainedthrough my friendship?" demanded Napoleon, shrugging his shouldersin perplexity. "But no, he has preferred to surround himself with myenemies, and with whom? With Steins, Armfeldts, Bennigsens, andWintzingerodes! Stein, a traitor expelled from his own country;Armfeldt, a rake and an intriguer; Wintzingerode, a fugitive Frenchsubject; Bennigsen, rather more of a soldier than the others, butall the same an incompetent who was unable to do anything in 1807and who should awaken terrible memories in the Emperor Alexander'smind.... Granted that were they competent they might be made useof," continued Napoleon- hardly able to keep pace in words with therush of thoughts that incessantly sprang up, proving how right andstrong 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 sayso, judging by his first movements. And what are they doing, all thesecourtiers? Pfuel proposes, Armfeldt disputes, Bennigsen considers, andBarclay, called on to act, does not know what to decide on, and timepasses bringing no result. Bagration alone is a military man. He'sstupid, but he has experience, a quick eye, and resolution.... Andwhat role is your young monarch playing in that monstrous crowd?They compromise him and throw on him the responsibility for all thathappens. A sovereign should not be with the army unless he is ageneral!" said Napoleon, evidently uttering these words as a directchallenge to the Emperor. He knew how Alexander desired to be amilitary commander.

　　"The campaign began only a week ago, and you haven't even beenable to defend Vilna. You are cut in two and have been driven out ofthe Polish provinces. Your army is grumbling."

　　"On the contrary, Your Majesty," said Balashev, hardly able toremember what had been said to him and following these verbalfireworks with difficulty, "the troops are burning with eagerness..."

　　"I know everything!" Napoleon interrupted him. "I know everything. Iknow the number of your battalions as exactly as I know my own. Youhave not two hundred thousand men, and I have three times that number.I give you my word of honor," said Napoleon, forgetting that hisword of honor could carry no weight- "I give you my word of honor thatI have five hundred and thirty thousand men this side of theVistula. The Turks will be of no use to you; they are worth nothingand have shown it by making peace with you. As for the Swedes- it istheir fate to be governed by mad kings. Their king was insane and theychanged him for another- Bernadotte, who promptly went mad- for noSwede would ally himself with Russia unless he were mad."

　　Napoleon grinned maliciously and again raised his snuffbox to hisnose.

　　Balashev knew how to reply to each of Napoleon's remarks, andwould have done so; he continually made the gesture of a man wishingto say something, but Napoleon always interrupted him. To thealleged insanity of the Swedes, Balashev wished to reply that whenRussia is on her side Sweden is practically an island: but Napoleongave an angry exclamation to drown his voice. Napoleon was in thatstate of irritability in which a man has to talk, talk, and talk,merely to convince himself that he is in the right. Balashev beganto feel uncomfortable: as envoy he feared to demean his dignity andfelt the necessity of replying; but, as a man, he shrank before thetransport of groundless wrath that had evidently seized Napoleon. Heknew that none of the words now uttered by Napoleon had anysignificance, and that Napoleon himself would be ashamed of themwhen he came to his senses. Balashev stood with downcast eyes, lookingat the movements of Napoleon's stout legs and trying to avoidmeeting his eyes.

　　"But what do I care about your allies?" said Napoleon. "I haveallies- the Poles. There are eighty thousand of them and they fightlike lions. And there will be two hundred thousand of them."

　　And probably still more perturbed by the fact that he had utteredthis obvious falsehood, and that Balashev still stood silentlybefore him in the same attitude of submission to fate, Napoleonabruptly turned round, drew close to Balashev's face, and,gesticulating rapidly and energetically with his white hands, almostshouted:

　　"Know that if you stir up Prussia against me, I'll wipe it off themap of Europe!" he declared, his face pale and distorted by anger, andhe struck one of his small hands energetically with the other. "Yes, Iwill throw you back beyond the Dvina and beyond the Dnieper, andwill re-erect against you that barrier which it was criminal and blindof Europe to allow to be destroyed. Yes, that is what will happen toyou. That is what you have gained by alienating me!" And he walkedsilently several times up and down the room, his fat shoulderstwitching.

　　He put his snuffbox into his waistcoat pocket, took it out again,lifted it several times to his nose, and stopped in front of Balashev.He paused, looked ironically straight into Balashev's eyes, and saidin a quiet voice:

　　"And yet what a splendid reign your master might have had!"

　　Balashev, feeling it incumbent on him to reply, said that from theRussian side things did not appear in so gloomy a light. Napoleonwas silent, still looking derisively at him and evidently notlistening to him. Balashev said that in Russia the best results wereexpected from the war. Napoleon nodded condescendingly, as if tosay, "I know it's your duty to say that, but you don't believe ityourself. I have convinced you."

　　When Balashev 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 hima pockethandkerchief. Napoleon, without giving them a glance, turned toBalashev:

　　"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 veryhighly 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 receptionroom rushed forward and descended the staircase.BK9|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　After all that Napoleon had said to him- those bursts of anger andthe last dryly spoken words: "I will detain you no longer, General;you shall receive my letter," Balashev felt convinced that Napoleonwould not wish to see him, and would even avoid another meeting withhim- an insulted envoy- especially as he had witnessed his unseemlyanger. But, to his surprise, Balashev received, through Duroc, aninvitation to dine with the Emperor that day.

　　Bessieres, Caulaincourt, and Berthier were present at that dinner.

　　Napoleon met Balashev cheerfully and amiably. He not only showedno sign of constraint or self-reproach on account of his outburst thatmorning, but, on the contrary, tried to reassure Balashev. It wasevident that he had long been convinced that it was impossible for himto make a mistake, and that in his perception whatever he did wasright, not because it harmonized with any idea of right and wrong, butbecause he did it.

　　The Emperor was in very good spirits after his ride through Vilna,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 Balashev beside him, Napoleon not onlytreated him amiably but behaved as if Balashev were one of his owncourtiers, one of those who sympathized with his plans and ought torejoice at his success. In the course of conversation he mentionedMoscow and questioned Balashev about the Russian capital, not merelyas an interested traveler asks about a new city he intends to visit,but as if convinced that Balashev, as a Russian, must be flatteredby his curiosity.

　　"How many inhabitants are there in Moscow? How many houses? Is ittrue that Moscow is called 'Holy Moscow'? How many churches arethere in Moscow?" he asked.

　　And receiving the reply that there were more than two hundredchurches, he remarked:

　　"Why such a quantity of churches?"

　　"The Russians are very devout," replied Balashev.

　　"But a large number of monasteries and churches is always a signof the backwardness of a people," said Napoleon, turning toCaulaincourt for appreciation of this remark.

　　Balashev 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 Balashev, "besides Russiathere is Spain, where there are also many churches and monasteries."

　　This reply of Balashev's, which hinted at the recent defeats ofthe French in Spain, was much appreciated when he related it atAlexander's court, but it was not much appreciated at Napoleon'sdinner, where it passed unnoticed.

　　The uninterested and perplexed faces of the marshals showed thatthey were puzzled as to what Balashev's tone suggested. "If there is apoint we don't see it, or it is not at all witty," their expressionsseemed to say. So little was his rejoinder appreciated that Napoleondid not notice it at all and naively asked Balashev through what townsthe direct road from there to Moscow passed. Balashev, who was onthe alert all through the dinner, replied that just as "all roads leadto Rome," so all roads lead to Moscow: there were many roads, and"among them the road through Poltava, which Charles XII chose."Balashev involuntarily flushed with pleasure at the aptitude of thisreply, but hardly had he uttered the word Poltava beforeCaulaincourt began speaking of the badness of the road from Petersburgto Moscow and of his Petersburg reminiscences.

　　After dinner they went to drink coffee in Napoleon's study, whichfour days previously had been that of the Emperor Alexander.Napoleon sat down, toying with his Sevres coffee cup, and motionedBalashev to a chair beside him.

　　Napoleon was in that well-known after-dinner mood which, more thanany reasoned cause, makes a man contented with himself and disposed toconsider everyone his friend. It seemed to him that he wassurrounded by men who adored him: and he felt convinced that, afterhis dinner, Balashev too was his friend and worshiper. Napoleon turnedto 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 thisremark would be agreeable to his hearer since it went to prove his,Napoleon's, superiority to Alexander.

　　Balashev made no reply and bowed and bowed his head in silence.

　　"Yes. Four days ago in this room, Wintzingerode and Stein weredeliberating," continued Napoleon with the same derisive andself-confident smile. "What I can't understand," he went on, "isthat the Emperor Alexander has surrounded himself with my personalenemies. That I do not... understand. Has he not thought that I maythe same?" and he turned inquiringly to Balashev, and evidently thisthought 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 andpushing his cup away with his hand. "I'll drive all his Wurttemberg,Baden, and Weimar relations out of Germany.... Yes. I'll drive themout. Let him prepare an asylum for them in Russia!"

　　Balashev bowed his head with an air indicating that he would like tomake his bow and leave, and only listened because he could not helphearing what was said to him. Napoleon did not notice this expression;he treated Balashev not as an envoy from his enemy, but as a man nowfully devoted to him and who must rejoice at his former master'shumiliation.

　　"And why has the Emperor Alexander taken command of the armies? Whatis the good of that? War is my profession, but his business is toreign and not to command armies! Why has he taken on himself such aresponsibility?"

　　Again Napoleon brought out his snuffbox, paced several times upand down the room in silence, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly,went up to Balashev and with a slight smile, as confidently,quickly, and simply as if he were doing something not merelyimportant but pleasing to Balashev, he raised his hand to theforty-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 thegreatest honor and mark of favor at the French court.

　　"Well, adorer and courtier of the Emperor Alexander, why don't yousay anything?" said he, as if it was ridiculous, in his presence, tobe the adorer and courtier of anyone but himself, Napoleon. "Are thehorses ready for the general?" he added, with a slight inclinationof his head in reply to Balashev's bow. "Let him have mine, he has along way to go!"

　　The letter taken by Balashev was the last Napoleon sent toAlexander. Every detail of the interview was communicated to theRussian monarch, and the war began...BK9|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　After his interview with Pierre in Moscow, Prince Andrew went toPetersburg, on business as he told his family, but really to meetAnatole Kuragin whom he felt it necessary to encounter. On reachingPetersburg he inquired for Kuragin but the latter had already left thecity. Pierre had warned his brother-in-law that Prince Andrew was onhis track. Anatole Kuragin promptly obtained an appointment from theMinister of War and went to join the army in Moldavia. While inPetersburg Prince Andrew met Kutuzov, his former commander who wasalways well disposed toward him, and Kutuzov suggested that heshould accompany him to the army in Moldavia, to which the old generalhad been appointed commander in chief. So Prince Andrew, havingreceived an appointment on the headquarters staff, left for Turkey.

　　Prince Andrew did not think it proper to write and challengeKuragin. He thought that if he challenged him without some fresh causeit might compromise the young Countess Rostova and so he wanted tomeet Kuragin personally in order to find a fresh pretext for a duel.But he again failed to meet Kuragin in Turkey, for soon after PrinceAndrew arrived, the latter returned to Russia. In a new country,amid new conditions, Prince Andrew found life easier to bear. Afterhis betrothed had broken faith with him- which he felt the moreacutely the more he tried to conceal its effects- the surroundingsin which he had been happy became trying to him, and the freedom andindependence he had once prized so highly were still more so. Not onlycould he no longer think the thoughts that had first come to him as helay gazing at the sky on the field of Austerlitz and had laterenlarged upon with Pierre, and which had filled his solitude atBogucharovo and then in Switzerland and Rome, but he even dreaded torecall them and them and the bright and boundless horizons they hadrevealed. He was now concerned only with the nearest practical mattersunrelated to his past interests, and he seized on these the moreeagerly the more those past interests were closed to him. It was as ifthat lofty, infinite canopy of heaven that had once towered abovehim 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 wasthe simplest and most familiar. As a general on duty on Kutuzov'sstaff, he applied himself to business with zeal and perseverance andsurprised Kutuzov by his willingness and accuracy in work. Nothaving found Kuragin in Turkey, Prince Andrew did not think itnecessary to rush back to Russia after him, but all the same he knewthat however long it might be before he met Kuragin, despite hiscontempt for him and despite all the proofs he deduced to convincehimself that it was not worth stooping to a conflict with him- he knewthat when he did meet him he would not be able to resist calling himout, any more than a ravenous man can help snatching at food. Andthe consciousness that the insult was not yet avenged, that his rancorwas still unspent, weighed on his heart and poisoned the artificialtranquillity which he managed to obtain in Turkey by means ofrestless, plodding, and rather vainglorious and ambitious activity.

　　In the year 1812, when news of the war with Napoleon reachedBucharest- where Kutuzov had been living for two months, passing hisdays and nights with a Wallachian woman- Prince Andrew asked Kutuzovto transfer him to the Western Army. Kutuzov, who was already weary ofBolkonski's activity which seemed to reproach his own idleness, veryreadily let him go and gave him a mission to Barclay de Tolly.

　　Before joining the Western Army which was then, in May, encampedat Drissa, Prince Andrew visited Bald Hills which was directly onhis way, being only two miles off the Smolensk highroad. During thelast three years there had been so many changes in his life, he hadthought, felt, and seen so much (having traveled both in the eastand the west), that on reaching Bald Hills it struck him as strangeand unexpected to find the way of life there unchanged and still thesame in every detail. He entered through the gates with their stonepillars and drove up the avenue leading to the house as if he wereentering an enchanted, sleeping castle. The same old stateliness,the same cleanliness, the same stillness reigned there, and insidethere was the same furniture, the same walls, sounds, and smell, andthe same timid faces, only somewhat older. Princess Mary was still thesame timid, plain maiden getting on in years, uselessly andjoylessly passing the best years of her life in fear and constantsuffering. Mademoiselle Bourienne was the same coquettish,self-satisfied girl, enjoying every moment of her existence and fullof joyous hopes for the future. She had merely become moreself-confident, Prince Andrew thought. Dessalles, the tutor he hadbrought from Switzerland, was wearing a coat of Russian cut andtalking broken Russian to the servants, but was still the samenarrowly intelligent, conscientious, and pedantic preceptor. The oldprince had changed in appearance only by the loss of a tooth, whichleft a noticeable gap on one side of his mouth; in character he wasthe same as ever, only showing still more irritability andskepticism as to what was happening in the world. Little Nicholasalone had changed. He had grown, become rosier, had curly dark hair,and, when merry and laughing, quite unconsciously lifted the upper lipof 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, theinner relations of all these people had changed since Prince Andrewhad seen them last. The household was divided into two alien andhostile camps, who changed their habits for his sake and only metbecause he was there. To the one camp belonged the old prince,Madmoiselle Bourienne, and the architect; to the other PrincessMary, Dessalles, little Nicholas, and all the old nurses and maids.

　　During his stay at Bald Hills all the family dined together, butthey were ill at ease and Prince Andrew felt that he was a visitor forwhose sake an exception was being made and that his presence made themall feel awkward. Involuntarily feeling this at dinner on the firstday, he was taciturn, and the old prince noticing this also becamemorosely dumb and retired to his apartments directly after dinner.In the evening, when Prince Andrew went to him and, trying to rousehim, began to tell him of the young Count Kamensky's campaign, the oldprince began unexpectedly to talk about Princess Mary, blaming her forher superstitions and her dislike of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who, hesaid, was the only person really attached to him.

　　The old prince said that if he was ill it was only because ofPrincess Mary: that she purposely worried and irritated him, andthat by indulgence and silly talk she was spoiling little PrinceNicholas. The old prince knew very well that he tormented his daughterand that her life was very hard, but he also knew that he could nothelp tormenting her and that she deserved it. "Why does Prince Andrew,who sees this, say nothing to me about his sister? Does he think mea scoundrel, or an old fool who, without any reason, keeps his owndaughter at a distance and attaches this Frenchwoman to himself? Hedoesn'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 putup with his daughter's unreasonable character.

　　"If you ask me," said Prince Andrew, without looking up (he wascensuring his father for the first time in his life), "I did notwish to speak about it, but as you ask me I will give you my frankopinion. If there is any misunderstanding and discord between youand Mary, I can't blame her for it at all. I know how she loves andrespects you. Since you ask me," continued Prince Andrew, becomingirritable- as he was always liable to do of late- "I can only say thatif there are any misunderstandings they are caused by that worthlesswoman, who is not fit to be my sister's companion."

　　The old man at first stared fixedly at his son, and an unnaturalsmile disclosed the fresh gap between his teeth to which Prince Andrewcould not get accustomed.

　　"What companion, my dear boy? Eh? You've already been talking itover! Eh?"

　　"Father, I did not want to judge," said Prince Andrew, in a hard andbitter tone, "but you challenged me, and I have said, and always shallsay, that Mary is not to blame, but those to blame- the one toblame- is that Frenchwoman."

　　"Ah, he has passed judgment... passed judgement!" said the old manin a low voice and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, with someembarrassment, but then he suddenly jumped up and cried: "Be off, beoff! Let not a trace of you remain here!..."

　　Prince Andrew wished to leave at once, but Princess Mary persuadedhim to stay another day. That day he did not see his father, who didnot leave his room and admitted no one but Mademoiselle Bourienneand Tikhon, but asked several times whether his son had gone. Nextday, 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 fellinto a reverie without finishing the story. He thought not of thispretty child, his son whom he held on his knee, but of himself. Hesought in himself either remorse for having angered his father orregret at leaving home for the first time in his life on bad termswith him, and was horrified to find neither. What meant still moreto him was that he sought and did not find in himself the formertenderness for his son which he had hoped to reawaken by caressing theboy and taking him on his knee.

　　"Well, go on!" said his son.

　　Prince Andrew, without replying, put him down from his knee and wentout of the room.

　　As soon as Prince Andrew had given up his daily occupations, andespecially on returning to the old conditions of life amid which hehad been happy, weariness of life overcame him with its formerintensity, and he hastened to escape from these memories and to findsome 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 sorryyou can't."

　　"Why do you say that?" replied Princess Mary. "Why do you saythat, 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 hertears began to fall. Prince Andrew turned away and began pacing theroom.

　　"Ah, my God! my God! When one thinks who and what- what trash- cancause people misery!" he said with a malignity that alarmed PrincessMary.

　　She understood that when speaking of "trash" he referred not only toMademoiselle Bourienne, the cause of her misery, but also to the manwho had ruined his own happiness.

　　"Andrew! One thing I beg, I entreat of you!" she said, touchinghis elbow and looking at him with eyes that shone through her tears."I understand you" (she looked down). "Don't imagine that sorrow isthe work of men. Men are His tools." She looked a little abovePrince Andrew's head with the confident, accustomed look with whichone looks at the place where a familiar portrait hangs. "Sorrow issent by Him, not by men. Men are His instruments, they are not toblame. If you think someone has wronged you, forget it and forgive! Wehave no right to punish. And then you will know the happiness offorgiving."

　　"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, andthough till that moment he had not been thinking of Kuragin, all hisunexpended anger suddenly swelled up in his heart.

　　"If Mary is already persuading me forgive, it means that I oughtlong ago to have punished him," he thought. And giving her nofurther reply, he began thinking of the glad vindictive moment when hewould meet Kuragin who he knew was now in the army.

　　Princess Mary begged him to stay one day more, saying that sheknew how unhappy her father would be if Andrew left without beingreconciled to him, but Prince Andrew replied that he would probablysoon be back again from the army and would certainly write to hisfather, but that the longer he stayed now the more embittered theirdifferences would become.

　　"Good-by, Andrew! Remember that misfortunes come from God, and menare never to blame," were the last words he heard from his sister whenhe took leave of her.

　　"Then it must be so!" thought Prince Andrew as he drove out of theavenue 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 isgrowing up and rejoices in life, in which like everybody else hewill deceive or be deceived. And I am off to the army. Why? I myselfdon't know. I want to meet that man whom I despise, so as to givehim a chance to kill and laugh at me!

　　These conditions of life had been the same before, but then theywere all connected, while now they had all tumbled to pieces. Onlysenseless things, lacking coherence, presented themselves one afteranother to Prince Andrew's mind.BK9|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Prince Andrew reached the general headquarters of the army at theend of June. The first army, with which was the Emperor, occupiedthe fortified camp at Drissa; the second army was retreating, tryingto effect a junction with the first one from which it was said to becut off by large French forces. Everyone was dissatisfied with thegeneral course of affairs in the Russian army, but no oneanticipated any danger of invasion of the Russian provinces, and noone thought the war would extend farther than the western, the Polish,provinces.

　　Prince Andrew found Barclay de Tolly, to whom he had beenassigned, on the bank of the Drissa. As there was not a single town orlarge village in the vicinity of the camp, the immense number ofgenerals and courtiers accompanying the army were living in the besthouses of the villages on both sides of the river, over a radius ofsix miles. Barclay de Tolly was quartered nearly three miles fromthe Emperor. He received Bolkonski stiffly and coldly and told himin his foreign accent that he would mention him to the Emperor for adecision as to his employment, but asked him meanwhile to remain onhis staff. Anatole Kuragin, whom Prince Andrew had hoped to findwith the army, was not there. He had gone to Petersburg, but PrinceAndrew was glad to hear this. His mind was occupied by the interestsof the center that was conducting a gigantic war, and he was glad tobe free for a while from the distraction caused by the thought ofKuragin. During the first four days, while no duties were requiredof him, Prince Andrew rode round the whole fortified camp and, bythe aid of his own knowledge and by talks with experts, tried toform a definite opinion about it. But the question whether the campwas advantageous or disadvantageous remained for him undecided.Already from his military experience and what he had seen in theAustrian campaign, he had come to the conclusion that in war themost deeply considered plans have no significance and that all dependson the way unexpected movements of the enemy- that cannot be foreseen-are met, and on how and by whom the whole matter is handled. Toclear up this last point for himself, Prince Andrew, utilizing hisposition and acquaintances, tried to fathom the character of thecontrol of the army and of the men and parties engaged in it, and hededuced for himself the following of the state of affairs.

　　While the Emperor had still been at Vilna, the forces had beendivided into three armies. First, the army under Barclay de Tolly,secondly, the army under Bagration, and thirdly, the one commandedby Tormasov. The Emperor was with the first army, but not as commanderin chief. In the orders issued it was stated, not that the Emperorwould take command, but only that he would be with the army. TheEmperor, moreover, had with him not a commander in chief's staff butthe imperial headquarters staff. In attendance on him was the headof the imperial staff, Quartermaster General Prince Volkonski, as wellas generals, imperial aides-de-camp, diplomatic officials, and a largenumber of foreigners, but not the army staff. Besides these, therewere in attendance on the Emperor without any definite appointments:Arakcheev, the ex-Minister of War; Count Bennigsen, the senior generalin rank; the Grand Duke Tsarevich Constantine Pavlovich; CountRumyantsev, the Chancellor; Stein, a former Prussian minister;Armfeldt, a Swedish general; Pfuel, the chief author of the plan ofcampaign; Paulucci, an adjutant general and Sardinian emigre;Wolzogen- and many others. Though these men had no militaryappointment in the army, their position gave them influence, and oftena corps commander, or even the commander in chief, did not know inwhat capacity he was questioned by Bennigsen, the Grand Duke,Arakcheev, or Prince Volkonski, or was given this or that advice anddid not know whether a certain order received in the form of adviceemanated from the man who gave it or from the Emperor and whether ithad to be executed or not. But this was only the external condition;the essential significance of the presence of the Emperor and of allthese people, from a courtier's point of view (and in an Emperor'svicinity all became courtiers), was clear to everyone. It was this:the Emperor did not assume the title of commander in chief, butdisposed of all the armies; the men around him were his assistants.Arakcheev was a faithful custodian to enforce order and acted as thesovereign's bodyguard. Bennigsen was a landlord in the Vilnaprovince who appeared to be doing the honors of the district, butwas in reality a good general, useful as an adviser and ready athand to replace Barclay. The Grand Duke was there because it suitedhim to be. The ex-Minister Stein was there because his advice wasuseful and the Emperor Alexander held him in high esteem personally.Armfeldt virulently hated Napoleon and was a general full ofself-confidence, a quality that always influenced Alexander.Paulucci was there because he was bold and decided in speech. Theadjutants general were there because they always accompanied theEmperor, and lastly and chiefly Pfuel was there because he had drawnup the plan of campaign against Napoleon and, having induced Alexanderto believe in the efficacy of that plan, was directing the wholebusiness of the war. With Pfuel was Wolzogen, who expressed Pfuel'sthoughts in a more comprehensible way than Pfuel himself (who was aharsh, bookish theorist, self-confident to the point of despisingeveryone else) was able to do.

　　Besides these Russians and foreigners who propounded new andunexpected ideas every day- especially the foreigners, who did so witha boldness characteristic of people employed in a country not theirown- there were many secondary personages accompanying the armybecause their principals were there.

　　Among the opinions and voices in this immense, restless,brilliant, and proud sphere, Prince Andrew noticed the followingsharply defined subdivisions of and parties:

　　The first party consisted of Pfuel and his adherents- militarytheorists who believed in a science of war with immutable laws- lawsof oblique movements, outflankings, and so forth. Pfuel and hisadherents demanded a retirement into the depths of the country inaccordance with precise laws defined by a pseudo-theory of war, andthey saw only barbarism, ignorance, or evil intention in everydeviation 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. Themembers of this party were those who had demanded an advance fromVilna into Poland and freedom from all prearranged plans. Besidesbeing advocates of bold action, this section also representednationalism, which made them still more one-sided in the dispute. Theywere Russians: Bagration, Ermolov (who was beginning to come to thefront), and others. At that time a famous joke of Ermolov's wasbeing circulated, that as a great favor he had petitioned theEmperor to make him a German. The men of that party, rememberingSuvorov, said that what one had to do was not to reason, or stick pinsinto maps, but to fight, beat the enemy, keep him out of Russia, andnot 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 theother two. The members of this party, chiefly civilians and to whomArakcheev belonged, thought and said what men who have noconvictions but wish to seem to have some generally say. They saidthat undoubtedly war, particularly against such a genius asBonaparte (they called him Bonaparte now), needs most deeply devisedplans and profound scientific knowledge and in that respect Pfuelwas a genius, but at the same time it had to be acknowledged thatthe theorists are often one sided, and therefore one should nottrust them absolutely, but should also listen to what Pfuel'sopponents and practical men of experience in warfare had to say, andthen choose a middle course. They insisted on the retention of thecamp at Drissa, according to Pfuel's plan, but on changing themovements of the other armies. Though, by this course, neither one aimnor the other could be attained, yet it seemed best to the adherentsof this third party.

　　Of a fourth opinion the most conspicuous representative was theTsarevich, who could not forget his disillusionment at Austerlitz,where he had ridden out at the head of the Guards, in his casque andcavalry uniform as to a review, expecting to crush the Frenchgallantly; but unexpectedly finding himself in the front line hadnarrowly escaped amid the general confusion. The men of this party hadboth the quality and the defect of frankness in their opinions. Theyfeared Napoleon, recognized his strength and their own weakness, andfrankly said so. They said: "Nothing but sorrow, shame, and ruinwill come of all this! We have abandoned Vilna and Vitebsk and shallabandon Drissa. The only reasonable thing left to do is to concludepeace as soon as possible, before we are turned out of Petersburg."

　　This view was very general in the upper army circles and foundsupport also in Petersburg and from the chancellor, Rumyantsev, who,for other reasons of state, was in favor of peace.

　　The fifth party consisted of those who were adherents of Barclayde Tolly, not so much as a man but as minister of war and commander inchief. "Be he what he may" (they always began like that), "he is anhonest, practical man and we have nobody better. Give him realpower, for war cannot be conducted successfully without unity ofcommand, and he will show what he can do, as he did in Finland. If ourarmy is well organized and strong and has withdrawn to Drissawithout suffering any defeats, we owe this entirely to Barclay. IfBarclay is now to be superseded by Bennigsen all will be lost, forBennigsen showed his incapacity already in 1807."

　　The sixth party, the Bennigsenites, said, on the contrary, that atany rate there was no one more active and experienced thanBennigsen: "and twist about as you may, you will have to come toBennigsen eventually. Let the others make mistakes now!" said they,arguing that our retirement to Drissa was a most shameful reverseand an unbroken series of blunders. "The more mistakes that are madethe better. It will at any rate be understood all the sooner thatthings cannot go on like this. What is wanted is not some Barclay orother, but a man like Bennigsen, who made his mark in 1807, and towhom Napoleon himself did justice- a man whose authority would bewillingly recognized, and Bennigsen is the only such man."

　　The seventh party consisted of the sort of people who are alwaysto be found, especially around young sovereigns, and of whom therewere particularly many round Alexander- generals and imperialaides-de-camp passionately devoted to the Emperor, not merely as amonarch but as a man, adoring him sincerely and disinterestedly, asRostov had done in 1805, and who saw in him not only all the virtuesbut all human capabilities as well. These men, though enchanted withthe sovereign for refusing the command of the army, yet blamed him forsuch excessive modesty, and only desired and insisted that theiradored sovereign should abandon his diffidence and openly announcethat he would place himself at the head of the army, gather roundhim a commander in chief's staff, and, consulting experiencedtheoreticians and practical men where necessary, would himself leadthe troops, whose spirits would thereby be raised to the highestpitch.

　　The eighth and largest group, which in its enormous numbers was tothe others as ninety-nine to one, consisted of men who desired neitherpeace nor war, neither an advance nor a defensive camp at the Drissaor anywhere else, neither Barclay nor the Emperor, neither Pfuel norBennigsen, but only the one most essential thing- as much advantageand pleasure for themselves as possible. In the troubled waters ofconflicting and intersecting intrigues that eddied about the Emperor'sheadquarters, it was possible to succeed in many ways unthinkable atother times. A man who simply wished to retain his lucrative postwould today agree with Pfuel, tomorrow with his opponent, and theday after, merely to avoid responsibility or to please the Emperor,would declare that he had no opinion at all on the matter. Another whowished to gain some advantage would attract the Emperor's attention byloudly advocating the very thing the Emperor had hinted at the daybefore, and would dispute and shout at the council, beating his breastand challenging those who did not agree with him to duels, therebyproving that he was prepared to sacrifice himself for the common good.A third, in the absence of opponents, between two councils wouldsimply solicit a special gratuity for his faithful services, wellknowing that at that moment people would be too busy to refuse him.A fourth while seemingly overwhelmed with work would often comeaccidentally under the Emperor's eye. A fifth, to achieve hislong-cherished aim of dining with the Emperor, would stubbornly insiston the correctness or falsity of some newly emerging opinion and forthis 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 ofimperial 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 seriousdanger giving a peculiarly threatening character to everything, amidthis vortex of intrigue, egotism, conflict of views and feelings,and the diversity of race among these people- this eighth andlargest party of those preoccupied with personal interests impartedgreat confusion and obscurity to the common task. Whatever questionarose, a swarm of these drones, without having finished theirbuzzing on a previous theme, flew over to the new one and by their humdrowned and obscured the voices of those who were disputing honestly.

　　From among all these parties, just at the time Prince Andrew reachedthe army, another, a ninth party, was being formed and was beginningto raise its voice. This was the party of the elders, reasonable menexperienced and capable in state affairs, who, without sharing anyof those conflicting opinions, were able to take a detached view ofwhat was going on at the staff at headquarters and to consider meansof escape from this muddle, indecision, intricacy, and weakness.

　　The men of this party said and thought that what was wrongresulted chiefly from the Emperor's presence in the army with hismilitary court and from the consequent presence there of anindefinite, conditional, and unsteady fluctuation of relations,which is in place at court but harmful in an army; that a sovereignshould reign but not command the army, and that the only way out ofthe position would be for the Emperor and his court to leave the army;that the mere presence of the Emperor paralyzed the action of fiftythousand men required to secure his personal safety, and that theworst commander in chief if independent would be better than thevery best one trammeled by the presence and authority of the monarch.

　　Just at the time Prince Andrew was living unoccupied at Drissa,Shishkov, the Secretary of State and one of the chiefrepresentatives of this party, wrote a letter to the Emperor whichArakcheev and Balashev agreed to sign. In this letter, availinghimself of permission given him by the Emperor to discuss thegeneral course of affairs, he respectfully suggested- on the plea thatit was necessary for the sovereign to arouse a warlike spirit in thepeople of the capital- that the Emperor should leave the army.

　　That arousing of the people by their sovereign and his call tothem to defend their country- the very incitement which was thechief cause of Russia's triumph in so far as it was produced by theTsar's personal presence in Moscow- was suggested to the Emperor,and accepted by him, as a pretext for quitting the army.BK9|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　This letter had not yet been presented to the Emperor whenBarclay, one day at dinner, informed Bolkonski that the sovereignwished to see him personally, to question him about Turkey, and thatPrince Andrew was to present himself at Bennigsen's quarters at sixthat evening.

　　News was received at the Emperor's quarters that very day of a freshmovement by Napoleon which might endanger the army- newssubsequently found to be false. And that morning Colonel Michaud hadridden round the Drissa fortifications with the Emperor and hadpointed out to him that this fortified camp constructed by Pfuel,and till then considered a chef-d'oeuvre of tactical science whichwould ensure Napoleon's destruction, was an absurdity, threatening thedestruction of the Russian army.

　　Prince Andrew arrived at Bennigsen's quarters- a country gentleman'shouse of moderate size, situated on the very banks of the river.Neither Bennigsen nor the Emperor was there, but Chernyshev, theEmperor's aide-de-camp, received Bolkonski and informed him that theEmperor, accompanied by General Bennigsen and Marquis Paulucci, hadgone a second time that day to inspect the fortifications of theDrissa camp, of the suitability of which serious doubts were beginningto be felt.

　　Chernyshev was sitting at a window in the first room with a Frenchnovel in his hand. This room had probably been a music room; there wasstill an organ in it on which some rugs were piled, and in onecorner stood the folding bedstead of Bennigsen's adjutant. Thisadjutant was also there and sat dozing on the rolled-up bedding,evidently exhausted by work or by feasting. Two doors led from theroom, one straight on into what had been the drawing room, andanother, on the right, to the study. Through the first door came thesound of voices conversing in German and occasionally in French. Inthat drawing room were gathered, by the Emperor's wish, not a militarycouncil (the Emperor preferred indefiniteness), but certain personswhose opinions he wished to know in view of the impendingdifficulties. It was not a council of war, but, as it were, acouncil 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 referredto as a renegade French subject), Michaud, Toll, Count Stein who wasnot a military man at all, and Pfuel himself, who, as Prince Andrewhad heard, was the mainspring of the whole affair. Prince Andrew hadan opportunity of getting a good look at him, for Pfuel arrived soonafter himself and, in passing through to the drawing room, stopped aminute to speak to Chernyshev.

　　At first sight, Pfuel, in his ill-made uniform of a Russian general,which fitted him badly like a fancy costume, seemed familiar to PrinceAndrew, though he saw him now for the first time. There was abouthim something of Weyrother, Mack, and Schmidt, and many other Germantheorist-generals whom Prince Andrew had seen in 1805, but he was moretypical than any of them. Prince Andrew had never yet seen a Germantheorist in whom all the characteristics of those others were unitedto such an extent.

　　Pfuel was short and very thin but broad-boned, of coarse, robustbuild, broad in the hips, and with prominent shoulder blades. His facewas much wrinkled and his eyes deep set. His hair had evidently beenhastily brushed smooth in front of the temples, but stuck up behind inquaint little tufts. He entered the room, looking restlessly andangrily around, as if afraid of everything in that large apartment.Awkwardly holding up his sword, he addressed Chernyshev and asked inGerman where the Emperor was. One could see that he wished to passthrough the rooms as quickly as possible, finish with the bows andgreetings, and sit down to business in front of a map, where hewould feel at home. He nodded hurriedly in reply to Chernyshev, andsmiled ironically on hearing that the sovereign was inspecting thefortifications that he, Pfuel, had planned in accord with histheory. 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 ofit."... Prince Andrew did not catch what he said and would have passedon, but Chernyshev introduced him to Pfuel, remarking that PrinceAndrew was just back from Turkey where the war had terminated sofortunately. Pfuel barely glanced- not so much at Prince Andrew aspast him- and said, with a laugh: "That must have been a fine tacticalwar"; and, laughing contemptuously, went on into the room from whichthe sound of voices was heard.

　　Pfuel, always inclined to be irritably sarcastic, was particularlydisturbed that day, evidently by the fact that they had dared toinspect and criticize his camp in his absence. From this shortinterview with Pfuel, Prince Andrew, thanks to his Austerlitzexperiences, was able to form a clear conception of the man. Pfuel wasone 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 abstractnotion- 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. AnEnglishman is self-assured, as being a citizen of the best-organizedstate in the world, and therefore as an Englishman always knows whathe should do and knows that all he does as an Englishman isundoubtedly correct. An Italian is self-assured because he isexcitable and easily forgets himself and other people. A Russian isself-assured just because he knows nothing does not want to knowanything, since he does not believe that anything can be known. TheGerman's self-assurance is worst of all, stronger and more repulsivethan any other, because he imagines that he knows the truth-science- which he himself has invented but which is for him theabsolute truth.

　　Pfuel was evidently of that sort. He had a science- the theory ofoblique movements deduced by him from the history of Frederick theGreat's wars, and all he came across in the history of more recentwarfare seemed to him absurd and barbarous- monstrous collisions inwhich so many blunders were committed by both sides that these warscould not be called wars, they did not accord with the theory, andtherefore could not serve as material for science.

　　In 1806 Pfuel had been one of those responsible, for the plan ofcampaign that ended in Jena and Auerstadt, but he did not see theleast proof of the fallibility of his theory in the disasters ofthat war. On the contrary, the deviations made from his theory were,in his opinion, the sole cause of the whole disaster, and withcharacteristically gleeful sarcasm he would remark, "There, I said thewhole affair would go to the devil!" Pfuel was one of thosetheoreticians who so love their theory that they lose sight of thetheory's object- its practical application. His love of theory madehim hate everything practical, and he would not listen to it. He waseven pleased by failures, for failures resulting from deviations inpractice from the theory only proved to him the accuracy of histheory.

　　He said a few words to Prince Andrew and Chernyshev about thepresent war, with the air of a man who knows beforehand that allwill go wrong, and who is not displeased that it should be so. Theunbrushed tufts of hair sticking up behind and the hastily brushedhair on his temples expressed this most eloquently.

　　He passed into the next room, and the deep, querulous sounds ofhis voice were at once heard from there.BK9|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Prince Andrew's eyes were still following Pfuel out of the room whenCount Bennigsen entered hurriedly, and nodding to Bolkonski, but notpausing, went into the study, giving instructions to his adjutant ashe went. The Emperor was following him, and Bennigsen had hastenedon to make some preparations and to be ready to receive the sovereign.Chernyshev and Prince Andrew went out into the porch, where theEmperor, who looked fatigued, was dismounting. Marquis Paulucci wastalking to him with particular warmth and the Emperor, with his headbent to the left, was listening with a dissatisfied air. The Emperormoved forward evidently wishing to end the conversation, but theflushed and excited Italian, oblivious of decorum, followed him andcontinued 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 PrinceAndrew scanned his unfamiliar face, "as to that person, sire..."continued Paulucci, desperately, apparently unable to restrainhimself, "the man who advised the Drissa camp- I see no alternativebut the lunatic asylum or the gallows!"

　　Without heeding the end of the Italian's remarks, and as thoughnot hearing them, the Emperor, recognizing Bolkonski, addressed himgraciously.

　　"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 PeterMikhaylovich Volkonski and Baron Stein, and the door closed behindthem. Prince Andrew, taking advantage of the Emperor's permission,accompanied Paulucci, whom he had known in Turkey, into the drawingroom where the council was assembled.

　　Prince Peter Mikhaylovich Volkonski occupied the position, as itwere, of chief of the Emperor's staff. He came out of the study intothe drawing room with some maps which he spread on a table, and putquestions on which he wished to hear the opinion of the gentlemenpresent. What had happened was that news (which afterwards proved tobe false) had been received during the night of a movement by theFrench to outflank the Drissa camp.

　　The first to speak was General Armfeldt who, to meet thedifficulty that presented itself, unexpectedly proposed a perfectlynew position away from the Petersburg and Moscow roads. The reason forthis was inexplicable (unless he wished to show that he, too, couldhave an opinion), but he urged that at this point the army shouldunite and there await the enemy. It was plain that Armfeldt hadthought out that plan long ago and now expounded it not so much toanswer 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 themillions of proposals, one as good as another, that could be made aslong as it was quite unknown what character the war would take. Somedisputed his arguments, others defended them. Young Count Tollobjected to the Swedish general's views more warmly than anyoneelse, and in the course of the dispute drew from his side pocket awell-filled notebook, which he asked permission to read to them. Inthese voluminous notes Toll suggested another scheme, totallydifferent from Armfeldt's or Pfuel's plan of campaign. In answer toToll, Paulucci suggested an advance and an attack, which, he urged,could alone extricate us from the present uncertainty and from thetrap (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 snortedcontemptuously and turned away, to show that he would never demeanhimself by replying to such nonsense as he was now hearing. So whenPrince Volkonski, who was in the chair, called on him to give hisopinion, he merely said:

　　"Why ask me? General Armfeldt has proposed a splendid positionwith an exposed rear, or why not this Italian gentleman's attack- veryfine, or a retreat, also good! Why ask me?" said he. "Why, youyourselves know everything better than I do."

　　But when Volkonski said, with a frown, that it was in theEmperor's name that he asked his opinion, Pfuel rose and, suddenlygrowing animated, began to speak:

　　"Everything has been spoiled, everything muddled, everybodythought they knew better than I did, and now you come to me! Howmend matters? There is nothing to mend! The principles laid down by memust be strictly adhered to," said he, drumming on the table withhis bony fingers. "What is the difficulty? Nonsense, childishness!"

　　He went up to the map and speaking rapidly began proving that noeventuality could alter the efficiency of the Drissa camp, thateverything had been foreseen, and that if the enemy were reallygoing to outflank it, the enemy would inevitably be destroyed.

　　Paulucci, who did not know German, began questioning him inFrench. Wolzogen came to the assistance of his chief, who spoke Frenchbadly, and began translating for him, hardly able to keep pace withPfuel, who was rapidly demonstrating that not only all that hadhappened, but all that could happen, had been foreseen in hisscheme, and that if there were now any difficulties the whole faultlay in the fact that his plan had not been precisely executed. He keptlaughing sarcastically, he demonstrated, and at last contemptuouslyceased to demonstrate, like a mathematician who ceases to prove invarious ways the accuracy of a problem that has already been proved.Wolzogen took his place and continued to explain his views inFrench, every now and then turning to Pfuel and saying, "Is it not so,your excellency?" But Pfuel, like a man heated in a fight whostrikes 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 inFrench. Armfeldt addressed Pfuel in German. Toll explained toVolkonski 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 thosepresent, 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 inspiredinvoluntary respect by his boundless devotion to an idea. Besidesthis, the remarks of all except Pfuel had one common trait that hadnot been noticeable at the council of war in 1805: there was now apanic fear of Napoleon's genius, which, though concealed, wasnoticeable in every rejoinder. Everything was assumed to be possiblefor Napoleon, they expected him from every side, and invoked histerrible name to shatter each other's proposals. Pfuel alone seemed toconsider Napoleon a barbarian like everyone else who opposed histheory. But besides this feeling of respect, Pfuel evoked pity inPrince Andrew. From the tone in which the courtiers addressed himand the way Paulucci had allowed himself to speak of him to theEmperor, but above all from a certain desperation in Pfuel's ownexpressions, it was clear that the others knew, and Pfuel himselffelt, that his fall was at hand. And despite his self-confidence andgrumpy German sarcasm he was pitiable, with his hair smoothlybrushed on the temples and sticking up in tufts behind. Though heconcealed the fact under a show of irritation and contempt, he wasevidently in despair that the sole remaining chance of verifying histheory by a huge experiment and proving its soundness to the wholeworld was slipping away from him.

　　The discussions continued a long time, and the longer they lastedthe more heated became the disputes, culminating in shouts andpersonalities, and the less was it possible to arrive at any generalconclusion from all that had been said. Prince Andrew, listening tothis polyglot talk and to these surmises, plans, refutations, andshouts, felt nothing but amazement at what they were saying. A thoughtthat had long since and often occurred to him during his militaryactivities- the idea that there is not and cannot be any science ofwar, and that therefore there can be no such thing as a militarygenius- now appeared to him an obvious truth. "What theory and scienceis possible about a matter the conditions and circumstances of whichare unknown and cannot be defined, especially when the strength of theacting forces cannot be ascertained? No one was or is able toforesee in what condition our or the enemy's armies will be in a day'stime, 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 arecut off!' and start running, but a brave and jolly lad who shouts,'Hurrah!'- a detachment of five thousand is worth thirty thousand,as at Schon Grabern, while at times fifty thousand run from eightthousand, as at Austerlitz. What science can there be in a matter inwhich, as in all practical matters, nothing can be defined andeverything depends on innumerable conditions, the significance ofwhich is determined at a particular moment which arrives no oneknows when? Armfeldt says our army is cut in half, and Paulucci sayswe have got the French army between two fires; Michaud says that theworthlessness of the Drissa camp lies in having the river behind it,and Pfuel says that is what constitutes its strength; Toll proposesone plan, Armfeldt another, and they are all good and all bad, and theadvantages 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 geniuswho can order bread to be brought up at the right time and say whois to go to the right and who to the left? It is only because militarymen are invested with pomp and power and crowds of sychophants flatterpower, attributing to it qualities of genius it does not possess.The best generals I have known were, on the contrary, stupid orabsent-minded men. Bagration was the best, Napoleon himself admittedthat. And of Bonaparte himself! I remember his limited, self-satisfiedface on the field of Austerlitz. Not only does a good army commandernot need any special qualities, on the contrary he needs the absenceof the highest and best human attributes- love, poetry, tenderness,and philosophic inquiring doubt. He should be limited, firmlyconvinced that what he is doing is very important (otherwise he willnot have sufficient patience), and only then will he be a braveleader. God forbid that he should be humane, should love, or pity,or think of what is just and unjust. It is understandable that atheory of their 'genius' was invented for them long ago because theyhave power! The success of a military action depends not on them,but on the man in the ranks who shouts, 'We are lost!' or whoshouts, 'Hurrah!' And only in the ranks can one serve with assuranceof being useful."

　　So thought Prince Andrew as he listened to the talking, and heroused himself only when Paulucci called him and everyone was leaving.

　　At the review next day the Emperor asked Prince Andrew where hewould like to serve, and Prince Andrew lost his standing in courtcircles forever by not asking to remain attached to the sovereign'sperson, but for permission to serve in the army.BK9|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　Before the beginning of the campaign, Rostov had received a letterfrom his parents in which they told him briefly of Natasha's illnessand the breaking off of her engagement to Prince Andrew (which theyexplained by Natasha's having rejected him) and again asked Nicholasto retire from the army and return home. On receiving this letter,Nicholas did not even make any attempt to get leave of absence or toretire from the army, but wrote to his parents that he was sorryNatasha was ill and her engagement broken off, and that he would doall he could to meet their wishes. To Sonya he wrote separately.

　　"Adored friend of my soul!" he wrote. "Nothing but honor couldkeep me from returning to the country. But now, at the commencement ofthe campaign, I should feel dishonored, not only in my comrades'eyes but in my own, if I preferred my own happiness to my love andduty to the Fatherland. But this shall be our last separation. Believeme, directly the war is over, if I am still alive and still loved byyou, I will throw up everything and fly to you, to press you foreverto my ardent breast."

　　It was, in fact, only the commencement of the campaign thatprevented Rostov from returning home as he had promised and marryingSonya. The autumn in Otradnoe with the hunting, and the winter withthe Christmas holidays and Sonya's love, had opened out to him a vistaof tranquil rural joys and peace such as he had never known before,and which now allured him. "A splendid wife, children, a good packof hounds, a dozen leashes of smart borzois, agriculture, neighbors,service by election..." thought he. But now the campaign wasbeginning, and he had to remain with his regiment. And since it had tobe so, Nicholas Rostov, as was natural to him, felt contented with thelife he led in the regiment and was able to find pleasure in thatlife.

　　On his return from his furlough Nicholas, having been joyfullywelcomed by his comrades, was sent to obtain remounts and brought backfrom the Ukraine excellent horses which pleased him and earned himcommendation from his commanders. During his absence he had beenpromoted captain, and when the regiment was put on war footing with anincrease in numbers, he was again allotted his old squadron.

　　The campaign began, the regiment was moved into Poland on doublepay, new officers arrived, new men and horses, and above all everybodywas infected with the merrily excited mood that goes with thecommencement of a war, and Rostov, conscious of his advantageousposition in the regiment, devoted himself entirely to the pleasuresand interests of military service, though he knew that sooner or laterhe would have to relinquish them.

　　The troops retired from Vilna for various complicated reasons ofstate, political and strategic. Each step of the retreat wasaccompanied by a complicated interplay of interests, arguments, andpassions at headquarters. For the Pavlograd hussars, however, thewhole of this retreat during the finest period of summer and withsufficient 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 themselveswhere they were going or why. If they regretted having to retreat,it was only because they had to leave billets they had grownaccustomed to, or some pretty young Polish lady. If the thought thatthings looked bad chanced to enter anyone's head, he tried to be ascheerful as befits a good soldier and not to think of the generaltrend of affairs, but only of the task nearest to hand. First theycamped gaily before Vilna, making acquaintance with the Polishlandowners, preparing for reviews and being reviewed by the Emperorand other high commanders. Then came an order to retreat to Sventsyaniand destroy any provisions they could not carry away with them.Sventsyani was remembered by the hussars only as the drunken camp, aname the whole army gave to their encampment there, and because manycomplaints were made against the troops, who, taking advantage ofthe order to collect provisions, took also horses, carriages, andcarpets from the Polish proprietors. Rostov remembered Sventsyani,because on the first day of their arrival at that small town hechanged his sergeant major and was unable to manage all the drunkenmen of his squadron who, unknown to him, had appropriated five barrelsof old beer. From Sventsyani they retired farther and farther toDrissa, and thence again beyond Drissa, drawing near to the frontierof Russia proper.

　　On the thirteenth of July the Pavlograds took part in a seriousaction for the first time.

　　On the twelfth of July, on the eve of that action, there was a heavystorm of rain and hail. In general, the summer of 18l2 wasremarkable for its storms.

　　The two Pavlograd squadrons were bivouacking on a field of rye,which was already in ear but had been completely trodden down bycattle and horses. The rain was descending in torrents, and Rostov,with a young officer named Ilyin, his protege, was sitting in ahastily constructed shelter. An officer of their regiment, with longmustaches extending onto his cheeks, who after riding to the staff hadbeen overtaken by the rain, entered Rostov's shelter.

　　"I have come from the staff, Count. Have you heard of Raevski'sexploit?"

　　And the officer gave them details of the Saltanov battle, which hehad heard at the staff.

　　Rostov, smoking his pipe and turning his head about as the watertrickled down his neck, listened inattentively, with an occasionalglance at Ilyin, who was pressing close to him. This officer, a lad ofsixteen who had recently joined the regiment, was now in the samerelation to Nicholas that Nicholas had been to Denisov seven yearsbefore. Ilyin tried to imitate Rostov in everything and adored himas a girl might have done.

　　Zdrzhinski, the officer with the long mustache, spokegrandiloquently of the Saltanov dam being "a Russian Thermopylae," andof how a deed worthy of antiquity had been performed by GeneralRaevski. He recounted how Raevski had led his two sons onto the damunder terrific fire and had charged with them beside him. Rostov heardthe story and not only said nothing to encourage Zdrzhinski'senthusiasm but, on the contrary, looked like a man ashamed of whathe was hearing, though with no intention of contradicting it. Sincethe campaigns of Austerlitz and of 1807 Rostov knew by experience thatmen always lie when describing military exploits, as he himself haddone when recounting them; besides that, he had experience enough toknow that nothing happens in war at all as we can imagine or relateit. And so he did not like Zdrzhinski's tale, nor did he likeZdrzhinski himself who, with his mustaches extending over hischeeks, bent low over the face of his hearer, as was his habit, andcrowded Rostov in the narrow shanty. Rostov looked at him insilence. "In the first place, there must have been such a confusionand crowding on the dam that was being attacked that if Raevski didlead his sons there, it could have had no effect except perhaps onsome dozen men nearest to him," thought he, "the rest could not haveseen how or with whom Raevski came onto the dam. And even those whodid see it would not have been much stimulated by it, for what hadthey to do with Raevski's tender paternal feelings when their ownskins were in danger? And besides, the fate of the Fatherland didnot depend on whether they took the Saltanov dam or not, as we aretold was the case at Thermopylae. So why should he have made such asacrifice? And why expose his own children in the battle? I wouldnot have taken my brother Petya there, or even Ilyin, who's a strangerto me but a nice lad, but would have tried to put them somewhere undercover," Nicholas continued to think, as he listened to Zdrzhinski. Buthe did not express his thoughts, for in such matters, too, he hadgained experience. He knew that this tale redounded to the glory ofour arms and so one had to pretend not to doubt it. And he actedaccordingly.

　　"I can't stand this any more," said Ilyin, noticing that Rostovdid not relish Zdrzhinski's conversation. "My stockings and shirt...and the water is running on my seat! I'll go and look for shelter. Therain seems less heavy."

　　Ilyin went out and Zdrzhinski rode away.

　　Five minutes later Ilyin, splashing through the mud, came runningback to the shanty.

　　"Hurrah! Rostov, come quick! I've found it! About two hundredyards away there's a tavern where ours have already gathered. We canat least get dry there, and Mary Hendrikhovna's there."

　　Mary Hendrikhovna was the wife of the regimental doctor, a prettyyoung German woman he had married in Poland. The doctor, whetherfrom lack of means or because he did not like to part from his youngwife in the early days of their marriage, took her about with himwherever the hussar regiment went and his jealousy had become astanding joke among the hussar officers.

　　Rostov threw his cloak over his shoulders, shouted to Lavrushka tofollow with the things, and- now slipping in the mud, now splashingright through it- set off with Ilyin in the lessening rain and thedarkness that was occasionally rent by distant lightning.

　　"Rostov, where are you?"

　　"Here. What lightning!" they called to one another.BK9|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　In the tavern, before which stood the doctor's covered cart, therewere already some five officers. Mary Hendrikhovna, a plump littleblonde German, in a dressing jacket and nightcap, was sitting on abroad bench in the front corner. Her husband, the doctor, lay asleepbehind her. Rostov and Ilyin, on entering the room, were welcomed withmerry shouts and laughter.

　　"Dear me, how jolly we are!" said Rostov laughing.

　　"And why do you stand there gaping?"

　　"What swells they are! Why, the water streams from them! Don'tmake our drawing room so wet."

　　"Don't mess Mary Hendrikhovna's dress!" cried other voices.

　　Rostov and Ilyin hastened to find a corner where they could changeinto dry clothes without offending Mary Hendrikhovna's modesty. Theywere going into a tiny recess behind a partition to change, butfound it completely filled by three officers who sat playing cardsby the light of a solitary candle on an empty box, and theseofficers would on no account yield their position. Mary Hendrikhovnaobliged them with the loan of a petticoat to be used as a curtain, andbehind that screen Rostov and Ilyin, helped by Lavrushka who hadbrought their kits, changed their wet things for dry ones.

　　A fire was made up in the dilapidated brick stove. A board wasfound, fixed on two saddles and covered with a horsecloth, a smallsamovar was produced and a cellaret and half a bottle of rum, andhaving asked Mary Hendrikhovna 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 thedamp, another hung his coat over the window to keep out the draft, andyet another waved the flies off her husband's face, lest he shouldwake up.

　　"Leave him alone," said Mary Hendrikhovna, smiling timidly andhappily. "He is sleeping well as it is, after a sleepless night."

　　"Oh, no, Mary Hendrikhovna," replied the officer, "one must lookafter the doctor. Perhaps he'll take pity on me someday, when it comesto cutting off a leg or an arm for me."

　　There were only three tumblers, the water was so muddy that onecould not make out whether the tea was strong or weak, and the samovarheld only six tumblers of water, but this made it all the pleasanterto take turns in order of seniority to receive one's tumbler from MaryHendrikhovna's plump little hands with their short and not overcleannails. All the officers appeared to be, and really were, in lovewith her that evening. Even those playing cards behind the partitionsoon left their game and came over to the samovar, yielding to thegeneral mood of courting Mary Hendrikhovna. She, seeing herselfsurrounded by such brilliant and polite young men, beamed withsatisfaction, try as she might to hide it, and perturbed as sheevidently was each time her husband moved in his sleep behind her.

　　There was only one spoon, sugar was more plentiful than anythingelse, but it took too long to dissolve, so it was decided that MaryHendrikhovna should stir the sugar for everyone in turn. Rostovreceived his tumbler, and adding some rum to it asked MaryHendrikhovna 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 veryamusing and had a double meaning.

　　"It is not the sugar I want, but only that your little hand shouldstir my tea."

　　Mary Hendrikhovna assented and began looking for the spoon whichsomeone meanwhile had pounced on.

　　"Use your finger, Mary Hendrikhovna, it will be still nicer," saidRostov.

　　"Too hot!" she replied, blushing with pleasure.

　　Ilyin put a few drops of rum into the bucket of water and brought itto Mary Hendrikhovna, asking her to stir it with her finger.

　　"This is my cup," said he. "Only dip your finger in it and I'lldrink it all up."

　　When they had emptied the samovar, Rostov took a pack of cards andproposed that they should play "Kings" with Mary Hendrikhovna. Theydrew lots to settle who should make up her set. At Rostov's suggestionit was agreed that whoever became "King" should have the right to kissMary Hendrikhovna's hand, and that the "Booby" should go to refill andreheat the samovar for the doctor when the latter awoke.

　　"Well, but supposing Mary Hendrikhovna is 'King'?" asked Ilyin.

　　"As it is, she is Queen, and her word is law!"

　　They had hardly begun to play before the doctor's disheveled headsuddenly appeared from behind Mary Hendrikhovna. He had been awake forsome time, listening to what was being said, and evidently foundnothing entertaining or amusing in what was going on. His face was sadand depressed. Without greeting the officers, he scratched himself andasked to be allowed to pass as they were blocking the way. As soonas he had left the room all the officers burst into loud laughterand Mary Hendrikhovna blushed till her eyes filled with tears andthereby became still more attractive to them. Returning from the yard,the doctor told his wife (who had ceased to smile so happily, andlooked at him in alarm, awaiting her sentence) that the rain hadceased and they must go to sleep in their covered cart, oreverything in it would be stolen.

　　"But I'll send an orderly.... Two of them!" said Rostov. "What anidea, doctor!"

　　"I'll stand guard on it myself!" said Ilyin.

　　"No, gentlemen, you have had your sleep, but I have not slept fortwo nights," replied the doctor, and he sat down morosely beside hiswife, waiting for the game to end.

　　Seeing his gloomy face as he frowned at his wife, the officersgrew still merrier, and some of them could not refrain fromlaughter, for which they hurriedly sought plausible pretexts. Whenhe had gone, taking his wife with him, and had settled down with herin their covered cart, the officers lay down in the tavern, coveringthemselves with their wet cloaks, but they did not sleep for a longtime; now they exchanged remarks, recalling the doctor's uneasinessand his wife's delight, now they ran out into the porch and reportedwhat was taking place in the covered trap. Several times Rostov,covering his head, tried to go to sleep, but some remark wouldarouse him and conversation would be resumed, to the accompanimentof unreasoning, merry, childlike laughter.BK9|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　It was nearly three o'clock but no one was yet asleep, when thequartermaster appeared with an order to move on to the little townof Ostrovna. Still laughing and talking, the officers beganhurriedly getting ready and again boiled again boiled some muddy waterin the samovar. But Rostov went off to his squadron without waitingfor tea. Day was breaking, the rain had ceased, and the clouds weredispersing. It felt damp and cold, especially in clothes that werestill moist. As they left the tavern in the twilight of the dawn,Rostov and Ilyin both glanced under the wet and glistening leatherhood of the doctor's cart, from under the apron of which his feet weresticking out, and in the middle of which his wife's nightcap wasvisible and her sleepy breathing audible.

　　"She really is a dear little thing," said Rostov to Ilyin, who wasfollowing him.

　　"A charming woman!" said Ilyin, with all the gravity of a boy ofsixteen.

　　Half an hour later the squadron was lined up on the road. Thecommand was heard to "mount" and the soldiers crossed themselves andmounted. Rostov riding in front gave the order "Forward!" and thehussars, with clanking sabers and subdued talk, their horses' hoofssplashing in the mud, defiled in fours and moved along the broadroad planted with birch trees on each side, following the infantry anda battery that had gone on in front.

　　Tattered, blue-purple clouds, reddening in the east, were scuddingbefore the wind. It was growing lighter and lighter. That curlygrass which always grows by country roadsides became clearlyvisible, still wet with the night's rain; the drooping branches of thebirches, also wet, swayed in the wind and flung down bright drops ofwater to one side. The soldiers' faces were more and more clearlyvisible. Rostov, always closely followed by Ilyin, rode along the sideof the road between two rows of birch trees.

　　When campaigning, Rostov allowed himself the indulgence of ridingnot a regimental but a Cossack horse. A judge of horses and asportsman, he had lately procured himself a large, fine, mettlesome,Donets horse, dun-colored, with light mane and tail, and when herode it no one could outgallop him. To ride this horse was apleasure to him, and he thought of the horse, of the morning, of thedoctor's wife, but not once of the impending danger.

　　Formerly, when going into action, Rostov had felt afraid; now he hadnot the least feeling of fear. He was fearless, not because he hadgrown used to being under fire (one cannot grow used to danger), butbecause he had learned how to manage his thoughts when in danger. Hehad grown accustomed when going into action to think about anythingbut what would seem most likely to interest him- the impending danger.During the first period of his service, hard as he tried and much ashe reproached himself with cowardice, he had not been able to do this,but with time it had come of itself. Now he rode beside Ilyin underthe birch trees, occasionally plucking leaves from a branch that methis hand, sometimes touching his horse's side with his foot, or,without turning round, handing a pipe he had finished to an hussarriding behind him, with as calm and careless an air as though hewere merely out for a ride. He glanced with pity at the excited faceof Ilyin, who talked much and in great agitation. He knew fromexperience the tormenting expectation of terror and death the cornetwas suffering and knew that only time could help him.

　　As soon as the sun appeared in a clear strip of sky beneath theclouds, the wind fell, as if it dared not spoil the beauty of thesummer morning after the storm; drops still continued to fall, butvertically now, and all was still. The whole sun appeared on thehorizon and disappeared behind a long narrow cloud that hung above it.A few minutes later it reappeared brighter still from behind the topof the cloud, tearing its edge. Everything grew bright andglittered. And with that light, and as if in reply to it, came thesound of guns ahead of them.

　　Before Rostov had had time to consider and determine the distance ofthat firing, Count Ostermann-Tolstoy's adjutant came galloping fromVitebsk with orders to advance at a trot along the road.

　　The squadron overtook and passed the infantry and the battery- whichhad also quickened their pace- rode down a hill, and passing throughan empty and deserted village again ascended. The horses began tolather and the men to flush.

　　"Halt! Dress your ranks!" the order of the regimental commanderwas heard ahead. "Forward by the left. Walk, march!" came the orderfrom in front.

　　And the hussars, passing along the line of troops on the leftflank of our position, halted behind our Uhlans who were in thefront line. To the right stood our infantry in a dense column: theywere the reserve. Higher up the hill, on the very horizon, our gunswere visible through the wonderfully clear air, brightly illuminatedby slanting morning sunbeams. In front, beyond a hollow dale, could beseen the enemy's columns and guns. Our advanced line, already inaction, could be heard briskly exchanging shots with the enemy inthe dale.

　　At these sounds, long unheard, Rostov's spirits rose, as at thestrains of the merriest music. Trap-ta-ta-tap! cracked the shots,now together, now several quickly one after another. Again all wassilent and then again it sounded as if someone were walking ondetonators and exploding them.

　　The hussars remained in the same place for about an hour. Acannonade began. Count Ostermann with his suite rode up behind thesquadron, halted, spoke to the commander of the regiment, and rodeup 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 thecavalry to pass. The Uhlans started, the streamers on their spearsfluttering, and trotted downhill toward the French cavalry which wasseen below to the left.

　　As soon as the Uhlans descended the hill, the hussars were orderedup the hill to support the battery. As they took the places vacated bythe Uhlans, bullets came from the front, whining and whistling, butfell spent without taking effect.

　　The sounds, which he had not heard for so long, had an even morepleasurable and exhilarating effect on Rostov than the previous soundsof firing. Drawing himself up, he viewed the field of battle openingout before him from the hill, and with his whole soul followed themovement of the Uhlans. They swooped down close to the Frenchdragoons, something confused happened there amid the smoke, and fiveminutes later our Uhlans were galloping back, not to the place theyhad occupied but more to the left, and among the orange-colored Uhlanson chestnut horses and behind them, in a large group, blue Frenchdragoons on gray horses could be seen.BK9|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　Rostov, with his keen sportsman's eye, was one of the first to catchsight of these blue French dragoons pursuing our Uhlans. Nearer andnearer in disorderly crowds came the Uhlans and the French dragoonspursuing them. He could already see how these men, who looked so smallat the foot of the hill, jostled and overtook one another, wavingtheir arms and their sabers in the air.

　　Rostov gazed at what was happening before him as at a hunt. Hefelt instinctively that if the hussars struck at the French dragoonsnow, the latter could not withstand them, but if a charge was to bemade it must be done now, at that very moment, or it would be toolate. He looked around. A captain, standing beside him, was gazinglike himself with eyes fixed on the cavalry below them.

　　"Andrew Sevastyanych!" said Rostov. "You know, we could crushthem...."

　　"A fine thing too!" replied the captain, "and really..."

　　Rostov, without waiting to hear him out, touched his horse, gallopedto the front of his squadron, and before he had time to finishgiving the word of command, the whole squadron, sharing his feeling,was following him. Rostov himself did not know how or why he did it.He acted as he did when hunting, without reflecting or considering. Hesaw the dragoons near and that they were galloping in disorder; heknew they could not withstand an attack- knew there was only thatmoment and that if he let it slip it would not return. The bulletswere whining and whistling so stimulatingly around him and his horsewas so eager to go that he could not restrain himself. He touchedhis horse, gave the word of command, and immediately, hearing behindhim the tramp of the horses of his deployed squadron, rode at fulltrot downhill toward the dragoons. Hardly had they reached thebottom of the hill before their pace instinctively changed to agallop, which grew faster and faster as they drew nearer to our Uhlansand the French dragoons who galloped after them. The dragoons were nowclose at hand. On seeing the hussars, the foremost began to turn,while those behind began to halt. With the same feeling with whichhe had galloped across the path of a wolf, Rostov gave rein to hisDonets horse and galloped to intersect the path of the dragoons'disordered lines. One Uhlan stopped, another who was on foot flunghimself to the ground to avoid being knocked over, and a riderlesshorse fell in among the hussars. Nearly all the French dragoons weregalloping back. Rostov, picking out one on a gray horse, dashedafter him. On the way he came upon a bush, his gallant horse clearedit, and almost before he had righted himself in his saddle he saw thathe would immediately overtake the enemy he had selected. ThatFrenchman, by his uniform an officer, was going at a gallop, crouchingon his gray horse and urging it on with his saber. In another momentRostov's horse dashed its breast against the hindquarters of theofficer's horse, almost knocking it over, and at the same instantRostov, without knowing why, raised his saber and struck the Frenchmanwith it.

　　The instant he had done this, all Rostov's animation vanished. Theofficer fell, not so much from the blow- which had but slightly cuthis arm above the elbow- as from the shock to his horse and fromfright. Rostov reined in his horse, and his eyes sought his foe to seewhom he had vanquished. The French dragoon officer was hopping withone foot on the ground, the other being caught in the stirrup. Hiseyes, screwed up with fear as if he every moment expected anotherblow, gazed up at Rostov with shrinking terror. His pale andmud-stained face- fair and young, with a dimple in the chin andlight-blue eyes- was not an enemy's face at all suited to abattlefield, but a most ordinary, homelike face. Before Rostov haddecided what to do with him, the officer cried, "I surrender!" Hehurriedly but vainly tried to get his foot out of the stirrup anddid not remove his frightened blue eyes from Rostov's face. Somehussars who galloped up disengaged his foot and helped him into thesaddle. On all sides, the hussars were busy with the dragoons; one waswounded, but though his face was bleeding, he would not give up hishorse; another was perched up behind an hussar with his arms roundhim; a third was being helped by an hussar to mount his horse. Infront, the French infantry were firing as they ran. The hussarsgalloped hastily back with their prisoners. Rostov galloped backwith the rest, aware of an unpleasant feeling of depression in hisheart. Something vague and confused, which he could not at all accountfor, had come over him with the capture of that officer and the blowhe had dealt him.

　　Count Ostermann-Tolstoy met the returning hussars, sent forRostov, thanked him, and said he would report his gallant deed tothe Emperor and would recommend him for a St. George's Cross. Whensent for by Count Ostermann, Rostov, remembering that he had chargedwithout orders, felt sure his commander was sending for him topunish him for breach of discipline. Ostermann's flattering wordsand promise of a reward should therefore have struck him all themore pleasantly, but he still felt that same vaguely disagreeablefeeling of moral nausea. "But what on earth is worrying me?" heasked himself as he rode back from the general. "Ilyin? No, he's safe.Have I disgraced myself in any way? No, that's not it." Somethingelse, resembling remorse, tormented him. "Yes, oh yes, that Frenchofficer with the dimple. And I remember how my arm paused when Iraised it."

　　Rostov saw the prisoners being led away and galloped after them tohave a look at his Frenchman with the dimple on his chin. He wassitting in his foreign uniform on an hussar packhorse and lookedanxiously about him; The sword cut on his arm could scarcely be calleda wound. He glanced at Rostov with a feigned smile and waved hishand in greeting. Rostov still had the same indefinite feeling, asof shame.

　　All that day and the next his friends and comrades noticed thatRostov, without being dull or angry, was silent, thoughtful, andpreoccupied. He drank reluctantly, tried to remain alone, and keptturning something over in his mind.

　　Rostov was always thinking about that brilliant exploit of his,which to his amazement had gained him the St. George's Cross andeven given him a reputation for bravery, and there was something hecould not at all understand. "So others are even more afraid than Iam!" he thought. "So that's all there is in what is called heroism!And heroism! And did I do it for my country's sake? And how was heto blame, with his dimple and blue eyes? And how frightened he was! Hethought that I should kill him. Why should I kill him? My handtrembled. And they have given me a St. George's Cross.... I can't makeit out at all."

　　But while Nicholas was considering these questions and still couldreach no clear solution of what puzzled him so, the wheel of fortunein the service, as often happens, turned in his favor. After theaffair at Ostrovna he was brought into notice, received command ofan hussar battalion, and when a brave officer was needed he waschosen.BK9|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　On receiving news of Natasha's illness, the countess, though notquite well yet and still weak, went to Moscow with Petya and therest of the household, and the whole family moved from MaryaDmitrievna's house to their own and settled down in town.

　　Natasha's illness was so serious that, fortunately for her and forher parents, the consideration of all that had caused the illness, herconduct and the breaking off of her engagement, receded into thebackground. She was so ill that it was impossible for them to considerin how far she was to blame for what had happened. She could not eator sleep, grew visibly thinner, coughed, and, as the doctors made themfeel, was in danger. They could not think of anything but how tohelp her. Doctors came to see her singly and in consultation, talkedmuch in French, German, and Latin, blamed one another, andprescribed a great variety of medicines for all the diseases knownto them, but the simple idea never occurred to any of them that theycould not know the disease Natasha was suffering from, as no diseasesuffered by a live man can be known, for every living person has hisown peculiarities and always has his own peculiar, personal, novel,complicated disease, unknown to medicine- not a disease of thelungs, liver, skin, heart, nerves, and so on mentioned in medicalbooks, but a disease consisting of one of the innumerable combinationsof the maladies of those organs. This simple thought could not occurto the doctors (as it cannot occur to a wizard that he is unable towork his charms) because the business of their lives was to cure,and they received money for it and had spent the best years of theirlives on that business. But, above all, that thought was kept out oftheir minds by the fact that they saw they were really useful, as infact they were to the whole Rostov family. Their usefulness did notdepend on making the patient swallow substances for the most partharmful (the harm was scarcely perceptible, as they were given insmall doses), but they were useful, necessary, and indispensablebecause they satisfied a mental need of the invalid and of those wholoved her- and that is why there are, and always will be,pseudo-healers, wise women, homeopaths, and allopaths. Theysatisfied that eternal human need for hope of relief, for sympathy,and that something should be done, which is felt by those who aresuffering. They satisfied the need seen in its most elementary form ina child, when it wants to have a place rubbed that has been hurt. Achild knocks itself and runs at once to the arms of its mother ornurse to have the aching spot rubbed or kissed, and it feels betterwhen this is done. The child cannot believe that the strongest andwisest of its people have no remedy for its pain, and the hope ofrelief and the expression of its mother's sympathy while she rubsthe bump comforts it. The doctors were of use to Natasha becausethey kissed and rubbed her bump, assuring her that it would soonpass if only the coachman went to the chemist's in the Arbat and got apowder and some pills in a pretty box of a ruble and seventy kopeks,and if she took those powders in boiled water at intervals ofprecisely two hours, neither more nor less.

　　What would Sonya and the count and countess have done, how wouldthey have looked, if nothing had been done, if there had not beenthose pills to give by the clock, the warm drinks, the chickencutlets, and all the other details of life ordered by the doctors, thecarrying out of which supplied an occupation and consolation to thefamily circle? How would the count have borne his dearly loveddaughter's illness had he not known that it was costing him a thousandrubles, and that he would not grudge thousands more to benefit her, orhad he not known that if her illness continued he would not grudge yetother thousands and would take her abroad for consultations there, andhad he not been able to explain the details of how Metivier and Fellerhad not understood the symptoms, but Frise had, and Mudrov haddiagnosed them even better? What would the countess have done hadshe not been able sometimes to scold the invalid for not strictlyobeying the doctor's orders?

　　"You'll never get well like that," she would say, forgetting hergrief in her vexation, "if you won't obey the doctor and take yourmedicine at the right time! You mustn't trifle with it, you know, orit may turn to pneumonia," she would go on, deriving much comfort fromthe utterance of that foreign word, incomprehensible to others as wellas to herself.

　　What would Sonya have done without the glad consciousness that shehad not undressed during the first three nights, in order to beready to carry out all the doctor's injunctions with precision, andthat she still kept awake at night so as not to miss the proper timewhen the slightly harmful pills in the little gilt box had to beadministered? Even to Natasha herself it was pleasant to see that somany sacrifices were being made for her sake, and to know that she hadto take medicine at certain hours, though she declared that nomedicine would cure her and that it was all nonsense. And it waseven pleasant to be able to show, by disregarding the orders, that shedid not believe in medical treatment and did not value her life.

　　The doctor came every day, felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, andregardless of her grief-stricken face joked with her. But when hehad gone into another room, to which the countess hurriedly followedhim, he assumed a grave air and thoughtfully shaking his head saidthat though there was danger, he had hopes of the effect of thislast medicine and one must wait and see, that the malady was chieflymental, but... And the countess, trying to conceal the action fromherself and from him, slipped a gold coin into his hand and alwaysreturned to the patient with a more tranquil mind.

　　The symptoms of Natasha's illness were that she ate little, sleptlittle, coughed, and was always low-spirited. The doctors said thatshe could not get on without medical treatment, so they kept her inthe stifling atmosphere of the town, and the Rostovs did not move tothe country that summer of 1812.

　　In spite of the many pills she swallowed and the drops and powdersout of the little bottles and boxes of which Madame Schoss who wasfond of such things made a large collection, and in spite of beingdeprived of the country life to which she was accustomed, youthprevailed. Natasha's grief began to be overlaid by the impressionsof daily life, it ceased to press so painfully on her heart, itgradually faded into the past, and she began to recover physically.BK9|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　Natasha was calmer but no happier. She not merely avoided allexternal forms of pleasure- balls, promenades, concerts, and theaters-but she never laughed without a sound of tears in her laughter. Shecould not sing. As soon as she began to laugh, or tried to sing byherself, tears choked her: tears of remorse, tears at the recollectionof those pure times which could never return, tears of vexation thatshe should so uselessly have ruined her young life which might havebeen so happy. Laughter and singing in particular seemed to her like ablasphemy, in face of her sorrow. Without any need ofself-restraint, no wish to coquet ever entered her head. She saidand felt at that time that no man was more to her than NastasyaIvanovna, the buffoon. Something stood sentinel within her and forbadeher every joy. Besides, she had lost all the old interests of hercarefree girlish life that had been so full of hope. The previousautumn, the hunting, "Uncle," and the Christmas holidays spent withNicholas at Otradnoe were what she recalled oftenest and mostpainfully. What would she not have given to bring back even a singleday of that time! But it was gone forever. Her presentiment at thetime had not deceived her- that that state of freedom and readinessfor any enjoyment would not return again. Yet it was necessary to liveon.

　　It comforted her to reflect that she was not better as she hadformerly imagined, but worse, much worse, than anybody else in theworld. But this was not enough. She knew that, and asked herself,"What next?" But there was nothing to come. There was no joy inlife, yet life was passing. Natasha apparently tried not to be aburden or a hindrance to anyone, but wanted nothing for herself. Shekept away from everyone in the house and felt at ease only with herbrother Petya. She liked to be with him better than with the others,and when alone with him she sometimes laughed. She hardly ever leftthe house and of those who came to see them was glad to see only oneperson, Pierre. It would have been impossible to treat her with moredelicacy, greater care, and at the same time more seriously than didCount Bezukhov. Natasha unconsciously felt this delicacy and sofound great pleasure in his society. But she was not even gratefulto him for it; nothing good on Pierre's part seemed to her to be aneffort, it seemed so natural for him to be kind to everyone that therewas no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natasha noticedembarrassment and awkwardness on his part in her presence,especially when he wanted to do something to please her, or fearedthat something they spoke of would awaken memories distressing to her.She noticed this and attributed it to his general kindness andshyness, which she imagined must be the same toward everyone as it wasto her. After those involuntary words- that if he were free he wouldhave asked on his knees for her hand and her love- uttered at a momentwhen she was so strongly agitated, Pierre never spoke to Natasha ofhis feelings; and it seemed plain to her that those words, which hadthen so comforted her, were spoken as all sorts of meaningless wordsare spoken to comfort a crying child. It was not because Pierre wasa married man, but because Natasha felt very strongly with him thatmoral barrier the absence of which she had experienced with Kuraginthat it never entered her head that the relations between him andherself could lead to love on her part, still less on his, or evento the kind of tender, self-conscious, romantic friendship between aman and a woman of which she had known several instances.

　　Before the end of the fast of St. Peter, Agrafena Ivanovna Belova, acountry neighbor of the Rostovs, came to Moscow to pay her devotionsat the shrines of the Moscow saints. She suggested that Natasha shouldfast and prepare for Holy Communion, and Natasha gladly welcomed theidea. Despite the doctor's orders that she should not go out earlyin the morning, Natasha insisted on fasting and preparing for thesacrament, not as they generally prepared for it in the Rostovfamily by attending three services in their own house, but as AgrafenaIvanovna did, by going to church every day for a week and not oncemissing Vespers, Matins, or Mass.

　　The countess was pleased with Natasha's zeal; after the poor resultsof the medical treatment, in the depths of her heart she hoped thatprayer might help her daughter more than medicines and, though notwithout fear and concealing it from the doctor, she agreed toNatasha's wish and entrusted her to Belova. Agrafena Ivanovna usedto come to wake Natasha at three in the morning, but generally foundher already awake. She was afraid of being late for Matins. Hastilywashing, and meekly putting on her shabbiest dress and an oldmantilla, Natasha, shivering in the fresh air, went out into thedeserted streets lit by the clear light of dawn. By AgrafenaIvanovna's advice Natasha prepared herself not in their own parish,but at a church where, according to the devout Agrafena Ivanovna,the priest was a man of very severe and lofty life. There were nevermany people in the church; Natasha always stood beside Belova in thecustomary place before an icon of the Blessed Virgin, let into thescreen before the choir on the left side, and a feeling, new to her,of humility before something great and incomprehensible, seized herwhen at that unusual morning hour, gazing at the dark face of theVirgin illuminated by the candles burning before it and by the morninglight falling from the window, she listened to the words of theservice which she tried to follow with understanding. When sheunderstood them her personal feeling became interwoven in theprayers with shades of its own. When she did not understand, it wassweeter still to think that the wish to understand everything ispride, that it is impossible to understand all, that it is onlynecessary to believe and to commit oneself to God, whom she feltguiding her soul at those moments. She crossed herself, bowed low, andwhen she did not understand, in horror at her own vileness, simplyasked God to forgive her everything, everything, to have mercy uponher. The prayers to which she surrendered herself most of all werethose of repentance. On her way home at an early hour when she metno one but bricklayers going to work or men sweeping the street, andeverybody within the houses was still asleep, Natasha experienced afeeling new to her, a sense of the possibility of correcting herfaults, the possibility of a new, clean life, and of happiness.

　　During the whole week she spent in this way, that feeling grew everyday. And the happiness of taking communion, or "communing" as AgrafenaIvanovna, joyously playing with the word, called it, seemed to Natashaso 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 thefirst time for many months she felt calm and not oppressed by thethought of the life that lay before her.

　　The doctor who came to see her that day ordered her to continuethe 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 beparticular about it.

　　"Be quite easy," he continued playfully, as he adroitly took thegold 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 hasfreshened up very much."

　　The countess, with a cheerful expression on her face, looked down ather nails and spat a little for luck as she returned to the drawingroom.BK9|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　At the beginning of July more and more disquieting reports about thewar began to spread in Moscow; people spoke of an appeal by theEmperor to the people, and of his coming himself from the army toMoscow. And as up to the eleventh of July no manifesto or appeal hadbeen received, exaggerated reports became current about them and aboutthe position of Russia. It was said that the Emperor was leaving thearmy because it was in danger, it was said that Smolensk hadsurrendered, that Napoleon had an army of a million and only a miraclecould save Russia.

　　On the eleventh of July, which was Saturday, the manifesto wasreceived but was not yet in print, and Pierre, who was at theRostovs', promised to come to dinner next day, Sunday, and bring acopy of the manifesto and appeal, which he would obtain from CountRostopchin.

　　That Sunday, the Rostovs went to Mass at the Razumovskis' privatechapel as usual. It was a hot July day. Even at ten o'clock, whenthe Rostovs got out of their carriage at the chapel, the sultry air,the shouts of hawkers, the light and gay summer clothes of thecrowd, the dusty leaves of the trees on the boulevard, the sounds ofthe band and the white trousers of a battalion marching to parade, therattling of wheels on the cobblestones, and the brilliant, hotsunshine were all full of that summer languor, that content anddiscontent with the present, which is most strongly felt on abright, hot day in town. All the Moscow notabilities, all the Rostovs'acquaintances, were at the Razumovskis' chapel, for, as if expectingsomething to happen, many wealthy families who usually left town fortheir country estates had not gone away that summer. As Natasha, ather mother's side, passed through the crowd behind a liveriedfootman who cleared the way for them, she heard a young man speakingabout her in too loud a whisper.

　　"That's Rostova, the one who..."

　　"She's much thinner, but all the same she's pretty!"

　　She heard, or thought she heard, the names of Kuragin and Bolkonski.But she was always imagining that. It always seemed to her thateveryone who looked at her was thinking only of what had happened toher. With a sinking heart, wretched as she always was now when shefound herself in a crowd, Natasha in her lilac silk dress trimmed withblack lace walked- as women can walk- with the more repose andstateliness the greater the pain and shame in her soul. She knew forcertain that she was pretty, but this no longer gave hersatisfaction as it used to. On the contrary it tormented her more thananything else of late, and particularly so on this bright, hotsummer day in town. "It's Sunday again- another week past," shethought, recalling that she had been here the Sunday before, "andalways the same life that is no life, and the same surroundings inwhich it used to be so easy to live. I'm pretty, I'm young, and I knowthat now I am good. I used to be bad, but now I know I am good," shethought, "but yet my best years are slipping by and are no good toanyone." She stood by her mother's side and exchanged nods withacquaintances near her. From habit she scrutinized the ladies'dresses, condemned the bearing of a lady standing close by who was notcrossing herself properly but in a cramped manner, and again shethought with vexation that she was herself being judged and wasjudging others, and suddenly, at the sound of the service, she felthorrified at her own vileness, horrified that the former purity of hersoul was again lost to her.

　　A comely, fresh-looking old man was conducting the service with thatmild solemnity which has so elevating and soothing an effect on thesouls of the worshipers. The gates of the sanctuary screen wereclosed, the curtain was slowly drawn, and from behind it a softmysterious voice pronounced some words. Tears, the cause of whichshe herself did not understand, made Natasha's breast heave, and ajoyous but oppressive feeling agitated her.

　　"Teach me what I should do, how to live my life, how I may grow goodforever, forever!" she pleaded.

　　The deacon came out onto the raised space before the altar screenand, holding his thumb extended, drew his long hair from under hisdalmatic and, making the sign of the cross on his breast, began in aloud 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 Natasha.

　　"For the peace that is from above, and for the salvation of oursouls."

　　"For the world of angels and all the spirits who dwell above us,"prayed Natasha.

　　When they prayed for the warriors, she thought of her brother andDenisov. When they prayed for all traveling by land and sea, sheremembered Prince Andrew, prayed for him, and asked God to forgive herall the wrongs she had done him. When they prayed for those who loveus, she prayed for the members of her own family, her father andmother and Sonya, realizing for the first time how wrongly she hadacted toward them, and feeling all the strength of her love forthem. When they prayed for those who hate us, she tried to think ofher enemies and people who hated her, in order to pray for them. Sheincluded among her enemies the creditors and all who had businessdealings with her father, and always at the thought of enemies andthose who hated her she remembered Anatole who had done her so muchharm- and though he did not hate her she gladly prayed for him asfor an enemy. Only at prayer did she feel able to think clearly andcalmly of Prince Andrew and Anatole, as men for whom her feelings wereas nothing compared with her awe and devotion to God. When they prayedfor the Imperial family and the Synod, she bowed very low and made thesign of the cross, saying to herself that even if she did notunderstand, still she could not doubt, and at any rate loved thegoverning Synod and prayed for it.

　　When he had finished the Litany the deacon crossed the stole overhis breast and said, "Let us commit ourselves and our whole lives toChrist the Lord!"

　　"Commit ourselves to God," Natasha inwardly repeated. "Lord God, Isubmit myself to Thy will!" she thought. "I want nothing, wish fornothing; teach me what to do and how to use my will! Take me, takeme!" prayed Natasha, with impatient emotion in her heart, not crossingherself but letting her slender arms hang down as if expecting someinvisible power at any moment to take her and deliver her fromherself, from her regrets, desires, remorse, hopes, and sins.

　　The countess looked round several times at her daughter's softenedface and shining eyes and prayed God to help her.

　　Unexpectedly, in the middle of the service, and not in the usualorder Natasha knew so well, the deacon brought out a small stool,the one he knelt on when praying on Trinity Sunday, and placed itbefore the doors of the sanctuary screen. The priest came out with hispurple velvet biretta on his head, adjusted his hair, and knelt downwith an effort. Everybody followed his example and they looked atone another in surprise. Then came the prayer just received from theSynod- a prayer for the deliverance of Russia from hostile invasion.

　　"Lord God of might, God of our salvation!" began the priest inthat voice, clear, not grandiloquent but mild, in which only theSlav clergy read and which acts so irresistibly on a Russian heart.

　　"Lord God of might, God of our salvation! Look this day in mercy andblessing on Thy humble people, and graciously hear us, spare us, andhave mercy upon us! This foe confounding Thy land, desiring to laywaste the whole world, rises against us; these lawless men aregathered together to overthrow Thy kingdom, to destroy Thy dearJerusalem, Thy beloved Russia; to defile Thy temples, to overthrowThine altars, and to desecrate our holy shrines. How long, O Lord, howlong shall the wicked triumph? How long shall they wield unlawfulpower?

　　"Lord God! Hear us when we pray to Thee; strengthen with Thy mightour most gracious sovereign lord, the Emperor Alexander Pavlovich;be mindful of his uprightness and meekness, reward him according tohis righteousness, and let it preserve us, Thy chosen Israel! Blesshis counsels, his undertakings, and his work; strengthen his kingdomby Thine almighty hand, and give him victory over his enemy, even asThou gavest Moses the victory over Amalek, Gideon over Midian, andDavid over Goliath. Preserve his army, put a bow of brass in the handsof those who have armed themselves in Thy Name, and gird their loinswith strength for the fight. Take up the spear and shield and arise tohelp us; confound and put to shame those who have devised evil againstus, may they be before the faces of Thy faithful warriors as dustbefore the wind, and may Thy mighty Angel confound them and put themto flight; may they be ensnared when they know it not, and may theplots they have laid in secret be turned against them; let them fallbefore Thy servants' feet and be laid low by our hosts! Lord, Thou artable to save both great and small; Thou art God, and man cannotprevail against Thee!

　　"God of our fathers! Remember Thy bounteous mercy andloving-kindness which are from of old; turn not Thy face from us,but be gracious to our unworthiness, and in Thy great goodness and Thymany mercies regard not our transgressions and iniquities! Create inus a clean heart and renew a right spirit within us, strengthen us allin Thy faith, fortify our hope, inspire us with true love one foranother, arm us with unity of spirit in the righteous defense of theheritage Thou gavest to us and to our fathers, and let not the scepterof the wicked be exalted against the destiny of those Thou hastsanctified.

　　"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 tokenof Thy blessing, that those who hate us and our Orthodox faith may seeit and be put to shame and perish, and may all the nations know thatThou art the Lord and we are Thy people. Show Thy mercy upon us thisday, O Lord, and grant us Thy salvation; make the hearts of Thyservants to rejoice in Thy mercy; smite down our enemies and destroythem swiftly beneath the feet of Thy faithful servants! For Thou artthe defense, the succor, and the victory of them that put theirtrust in Thee, and to Thee be all glory, to Father, Son, and HolyGhost, now and forever, world without end. Amen."

　　In Natasha's receptive condition of soul this prayer affected herstrongly. She listened to every word about the victory of Moses overAmalek, of Gideon over Midian, and of David over Goliath, and aboutthe destruction of "Thy Jerusalem," and she prayed to God with thetenderness and emotion with which her heart was overflowing, butwithout fully understanding what she was asking of God in that prayer.She shared with all her heart in the prayer for the spirit ofrighteousness, for the strengthening of the heart by faith and hope,and its animation by love. But she could not pray that her enemiesmight be trampled under foot when but a few minutes before she hadbeen wishing she had more of them that she might pray for them. Butneither could she doubt the righteousness of the prayer that was beingread on bended knees. She felt in her heart a devout and tremulous aweat the thought of the punishment that overtakes men for their sins,and especially of her own sins, and she prayed to God to forgivethem all, and her too, and to give them all, and her too, peace andhappiness. And it seemed to her that God heard her prayer.BK9|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　From the day when Pierre, after leaving the Rostovs' withNatasha's grateful look fresh in his mind, had gazed at the comet thatseemed to be fixed in the sky and felt that something new wasappearing on his own horizon- from that day the problem of thevanity and uselessness of all earthly things, that had incessantlytormented him, no longer presented itself. That terrible question"Why?" "Wherefore?" which had come to him amid every occupation, wasnow replaced, not by another question or by a reply to the formerquestion, but by her image. When he listened to, or himself tookpart in, trivial conversations, when he read or heard of humanbaseness or folly, he was not horrified as formerly, and did not askhimself why men struggled so about these things when all is sotransient and incomprehensible- but he remembered her as he had lastseen her, and all his doubts vanished- not because she had answeredthe questions that had haunted him, but because his conception ofher transferred him instantly to another, a brighter, realm ofspiritual activity in which no one could be justified or guilty- arealm of beauty and love which it was worth living for. Whateverworldly baseness presented itself to him, he said to himself:

　　"Well, supposing N. N. swindled the country and the Tsar, and thecountry 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 sameidle and dissipated life, because besides the hours he spent at theRostovs' there were other hours he had to spend somehow, and thehabits and acquaintances he had made in Moscow formed a current thatbore him along irresistibly. But latterly, when more and moredisquieting reports came from the seat of war and Natasha's healthbegan to improve and she no longer aroused in him the former feelingof careful pity, an ever-increasing restlessness, which he could notexplain, took possession of him. He felt that the condition he wasin could not continue long, that a catastrophe was coming whichwould change his whole life, and he impatiently sought everywherefor signs of that approaching catastrophe. One of his brother Masonshad 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 numberof the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Sixhundred threescore and six.And in the fifth verse of the same chapter:

　　And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things andblasphemies; and power was given unto him to continue forty and twomonths.

　　The French alphabet, written out with the same numerical values asthe Hebrew, in which the first nine letters denote units and theothers 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 Napoleon in numbers, it appears thatthe sum of them is 666, and that Napoleon therefore the beast foretoldin the Apocalypse. Moreover, by applying the same system to thewords quarante-deux,* which was the term allowed to the beast that"spoke great things and blasphemies," the same number 666 wasobtained; from which it followed that the limit fixed for Napoleon'spower had come in the year 1812 when the French emperor was forty-two.This prophecy pleased Pierre very much and he often asked himself whatwould 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 addingthem up, to find an answer to the question that engrossed him. Hewrote the words L'Empereur Alexandre, La nation russe and added uptheir numbers, but the sums were either more or less than 666. Oncewhen 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 deand the article le, still without obtaining the desired result. Thenit occurred to him: if the answer to the question were contained inhis name, his nationality would also be given in the answer. So hewrote Le russe Besuhof and adding up the numbers got 671. This wasonly five too much, and five was represented by e, the very letterelided from the article le before the word Empereur. By omitting thee, though incorrectly, Pierre got the answer he sought. L'russeBesuhof made 666. This discovery excited him. How, or by what means,he was connected with the great event foretold in the Apocalypse hedid not know, but he did not doubt that connection for a moment. Hislove for Natasha, Antichrist, Napoleon, the invasion, the comet,666, L'Empereur Napoleon, and L'russe Besuhof- all this had tomature and culminate, to lift him out of that spellbound, petty sphereof Moscow habits in which he felt himself held captive and lead him toa great achievement and great happiness.

　　*Forty-two.

　　On the eve of the Sunday when the special prayer was read, Pierrehad promised the Rostovs to bring them, from Count Rostopchin whomhe knew well, both the appeal to the people and the news from thearmy. In the morning, when he went to call at Rostopchin's he metthere a courier fresh from the army, an acquaintance of his own, whooften danced at Moscow balls.

　　"Do, please, for heaven's sake, relieve me of something!" said thecourier. "I have a sackful of letters to parents."

　　Among these letters was one from Nicholas Rostov to his father.Pierre took that letter, and Rostopchin also gave him the Emperor'sappeal 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, andrewarded, the name of Nicholas Rostov, awarded a St. George's Cross ofthe Fourth Class for courage shown in the Ostrovna affair, and inthe same order the name of Prince Andrew Bolkonski, appointed to thecommand of a regiment of Chasseurs. Though he did not want to remindthe Rostovs of Bolkonski, Pierre could not refrain from making themhappy by the news of their son's having received a decoration, so hesent that printed army order and Nicholas' letter to the Rostovs,keeping the appeal, the bulletin, and the other orders to take withhim when he went to dinner.

　　His conversation with Count Rostopchin and the latter's tone ofanxious hurry, the meeting with the courier who talked casually of howbadly things were going in the army, the rumors of the discovery ofspies in Moscow and of a leaflet in circulation stating thatNapoleon promised to be in both the Russian capitals by the autumn,and the talk of the Emperor's being expected to arrive next day- allaroused with fresh force that feeling of agitation and expectationin Pierre which he had been conscious of ever since the appearanceof the comet, and especially since the beginning of the war.

　　He had long been thinking of entering the army and would have doneso had he not been hindered, first, by his membership of the Societyof Freemasons to which he was bound by oath and which preachedperpetual peace and the abolition of war, and secondly, by the factthat when he saw the great mass of Muscovites who had donned uniformand were talking patriotism, he somehow felt ashamed to take the step.But the chief reason for not carrying out his intention to enter thearmy lay in the vague idea that he was L'russe Besuhof who had thenumber of the beast, 666; that his part in the great affair of settinga limit to the power of the beast that spoke great and blasphemousthings had been predestined from eternity, and that therefore he oughtnot to undertake anything, but wait for what was bound to come topass.BK9|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　A few intimate friends were dining with the Rostovs that day, asusual on Sundays.

　　Pierre came early so as to find them alone.

　　He had grown so stout this year that he would have been abnormal hadhe not been so tall, so broad of limb, and so strong that he carriedhis bulk with evident ease.

　　He went up the stairs, puffing and muttering something. His coachmandid not even ask whether he was to wait. He knew that when hismaster was at the Rostovs' he stayed till midnight. The Rostovs'footman rushed eagerly forward to help him off with his cloak and takehis hat and stick. Pierre, from club habit, always left both hat andstick in the anteroom.

　　The first person he saw in the house was Natasha. Even before he sawher, while taking off his cloak, he heard her. She was practicingsolfa exercises in the music room. He knew that she had not sung sinceher illness, and so the sound of her voice surprised and delightedhim. He opened the door softly and saw her, in the lilac dress she hadworn at church, walking about the room singing. She had her back tohim when he opened the door, but when, turning quickly, she saw hisbroad, surprised face, she blushed and came rapidly up to him.

　　"I want to try to sing again," she said, adding as if by way ofexcuse, "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 theold animation Pierre had not seen in her for along time. "You knowNicholas 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 interruptyou," he added, and was about to go to the drawing room.

　　Natasha stopped him.

　　"Count, is it wrong of me to sing?" she said blushing, and fixingher eyes inquiringly on him.

　　"No... Why should it be? On the contrary... But why do you ask me?"

　　"I don't know myself," Natasha answered quickly, "but I should notlike 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 forme...." She spoke rapidly and did not notice how Pierre flushed at herwords. "I saw in that same army order that he, Bolkonski" (shewhispered the name hastily), "is in Russia, and in the army again.What do you think?"- she was speaking hurriedly, evidently afraidher strength might fail her- "Will he ever forgive me? Will he notalways have a bitter feeling toward me? What do you think? What do youthink?"

　　"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 theday when, trying to comfort her, he had said that if he were nothimself but the best man in the world and free, he would ask on hisknees for her hand; and the same feeling of pity, tenderness, and lovetook possession of him and the same words rose to his lips. But shedid 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, orbetter than you; nobody could be! Had you not been there then, and nowtoo, I don't know what would have become of me, because..."

　　Tears suddenly rose in her eyes, she turned away, lifted her musicbefore her eyes, began singing again, and again began walking up anddown the room.

　　Just then Petya came running in from the drawing room.

　　Petya was now a handsome rosy lad of fifteen with full red lipsand resembled Natasha. He was preparing to enter the university, buthe and his friend Obolenski had lately, in secret, agreed to jointhe hussars.

　　Petya had come rushing out to talk to his namesake about thisaffair. He had asked Pierre to find out whether he would be acceptedin the hussars.

　　Pierre walked up and down the drawing room, not listening to whatPetya was saying.

　　Petya pulled him by the arm to attract his attention.

　　"Well, what about my plan? Peter Kirilych, for heaven's sake! Youare my only hope " said Petya.

　　"Oh yes, your plan. To join the hussars? I'll mention it, I'll bringit all up today."

　　"Well, mon cher, have you got the manifesto?" asked the old count."The countess has been to Mass at the Razumovskis' and heard the newprayer. She says it's very fine."

　　"Yes, I've got it," said Pierre. "The Emperor is to be heretomorrow... 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 mecongratulate you!"

　　"Yes, yes, thank God! Well, and what news from the army?"

　　"We are again retreating. They say we're already near Smolensk,"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 notfind them. Still slapping his pockets, he kissed the hand of thecountess who entered the room and glanced uneasily around, evidentlyexpecting Natasha, who had left off singing but had not yet comeinto 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.

　　Natasha entered with a softened and agitated expression of faceand sat down looking silently at Pierre. As soon as she entered,Pierre's features, which had been gloomy, suddenly lighted up, andwhile still searching for the papers he glanced at her several times.

　　"No, really! I'll drive home, I must have left them there. I'llcertainly..."

　　"But you'll be late for dinner."

　　"Oh! And my coachman has gone."

　　But Sonya, who had gone to look for the papers in the anteroom,had found them in Pierre's hat, where he had carefully tucked themunder the lining. Pierre was about to begin reading.

　　"No, after dinner," said the old count, evidently expecting muchenjoyment from that reading.

　　At dinner, at which champagne was drunk to the health of the newchevalier of St. George, Shinshin told them the town news, of theillness of the old Georgian princess, of Metivier's disappearance fromMoscow, and of how some German fellow had been brought to Rostopchinand accused of being a French "spyer" (so Count Rostopchin had toldthe story), and how Rostopchin let him go and assured the peoplethat he was "not a spire at all, but only an old German ruin."

　　"People are being arrested..." said the count. "I've told thecountess she should not speak French so much. It's not the time for itnow."

　　"And have you heard?" Shinshin asked. "Prince Golitsyn has engaged amaster to teach him Russian. It is becoming dangerous to speakFrench in the streets."

　　"And how about you, Count Peter Kirilych? If they call up themilitia, you too will have to mount a horse," remarked the oldcount, addressing Pierre.

　　Pierre had been silent and preoccupied all through dinner, seemingnot 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. Idon't know, I am very far from having military tastes, but in thesetimes no one can answer for himself."

　　After dinner the count settled himself comfortably in an easychair and with a serious face asked Sonya, who was considered anexcellent reader, to read the appeal.

　　"To Moscow, our ancient Capital!

　　"The enemy has entered the borders of Russia with immense forces. Hecomes to despoil our beloved country,"

　　Sonya read painstakingly in her high-pitched voice. The countlistened with closed eyes, heaving abrupt sighs at certain passages.

　　Natasha sat erect, gazing with a searching look now at her fatherand now at Pierre.

　　Pierre felt her eyes on him and tried not to look round. Thecountess shook her head disapprovingly and angrily at every solemnexpression in the manifesto. In all these words she saw only thatthe danger threatening her son would not soon be over. Shinshin,with a sarcastic smile on his lips, was evidently preparing to makefun of anything that gave him the opportunity: Sonya's reading, anyremark of the count's, or even the manifesto itself should no betterpretext present itself.

　　After reading about the dangers that threatened Russia, the hopesthe Emperor placed on Moscow and especially on its illustriousnobility, Sonya, with a quiver in her voice due chiefly to theattention that was being paid to her, read the last words:

　　"We ourselves will not delay to appear among our people in thatCapital and in others parts of our realm for consultation, and for thedirection of all our levies, both those now barring the enemy's pathand those freshly formed to defeat him wherever he may appear. May theruin he hopes to bring upon us recoil on his own head, and mayEurope delivered from bondage glorify the name of Russia!"

　　"Yes, that's it!" cried the count, opening his moist eyes andsniffing repeatedly, as if a strong vinaigrette had been held to hisnose; and he added, "Let the Emperor but say the word and we'llsacrifice everything and begrudge nothing."

　　Before Shinshin had time to utter the joke he was ready to make onthe count's patriotism, Natasha jumped up from her place and ran toher father.

　　"What a darling our Papa is!" she cried, kissing him, and sheagain looked at Pierre with the unconscious coquetry that had returnedto her with her better spirits.

　　"There! Here's a patriot for you!" said Shinshin.

　　"Not a patriot at all, but simply..." Natasha replied in aninjured tone. "Everything seems funny to you, but this isn't at alla joke...."

　　"A joke indeed!" put in the count. "Let him but say the word andwe'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, Petya, to whom nobody was paying any attention, cameup to his father with a very flushed face and said in his breakingvoice that was now deep and now shrill:

　　"Well, Papa, I tell you definitely, and Mamma too, it's as youplease, 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, andturned 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! Youmust study."

　　"It's not nonsense, Papa. Fedya Obolenski is younger than I, andhe's going too. Besides, all the same I can't study now when..." Petyastopped 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."

　　"Petya! Be quiet, I tell you!" cried the count, with a glance at hiswife, who had turned pale and was staring fixedly at her son.

　　"And I tell you- Peter Kirilych here will also tell you..."

　　"Nonsense, I tell you. Your mother's milk has hardly dried on yourlips 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, probablyto reread them in his study before having a nap.

　　"Well, Peter Kirilych, let's go and have a smoke," he said.

　　Pierre was agitated and undecided. Natasha's unwontedly brillianteyes, continually glancing at him with a more than cordial look, hadreduced him to this condition.

　　"No, I think I'll go home."

　　"Home? Why, you meant to spend the evening with us.... You don'toften come nowadays as it is, and this girl of mine," said the countgood-naturedly, pointing to Natasha, "only brightens up when you'rehere."

　　"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 Natasha, and shelooked challengingly into Pierre's eyes.

　　"Because I love you!" was what he wanted to say, but he did notsay 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!" Natasha began resolutely and suddenly stopped.

　　They looked at each other with dismayed and embarrassed faces. Hetried to smile but could not: his smile expressed suffering, and hesilently kissed her hand and went out.

　　Pierre made up his mind not to go to the Rostovs' any more.BK9|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　After the definite refusal he had received, Petya went to his roomand there locked himself in and wept bitterly. When he came in to tea,silent, morose, and with tear-stained face, everybody pretended not tonotice anything.

　　Next day the Emperor arrived in Moscow, and several of theRostovs' domestic serfs begged permission to go to have a look at him.That morning Petya was a long time dressing and arranging his hair andcollar to look like a grown-up man. He frowned before his lookingglass, gesticulated, shrugged his shoulders, and finally, withoutsaying a word to anyone, took his cap and left the house by the backdoor, trying to avoid notice. Petya decided to go straight to wherethe Emperor was and to explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting(he imagined the Emperor to be always surrounded bygentlemen-in-waiting) that he, Count Rostov, in spite of his youthwished to serve his country; that youth could be no hindrance toloyalty, and that he was ready to... While dressing, Petya hadprepared many fine things he meant to say to the gentleman-in-waiting.

　　It was on the very fact of being so young that Petya counted forsuccess in reaching the Emperor- he even thought how surprisedeveryone would be at his youthfulness- and yet in the arrangement ofhis collar and hair and by his sedate deliberate walk he wished toappear a grown-up man. But the farther he went and the more hisattention was diverted by the ever-increasing crowds moving toward theKremlin, the less he remembered to walk with the sedateness anddeliberation of a man. As he approached the Kremlin he even began toavoid being crushed and resolutely stuck out his elbows in amenacing way. But within the Trinity Gateway he was so pressed tothe wall by people who probably were unaware of the patrioticintentions with which he had come that in spite of all hisdetermination he had to give in, and stop while carriages passed in,rumbling beneath the archway. Beside Petya stood a peasant woman, afootman, two tradesmen, and a discharged soldier. After standingsome time in the gateway, Petya tried to move forward in front ofthe others without waiting for all the carriages to pass, and he beganresolutely working his way with his elbows, but the woman just infront of him, who was the first against whom he directed hisefforts, angrily shouted at him:

　　"What are you shoving for, young lordling? Don't you see we're allstanding still? Then why push?"

　　"Anybody can shove," said the footman, and also began working hiselbows to such effect that he pushed Petya into a very filthy cornerof the gateway.

　　Petya wiped his perspiring face with his hands and pulled up thedamp collar which he had arranged so well at home to seem like aman's.

　　He felt that he no longer looked presentable, and feared that ifhe were now to approach the gentlemen-in-waiting in that plight hewould not be admitted to the Emperor. But it was impossible to smartenoneself up or move to another place, because of the crowd. One ofthe generals who drove past was an acquaintance of the Rostovs', andPetya thought of asking his help, but came to the conclusion that thatwould not be a manly thing to do. When the carriages had all passedin, the crowd, carrying Petya with it, streamed forward into theKremlin Square which was already full of people. There were people notonly in the square, but everywhere- on the slopes and on the roofs. Assoon as Petya found himself in the square he clearly heard the soundof bells and the joyous voices of the crowd that filled the wholeKremlin.

　　For a while the crowd was less dense, but suddenly all heads werebared, and everyone rushed forward in one direction. Petya was beingpressed so that he could scarcely breathe, and everybody shouted,"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" Petya stood on tiptoe and pushed andpinched, 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 Petya sobbed, and the tears randown her cheeks.

　　"Father! Angel! Dear one!" she kept repeating, wiping away her tearswith her fingers.

　　"Hurrah!" was heard on all sides.

　　For a moment the crowd stood still, but then it made another rushforward.

　　Quite beside himself, Petya, clinching his teeth and rolling hiseyes ferociously, pushed forward, elbowing his way and shouting"hurrah!" as if he were prepared that instant to kill himself andeveryone else, but on both sides of him other people with similarlyferocious faces pushed forward and everybody shouted "hurrah!"

　　"So this is what the Emperor is!" thought Petya. "No, I can'tpetition him myself- that would be too bold." But in spite of thishe continued to struggle desperately forward, and from between thebacks of those in front he caught glimpses of an open space with astrip of red cloth spread out on it; but just then the crowd swayedback- the police in front were pushing back those who had pressedtoo close to the procession: the Emperor was passing from the palaceto the Cathedral of the Assumption- and Petya unexpectedly receivedsuch a blow on his side and ribs and was squeezed so hard thatsuddenly everything grew dim before his eyes and he lostconsciousness. When he came to himself, a man of clerical appearancewith a tuft of gray hair at the back of his head and wearing ashabby blue cassock- probably a church clerk and chanter- washolding him under the arm with one hand while warding off the pressureof the crowd with the other.

　　"You've crushed the young gentleman!" said the clerk. "What areyou up to? Gently!... They've crushed him, crushed him!"

　　The Emperor entered the Cathedral of the Assumption. The crowdspread out again more evenly, and the clerk led Petya- pale andbreathless- to the Tsar-cannon. Several people were sorry for Petya,and suddenly a crowd turned toward him and pressed round him. Thosewho stood nearest him attended to him, unbuttoned his coat, seated himon 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!"- variousvoices were heard saying.

　　Petya soon came to himself, the color returned to his face, the painhad passed, and at the cost of that temporary unpleasantness he hadobtained a place by the cannon from where he hoped to see theEmperor who would be returning that way. Petya no longer thought ofpresenting his petition. If he could only see the Emperor he wouldbe 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'sarrival and of thanksgiving for the conclusion of peace with theTurks- the crowd outside spread out and hawkers appeared, sellingkvas, gingerbread, and poppyseed sweets (of which Petya wasparticularly fond), and ordinary conversation could again be heard.A tradesman's wife was showing a rent in her shawl and telling howmuch the shawl had cost; another was saying that all silk goods hadnow got dear. The clerk who had rescued Petya was talking to afunctionary about the priests who were officiating that day with thebishop. The clerk several times used the word "plenary" (of theservice), a word Petya did not understand. Two young citizens werejoking with some serf girls who were cracking nuts. All theseconversations, especially the joking with the girls, were such asmight have had a particular charm for Petya at his age, but they didnot interest him now. He sat on his elevation- the pedestal of thecannon- still agitated as before by the thought of the Emperor andby his love for him. The feeling of pain and fear he had experiencedwhen he was being crushed, together with that of rapture, stillfurther intensified his sense of the importance of the occasion.

　　Suddenly the sound of a firing of cannon was heard from theembankment, to celebrate the signing of peace with the Turks, andthe crowd rushed impetuously toward the embankment to watch thefiring. Petya too would have run there, but the clerk who had takenthe young gentleman under his protection stopped him. The firing wasstill proceeding when officers, generals, and gentlemen-in-waitingcame running out of the cathedral, and after them others in a moreleisurely manner: caps were again raised, and those who had run tolook at the cannon ran back again. At last four men in uniforms andsashes emerged from the cathedral doors. "Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted thecrowd again.

　　"Which is he? Which?" asked Petya in a tearful voice, of thosearound him, but no one answered him, everybody was too excited; andPetya, fixing on one of those four men, whom he could not clearlysee for the tears of joy that filled his eyes, concentrated all hisenthusiasm on him- though it happened not to be the Emperor-frantically shouted "Hurrah!" and resolved that tomorrow, come whatmight, he would join the army.

　　The crowd ran after the Emperor, followed him to the palace, andbegan to disperse. It was already late, and Petya had not eatenanything and was drenched with perspiration, yet he did not go homebut stood with that diminishing, but still considerable, crowdbefore the palace while the Emperor dined- looking in at the palacewindows, expecting he knew not what, and envying alike the notables hesaw arriving at the entrance to dine with the Emperor and the courtfootmen who served at table, glimpses of whom could be seen throughthe windows.

　　While the Emperor was dining, Valuev, 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 Petya among them,rushed toward the balcony.

　　"Angel! Dear one! Hurrah! Father!..." cried the crowd, and Petyawith it, and again the women and men of weaker mold, Petya among them,wept with joy.

　　A largish piece of the biscuit the Emperor was holding in his handbroke off, fell on the balcony parapet, and then to the ground. Acoachman in a jerkin, who stood nearest, sprang forward and snatchedit up. Several people in the crowd rushed at the coachman. Seeing thisthe Emperor had a plateful of biscuits brought him and beganthrowing them down from the balcony. Petya's eyes grew bloodshot,and still more excited by the danger of being crushed, he rushed atthe biscuits. He did not know why, but he had to have a biscuit fromthe Tsar's hand and he felt that he must not give way. He sprangforward and upset an old woman who was catching at a biscuit; theold woman did not consider herself defeated though she was lying onthe ground- she grabbed at some biscuits but her hand did not reachthem. Petya pushed her hand away with his knee, seized a biscuit,and as if fearing to be too late, again shouted "Hurrah!" with a voicealready hoarse.

　　The Emperor went in, and after that the greater part of the crowdbegan to disperse.

　　"There! I said if only we waited- and so it was!" was being joyfullysaid by various people.

　　Happy as Petya was, he felt sad at having to go home knowing thatall the enjoyment of that day was over. He did not go straight homefrom the Kremlin, but called on his friend Obolenski, who wasfifteen and was also entering the regiment. On returning home Petyaannounced resolutely and firmly that if he was not allowed to enterthe service he would run away. And next day, Count Ilya Rostov- thoughhe had not yet quite yielded- went to inquire how he could arrange forPetya to serve where there would be least danger.BK9|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　Two days later, on the fifteenth of July, an immense number ofcarriages were standing outside the Sloboda Palace.

　　The great halls were full. In the first were the nobility and gentryin their uniforms, in the second bearded merchants in full-skirtedcoats of blue cloth and wearing medals. in the noblemen's hall therewas an incessant movement and buzz of voices. The chief magnates saton high-backed chairs at a large table under the portrait of theEmperor, but most of the gentry were strolling about the room.

　　All these nobles, whom Pierre met every day at the Club or intheir own houses, were in uniform- some in that of Catherine's day,others in that of Emperor Paul, others again in the new uniforms ofAlexander's time or the ordinary uniform of the nobility, and thegeneral characteristic of being in uniform imparted somethingstrange 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. Forthe most part they sat quietly in their places and were silent, or, ifthey walked about and talked, attached themselves to someoneyounger. On all these faces, as on the faces of the crowd Petya hadseen in the Square, there was a striking contradiction: the generalexpectation of a solemn event, and at the same time the everydayinterests in a boston card party, Peter the cook, Zinaida Dmitrievna'shealth, and so on.

　　Pierre was there too, buttoned up since early morning in anobleman's uniform that had become too tight for him. He was agitated;this extraordinary gathering not only of nobles but also of themerchant-class- les etats generaux (States-General)- evoked in him awhole series of ideas he had long laid aside but which were deeplygraven in his soul: thoughts of the Contrat social and the FrenchRevolution. The words that had struck him in the Emperor's appeal-that the sovereign was coming to the capital for consultation with hispeople- strengthened this idea. And imagining that in this directionsomething important which he had long awaited was drawing near, hestrolled about watching and listening to conversations, but nowherefinding any confirmation of the ideas that occupied him.

　　The Emperor's manifesto was read, evoking enthusiasm, and then allmoved about discussing it. Besides the ordinary topics ofconversation, Pierre heard questions of where the marshals of thenobility were to stand when the Emperor entered, when a ball should begiven in the Emperor's honor, whether they should group themselvesby districts or by whole provinces... and so on; but as soon as thewar was touched on, or what the nobility had been convened for, thetalk became undecided and indefinite. Then all preferred listeningto speaking.

　　A middle-aged man, handsome and virile, in the uniform of aretired naval officer, was speaking in one of the rooms, and a smallcrowd was pressing round him. Pierre went up to the circle that hadformed round the speaker and listened. Count Ilya Rostov, in amilitary uniform of Catherine's time, was sauntering with a pleasantsmile among the crowd, with all of whom he was acquainted. He tooapproached that group and listened with a kindly smile and nods ofapproval, as he always did, to what the speaker was saying. Theretired naval man was speaking very boldly, as was evident from theexpression on the faces of the listeners and from the fact that somepeople Pierre knew as the meekest and quietest of men walked awaydisapprovingly or expressed disagreement with him. Pierre pushed hisway into the middle of the group, listened, and convinced himself thatthe man was indeed a liberal, but of views quite different from hisown. The naval officer spoke in a particularly sonorous, musical,and aristocratic baritone voice, pleasantly swallowing his r's andgenerally slurring his consonants: the voice of a man calling out tohis servant, "Heah! Bwing me my pipe!" It was indicative ofdissipation and the exercise of authority.

　　"What if the Smolensk people have offahd to waise militia for theEmpewah? Ah we to take Smolensk as our patte'n? If the nobleawistocwacy of the pwovince of Moscow thinks fit, it can show itsloyalty to our sov'weign the Empewah in other ways. Have wefo'gotten the waising of the militia in the yeah 'seven? All thatdid was to enwich the pwiests' sons and thieves and wobbahs...."

　　Count Ilya Rostov smiled blandly and nodded approval.

　　"And was our militia of any use to the Empia? Not at all! It onlywuined our farming! Bettah have another conscwiption... o' ou' menwill wetu'n neithah soldiers no' peasants, and we'll get onlydepwavity fwom them. The nobility don't gwudge theah lives- evewyone of us will go and bwing in more wecwuits, and the sov'weign" (thatwas the way he referred to the Emperor) "need only say the word andwe'll all die fo' him!" added the orator with animation.

　　Count Rostov's mouth watered with pleasure and he nudged Pierre, butPierre wanted to speak himself. He pushed forward, feeling stirred,but not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say. Scarcely hadhe opened his mouth when one of the senators, a man without a tooth inhis head, with a shrewd though angry expression, standing near thefirst speaker, interrupted him. Evidently accustomed to managingdebates and to maintaining an argument, he began in low but distincttones:

　　"I imagine, sir," said he, mumbling with his toothless mouth,"that we have been summoned here not to discuss whether it's bestfor the empire at the present moment to adopt conscription or tocall out the militia. We have been summoned to reply to the appealwith which our sovereign the Emperor has honored us. But to judge whatis best- conscription or the militia- we can leave to the supremeauthority...."

　　Pierre suddenly saw an outlet for his excitement. He hardened hisheart against the senator who was introducing this set and narrowattitude into the deliberations of the nobility. Pierre steppedforward and interrupted him. He himself did not yet know what he wouldsay, but he began to speak eagerly, occasionally lapsing into Frenchor expressing himself in bookish Russian.

　　"Excuse me, your excellency," he began. (He was well acquainted withthe senator, but thought it necessary on this occasion to addresshim formally.) "Though I don't agree with the gentleman..." (hehesitated: he wished to say, "Mon tres honorable preopinant"- "My veryhonorable opponent") "with the gentleman... whom I have not thehonor of knowing, I suppose that the nobility have been summoned notmerely to express their sympathy and enthusiasm but also to considerthe means by which we can assist our Fatherland! I imagine," he wenton, warming to his subject, "that the Emperor himself would not besatisfied to find in us merely owners of serfs whom we are willingto devote to his service, and chair a canon* we are ready to make ofourselves- and not to obtain from us any co-co-counsel."

　　*"Food for cannon."

　　Many persons withdrew from the circle, noticing the senator'ssarcastic smile and the freedom of Pierre's remarks. Only Count Rostovwas pleased with them as he had been pleased with those of the navalofficer, the senator, and in general with whatever speech he hadlast heard.

　　"I think that before discussing these questions," Pierrecontinued, "we should ask the Emperor- most respectfully ask HisMajesty- to let us know the number of our troops and the position inwhich our army and our forces now are, and then..."

　　But scarcely had Pierre uttered these words before he was attackedfrom three sides. The most vigorous attack came from an oldacquaintance, a boston player who had always been well disposed towardhim, Stepan Stepanovich Adraksin. Adraksin was in uniform, and whetheras a result of the uniform or from some other cause Pierre sawbefore him quite a different man. With a sudden expression ofmalevolence on his aged face, Adraksin shouted at Pierre:

　　"In the first place, I tell you we have no right to question theEmperor about that, and secondly, if the Russian nobility had thatright, the Emperor could not answer such a question. The troops aremoved according to the enemy's movements and the number of menincreases and decreases..."

　　Another voice, that of a nobleman of medium height and about fortyyears of age, whom Pierre had formerly met at the gypsies' and knew asa bad cardplayer, and who, also transformed by his uniform, came up toPierre, interrupted Adraksin.

　　"Yes, and this is not a time for discussing," he continued, "but foracting: there is war in Russia! The enemy is advancing to destroyRussia, to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, to carry off ourwives and children." The nobleman smote his breast. "We will allarise, every one of us will go, for our father the Tsar!" heshouted, rolling his bloodshot eyes. Several approving voices wereheard in the crowd. "We are Russians and will not grudge our bloodin defense of our faith, the throne, and the Fatherland! We must ceaseraving if we are sons of our Fatherland! We will show Europe howRussia rises to the defense of Russia!"

　　Pierre wished to reply, but could not get in a word. He felt thathis words, apart from what meaning they conveyed, were less audiblethan the sound of his opponent's voice.

　　Count Rostov at the back of the crowd was expressing approval;several persons, briskly turning a shoulder to the orator at the endof a phrase, said:

　　"That's right, quite right! Just so!"

　　Pierre wished to say that he was ready to sacrifice his money, hisserfs, or himself, only one ought to know the state of affairs inorder to be able to improve it, but he was unable to speak. Manyvoices shouted and talked at the same time, so that Count Rostov hadnot time to signify his approval of them all, and the group increased,dispersed, re-formed, and then moved with a hum of talk into thelargest hall and to the big table. Not only was Pierre's attempt tospeak unsuccessful, but he was rudely interrupted, pushed aside, andpeople turned away from him as from a common enemy. This happenednot because they were displeased by the substance of his speech, whichhad even been forgotten after the many subsequent speeches, but toanimate it the crowd needed a tangible object to love and a tangibleobject to hate. Pierre became the latter. Many other orators spokeafter the excited nobleman, and all in the same tone. Many spokeeloquently and with originality.

　　Glinka, 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 childsmiling at lightning flashes and thunderclaps, but "we will not bethat child."

　　"Yes, yes, at thunderclaps!" was repeated approvingly in the backrows of the crowd.

　　The crowd drew up to the large table, at which sat gray-haired orbald seventy-year-old magnates, uniformed and besashed almost all ofwhom Pierre had seen in their own homes with their buffoons, orplaying boston at the clubs. With an incessant hum of voices the crowdadvanced to the table. Pressed by the throng against the high backs ofthe chairs, the orators spoke one after another and sometimes twotogether. Those standing behind noticed what a speaker omitted tosay and hastened to supply it. Others in that heat and crush rackedtheir brains to find some thought and hastened to utter it. The oldmagnates, whom Pierre knew, sat and turned to look first at one andthen at another, and their faces for the most part only expressedthe fact that they found it very hot. Pierre, however, felt excited,and the general desire to show that they were ready to go to alllengths- which found expression in the tones and looks more than inthe substance of the speeches- infected him too. He did not renouncehis opinions, but felt himself in some way to blame and wished tojustify himself.

　　"I only said that it would be more to the purpose to make sacrificeswhen we know what is needed!" said he, trying to be heard above theother voices.

　　One of the old men nearest to him looked round, but his attentionwas immediately diverted by an exclamation at the other side of thetable.

　　"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!..."BK9|CH23

　　CHAPTER XXIII

　　At that moment Count Rostopchin with his protruding chin and alerteyes, wearing the uniform of a general with sash over his shoulder,entered the room, stepping briskly to the front of the crowd ofgentry.

　　"Our sovereign the Emperor will be here in a moment," saidRostopchin. "I am straight from the palace. Seeing the position we arein, I think there is little need for discussion. The Emperor hasdeigned to summon us and the merchants. Millions will pour forthfrom there"- he pointed to the merchants' hall- "but our business isto supply men and not spare ourselves... That is the least we can do!"

　　A conference took place confined to the magnates sitting at thetable. The whole consultation passed more than quietly. After allthe preceding noise the sound of their old voices saying one afteranother, "I agree," or for variety, "I too am of that opinion," and soon had even a mournful effect.

　　The secretary was told to write down the resolution of the Moscownobility and gentry, that they would furnish ten men, fullyequipped, out of every thousand serfs, as the Smolensk gentry haddone. Their chairs made a scraping noise as the gentlemen who hadconferred 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 hallsand the whole throng hurried to the entrance.

　　The Emperor entered the hall through a broad path between twolines of nobles. Every face expressed respectful, awe-struckcuriosity. Pierre stood rather far off and could not hear all that theEmperor said. From what he did hear he understood that the Emperorspoke of the danger threatening the empire and of the hopes heplaced on the Moscow nobility. He was answered by a voice whichinformed 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, sothat Pierre distinctly heard the pleasantly human voice of the Emperorsaying with emotion:

　　"I never doubted the devotion of the Russian nobles, but today ithas surpassed my expectations. I thank you in the name of theFatherland! Gentlemen, let us act! Time is most precious..."

　　The Emperor ceased speaking, the crowd began pressing round him, andrapturous exclamations were heard from all sides.

　　"Yes, most precious... a royal word," said Count Rostov, 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 themerchants. There he remained about ten minutes. Pierre was among thosewho saw him come out from the merchants' hall with tears of emotion inhis eyes. As became known later, he had scarcely begun to addressthe merchants before tears gushed from his eyes and he concluded ina trembling voice. When Pierre saw the Emperor he was coming outaccompanied by two merchants, one of whom Pierre knew, a fatotkupshchik. The other was the mayor, a man with a thin sallow faceand narrow beard. Both were weeping. Tears filled the thin man's eyes,and the fat otkupshchik sobbed outright like a child and keptrepeating:

　　"Our lives and property- take them, Your Majesty!"

　　Pierre's one feeling at the moment was a desire to show that hewas ready to go all lengths and was prepared to sacrificeeverything. He now felt ashamed of his speech with itsconstitutional tendency and sought an opportunity of effacing it.Having heard that Count Mamonov was furnishing a regiment, Bezukhov atonce informed Rostopchin that he would give a thousand men and theirmaintenance.

　　Old Rostov could not tell his wife of what had passed without tears,and at once consented to Petya's request and went himself to enter hisname.

　　Next day the Emperor left Moscow. The assembled nobles all tookoff their uniforms and settled down again in their homes and clubs,and not without some groans gave orders to their stewards about theenrollment, feeling amazed themselves at what they had done.

　　BOOK TEN: 1812

　　CHAPTER I

　　Napoleon began the war with Russia because he could not resist goingto Dresden, could not help having his head turned by the homage hereceived, could not help donning a Polish uniform and yielding tothe stimulating influence of a June morning, and could not refrainfrom bursts of anger in the presence of Kurakin and then of Balashev.

　　Alexander refused negotiations because he felt himself to bepersonally insulted. Barclay de Tolly tried to command the army in thebest way, because he wished to fulfill his duty and earn fame as agreat commander. Rostov charged the French because he could notrestrain his wish for a gallop across a level field; and in the sameway the innumerable people who took part in the war acted in accordwith their personal characteristics, habits, circumstances, andaims. They were moved by fear or vanity, rejoiced or were indignant,reasoned, imagining that they knew what they were doing and did itof their own free will, but they all were involuntary tools ofhistory, carrying on a work concealed from them but comprehensibleto us. Such is the inevitable fate of men of action, and the higherthey stand in the social hierarchy the less are they free.

　　The actors of 1812 have long since left the stage, their personalinterests have vanished leaving no trace, and nothing remains ofthat time but its historic results.

　　Providence compelled all these men, striving to attain personalaims, to further the accomplishment of a stupendous result no one ofthem at all expected- neither Napoleon, nor Alexander, nor stillless any of those who did the actual fighting.

　　The cause of the destruction of the French army in 1812 is clearto 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 anypreparation for a winter campaign and, on the other, the charactergiven to the war by the burning of Russian towns and the hatred of thefoe this aroused among the Russian people. But no one at the timeforesaw (what now seems so evident) that this was the only way an armyof eight hundred thousand men- the best in the world and led by thebest general- could be destroyed in conflict with a raw army of halfits numerical strength, and led by inexperienced commanders as theRussian army was. Not only did no one see this, but on the Russianside every effort was made to hinder the only thing that could saveRussia, while on the French side, despite Napoleon's experience andso-called military genius, every effort was directed to pushing onto Moscow at the end of the summer, that is, to doing the very thingthat was bound to lead to destruction.

　　In historical works on the year 1812 French writers are very fond ofsaying that Napoleon felt the danger of extending his line, that hesought a battle and that his marshals advised him to stop at Smolensk,and of making similar statements to show that the danger of thecampaign was even then understood. Russian authors are still fonder oftelling us that from the commencement of the campaign a Scythian warplan was adopted to lure Napoleon into the depths of Russia, andthis plan some of them attribute to Pfuel, others to a certainFrenchman, others to Toll, and others again to Alexander himself-pointing to notes, projects, and letters which contain hints of such aline of action. But all these hints at what happened, both from theFrench side and the Russian, are advanced only because they fit inwith the event. Had that event not occurred these hints would havebeen forgotten, as we have forgotten the thousands and millions ofhints and expectations to the contrary which were current then buthave now been forgotten because the event falsified them. There arealways so many conjectures as to the issue of any event that howeverit may end there will always be people to say: "I said then that itwould be so," quite forgetting that amid their innumerable conjecturesmany were to quite the contrary effect.

　　Conjectures as to Napoleon's awareness of the danger of extendinghis line, and (on the Russian side) as to luring the enemy into thedepths of Russia, are evidently of that kind, and only by muchstraining can historians attribute such conceptions to Napoleon andhis marshals, or such plans to the Russian commanders. All the factsare in flat contradiction to such conjectures. During the whole periodof the war not only was there no wish on the Russian side to drawthe French into the heart of the country, but from their first entryinto Russia everything was done to stop them. And not only wasNapoleon not afraid to extend his line, but he welcomed every stepforward as a triumph and did not seek battle as eagerly as in formercampaigns, but very lazily.

　　At the very beginning of the war our armies were divided, and oursole aim was to unite them, though uniting the armies was no advantageif we meant to retire and lure the enemy into the depths of thecountry. Our Emperor joined the army to encourage it to defend everyinch of Russian soil and not to retreat. The enormous Drissa campwas formed on Pfuel's plan, and there was no intention of retiringfarther. The Emperor reproached the commanders in chief for every stepthey retired. He could not bear the idea of letting the enemy evenreach Smolensk, still less could he contemplate the burning of Moscow,and when our armies did unite he was displeased that Smolensk wasabandoned and burned without a general engagement having been foughtunder its walls.

　　So thought the Emperor, and the Russian commanders and people werestill more provoked at the thought that our forces were retreatinginto the depths of the country.

　　Napoleon having cut our armies apart advanced far into the countryand missed several chances of forcing an engagement. In August hewas at Smolensk and thought only of how to advance farther, thoughas we now see that advance was evidently ruinous to him.

　　The facts clearly show that Napoleon did not foresee the danger ofthe advance on Moscow, nor did Alexander and the Russian commandersthen think of luring Napoleon on, but quite the contrary. The luringof Napoleon into the depths of the country was not the result of anyplan, for no one believed it to be possible; it resulted from a mostcomplex interplay of intrigues, aims, and wishes among those whotook part in the war and had no perception whatever of the inevitable,or of the one way of saving Russia. Everything came aboutfortuitously. The armies were divided at the commencement of thecampaign. We tried to unite them, with the evident intention of givingbattle and checking the enemy's advance, and by this effort to unitethem while avoiding battle with a much stronger enemy, and necessarilywithdrawing the armies at an acute angle- we led the French on toSmolensk. But we withdrew at an acute angle not only because theFrench advanced between our two armies; the angle became still moreacute and we withdrew still farther, because Barclay de Tolly was anunpopular foreigner disliked by Bagration (who would come hiscommand), and Bagration- being in command of the second army- tried topostpone joining up and coming under Barclay's command as long as hecould. Bagration was slow in effecting the junction- though that wasthe chief aim of all at headquarters- because, as he alleged, heexposed his army to danger on this march, and it was best for him toretire more to the left and more to the south, worrying the enemy fromflank 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 thecommand of the detested foreigner Barclay, whose rank was inferiorto his own.

　　The Emperor was with the army to encourage it, but his presenceand ignorance of what steps to take, and the enormous number ofadvisers and plans, destroyed the first army's energy and it retired.

　　The intention was to make a stand at the Drissa camp, butPaulucci, aiming at becoming commander in chief, unexpectedly employedhis energy to influence Alexander, and Pfuel's whole plan wasabandoned and the command entrusted to Barclay. But as Barclay did notinspire confidence his power was limited. The armies were divided,there was no unity of command, and Barclay was unpopular; but fromthis confusion, division, and the unpopularity of the foreigncommander in chief, there resulted on the one hand indecision andthe avoidance of a battle (which we could not have refrained fromhad the armies been united and had someone else, instead of Barclay,been in command) and on the other an ever-increasing indignationagainst the foreigners and an increase in patriotic zeal.

　　At last the Emperor left the army, and as the most convenient andindeed the only pretext for his departure it was decided that it wasnecessary for him to inspire the people in the capitals and arouse thenation in general to a patriotic war. And by this visit of the Emperorto Moscow the strength of the Russian army was trebled.

　　He left in order not to obstruct the commander in chief'sundivided control of the army, and hoping that more decisive actionwould then be taken, but the command of the armies became still moreconfused and enfeebled. Bennigsen, the Tsarevich, and a swarm ofadjutants general remained with the army to keep the commander inchief under observation and arouse his energy, and Barclay, feelingless free than ever under the observation of all these "eyes of theEmperor," became still more cautious of undertaking any decisiveaction and avoided giving battle.

　　Barclay stood for caution. The Tsarevich hinted at treachery anddemanded a general engagement. Lubomirski, Bronnitski, Wlocki, and theothers of that group stirred up so much trouble that Barclay, underpretext of sending papers to the Emperor, dispatched these Polishadjutants general to Petersburg and plunged into an open struggle withBennigsen and the Tsarevich.

　　At Smolensk the armies at last reunited, much as Bagrationdisliked it.

　　Bagration drove up in a carriage to to the house occupied byBarclay. Barclay donned his sash and came out to meet and report tohis senior officer Bagration.

　　Despite his seniority in rank Bagration, in this contest ofmagnanimity, took his orders from Barclay, but, having submitted,agreed with him less than ever. By the Emperor's orders Bagrationreported direct to him. He wrote to Arakcheev, the Emperor'sconfidant: "It must be as my sovereign pleases, but I cannot work withthe Minister (meaning Barclay). For God's sake send me somewhereelse if only in command of a regiment. I cannot stand it here.Headquarters are so full of Germans that a Russian cannot exist andthere is no sense in anything. I thought I was really serving mysovereign and the Fatherland, but it turns out that I am servingBarclay. I confess I do not want to."

　　The swarm of Bronnitskis and Wintzingerodes and their like stillfurther embittered the relations between the commanders in chief,and even less unity resulted. Preparations were made to fight theFrench before Smolensk. A general was sent to survey the position.This general, hating Barclay, rode to visit a friend of his own, acorps commander, and, having spent the day with him, returned toBarclay and condemned, as unsuitable from every point of view, thebattleground he had not seen.

　　While disputes and intrigues were going on about the future field ofbattle, and while we were looking for the French- having lost touchwith them- the French stumbled upon Neverovski's division andreached the walls of Smolensk.

　　It was necessary to fight an unexpected battle at Smolensk to saveour lines of communication. The battle was fought and thousands werekilled on both sides.

　　Smolensk was abandoned contrary to the wishes of the Emperor andof the whole people. But Smolensk was burned by its owninhabitants-who had been misled by their governor. And these ruinedinhabitants, setting an example to other Russians, went to Moscowthinking only of their own losses but kindling hatred of the foe.Napoleon advanced farther and we retired, thus arriving at the veryresult which caused his destruction.BK10|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　The day after his son had left, Prince Nicholas sent for PrincessMary to come to his study.

　　"Well? Are you satisfied now?" said he. "You've made me quarrel withmy son! Satisfied, are you? That's all you wanted! Satisfied?... Ithurts me, it hurts. I'm old and weak and this is what you wanted. Wellthen, gloat over it! Gloat over it!"

　　After that Princess Mary did not see her father for a whole week. Hewas ill and did not leave his study.

　　Princess Mary noticed to her surprise that during this illness theold prince not only excluded her from his room, but did not admitMademoiselle Bourienne either. Tikhon alone attended him.

　　At the end of the week the prince reappeared and resumed hisformer way of life, devoting himself with special activity to buildingoperations and the arrangement of the gardens and completelybreaking off his relations with Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looksand cold tone to his daughter seemed to say: "There, you see? Youplotted against me, you lied to Prince Andrew about my relationswith that Frenchwoman and made me quarrel with him, but you see I needneither her nor you!"

　　Princess Mary spent half of every day with little Nicholas, watchinghis lessons, teaching him Russian and music herself, and talking toDessalles; the rest of the day she spent over her books, with herold nurse, or with "God's folk" who sometimes came by the back door tosee her.

　　Of the war Princess Mary thought as women do think about wars. Shefeared for her brother who was in it, was horrified by and amazed atthe strange cruelty that impels men to kill one another, but she didnot understand the significance of this war, which seemed to herlike all previous wars. She did not realize the significance of thiswar, though Dessalles with whom she constantly conversed waspassionately interested in its progress and tried to explain his ownconception of it to her, and though the "God's folk" who came to seeher reported, in their own way, the rumors current among the people ofan invasion by Antichrist, and though Julie (now PrincessDrubetskaya), who had resumed correspondence with her, wrote patrioticletters from Moscow.

　　"I write you in Russian, my good friend," wrote Julie in herFrenchified Russian, "because I have a detestation for all the French,and the same for their language which I cannot support to hearspoken.... We in Moscow are elated by enthusiasm for our adoredEmperor.

　　"My poor husband is enduring pains and hunger in Jewish taverns, butthe news which I have inspires me yet more.

　　"You heard probably of the heroic exploit of Raevski, embracinghis two sons and saying: 'I will perish with them but we will not beshaken!' And truly though the enemy was twice stronger than we, wewere unshakable. We pass the time as we can, but in war as in war! Theprincesses Aline and Sophie sit whole days with me, and we, unhappywidows 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 significanceof this war was that the old prince never spoke of it, did notrecognize it, and laughed at Dessalles when he mentioned it at dinner.The prince's tone was so calm and confident that Princess Maryunhesitatingly believed him.

　　All that July the old prince was exceedingly active and evenanimated. He planned another garden and began a new building for thedomestic serfs. The only thing that made Princess Mary anxious abouthim was that he slept very little and, instead of sleeping in hisstudy as usual, changed his sleeping place every day. One day he wouldorder his camp bed to be set up in the glass gallery, another day heremained on the couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room anddozed there without undressing, while- instead of MademoiselleBourienne- a serf boy read to him. Then again he would spend a nightin the dining room.

　　On August 1, a second letter was received from Prince Andrew. In hisfirst letter which came soon after he had left home, Prince Andrew haddutifully asked his father's forgiveness for what he had allowedhimself to say and begged to be restored to his favor. To thisletter the old prince had replied affectionately, and from that timehad kept the Frenchwoman at at Prince Andrew's second letter,written near Vitebsk after the French had occupied that town, gave abrief account of the whole campaign, enclosed for them a plan he haddrawn and forecasts as to the further progress of the war. In thisletter Prince Andrew pointed out to his father the danger of stayingat Bald Hills, so near the theater of war and on the army's directline of march, and advised him to move to Moscow.

　　At dinner that day, on Dessalles' mentioning that the French weresaid to have already entered Vitebsk, the old prince remembered hisson's letter.

　　"There was a letter from Prince Andrew today," he said to PrincessMary- "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 hadarrived.

　　"He writes about this war," said the prince, with the ironic smilethat had become habitual to him in speaking of the present war.

　　"That must be very interesting," said Dessalles. "Prince Andrew isin a position to know..."

　　"Oh, very interesting!" said Mademoiselle Bourienne.

　　"Go and get it for me," said the old prince to MademoiselleBourienne. "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 Ivanovich."

　　Michael Ivanovich rose and went to the study. But as soon as hehad left the room the old prince, looking uneasily round, threw downhis napkin and went himself.

　　"They can't do anything... always make some muddle," he muttered.

　　While he was away Princess Mary, Dessalles, MademoiselleBourienne, and even little Nicholas exchanged looks in silence. Theold prince returned with quick steps, accompanied by MichaelIvanovich, bringing the letter and a plan. These he put down besidehim- not letting anyone read them at dinner.

　　On moving to the drawing room he handed the letter to PrincessMary and, spreading out before him the plan of the new building andfixing his eyes upon it, told her to read the letter aloud. When shehad done so Princess Mary looked inquiringly at her father. He wasexamining 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 nottaking 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 andstill say that the theater of war is Poland and the enemy will neverget beyond the Niemen."

　　Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, who was talking ofthe Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper, but PrincessMary, forgetting the geographical position of the Niemen, thought thatwhat her father was saying was correct.

　　"When the snow melts they'll sink in the Polish swamps. Only theycould fail to see it," the prince continued, evidently thinking of thecampaign of 1807 which seemed to him so recent. "Bennigsen should haveadvanced into Prussia sooner, then things would have taken a differentturn..."

　　"But, Prince," Dessalles began timidly, "the letter mentionsVitebsk...."

　　"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 riveris 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 Ivanovich," he suddenly went on,raising his head and pointing to the plan of the building, "tell mehow you mean to alter it...."

　　Michael Ivanovich went up to the plan, and the prince after speakingto him about the building looked angrily at Princess Mary andDessalles and went to his own room.

　　Princess Mary saw Dessalles' embarrassed and astonished look fixedon her father, noticed his silence, and was struck by the fact thather 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 thereason of his confusion and silence, but was afraid even to thinkabout it.

　　In the evening Michael Ivanovich, sent by the prince, came toPrincess Mary for Prince Andrew's letter which had been forgotten inthe drawing room. She gave it to him and, unpleasant as it was toher to do so, ventured to ask him what her father was doing.

　　"Always busy," replied Michael Ivanovich with a respectfullyironic smile which caused Princess Mary to turn pale. "He's worryingvery much about the new building. He has been reading a little, butnow"- Michael Ivanovich went on, lowering his voice- "now he's athis desk, busy with his will, I expect." (One of the prince's favoriteoccupations of late had been the preparation of some papers he meantto leave at his death and which he called his "will.")

　　"And Alpatych is being sent to Smolensk?" asked Princess Mary.

　　"Oh, yes, he has been waiting to start for some time."BK10|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　When Michael Ivanovich returned to the study with the letter, theold prince, with spectacles on and a shade over his eyes, wassitting at his open bureau with screened candles, holding a paper inhis outstretched hand, and in a somewhat dramatic attitude was readinghis manuscript- his "Remarks" as he termed it- which was to betransmitted to the Emperor after his death.

　　When Michael Ivanovich went in there were tears in the prince's eyesevoked by the memory of the time when the paper he was now reading hadbeen written. He took the letter from Michael Ivanovich's hand, put itin his pocket, folded up his papers, and called in Alpatych who hadlong been waiting.

　　The prince had a list of things to be bought in Smolensk and,walking up and down the room past Alpatych who stood by the door, hegave his instructions.

　　"First, notepaper- do you hear? Eight quires, like this sample,gilt-edged... it must be exactly like the sample. Varnish, sealingwax, as in Michael Ivanovich'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 tobe of a special shape the prince had himself designed, and a leathercase had to be ordered to keep the "will" in.

　　The instructions to Alpatych took over two hours and still theprince did not let him go. He sat down, sank into thought, closedhis eyes, and dozed off. Alpatych made a slight movement.

　　"Well, go, go! If anything more is wanted I'll send after you."

　　Alpatych went out. The prince again went to his bureau, glanced intoit, fingered his papers, closed the bureau again, and sat down atthe table to write to the governor.

　　It was already late when he rose after sealing the letter. He wishedto sleep, but he knew he would not be able to and that most depressingthoughts came to him in bed. So he called Tikhon and went throughthe rooms with him to show him where to set up the bed for that night.

　　He went about looking at every corner. Every place seemedunsatisfactory, but worst of all was his customary couch in the study.That couch was dreadful to him, probably because of the oppressivethoughts he had had when lying there. It was unsatisfactoryeverywhere, but the corner behind the piano in the sitting room wasbetter than other places: he had never slept there yet.

　　With the help of a footman Tikhon brought in the bedstead andbegan putting it up.

　　"That's not right! That's not right!" cried the prince, andhimself pushed it a few inches from the corner and then closer inagain.

　　"Well, at last I've finished, now I'll rest," thought the prince,and let Tikhon undress him.

　　Frowning with vexation at the effort necessary to divest himselfof his coat and trousers, the prince undressed, sat down heavily onthe bed, and appeared to be meditating as he looked contemptuouslyat his withered yellow legs. He was not meditating, but only deferringthe moment of making the effort to lift those legs up and turn over onthe bed. "Ugh, how hard it is! Oh, that this toil might end and youwould release me!" thought he. Pressing his lips together he made thateffort for the twenty-thousandth time and lay down. But hardly hadhe done so before he felt the bed rocking backwards and forwardsbeneath him as if it were breathing heavily and jolting. This happenedto him almost every night. He opened his eyes as they were closing.

　　"No peace, damn them!" he muttered, angry he knew not with whom. "Ahyes, there was something else important, very important, that I waskeeping till I should be in bed. The bolts? No, I told him about them.No, it was something, something in the drawing room. Princess Marytalked some nonsense. Dessalles, that fool, said something.Something in my pocket- can't remember..."

　　"Tikhon, what did we talk about at dinner?"

　　"About Prince Michael..."

　　"Be quiet, quiet!" The prince slapped his hand on the table. "Yes, Iknow, Prince Andrew's letter! Princess Mary read it. Dessalles saidsomething about Vitebsk. Now I'll read it."

　　He had the letter taken from his pocket and the table- on whichstood a glass of lemonade and a spiral wax candle- moved close tothe bed, and putting on his spectacles he began reading. Only now inthe stillness of the night, reading it by the faint light under thegreen shade, did he grasp its meaning for a moment.

　　"The French at Vitebsk, in four days' march they may be at Smolensk;perhaps are already there! Tikhon!" Tikhon jumped up. "No, no, I don'twant anything!" he shouted.

　　He put the letter under the candlestick and closed his eyes. Andthere rose before him the Danube at bright noonday: reeds, the Russiancamp, and himself a young general without a wrinkle on his ruddy face,vigorous and alert, entering Potemkin's gaily colored tent, and aburning sense of jealousy of "the favorite" agitated him now asstrongly as it had done then. He recalled all the words spoken at thatfirst meeting with Potemkin. And he saw before him a plump, rathersallow-faced, short, stout woman, the Empress Mother, with her smileand her words at her first gracious reception of him, and then thatsame face on the catafalque, and the encounter he had with Zubovover her coffin about his right to kiss her hand.

　　"Oh, quicker, quicker! To get back to that time and have done withall the present! Quicker, quicker- and that they should leave me inpeace!"BK10|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Bolkonski's estate, lay forty miles eastfrom Smolensk and two miles from the main road to Moscow.

　　The same evening that the prince gave his instructions toAlpatych, Dessalles, having asked to see Princess Mary, told her that,as the prince was not very well and was taking no steps to securehis safety, though from Prince Andrew's letter it was evident thatto remain at Bald Hills might be dangerous, he respectfully advisedher to send a letter by Alpatych to the Provincial Governor atSmolensk, asking him to let her know the state of affairs and theextent of the danger to which Bald Hills was exposed. Dessalleswrote this letter to the Governor for Princess Mary, she signed it,and it was given to Alpatych with instructions to hand it to theGovernor and to come back as quickly as possible if there was danger.

　　Having received all his orders Alpatych, 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 readyharnessed to a small conveyance with a leather hood.

　　The larger bell was muffled and the little bells on the harnessstuffed with paper. The prince allowed no one at Bald Hills to drivewith ringing bells; but on a long journey Alpatych liked to have them.His satellites- the senior clerk, a countinghouse clerk, a scullerymaid, a cook, two old women, a little pageboy, the coachman, andvarious domestic serfs- were seeing him off.

　　His daughter placed chintz-covered down cushions for him to sit onand 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 Alpatych, puffingand speaking rapidly just as the prince did, and he climbed into thetrap.

　　After giving the clerk orders about the work to be done, Alpatych,not trying to imitate the prince now, lifted the hat from his baldhead and crossed himself three times.

　　"If there is anything... come back, Yakov Alpatych! For Christ'ssake think of us!" cried his wife, referring to the rumors of warand the enemy.

　　"Women, women! Women's fuss!" muttered Alpatych to himself andstarted on his journey, looking round at the fields of yellow ryeand the still-green, thickly growing oats, and at other quite blackfields just being plowed a second time.

　　As he went along he looked with pleasure at the year's splendid cropof corn, scrutinized the strips of ryefield which here and therewere already being reaped, made his calculations as to the sowingand the harvest, and asked himself whether he had not forgotten any ofthe prince's orders.

　　Having baited the horses twice on the way, he arrived at the towntoward evening on the fourth of August.

　　Alpatych kept meeting and overtaking baggage trains and troops onthe road. As he approached Smolensk he heard the sounds of distantfiring, but these did not impress him. What struck him most was thesight of a splendid field of oats in which a camp had been pitched andwhich was being mown down by the soldiers, evidently for fodder.This fact impressed Alpatych, but in thinking about his own businesshe soon forgot it.

　　All the interests of his life for more than thirty years had beenbounded by the will of the prince, and he never went beyond thatlimit. Everything not connected with the execution of the prince'sorders did not interest and did not even exist for Alpatych.

　　On reaching Smolensk on the evening of the fourth of August he putup in the Gachina suburb across the Dnieper, at the inn kept byFerapontov, where he had been in the habit of putting up for thelast thirty years. Some thirty years ago Ferapontov, by Alpatych'sadvice, had bought a wood from the prince, had begun to trade, and nowhad a house, an inn, and a corn dealer's shop in that province. He wasa stout, dark, red-faced peasant in the forties, with thick lips, abroad knob of a nose, similar knobs over his black frowning brows, anda round belly.

　　Wearing a waistcoat over his cotton shirt, Ferapontov was standingbefore his shop which opened onto the street. On seeing Alpatych hewent up to him.

　　"You're welcome, Yakov Alpatych. Folks are leaving the town, but youhave come to it," said he.

　　"Why are they leaving the town?" asked Alpatych.

　　"That's what I say. Folks are foolish! Always afraid of the French."

　　"Women's fuss, women's fuss!" said Alpatych.

　　"Just what I think, Yakov Alpatych. What I say is: orders havebeen given not to let them in, so that must be right. And the peasantsare asking three rubles for carting- it isn't Christian!"

　　Yakov Alpatych heard without heeding. He asked for a samovar and forhay for his horses, and when he had had his tea he went to bed.

　　All night long troops were moving past the inn. Next morningAlpatych donned a jacket he wore only in town and went out onbusiness. It was a sunny morning and by eight o'clock it was alreadyhot. "A good day for harvesting," thought Alpatych.

　　From beyond the town firing had been heard since early morning. Ateight o'clock the booming of cannon was added to the sound ofmusketry. Many people were hurrying through the streets and there weremany soldiers, but cabs were still driving about, tradesmen stood attheir shops, and service was being held in the churches as usual.Alpatych 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 officeeveryone was talking about the army and about the enemy who wasalready attacking the town, everybody was asking what should bedone, and all were trying to calm one another.

　　In front of the Governor's house Alpatych found a large number ofpeople, Cossacks, and a traveling carriage of the Governor's. At theporch he met two of the landed gentry, one of whom he knew. Thisman, an ex-captain of police, was saying angrily:

　　"It's no joke, you know! It's all very well if you're single. 'Oneman though undone is but one,' as the proverb says, but withthirteen in your family and all the property... They've brought usto utter ruin! What sort of governors are they to do that? Theyought 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 theex-captain of police, and looking round he noticed Alpatych.

　　"Oh, Yakov Alpatych! What have you come for?"

　　"To see the Governor by his excellency's order," answeredAlpatych, lifting his head and proudly thrusting his hand into thebosom of his coat as he always did when he mentioned the prince.... Hehas ordered me to inquire into the position of affairs," he added.

　　"Yes, go and find out!" shouted the angry gentleman. "They'vebrought things to such a pass that there are no carts oranything!... There it is again, do you hear?" said he, pointing in thedirection whence came the sounds of firing.

　　"They've brought us all to ruin... the brigands!" he repeated, anddescended the porch steps.

　　Alpatych swayed his head and went upstairs. In the waiting room weretradesmen, women, and officials, looking silently at one another.The door of the Governor's room opened and they all rose and movedforward. An official ran out, said some words to a merchant, calleda stout official with a cross hanging on his neck to follow him, andvanished again, evidently wishing to avoid the inquiring looks andquestions addressed to him. Alpatych moved forward and next time theofficial came out addressed him, one hand placed in the breast ofhis buttoned coat, and handed him two letters.

　　"To his Honor Baron Asch, from General-in-Chief Prince Bolkonski,"he announced with such solemnity and significance that the officialturned to him and took the letters.

　　A few minutes later the Governor received Alpatych and hurriedlysaid to him:

　　"Inform the prince and princess that I knew nothing: I acted onthe highest instructions- here..." and he handed a paper toAlpatych. "Still, as the prince is unwell my advice is that theyshould go to Moscow. I am just starting myself. Inform them..."

　　But the Governor did not finish: a dusty perspiring officer ran intothe room and began to say something in French. The Governor's faceexpressed terror.

　　"Go," he said, nodding his head to Alpatych, and began questioningthe officer.

　　Eager, frightened, helpless glances were turned on Alpatych whenhe came out of the Governor's room. Involuntarily listening now to thefiring, which had drawn nearer and was increasing in strength,Alpatych hurried to his inn. The paper handed to him by the Governorsaid this:

　　"I assure you that the town of Smolensk is not in the slightestdanger as yet and it is unlikely that it will be threatened withany. I from the one side and Prince Bagration from the other aremarching to unite our forces before Smolensk, which junction will beeffected on the 22nd instant, and both armies with their united forceswill defend our compatriots of the province entrusted to your caretill our efforts shall have beaten back the enemies of our Fatherland,or till the last warrior in our valiant ranks has perished. Fromthis you will see that you have a perfect right to reassure theinhabitants of Smolensk, for those defended by two such brave armiesmay feel assured of victory." (Instructions from Barclay de Tolly toBaron Asch, the civil governor of Smolensk, 1812.)

　　People were anxiously roaming about the streets.

　　Carts piled high with household utensils, chairs, and cupboards keptemerging from the gates of the yards and moving along the streets.Loaded carts stood at the house next to Ferapontov's and women werewailing and lamenting as they said good-by. A small watchdog ran roundbarking in front of the harnessed horses.

　　Alpatych entered the innyard at a quicker pace than usual and wentstraight to the shed where his horses and trap were. The coachmanwas asleep. He woke him up, told him to harness, and went into thepassage. From the host's room came the sounds of a child crying, thedespairing sobs of a woman, and the hoarse angry shouting ofFerapontov. The cook began running hither and thither in the passagelike a frightened hen, just as Alpatych entered.

　　"He's done her to death. Killed the mistress!... Beat her... draggedher about so!..."

　　"What for?" asked Alpatych.

　　"She kept begging to go away. She's a woman! 'Take me away,' saysshe, '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 beganbeating and pulling her about so!"

　　At these words Alpatych nodded as if in approval, and not wishing tohear more went to the door of the room opposite the innkeeper's, wherehe had left his purchases.

　　"You brute, you murderer!" screamed a thin, pale woman who, with ababy in her arms and her kerchief torn from her head, burst throughthe door at that moment and down the steps into the yard.

　　Ferapontov came out after her, but on seeing Alpatych adjusted hiswaistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alpatych into theopposite room.

　　"Going already?" said he.

　　Alpatych, without answering or looking at his host, sorted hispackages and asked how much he owed.

　　"We'll reckon up! Well, have you been to the Governor's?" askedFerapontov. "What has been decided?"

　　Alpatych replied that the Governor had not told him anythingdefinite.

　　"With our business, how can we get away?" said Ferapontov. "We'dhave to pay seven rubles a cartload to Dorogobuzh and I tell themthey're not Christians to ask it! Selivanov, now, did a good strokelast Thursday- sold flour to the army at nine rubles a sack. Willyou have some tea?" he added.

　　While the horses were being harnessed Alpatych and Ferapontov overtheir tea talked of the price of corn, the crops, and the good weatherfor harvesting.

　　"Well, it seems to be getting quieter," remarked Ferapontov,finishing his third cup of tea and getting up. "Ours must have got thebest of it. The orders were not to let them in. So we're in force,it seems.... They say the other day Matthew Ivanych Platov drovethem into the river Marina and drowned some eighteen thousand in oneday."

　　Alpatych collected his parcels, handed them to the coachman whohad come in, and settled up with the innkeeper. The noise of wheels,hoofs, and bells was heard from the gateway as a little trap passedout.

　　It was by now late in the afternoon. Half the street was inshadow, the other half brightly lit by the sun. Alpatych looked out ofthe window and went to the door. Suddenly the strange sound of afar-off whistling and thud was heard, followed by a boom of cannonblending into a dull roar that set the windows rattling.

　　He went out into the street: two men were running past toward thebridge. From different sides came whistling sounds and the thud ofcannon balls and bursting shells falling on the town. But these soundswere hardly heard in comparison with the noise of the firing outsidethe town and attracted little attention from the inhabitants. The townwas being bombarded by a hundred and thirty guns which Napoleon hadordered up after four o'clock. The people did not at once realizethe meaning of this bombardment.

　　At first the noise of the falling bombs and shells only arousedcuriosity. Ferapontov's wife, who till then had not ceased wailingunder the shed, became quiet and with the baby in her arms went to thegate, listening to the sounds and looking in silence at the people.

　　The cook and a shop assistant came to the gate. With livelycuriosity everyone tried to get a glimpse of the projectiles as theyflew over their heads. Several people came round the corner talkingeagerly.

　　"What force!" remarked one. "Knocked the roof and ceiling all tosplinters!"

　　"Routed up the earth like a pig," said another.

　　"That's grand, it bucks one up!" laughed the first. "Lucky youjumped aside, or it would have wiped you out!"

　　Others joined those men and stopped and told how cannon balls hadfallen on a house close to them. Meanwhile still more projectiles, nowwith the swift sinister whistle of a cannon ball, now with theagreeable intermittent whistle of a shell, flew over people's headsincessantly, but not one fell close by, they all flew over. Alpatychwas getting into his trap. The innkeeper stood at the gate.

　　"What are you staring at?" he shouted to the cook, who in her redskirt, with sleeves rolled up, swinging her bare elbows, had steppedto the corner to listen to what was being said.

　　"What marvels!" she exclaimed, but hearing her master's voice sheturned back. pulling down her tucked-up skirt.

　　Once more something whistled, but this time quite close, swoopingdownwards like a little bird; a flame flashed in the middle of thestreet, something exploded, and the street was shrouded in smoke.

　　"Scoundrel, what are you doing?" shouted the innkeeper, rushing tothe cook.

　　At that moment the pitiful wailing of women was heard from differentsides, the frightened baby began to cry, and people crowded silentlywith pale faces round the cook. The loudest sound in that crowd washer wailing.

　　"Oh-h-h! Dear souls, dear kind souls! Don't let me die! My goodsouls!..."

　　Five minutes later no one remained in the street. The cook, with herthigh broken by a shell splinter, had been carried into the kitchen.Alpatych, his coachman, Ferapontov's wife and children and the houseporter 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. Themistress rocked and hushed her baby and when anyone came into thecellar asked in a pathetic whisper what had become of her husbandwho had remained in the street. A shopman who entered told her thather husband had gone with others to the cathedral, whence they werefetching the wonder-working icon of Smolensk.

　　Toward dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alpatych left the cellarand stopped in the doorway. The evening sky that had been so clear wasclouded with smoke, through which, high up, the sickle of the new moonshone strangely. Now that the terrible din of the guns had ceased ahush seemed to reign over the town, broken only by the rustle offootsteps, the moaning, the distant cries, and the crackle of fireswhich seemed widespread everywhere. The cook's moans had now subsided.On two sides black curling clouds of smoke rose and spread from thefires. Through the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked orran confusedly in different directions like ants from a ruinedant-hill. Several of them ran into Ferapontov's yard before Alpatych'seyes. Alpatych went out to the gate. A retreating regiment,thronging and hurrying, blocked the street.

　　Noticing him, an officer said: "The town is being abandoned. Getaway, get away!" and then, turning to the soldiers, shouted:

　　"I'll teach you to run into the yards!"

　　Alpatych went back to the house, called the coachman, and told himto set off. Ferapontov's whole household came out too, followingAlpatych and the coachman. The women, who had been silent till then,suddenly began to wail as they looked at the fires- the smoke and eventhe flames of which could be seen in the failing twilight- and as ifin reply the same kind of lamentation was heard from other parts ofthe street. Inside the shed Alpatych and the coachman arranged thetangled reins and traces of their horses with trembling hands.

　　As Alpatych was driving out of the gate he saw some ten soldiersin Ferapontov's open shop, talking loudly and filling their bags andknapsacks with flour and sunflower seeds. Just then Ferapontovreturned and entered his shop. On seeing the soldiers he was aboutto 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 onfilling their bags. On seeing Alpatych, Ferapontov turned to him:

　　"Russia is done for!" he cried. "Alpatych, I'll set the place onfire myself. We're done for!..." and Ferapontov ran into the yard.

　　Soldiers were passing in a constant stream along the street blockingit completely, so that Alpatych could not pass out and had to wait.Ferapontov's wife and children were also sitting in a cart waitingtill it was it was possible to drive out.

　　Night had come. There were stars in the sky and the new moon shoneout amid the smoke that screened it. On the sloping descent to theDnieper Alpatych's cart and that of the innkeeper's wife, which wereslowly moving amid the rows of soldiers and of other vehicles, hadto stop. In a side street near the crossroads where the vehicles hadstopped, a house and some shops were on fire. This fire was alreadyburning itself out. The flames now died down and were lost in theblack smoke, now suddenly flared up again brightly, lighting up withstrange distinctness the faces of the people crowding at thecrossroads. Black figures flitted about before the fire, and throughthe incessant crackling of the flames talking and shouting could beheard. Seeing that his trap would not be able to move on for sometime, Alpatych got down and turned into the side street to look at thefire. Soldiers were continually rushing backwards and forwards nearit, and he saw two of them and a man in a frieze coat dragging burningbeams into another yard across the street, while others carriedbundles of hay.

　　Alpatych went up to a large crowd standing before a high barnwhich was blazing briskly. The walls were all on fire and the backwall had fallen in, the wooden roof was collapsing, and the rafterswere alight. The crowd was evidently watching for the roof to fall in,and Alpatych watched for it too.

　　"Alpatych!" a familiar voice suddenly hailed the old man.

　　"Mercy on us! Your excellency!" answered Alpatych, immediatelyrecognizing the voice of his young prince.

　　Prince Andrew in his riding cloak, mounted on a black horse, waslooking at Alpatych from the back of the crowd.

　　"Why are you here?" he asked.

　　"Your... your excellency," stammered Alpatych 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'spale worn face. Alpatych told how he had been sent there and howdifficult 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 hisknee began writing in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to hissister:

　　"Smolensk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will be occupied by theenemy within a week. Set off immediately for Moscow. Let me know atonce when you will start. Send by special messenger to Usvyazh."

　　Having written this and given the paper to Alpatych, he told him howto arrange for departure of the prince, the princess, his son, and theboy's tutor, and how and where to let him know immediately. Beforehe had had time to finish giving these instructions, a chief ofstaff followed by a suite galloped up to him.

　　"You are a colonel?" shouted the chief of staff with a Germanaccent, in a voice familiar to Prince Andrew. "Houses are set onfire in your presence and you stand by! What does this mean? Youwill answer for it!" shouted Berg, who was now assistant to thechief of staff of the commander of the left flank of the infantry ofthe first army, a place, as Berg said, "very agreeable and well enevidence."

　　Prince Andrew looked at him and without replying went on speaking toAlpatych.

　　"So tell them that I shall await a reply till the tenth, and if bythe tenth I don't receive news that they have all got away I shallhave to throw up everything and come myself to Bald Hills."

　　"Prince," said Berg, recognizing Prince Andrew, "I only spokebecause 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 andwreaths of black smoke rolled from under the roof. There was anotherterrible crash and something huge collapsed.

　　"Ou-rou-rou!" yelled the crowd, echoing the crash of thecollapsing roof of the barn, the burning grain in which diffused acakelike aroma all around. The flames flared up again, lighting theanimated, 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 Alpatych, "report to them asI have told you"; and not replying a word to Berg who was now mutebeside him, he touched his horse and rode down the side street.BK10|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　From Smolensk the troops continued to retreat, followed by theenemy. On the tenth of August the regiment Prince Andrew commanded wasmarching along the highroad past the avenue leading to Bald Hills.Heat and drought had continued for more than three weeks. Each dayfleecy clouds floated across the sky and occasionally veiled thesun, but toward evening the sky cleared again and the sun set inreddish-brown mist. Heavy night dews alone refreshed the earth. Theunreaped corn was scorched and shed its grain. The marshes dried up.The cattle lowed from hunger, finding no food on the sun-parchedmeadows. Only at night and in the forests while the dew lasted wasthere any freshness. But on the road, the highroad along which thetroops marched, there was no such freshness even at night or whenthe road passed through the forest; the dew was imperceptible on thesandy dust churned up more than six inches deep. As soon as day dawnedthe march began. The artillery and baggage wagons moved noiselesslythrough the deep dust that rose to the very hubs of the wheels, andthe infantry sank ankle-deep in that soft, choking, hot dust thatnever cooled even at night. Some of this dust was kneaded by thefeet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a cloud over thetroops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and worst of allin 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, andthrough the screen of its hot fine particles one could look with nakedeye at the sun, which showed like a huge crimson ball in the uncloudedsky. There was no wind, and the men choked in that motionlessatmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their nosesand mouths. When they passed through a village they all rushed tothe wells and fought for the water and drank it down to the mud.

　　Prince Andrew was in command of a regiment, and the management ofthat regiment, the welfare of the men and the necessity of receivingand giving orders, engrossed him. The burning of Smolensk and itsabandonment made an epoch in his life. A novel feeling of angeragainst the foe made him forget his own sorrow. He was entirelydevoted to the affairs of his regiment and was considerate and kind tohis 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 tothose of his regiment, to Timokhin and the like- people quite new tohim, belonging to a different world and who could not know andunderstand his past. As soon as he came across a former acquaintanceor anyone from the staff, he bristled up immediately and grewspiteful, ironical, and contemptuous. Everything that reminded himof his past was repugnant to him, and so in his relations with thatformer circle he confined himself to trying to do his duty and notto be unfair.

　　In truth everything presented itself in a dark and gloomy light toPrince Andrew, especially after the abandonment of Smolensk on thesixth of August (he considered that it could and should have beendefended) and after his sick father had had to flee to Moscow,abandoning to pillage his dearly beloved Bald Hills which he had builtand peopled. But despite this, thanks to his regiment, Prince Andrewhad something to think about entirely apart from general questions.Two days previously he had received news that his father, son, andsister had left for Moscow; and though there was nothing for him to doat Bald Hills, Prince Andrew with a characteristic desire to fomenthis own grief decided that he must ride there.

　　He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leaving his regiment onthe march, rode to his father's estate where he had been born andspent his childhood. Riding past the pond where there used always tobe dozens of women chattering as they rinsed their linen or beat itwith wooden beetles, Prince Andrew noticed that there was not a soulabout and that the little washing wharf, torn from its place andhalf submerged, was floating on its side in the middle of the pond. Herode to the keeper's lodge. No one at the stone entrance gates ofthe drive and the door stood open. Grass had already begun to growon the garden paths, and horses and calves were straying in theEnglish park. Prince Andrew rode up to the hothouse; some of the glasspanes were broken, and of the trees in tubs some were overturned andothers dried up. He called for Taras 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 theplum trees had been torn off with the fruit. An old peasant whomPrince Andrew in his childhood had often seen at the gate wassitting on a green garden seat, plaiting a bast shoe.

　　He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrew ride up. He was sittingon the seat the old prince used to like to sit on, and beside himstrips of bast were hanging on the broken and withered branch of amagnolia.

　　Prince Andrew rode up to the house. Several limes in the oldgarden had been cut down and a piebald mare and her foal werewandering in front of the house among the rosebushes. The shutterswere all closed, except at one window which was open. A little serfboy, seeing Prince Andrew, ran into the house. Alpatych, having senthis family away, was alone at Bald Hills and was sitting indoorsreading the Lives of the Saints. On hearing that Prince Andrew hadcome, he went out with his spectacles on his nose, buttoning his coat,and, hastily stepping up, without a word began weeping and kissingPrince Andrew's knee.

　　Then, vexed at his own weakness, he turned away and began toreport on the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuablehad been removed to Bogucharovo. Seventy quarters of grain had alsobeen carted away. The hay and the spring corn, of which Alpatychsaid there had been a remarkable crop that year, had been commandeeredby the troops and mown down while still green. The peasants wereruined; some of them too had gone to Bogucharovo, only a few remained.

　　Without waiting to hear him out, Prince Andrew asked:

　　"When did my father and sister leave?" meaning when did they leavefor Moscow.

　　Alpatych, understanding the question to refer to their departure forBogucharovo, replied that they had left on the seventh and againwent into details concerning the estate management, asking forinstructions.

　　"Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to take a receipt forthem? We have still six hundred quarters left," he inquired.

　　"What am I to say to him?" thought Prince Andrew, looking down onthe old man's bald head shining in the sun and seeing by theexpression on his face that the old man himself understood howuntimely 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 Alpatych, "it wasimpossible to prevent it. Three regiments have been here and spent thenight, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of theircommanding officer, to hand in a complaint about it."

　　"Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemyoccupies the place?" asked Prince Andrew.

　　Alpatych turned his face to Prince Andrew, looked at him, andsuddenly 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 meadowtoward the prince.

　　"Well, good-by!" said Prince Andrew, bending over to Alpatych."You must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to goto the Ryazan estate or to the one near Moscow."

　　Alpatych clung to Prince Andrew's leg and burst into sobs. Gentlydisengaging himself, the prince spurred his horse and rode down theavenue at a gallop.

　　The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a flyimpassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the laston which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, runningout from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had pluckedfrom the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew. On seeing the youngmaster, the elder one frightened look clutched her younger companionby the hand and hid with her behind a birch tree, not stopping to pickup some green plums they had dropped.

　　Prince Andrew turned away with startled haste, unwilling to let themsee that they had been observed. He was sorry for the prettyfrightened little girl, was afraid of looking at her, and yet feltan irresistible desire to do so. A new sensation of comfort and reliefcame over him when, seeing these girls, he realized the existence ofother human interests entirely aloof from his own and just aslegitimate as those that occupied him. Evidently these girlspassionately desired one thing- to carry away and eat those greenplums without being caught- and Prince Andrew shared their wish forthe success of their enterprise. He could not resist looking at themonce more. Believing their danger past, they sprang from theirambush and, chirruping something in their shrill little voices andholding up their skirts, their bare little sunburned feet scamperedmerrily and quickly across the meadow grass.

　　Prince Andrew was somewhat refreshed by having ridden off thedusty highroad along which the troops were moving. But not far fromBald Hills he again came out on the road and overtook his regimentat its halting place by the dam of a small pond. It was past oneo'clock. The sun, a red ball through the dust, burned and scorched hisback intolerably through his black coat. The dust always hungmotionless above the buzz of talk that came from the resting troops.There was no wind. As he crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled theooze and freshness of the pond. He longed to get into that water,however dirty it might be, and he glanced round at the pool fromwhence came sounds of shrieks and laughter. The small, muddy, greenpond had risen visibly more than a foot, flooding the dam, becauseit was full of the naked white bodies of soldiers with brick-redhands, necks, and faces, who were splashing about in it. All thisnaked white human flesh, laughing and shrieking, floundered about inthat dirty pool like carp stuffed into a watering can, and thesuggestion of merriment in that floundering mass rendered it speciallypathetic.

　　One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom PrinceAndrew knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossedhimself, stepped back to get a good run, and plunged into the water;another, a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stoodup to his waist in the water joyfully wriggling his muscular figureand snorted with satisfaction as he poured the water over his headwith hands blackened to the wrists. There were sounds of menslapping one another, yelling, and puffing.

　　Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and in the pond, there washealthy, white, muscular flesh. The officer, Timokhin, with his redlittle nose, standing on the dam wiping himself with a towel, feltconfused at seeing the prince, but made up his mind to address himnevertheless.

　　"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 Timokhin, 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 suchhaste to clear out that the prince could hardly stop them. Hedecided that he would rather himself with water in the barn.

　　"Flesh, bodies, cannon fodder!" he thought, and he looked at his ownnaked body and shuddered, not from cold but from a sense of disgustand horror he did not himself understand, aroused by the sight of thatimmense number of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond.

　　On the seventh of August Prince Bagration wrote as follows fromhis quarters at Mikhaylovna on the Smolensk road:

　　Dear Count Alexis Andreevich- (He was writing to Arakcheev butknew that his letter would be read by the Emperor, and thereforeweighed every word in it to the best of his ability.)

　　I expect the Minister [Barclay de Tolly] has already reported theabandonment of Smolensk to the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, andthe whole army is in despair that this most important place has beenwantonly abandoned. I, for my part, begged him personally mosturgently and finally wrote him, but nothing would induce him toconsent. I swear to you on my honor that Napoleon was in such a fix asnever before and might have lost half his army but could not havetaken Smolensk. Our troops fought, and are fighting, as neverbefore. With fifteen thousand men I held the enemy at bay forthirty-five hours and beat him; but he would not hold out even forfourteen hours. It is disgraceful, a stain on our army, and as forhim, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If he reports that ourlosses were great, it is not true; perhaps about four thousand, notmore, and not even that; but even were they ten thousand, that'swar! But the enemy has lost masses...

　　What would it have cost him to hold out for another two days? Theywould have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no waterfor men or horses. He gave me his word he would not retreat, butsuddenly sent instructions that he was retiring that night. Wecannot 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 youshould make peace after all our sacrifices and such insane retreats!You would set all Russia against you and every one of us would feelashamed to wear the uniform. If it has come to this- we must fightas 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 mayperhaps be good as a Minister, but as a general he is not merely badbut execrable, yet to him is entrusted the fate of our wholecountry.... I am really frantic with vexation; forgive my writingboldly. It is clear that the man who advocates the conclusion of apeace, and that the Minister should command the army, does not loveour sovereign and desires the ruin of us all. So I write youfrankly: call out the militia. For the Minister is leading thesevisitors after him to Moscow in a most masterly way. The whole armyfeels great suspicion of the Imperial aide-de-camp Wolzogen. He issaid to be more Napoleon's man than ours, and he is always advisingthe Minister. I am not merely civil to him but obey him like acorporal, though I am his senior. This is painful, but, loving mybenefactor and sovereign, I submit. Only I am sorry for the Emperorthat he entrusts our fine army to such as he. Consider that on ourretreat we have lost by fatigue and left in the hospital more thanfifteen thousand men, and had we attacked this would not havehappened. Tell me, for God's sake, what will Russia, our motherRussia, say to our being so frightened, and why are we abandoningour good and gallant Fatherland to such rabble and implanting feelingsof hatred and shame in all our subjects? What are we scared at andof whom are we afraid? I am not to blame that the Minister isvacillating, a coward, dense, dilatory, and has all bad qualities. Thewhole army bewails it and calls down curses upon him...BK10|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Among the innumerable categories applicable to the phenomena ofhuman life one may discriminate between those in which substanceprevails and those in which form prevails. To the latter- asdistinguished from village, country, provincial, or even Moscowlife- we may allot Petersburg life, and especially the life of itssalons. That life of the salons is unchanging. Since the year 1805we had made peace and had again quarreled with Bonaparte and hadmade constitutions and unmade them again, but the salons of AnnaPavlovna Helene remained just as they had been- the one seven andthe other five years before. At Anna Pavlovna's they talked withperplexity of Bonaparte's successes just as before and saw in them andin the subservience shown to him by the European sovereigns amalicious conspiracy, the sole object of which was to causeunpleasantness and anxiety to the court circle of which AnnaPavlovna was the representative. And in Helene's salon, whichRumyantsev himself honored with his visits, regarding Helene as aremarkably intelligent woman, they talked with the same ecstasy in1812 as in 1808 of the "great nation" and the "great man," andregretted 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 beensome excitement in these conflicting salon circles and somedemonstrations of hostility to one another, but each camp retained itsown tendency. In Anna Pavlovna's circle only those Frenchmen wereadmitted who were deep-rooted legitimists, and patriotic views wereexpressed to the effect that one ought not to go to the French theaterand that to maintain the French troupe was costing the government asmuch as a whole army corps. The progress of the war was eagerlyfollowed, and only the reports most flattering to our army werecirculated. In the French circle of Helene and Rumyantsev thereports of the cruelty of the enemy and of the war were contradictedand all Napoleon's attempts at conciliation were discussed. In thatcircle they discountenanced those who advised hurried preparations fora removal to Kazan of the court and the girls' educationalestablishments under the patronage of the Dowager Empress. In Helene'scircle the war in general was regarded as a series of formaldemonstrations which would very soon end in peace, and the viewprevailed expressed by Bilibin- who now in Petersburg was quite athome in Helene's house, which every clever man was obliged to visit-that not by gunpowder but by those who invented it would matters besettled. In that circle the Moscow enthusiasm- news of which hadreached Petersburg simultaneously with the Emperor's return- wasridiculed sarcastically and very cleverly, though with much caution.

　　Anna Pavlovna's circle on the contrary was enraptured by thisenthusiasm and spoke of it as Plutarch speaks of the deeds of theancients. Prince Vasili, who still occupied his former importantposts, formed a connecting link between these two circles. Hevisited his "good friend Anna Pavlovna" as well as his daughter's"diplomatic salon," and often in his constant comings and goingsbetween the two camps became confused and said at Helene's what heshould have said at Anna Pavlovna's and vice versa.

　　Soon after the Emperor's return Prince Vasili in a conversationabout the war at Anna Pavlovna's severely condemned Barclay deTolly, but was undecided as to who ought to be appointed commanderin chief. One of the visitors, usually spoken of as "a man of greatmerit," having described how he had that day seen Kutuzov, the newlychosen chief of the Petersburg militia, presiding over theenrollment of recruits at the Treasury, cautiously ventured to suggestthat Kutuzov would be the man to satisfy all requirements.

　　Anna Pavlovna remarked with a melancholy smile that Kutuzov had donenothing but cause the Emperor annoyance.

　　"I have talked and talked at the Assembly of the Nobility," PrinceVasili interrupted, "but they did not listen to me. I told them hiselection as chief of the militia would not please the Emperor. Theydid not listen to me.

　　"It's all this mania for opposition," he went on. "And who for? Itis all because we want to ape the foolish enthusiasm of thoseMuscovites," Prince Vasili continued, forgetting for a moment thatthough at Helene's one had to ridicule the Moscow enthusiasm, atAnna Pavlovna's one had to be ecstatic about it. But he retrievedhis mistake at once. "Now, is it suitable that Count Kutuzov, theoldest general in Russia, should preside at that tribunal? He will getnothing for his pains! How could they make a man commander in chiefwho cannot mount a horse, who drops asleep at a council, and has thevery 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 thishow they appoint they appoint a decrepit, blind old man, positivelyblind? 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 thetwenty-ninth of July Kutuzov received the title of Prince. Thismight indicate a wish to get rid of him, and therefore Prince Vasili'sopinion continued to be correct though he was not now in any hurryto express it. But on the eighth of August a committee, consistingof Field Marshal Saltykov, Arakcheev, Vyazmitinov, Lopukhin, andKochubey met to consider the progress of the war. This committeecame to the conclusion that our failures were due to a want of unityin the command and though the members of the committee were aware ofthe Emperor's dislike of Kutuzov, after a short deliberation theyagreed to advise his appointment as commander in chief. That sameday Kutuzov was appointed commander in chief with full powers over thearmies and over the whole region occupied by them.

　　On the ninth of August Prince Vasili at Anna Pavlovna's again metthe "man of great merit." The latter was very attentive to AnnaPavlovna because he wanted to be appointed director of one of theeducational establishments for young ladies. Prince Vasili entered theroom with the air of a happy conqueror who has attained the objectof his desires.

　　"Well, have you heard the great news? Prince Kutuzov is fieldmarshal! All dissensions are at an end! I am so glad, so delighted! Atlast we have a man!" said he, glancing sternly and significantly roundat everyone in the drawing room.

　　The "man of great merit," despite his desire to obtain the post ofdirector, could not refrain from reminding Prince Vasili of his formeropinion. Though this was impolite to Prince Vasili in AnnaPavlovna's drawing room, and also to Anna Pavlovna herself who hadreceived the news with delight, he could not resist the temptation.

　　"But, Prince, they say he is blind!" said he, reminding PrinceVasili of his own words.

　　"Eh? Nonsense! He sees well enough," said Prince Vasili rapidly,in a deep voice and with a slight cough- the voice and cough withwhich 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 overall the armies and the whole region- powers no commander in chief everhad before. He is a second autocrat," he concluded with a victorioussmile.

　　"God grant it! God grant it!" said Anna Pavlovna.

　　The "man of great merit," who was still a novice in court circles,wishing to flatter Anna Pavlovna by defending her former position onthis question, observed:

　　"It is said that the Emperor was reluctant to give Kutuzov thosepowers. They say he blushed like a girl to whom Joconde is read,when he said to Kutuzov: 'Your Emperor and the Fatherland award youthis honor.'

　　"Perhaps the heart took no part in that speech," said Anna Pavlovna.

　　"Oh, no, no!" warmly rejoined Prince Vasili, who would not now yieldKutuzov to anyone; in his opinion Kutuzov was not only admirablehimself, but was adored by everybody. "No, that's impossible," saidhe, "for our sovereign appreciated him so highly before."

　　"God grant only that Prince Kutuzov assumes real power and doesnot allow anyone to put a spoke in his wheel," observed Anna Pavlovna.

　　Understanding at once to whom she alluded, Prince Vasili said in awhisper:

　　"I know for a fact that Kutuzov made it an absolute condition thatthe Tsarevich should not be with the army. Do you know what he said tothe Emperor?"

　　And Prince Vasili repeated the words supposed to have been spoken byKutuzov to the Emperor. "I can neither punish him if he does wrong norreward him if he does right."

　　"Oh, a very wise man is Prince Kutuzov! I have known him a longtime!"

　　"They even say," remarked the "man of great merit" who did not yetpossess courtly tact, "that his excellency made it an expresscondition that the sovereign himself should not be with the army."

　　As soon as he said this both Prince Vasili and Anna Pavlovnaturned away from him and glanced sadly at one another with a sigh athis naivete.BK10|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　While this was taking place in Petersburg the French had alreadypassed Smolensk and were drawing nearer and nearer to Moscow.Napoleon's historian Thiers, like other of his historians, trying tojustify his hero says that he was drawn to the walls of Moscow againsthis will. He is as right as other historians who look for theexplanation of historic events in the will of one man; he is asright as the Russian historians who maintain that Napoleon was drawnto Moscow by the skill of the Russian commanders. Here besides the lawof retrospection, which regards all the past as a preparation forevents that subsequently occur, the law of reciprocity comes in,confusing the whole matter. A good chessplayer having lost a game issincerely convinced that his loss resulted from a mistake he madeand looks for that mistake in the opening, but forgets that at eachstage of the game there were similar mistakes and that none of hismoves were perfect. He only notices the mistake to which he paysattention, because his opponent took advantage of it. How much morecomplex than this is the game of war, which occurs under certainlimits of time, and where it is not one will that manipulates lifelessobjects, but everything results from innumerable conflicts ofvarious wills!

　　After Smolensk Napoleon sought a battle beyond Dorogobuzh at Vyazma,and then at Tsarevo-Zaymishche, but it happened that owing to aconjunction of innumerable circumstances the Russians could not givebattle till they reached Borodino, seventy miles from Moscow. FromVyazma Napoleon ordered a direct advance on Moscow.

　　Moscou, la capitale asiatique de ce grand empire, la ville sacreedes peuples d'Alexandre, Moscou avec ses innombrables eglises en formede pagodes chinoises,* this Moscow gave Napoleon's imagination norest. On the march from Vyazma to Tsarevo-Zaymishche he rode his lightbay bobtailed ambler accompanied by his Guards, his bodyguard, hispages, and aides-de-camp. Berthier, his chief of staff, dropped behindto question a Russian prisoner captured by the cavalry. Followed byLelorgne d'Ideville, an interpreter, he overtook Napoleon at agallop and reined in his horse with an amused expression.

　　*"Moscow, the Asiatic capital of this great empire, the sacredcity of Alexander's people, Moscow with its innumerable churchesshaped like Chinese pagodas."

　　"Well?" asked Napoleon.

　　"One of Platov's Cossacks says that Platov's corps is joining upwith the main army and that Kutuzov has been appointed commander inchief. He is a very shrewd and garrulous fellow."

　　Napoleon smiled and told them to give the Cossack a horse andbring the man to him. He wished to talk to him himself. Severaladjutants galloped off, and an hour later, Lavrushka, the serf Denisovhad handed over to Rostov, rode up to Napoleon in an orderly'sjacket 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'splain appearance had nothing about it that would reveal to an Orientalmind the presence of a monarch, talked with extreme familiarity of theincidents of the war," says Thiers, narrating this episode. In realityLavrushka, having got drunk the day before and left his masterdinnerless, had been whipped and sent to the village in quest ofchickens, where he engaged in looting till the French took himprisoner. Lavrushka was one of those coarse, bare-faced lackeys whohave seen all sorts of things, consider it necessary to doeverything in a mean and cunning way, are ready to render any sortof service to their master, and are keen at guessing their master'sbaser impulses, especially those prompted by vanity and pettiness.

　　Finding himself in the company of Napoleon, whose identity he hadeasily and surely recognized, Lavrushka was not in the least abashedbut merely did his utmost to gain his new master's favor.

　　He knew very well that this was Napoleon, but Napoleon's presencecould no more intimidate him than Rostov's, or a sergeant major's withthe rods, would have done, for he had nothing that either the sergeantmajor or Napoleon could deprive him of.

　　So he rattled on, telling all the gossip he had heard among theorderlies. Much of it true. But when Napoleon asked him whether theRussians thought they would beat Bonaparte or not, Lavrushka screwedup his eyes and considered.

　　In this question he saw subtle cunning, as men of his type seecunning 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 Napoleonthus: "If a battle takes place within the next three days the Frenchwill win, but if later, God knows what will happen." Napoleon didnot smile, though he was evidently in high good humor, and heordered these words to be repeated.

　　Lavrushka noticed this and to entertain him further, pretendingnot to know who Napoleon was, added:

　　"We know that you have Bonaparte and that he has beaten everybody inthe world, but we are a different matter..."- without knowing why orhow 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 mightyinterlocutor smile," says Thiers. After riding a few paces in silence,Napoleon turned to Berthier and said he wished to see how the newsthat he was talking to the Emperor himself, to that very Emperor whohad written his immortally victorious name on the Pyramids, wouldaffect this enfant du Don.*

　　*"Child of the Don."

　　The fact was accordingly conveyed to Lavrushka.

　　Lavrushka, understanding that this was done to perplex him andthat Napoleon expected him to be frightened, to gratify his newmasters promptly pretended to be astonished and awe-struck, opened hiseyes wide, and assumed the expression he usually put on when takento be whipped. "As soon as Napoleon's interpreter had spoken," saysThiers, "the Cossack, seized by amazement, did not utter another word,but rode on, his eyes fixed on the conqueror whose fame had reachedhim across the steppes of the East. All his loquacity was suddenlyarrested and replaced by a naive and silent feeling of admiration.Napoleon, after making the Cossack a present, had him set free likea bird restored to its native fields."

　　Napoleon rode on, dreaming of the Moscow that so appealed to hisimagination, and "the bird restored to its native fields" gallopedto our outposts, inventing on the way all that had not taken place butthat he meant to relate to his comrades. What had really taken placehe did not wish to relate because it seemed to him not worthtelling. He found the Cossacks, inquired for the regiment operatingwith Platov's detachment and by evening found his master, NicholasRostov, quartered at Yankovo. Rostov was just mounting to go for aride round the neighboring villages with Ilyin; he let Lavrushkahave another horse and took him along with him.BK10|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　Princess Mary was not in Moscow and out of danger as Prince Andrewsupposed.

　　After the return of Alpatych from Smolensk the old prince suddenlyseemed to awake as from a dream. He ordered the militiamen to becalled up from the villages and armed, and wrote a letter to thecommander in chief informing him that he had resolved to remain atBald Hills to the last extremity and to defend it, leaving to thecommander in chief's discretion to take measures or not for thedefense of Bald Hills, where one of Russia's oldest generals wouldbe captured or killed, and he announced to his household that he wouldremain at Bald Hills.

　　But while himself remaining, he gave instructions for thedeparture of the princess and Dessalles with the little prince toBogucharovo and thence to Moscow. Princess Mary, alarmed by herfather's feverish and sleepless activity after his previous apathy,could not bring herself to leave him alone and for the first time inher life ventured to disobey him. She refused to go away and herfather's fury broke over her in a terrible storm. He repeated everyinjustice he had ever inflicted on her. Trying to convict her, he toldher she had worn him out, had caused his quarrel with his son, hadharbored nasty suspicions of him, making it the object of her lifeto poison his existence, and he drove her from his study telling herthat if she did not go away it was all the same to him. He declaredthat he did not wish to remember her existence and warned her not todare to let him see her. The fact that he did not, as she hadfeared, order her to be carried away by force but only told her not tolet him see her cheered Princess Mary. She knew it was a proof that inthe depth of his soul he was glad she was remaining at home and hadnot gone away.

　　The morning after little Nicholas had left, the old prince donnedhis full uniform and prepared to visit the commander in chief. Hiscaleche was already at the door. Princess Mary saw him walk out of thehouse in his uniform wearing all his orders and go down the gardento review his armed peasants and domestic serfs. She sat by the windowlistening to his voice which reached her from the garden. Suddenlyseveral 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 weremoving toward her, and in their midst several men were supporting bythe armpits and dragging along a little old man in a uniform anddecorations. She ran up to him and, in the play of the sunlight thatfell 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 seewas that his former stern and determined expression had altered to oneof timidity and submission. On seeing his daughter he moved hishelpless lips and made a hoarse sound. It was impossible to make outwhat he wanted. He was lifted up, carried to his study, and laid onthe very couch he had so feared of late.

　　The doctor, who was fetched that same night, bled him and saidthat the prince had had seizure a paralyzing his right side.

　　It was becoming more and more dangerous to remain at Bald Hills, andnext day they moved the prince to Bogucharovo, the doctor accompanyinghim.

　　By the time they reached Bogucharovo, Dessalles and the littleprince had already left for Moscow.

　　For three weeks the old prince lay stricken by paralysis in thenew house Prince Andrew had built at Bogucharovo, ever in the samestate, getting neither better nor worse. He was unconscious and laylike a distorted corpse. He muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows andlips twitching, and it was impossible to tell whether he understoodwhat was going on around him or not. One thing was certain- that hewas suffering and wished to say something. But what it was, no onecould 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 wasdue to physical causes; but Princess Mary thought he wished to tellher something, and the fact that her presence always increased hisrestlessness confirmed her opinion.

　　He was evidently suffering both physically and mentally. There wasno hope of recovery. It was impossible for him to travel, it would notdo to let him die on the road. "Would it not be better if the enddid come, the very end?" Princess Mary sometimes thought. Night andday, hardly sleeping at all, she watched him and, terrible to say,often watched him not with hope of finding signs of improvement butwishing to find symptoms of the approach of the end.

　　Strange as it was to her to acknowledge this feeling in herself, yetthere it was. And what seemed still more terrible to her was thatsince her father's illness began (perhaps even sooner, when she stayedwith him expecting something to happen), all the personal desiresand hopes that had been forgotten or sleeping within her had awakened.Thoughts that had not entered her mind for years- thoughts of a lifefree from the fear of her father, and even the possibility of love andof family happiness- floated continually in her imagination liketemptations of the devil. Thrust them aside as she would, questionscontinually recurred to her as to how she would order her life now,after that. These were temptations of the devil and Princess Mary knewit. She knew that the sole weapon against him was prayer, and shetried to pray. She assumed an attitude of prayer, looked at the icons,repeated the words of a prayer, but she could not pray. She feltthat a different world had now taken possession of her- the life ofa world of strenuous and free activity, quite opposed to the spiritualworld in which till now she had been confined and in which hergreatest comfort had been prayer. She could not pray, could notweep, and worldly cares took possession of her.

　　It was becoming dangerous to remain in Bogucharovo. News of theapproach of the French came from all sides, and in one village, tenmiles from Bogucharovo, a homestead had been looted by Frenchmarauders.

　　The doctor insisted on the necessity of moving the prince; theprovincial Marshal of the Nobility sent an official to Princess Maryto persuade her to get away as quickly as possible, and the head ofthe rural police having come to Bogucharovo urged the same thing,saying that the French were only some twenty-five miles away, thatFrench proclamations were circulating in the villages, and that if theprincess did not take her father away before the fifteenth, he couldnot answer for the consequences.

　　The princess decided to leave on the fifteenth. The cares ofpreparation and giving orders, for which everyone came to her,occupied her all day. She spent the night of the fourteenth asusual, without undressing, in the room next to the one where theprince lay. Several times, waking up, she heard his groans andmuttering, the creak of his bed, and the steps of Tikhon and thedoctor when they turned him over. Several times she listened at thedoor, and it seemed to her that his mutterings were louder thanusual and that they turned him over oftener. She could not sleep andseveral times went to the door and listened, wishing to enter butnot deciding to do so. Though he did not speak, Princess Mary sawand knew how unpleasant every sign of anxiety on his account was tohim. She had noticed with what dissatisfaction he turned from the lookshe sometimes involuntarily fixed on him. She knew that her going induring the night at an unusual hour would irritate him.

　　But never had she felt so grieved for him or so much afraid oflosing him. She recalled all her life with him and in every word andact of his found an expression of his love of her. Occasionally amidthese memories temptations of the devil would surge into herimagination: thoughts of how things would be after his death, andhow her new, liberated life would be ordered. But she drove thesethoughts away with disgust. Toward morning he became quiet and shefell asleep.

　　She woke late. That sincerity which often comes with waking showedher 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 werestill 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. Infront of it stood carriages without horses and things were beingpacked 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 herthoughts before going to her father. The doctor came downstairs andwent 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 isclearer. Come in, he is asking for you..."

　　Princess Mary's heart beat so violently at this news that she grewpale 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 wasoverflowing with those dreadful, wicked temptations, was a tormentof joy and terror.

　　"Come," said the doctor.

　　Princess Mary entered her father's room and went up to his bed. Hewas lying on his back propped up high, and his small bony hands withtheir knotted purple veins were lying on the quilt; his left eye gazedstraight before him, his right eye was awry, and his brows and lipsmotionless. He seemed altogether so thin, small, and pathetic. Hisface seemed to have shriveled or melted; his features had grownsmaller. Princess Mary went up and kissed his hand. His left handpressed hers so that she understood that he had long been waitingfor her to come. He twitched her hand, and his brows and lips quiveredangrily.

　　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 herface 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 mightnot understand.

　　Straining all her faculties Princess Mary looked at him. The comicefforts with which he moved his tongue made her drop her eyes and withdifficulty repress the sobs that rose to her throat. He saidsomething, repeating the same words several times. She could notunderstand them, but tried to guess what he was saying and inquiringlyrepeated the words he uttered.

　　"Mmm...ar...ate...ate..." he repeated several times.

　　It was quite impossible to understand these sounds. The doctorthought he had guessed them, and inquiringly repeated: "Mary, areyou afraid?" The prince shook his head, again repeated the samesounds.

　　"My mind, my mind aches?" questioned Princess Mary.

　　He made a mumbling sound in confirmation of this, took her hand, andbegan pressing it to different parts of his breast as if trying tofind the right place for it.

　　"Always thoughts... about you... thoughts..." he then uttered muchmore clearly than he had done before, now that he was sure of beingunderstood.

　　Princess Mary pressed her head against his hand, trying to hideher 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 afraidto 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 herselfas he did, as much as possible by signs, and her tongue too seemedto move with difficulty.

　　"Dear one... Dearest..." Princess Mary could not quite make out whathe had said, but from his look it was clear that he had uttered atender caressing word such as he had never used to her before. "Whydidn'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 flowfrom 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 leastit 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 Smolensk."

　　He closed his eyes and remained silent a long time. Then as if inanswer to his doubts and to confirm the fact that now he understoodand remembered everything, he nodded his head and reopened his eyes.

　　"Yes," he said, softly and distinctly. "Russia has perished. They'vedestroyed her."

　　And he began to sob, and again tears flowed from his eyes.Princess Mary could no longer restrain herself and wept while shegazed at his face.

　　Again he closed his eyes. His sobs ceased, he pointed to his eyes,and Tikhon, understanding him, wiped away the tears.

　　Then he again opened his eyes and said something none of themcould understand for a long time, till at last Tikhon understood andrepeated it. Princess Mary had sought the meaning of his words inthe mood in which he had just been speaking. She thought he wasspeaking 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 thedoctor taking her arm led her out to the veranda, soothing her andtrying to persuade her to prepare for her journey. When she had leftthe room the prince again began speaking about his son, about the war,and about the Emperor, angrily twitching his brows and raising hishoarse voice, and then he had a second and final stroke.

　　Princess Mary stayed on the veranda. The day had cleared, it was hotand sunny. She could understand nothing, think of nothing and feelnothing, except passionate love for her father, love such as shethought she had never felt till that moment. She ran out sobbinginto the garden and as far as the pond, along the avenues of younglime trees Prince Andrew had planted.

　　"Yes... I... I... I wished for his death! Yes, I wanted it to endquicker.... I wished to be at peace.... And what will become of me?What use will peace be when he is no longer here?" Princess Marymurmured, pacing the garden with hurried steps and pressing herhands to her bosom which heaved with convulsive sobs.

　　When she had completed the tour of the garden, which brought heragain to the house, she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne- who had remainedat Bogucharovo and did not wish to leave it- coming toward her witha stranger. This was the Marshal of the Nobility of the district,who had come personally to point out to the princess the necessity forher prompt departure. Princess Mary listened without understandinghim; she led him to the house, offered him lunch, and sat down withhim. Then, excusing herself, she went to the door of the oldprince's room. The doctor came out with an agitated face and saidshe could not enter.

　　"Go away, Princess! Go away... go away!"

　　She returned to the garden and sat down on the grass at the footof the slope by the pond, where no one could see her. She did not knowhow long she had been there when she was aroused by the sound of awoman's footsteps running along the path. She rose and saw Dunyashaher maid, who was evidently looking for her, and who stoppedsuddenly as if in alarm on seeing her mistress.

　　"Please come, Princess... The Prince," said Dunyasha in a breakingvoice.

　　"Immediately, I'm coming, I'm coming!" replied the princesshurriedly, not giving Dunyasha time to finish what she was saying, andtrying 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 herfather's door. "Why are these people with frightened faces stoppingme? I don't want any of them! And what are they doing here?" shethought. She opened the door and the bright daylight in thatpreviously darkened room startled her. In the room were her nurseand other women. They all drew back from the bed, making way forher. He was still lying on the bed as before, but the stern expressionof his quiet face made Princess Mary stop short on the threshold.

　　"No, he's not dead- it's impossible!" she told herself andapproached him, and repressing the terror that seized her, she pressedher lips to his cheek. But she stepped back immediately. All the forceof the tenderness she had been feeling for him vanished instantlyand was replaced by a feeling of horror at what lay there beforeher. "No, he is no more! He is not, but here where he was is somethingunfamiliar and hostile, some dreadful, terrifying, and repellentmystery!" And hiding her face in her hands, Princess Mary sank intothe arms of the doctor, who held her up.

　　In the presence of Tikhon and the doctor the women washed what hadbeen the prince, tied his head up with a handkerchief that the mouthshould not stiffen while open, and with another handkerchief tiedtogether the legs that were already spreading apart. Then they dressedhim in uniform with his decorations and placed his shriveled littlebody on a table. Heaven only knows who arranged all this and when, butit all got done as if of its own accord. Toward night candles wereburning round his coffin, a pall was spread over it, the floor wasstrewn with sprays of juniper, a printed band was tucked in underhis shriveled head, and in a corner of the room sat a chanterreading the psalms.

　　Just as horses shy and snort and gather about a dead horse, so theinmates of the house and strangers crowded into the drawing room roundthe coffin- the Marshal, the village Elder, peasant women- and allwith fixed and frightened eyes, crossing themselves, bowed andkissed the old prince's cold and stiffened hand.BK10|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Until Prince Andrew settled in Bogucharovo its owners had alwaysbeen absentees, and its peasants were of quite a different characterfrom those of Bald Hills. They differed from them in speech, dress,and disposition. They were called steppe peasants. The old prince usedto approve of them for their endurance at work when they came toBald 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 Bogucharovo, when he introducedhospitals and schools and reduced the quitrent the peasants had topay, had not softened their disposition but had on the contrarystrengthened in them the traits of character the old prince calledboorishness. Various obscure rumors were always current among them: atone time a rumor that they would all be enrolled as Cossacks; atanother of a new religion to which they were all to be converted; thenof some proclamation of the Tsar's and of an oath to the Tsar Paulin 1797 (in connection with which it was rumored that freedom had beengranted them but the landowners had stopped it), then of PeterFedorovich's return to the throne in seven years' time, wheneverything would be made free and so "simple" that there would be norestrictions. Rumors of the war with Bonaparte and his invasion wereconnected in their minds with the same sort of vague notions ofAntichrist, the end of the world, and "pure freedom."

　　In the vicinity of Bogucharovo were large villages belonging tothe crown or to owners whose serfs paid quitrent and could workwhere they pleased. There were very few resident landlords in theneighborhood and also very few domestic or literate serfs, and inthe lives of the peasantry of those parts the mysterious undercurrentsin the life of the Russian people, the causes and meaning of which areso baffling to contemporaries, were more clearly and stronglynoticeable than among others. One instance, which had occurred sometwenty years before, was a movement among the peasants to emigrateto some unknown "warm rivers." Hundreds of peasants, among them theBogucharovo folk, suddenly began selling their cattle and moving inwhole families toward the southeast. As birds migrate to somewherebeyond the sea, so these men with their wives and children streamed tothe southeast, to parts where none of them had ever been. They set offin caravans, bought their freedom one by one or ran away, and drove orwalked toward the "warm rivers." Many of them were punished, some sentto Siberia, many died of cold and hunger on the road, many returned oftheir own accord, and the movement died down of itself just as ithad sprung up, without apparent reason. But such undercurrents stillexisted among the people and gathered new forces ready to manifestthemselves just as strangely, unexpectedly, and at the same timesimply, naturally, and forcibly. Now in 1812, to anyone living inclose touch with these people it was apparent that these undercurrentswere acting strongly and nearing an eruption.

　　Alpatych, who had reached Bogucharovo shortly before the oldprince's death, noticed an agitation among the peasants, and thatcontrary to what was happening in the Bald Hills district, whereover a radius of forty miles all the peasants were moving away andleaving their villages to be devastated by the Cossacks, thepeasants in the steppe region round Bogucharovo were, it wasrumored, in touch with the French, received leaflets from them thatpassed from hand to hand, and did not migrate. He learned fromdomestic serfs loyal to him that the peasant Karp, who possessed greatinfluence in the village commune and had recently been away drivinga government transport, had returned with news that the Cossackswere destroying deserted villages, but that the French did not harmthem. Alpatych also knew that on the previous day another peasanthad even brought from the village of Visloukhovo, which was occupiedby the French, a proclamation by a French general that no harm wouldbe done to the inhabitants, and if they remained they would be paidfor anything taken from them. As proof of this the peasant had broughtfrom Visloukhovo a hundred rubles in notes (he did not know thatthey were false) paid to him in advance for hay.

　　More important still, Alpatych learned that on the morning of thevery day he gave the village Elder orders to collect carts to move theprincess' luggage from Bogucharovo, there had been a village meetingat which it had been decided not to move but to wait. Yet there was notime 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 wasbecoming dangerous. He had told her that after the sixteenth hecould not be responsible for what might happen. On the evening ofthe day the old prince died the Marshal went away, promising to returnnext day for the funeral. But this he was unable to do, for hereceived tidings that the French had unexpectedly advanced, and hadbarely time to remove his own family and valuables from his estate.

　　For some thirty years Bogucharovo had been managed by the villageElder, Dron, whom the old prince called by the diminutive "Dronushka."

　　Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasantswho grow big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchangedtill they are sixty or seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of atooth, as straight and strong at sixty as at thirty.

　　Soon after the migration to the "warm rivers," in which he had takenpart like the rest, Dron was made village Elder and overseer ofBogucharovo, and had since filled that post irreproachably fortwenty-three years. The peasants feared him more than they did theirmaster. The masters, both the old prince and the young, and thesteward 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 theleast fatigue, and though he could not read he had never forgotten asingle money account or the number of quarters of flour in any ofthe endless cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a single shock ofthe whole corn crop on any single acre of the Bogucharovo fields.

　　Alpatych, arriving from the devastated Bald Hills estate, sent forhis Dron on the day of the prince's funeral and told him to havetwelve horses got ready for the princess' carriages and eighteen cartsfor the things to be removed from Bogucharovo. Though the peasantspaid quitrent, Alpatych thought no difficulty would be made aboutcomplying with this order, for there were two hundred and thirtyhouseholds at work in Bogucharovo and the peasants were well to do.But on hearing the order Dron lowered his eyes and remained silent.Alpatych named certain peasants he knew, from whom he told him to takethe carts.

　　Dron replied that the horses of these peasants were away carting.Alpatych named others, but they too, according to Dron, had nohorses available: some horses were carting for the government,others were too weak, and others had died for want of fodder. Itseemed that no horses could be had even for the carriages, much lessfor the carting.

　　Alpatych looked intently at Dron and frowned. Just as Dron was amodel village Elder, so Alpatych had not managed the prince'sestates for twenty years in vain. He a model steward, possessing inthe highest degree the faculty of divining the needs and instinctsof those he dealt with. Having glanced at Dron he at once understoodthat his answers did not express his personal views but the generalmood of the Bogucharovo commune, by which the Elder had already beencarried away. But he also knew that Dron, who had acquired propertyand was hated by the commune, must be hesitating between the twocamps: the masters' and the serfs'. He noticed this hesitation inDron's look and therefore frowned and moved closer up to him.

　　"Now just listen, Dronushka," said he. "Don't talk nonsense to me.His excellency Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move all thepeople away and not leave them with the enemy, and there is an orderfrom 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.

　　Alpatych 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!" Alpatych repeated, withdrawing his hand fromhis bosom and solemnly pointing to the floor at Dron's feet. "I cansee through you and three yards into the ground under you," hecontinued, gazing at the floor in front of Dron.

　　Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at Alpatych and againlowered his eyes.

　　"You drop this nonsense and tell the people to get ready to leavetheir homes and go to Moscow and to get carts ready for tomorrowmorning for the princess' things. And don't go to any meetingyourself, do you hear?"

　　Dron suddenly fell on his knees.

　　"Yakov Alpatych, discharge me! Take the keys from me and dischargeme, for Christ's sake!"

　　"Stop that!" cried Alpatych sternly. "I see through you and threeyards under you," he repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping,his knowledge of the right time to sow the oats, and the fact thathe had been able to retain the old prince's favor for twenty years hadlong since gained him the reputation of being a wizard, and that thepower of seeing three yards under a man is considered an attributeof wizards.

　　Dron got up and was about to say something, but Alpatych interruptedhim.

　　"What is it you have got into your heads, eh?... What are youthinking of, eh?"

　　"What am I to do with the people?" said Dron. "They're quitebeside themselves; I have already told them..."

　　"'Told them,' I dare say!" said Alpatych. "Are they drinking?" heasked abruptly.

　　"Quite beside themselves, Yakov Alpatych; they've fetched anotherbarrel."

　　"Well, then, listen! I'll go to the police officer, and you tellthem so, and that they must stop this and the carts must be gotready."

　　"I understand."

　　Alpatych did not insist further. He had managed people for a longtime and knew that the chief way to make them obey is to show nosuspicion that they can possibly disobey. Having wrung a submissive "Iunderstand" from Dron, Alpatych contented himself with that, though henot only doubted but felt almost certain that without the help oftroops 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 beingheld, which decided that the horses should be driven out into thewoods and the carts should not be provided. Without saying anything ofthis to the princess, Alpatych had his own belongings taken out of thecarts which had arrived from Bald Hills and had those horses got readyfor the princess' carriages. Meanwhile he went himself to the policeauthorities.BK10|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　After her father's funeral Princess Mary shut herself up in her roomand did not admit anyone. A maid came to the door to say that Alpatychwas asking for orders about their departure. (This was before his talkwith Dron.) Princess Mary raised herself on the sofa on which shehad been lying and replied through the closed door that she did notmean 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 buttonsof the leather cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion, and herconfused thoughts were centered on one subject- the irrevocabilityof death and her own spiritual baseness, which she had notsuspected, but which had shown itself during her father's illness. Shewished to pray but did not dare to, dared not in her present stateof mind address herself to God. She lay for a long time in thatposition.

　　The sun had reached the other side of the house, and its slantingrays shone into the open window, lighting up the room and part ofthe morocco cushion at which Princess Mary was looking. The flow ofher thoughts suddenly stopped. Unconsciously she sat up, smoothedher hair, got up, and went to the window, involuntarily inhaling thefreshness of the clear but windy evening.

　　"Yes, you can well enjoy the evening now! He is gone and no one willhinder you," she said to herself, and sinking into a chair she let herhead fall on the window sill.

　　Someone spoke her name in a soft and tender voice from the gardenand kissed her head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bourienne in ablack dress and weepers. She softly approached Princess Mary,sighed, kissed her, and immediately began to cry. The princesslooked up at her. All their former disharmony and her own jealousyrecurred to her mind. But she remembered too how he had changed oflate toward Mademoiselle Bourienne and could not bear to see her,thereby showing how unjust were the reproaches Princess Mary hadmentally addressed to her. "Besides, is it for me, for me whodesired his death, to condemn anyone?" she thought.

　　Princess Mary vividly pictured to herself the position ofMademoiselle Bourienne, whom she had of late kept at a distance, butwho yet was dependent on her and living in her house. She felt sorryfor her and held out her hand with a glance of gentle inquiry.Mademoiselle Bourienne at once began crying again and kissed thathand, speaking of the princess' sorrow and making herself a partner init. She said her only consolation was the fact that the princessallowed her to share her sorrow, that all the old misunderstandingsshould sink into nothing but this great grief; that she felt herselfblameless in regard to everyone, and that he, from above, saw heraffection and gratitude. The princess heard her, not heeding her wordsbut occasionally looking up at her and listening to the sound of hervoice.

　　"Your position is doubly terrible, dear princess," said MademoiselleBourienne after a pause. "I understand that you could not, and cannot,think of yourself, but with my love for you I must do so.... HasAlpatych 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 goor where to. "Is it possible to plan or think of anything now? Is itnot all the same?" she thought, and did not reply.

　　"You know, chere Marie," said Mademoiselle Bourienne, "that we arein danger- are surrounded by the French. It would be dangerous to movenow. If we go we are almost sure to be taken prisoners, and Godknows..."

　　Princess Mary looked at her companion without understanding what shewas talking about.

　　"Oh, if anyone knew how little anything matters to me now," shesaid. "Of course I would on no account wish to go away from him....Alpatych did say something about going.... Speak to him; I can donothing, nothing, and don't want to...."

　　"I've spoken to him. He hopes we should be in time to get awaytomorrow, but I think it would now be better to stay here," saidMademoiselle Bourienne. "Because, you will agree, chere Marie, to fallinto the hands of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would beterrible."

　　Mademoiselle Bourienne took from her reticule a proclamation (notprinted on ordinary Russian paper) of General Rameau's, telling peoplenot to leave their homes and that the French authorities wouldafford them proper protection. She handed this to the princess.

　　"I think it would be best to appeal to that general," she continued,"and and am sure that all due respect would be shown you."

　　Princess Mary read the paper, and her face began to quiver withstifled sobs.

　　"From whom did you get this?" she asked.

　　"They probably recognized that I am French, by my name," repliedMademoiselle Bourienne blushing.

　　Princess Mary, with the paper in her hand, rose from the windowand with a pale face went out of the room and into what had beenPrince Andrew's study.

　　"Dunyasha, send Alpatych, or Dronushka, or somebody to me!" shesaid, "and tell Mademoiselle Bourienne not to come to me," sheadded, hearing Mademoiselle Bourienne's voice. "We must go at once, atonce!" she said, appalled at the thought of being left in the hands ofthe French.

　　"If Prince Andrew heard that I was in the power of the French!That I, the daughter of Prince Nicholas Bolkonski, asked GeneralRameau for protection and accepted his favor!" This idea horrifiedher, made her shudder, blush, and feel such a rush of anger andpride as she had never experienced before. All that was distressing,and especially all that was humiliating, in her position rosevividly to her mind. "They, the French, would settle in this house: M.le General Rameau would occupy Prince Andrew's study and amuse himselfby looking through and reading his letters and papers. MademoiselleBourienne would do the honors of Bogucharovo for him. I should begiven a small room as a favor, the soldiers would violate myfather's newly dug grave to steal his crosses and stars, they wouldtell me of their victories over the Russians, and would pretend tosympathize with my sorrow..." thought Princess Mary, not thinkingher own thoughts but feeling bound to think like her father and herbrother. For herself she did not care where she remained or whathappened to her, but she felt herself the representative of her deadfather and of Prince Andrew. Involuntarily she thought theirthoughts and felt their feelings. What they would have said and whatthey would have done she felt bound to say and do. She went intoPrince 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 herfather's death, all at once rose before her with a new, previouslyunknown force and took possession of her.

　　Agitated and flushed she paced the room, sending now for MichaelIvanovich and now for Tikhon or Dron. Dunyasha, the nurse, and theother maids could not say in how far Mademoiselle Bourienne'sstatement was correct. Alpatych was not at home, he had gone to thepolice. Neither could the architect Michael Ivanovich, who on beingsent for came in with sleepy eyes, tell Princess Mary anything. Withjust the same smile of agreement with which for fifteen years he hadbeen accustomed to answer the old prince without expressing views ofhis own, he now replied to Princess Mary, so that nothing definitecould be got from his answers. The old valet Tikhon, with sunken,emaciated face that bore the stamp of inconsolable grief, replied:"Yes, Princess" to all Princess Mary's questions and hardlyrefrained from sobbing as he looked at her.

　　At length Dron, the village Elder, entered the room and with adeep bow to Princess Mary came to a halt by the doorpost.

　　Princess Mary walked up and down the room and stopped in front ofhim.

　　"Dronushka," she said, regarding as a sure friend this Dronushka whoalways used to bring a special kind of gingerbread from his visit tothe fair at Vyazma every year and smilingly offer it to her,"Dronushka, now since our misfortune..." she began, but could not goon.

　　"We are all in God's hands," said he, with a sigh.

　　They were silent for a while.

　　"Dronushka, Alpatych has gone off somewhere and I have no one toturn to. Is 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 goaway tonight or early tomorrow morning."

　　Dron paused. He looked askance at Princess Mary and said: "There areno horses; I told Yakov Alpatych so."

　　"Why are there none?" asked the princess.

　　"It's all God's scourge," said Dron. "What horses we had have beentaken for the army or have died- this is such a year! It's not acase of feeding horses- we may die of hunger ourselves! As it is, somego 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, Dronushka? Isn't it possible to helpthem? I'll do all I can...."

　　To Princess Mary it was strange that now, at a moment when suchsorrow was filling her soul, there could be rich people and poor,and the rich could refrain from helping the poor. She had heardvaguely that there was such a thing as "landlord's corn" which wassometimes given to the peasants. She also knew that neither her fathernor her brother would refuse to help the peasants in need, she onlyfeared to make some mistake in speaking about the distribution ofthe grain she wished to give. She was glad such cares presentedthemselves, enabling her without scruple to forget her own grief.She began asking Dron about the peasants' needs and what there wasin Bogucharovo 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. "Ourprince did not order it to be sold."

　　"Give it to the peasants, let them have all they need; I give youleave 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 isours 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 betaken from me," said he. "I have served twenty-three years and havedone no wrong. Discharge me, for God's sake!"

　　Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he wasasking to be discharged. She replied that she had never doubted hisdevotion and that she was ready to do anything for him and for thepeasants.BK10|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　An hour later Dunyasha 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 toldDron to let them have the grain."

　　"Only, for God's sake, Princess dear, have them sent away anddon't go out to them. It's all a trick," said Dunyasha, "and whenYakov Alpatych 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. Theysay they don't agree to leave Bogucharovo as you ordered."

　　"You're making some mistake. I never ordered them to go away,"said Princess Mary. "Call Dronushka."

　　Dron came and confirmed Dunyasha's words; the peasants had come bythe princess' order.

　　"But I never sent for them," declared the princess. "You must havegiven my message wrong. I only said that you were to give them thegrain."

　　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 ofthe nurse's and Dunyasha's protests she went out into the porch; Dron,Dunyasha, the nurse, and Michael Ivanovich following her.

　　"They probably think I am offering them the grain to bribe them toremain here, while I myself go away leaving them to the mercy of theFrench," thought Princess Mary. "I will offer them monthly rations andhousing at our Moscow estate. I am sure Andrew would do even more inmy place," she thought as she went out in the twilight toward thecrowd standing on the pasture by the barn.

　　The men crowded closer together, stirred, and rapidly took off theirhats. Princess Mary lowered her eyes and, tripping over her skirt,came close up to them. So many different eyes, old and young, werefixed on her, and there were so many different faces, that she couldnot distinguish any of them and, feeling that she must speak to themall at once, did not know how to do it. But again the sense that sherepresented her father and her brother gave her courage, and sheboldly began her speech.

　　"I am very glad you have come," she said without raising her eyes,and feeling her heart beating quickly and violently. "Dronushkatells 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 becauseit is dangerous here... the enemy is near... because... I am givingyou everything, my friends, and I beg you to take everything, allour grain, so that you may not suffer want! And if you have beentold that I am giving you the grain to keep you here- that is nottrue. On the contrary, I ask you to go with all your belongings to ourestate near Moscow, and I promise you I will see to it that thereyou 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 itin the name of my dead father, who was a good master to you, and of mybrother and his son."

　　Again she paused. No one broke the silence.

　　"Ours is a common misfortune and we will share it together. All thatis mine is yours," she concluded, scanning the faces before her.

　　All eyes were gazing at her with one and the same expression. Shecould not fathom whether it was curiosity, devotion, gratitude, orapprehension and distrust- but the expression on all the faces wasidentical.

　　"We are all very thankful for your bounty, but it won't do for us totake 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 catchsomeone's eye.

　　"Why don't you speak?" she inquired of a very old man who stood justin front of her leaning on his stick. "If you think something moreis 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 identicalexpression, though now it was certainly not an expression of curiosityor gratitude, but of angry resolve.

　　"But you can't have understood me," said Princess Mary with a sadsmile. "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. Wedon't agree."

　　Again Princess Mary tried to catch someone's eye, but not a singleeye in the crowd was turned to her; evidently they were all tryingto avoid her look. She felt strange and awkward.

　　"Oh yes, an artful tale! Follow her into slavery! Pull down yourhouses 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 thehouse. Having repeated her order to Dron to have horses ready forher departure next morning, she went to her room and remained alonewith her own thoughts.BK10|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　For a long time that night Princess Mary sat by the open window ofher room hearing the sound of the peasants' voices that reached herfrom the village, but it was not of them she was thinking. She feltthat she could not understand them however much she might thinkabout them. She thought only of one thing, her sorrow, which, afterthe break caused by cares for the present, seemed already to belong tothe 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 fullmoon began to show from behind the lime trees, a fresh white dewy mistbegan 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 nowlingered over these images, repelling with horror only the last one,the picture of his death, which she felt she could not contemplateeven in imagination at this still and mystic hour of night. Andthese pictures presented themselves to her so clearly and in suchdetail that they seemed now present, now past, and now future.

　　She vividly recalled the moment when he had his first stroke and wasbeing dragged along by his armpits through the garden at Bald Hills,muttering something with his helpless tongue, twitching his grayeyebrows 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 sherecalled in all its detail the night at Bald Hills before he had thelast stroke, when with a foreboding of disaster she had remained athome against his will. She had not slept and had stolen downstairson tiptoe, and going to the door of the conservatory where he sleptthat night had listened at the door. In a suffering and weary voice hewas saying something to Tikhon, speaking of the Crimea and its warmnights and of the Empress. Evidently he had wanted to talk. "And whydidn't he call me? Why didn't he let me be there instead of Tikhon?"Princess Mary had thought and thought again now. "Now he will nevertell anyone what he had in his soul. Never will that moment return forhim or for me when he might have said all he longed to say, and notTikhon but I might have heard and understood him. Why didn't I enterthe room?" she thought. "Perhaps he would then have said to me what hesaid the day he died. While talking to Tikhon he asked about me twice.He wanted to see me, and I was standing close by, outside the door. Itwas sad and painful for him to talk to Tikhon who did not understandhim. I remember how he began speaking to him about Lise as if she werealive- he had forgotten she was dead- and Tikhon reminded him that shewas no more, and he shouted, 'Fool!' He was greatly depressed. Frombehind the door I heard how he lay down on his bed groaning and loudlyexclaimed, 'My God!' Why didn't I go in then? What could he havedone to me? What could I have lost? And perhaps he would then havebeen comforted and would have said that word to me." And Princess Maryuttered aloud the caressing word he had said to her on the day ofhis death. "Dear-est!" she repeated, and began sobbing, with tearsthat relieved her soul. She now saw his face before her. And not theface she had known ever since she could remember and had always seenat a distance, but the timid, feeble face she had seen for the firsttime quite closely, with all its wrinkles and details, when shestooped 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 thinkingnow?" This question suddenly presented itself to her, and in answershe saw him before her with the expression that was on his face ashe lay in his coffin with his chin bound up with a white handkerchief.And the horror that had seized her when she touched him andconvinced herself that that was not he, but something mysterious andhorrible, seized her again. She tried to think of something else andto pray, but could do neither. With wide-open eyes she gazed at themoonlight and the shadows, expecting every moment to see his deadface, and she felt that the silence brooding over the house and withinit held her fast.

　　"Dunyasha," she whispered. "Dunyasha!" she screamed wildly, andtearing herself out of this silence she ran to the servants'quarters to meet her old nurse and the maidservants who came runningtoward her.BK10|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　On the seventeenth of August Rostov and Ilyin, accompanied byLavrushka who had just returned from captivity and by an hussarorderly, left their quarters at Yankovo, ten miles from Bogucharovo,and went for a ride- to try a new horse Ilyin had bought and to findout whether there was any hay to be had in the villages.

　　For the last three days Bogucharovo had lain between the two hostilearmies, so that it was as easy for the Russian rearguard to get toit as for the French vanguard; Rostov, as a careful squadroncommander, wished to take such provisions as remained at Bogucharovobefore the French could get them.

　　Rostov and Ilyin were in the merriest of moods. On the way toBogucharovo, a princely estate with a dwelling house and farm wherethey hoped to find many domestic serfs and pretty girls, theyquestioned Lavrushka about Napoleon and laughed at his stories, andraced one another to try Ilyin's horse.

　　Rostov had no idea that the village he was entering was the propertyof that very Bolkonski who had been engaged to his sister.

　　Rostov and Ilyin gave rein to their horses for a last race along theincline before reaching Bogucharovo, and Rostov, outstripping Ilyin,was the first to gallop into the village street.

　　"You're first!" cried Ilyin, flushed.

　　"Yes, always first both on the grassland and here," answered Rostov,stroking his heated Donets horse.

　　"And I'd have won on my Frenchy, your excellency," said Lavrushkafrom behind, alluding to his shabby cart horse, "only I didn't wish tomortify you.

　　They rode at a footpace to the barn, where a large crowd of peasantswas standing.

　　Some of the men bared their heads, others stared at the new arrivalswithout doffing their caps. Two tall old peasants with wrinkledfaces and scanty beards emerged from the tavern, smiling,staggering, and singing some incoherent song, and approached theofficers.

　　"Fine fellows!" said Rostov laughing. "Is there any hay here?"

　　"And how like one another," said Ilyin.

　　"A mo-o-st me-r-r-y co-o-m-pa...!" sang one of the peasants with ablissful smile.

　　One of the men came out of the crowd and went up to Rostov.

　　"Who do you belong to?" he asked.

　　"The French," replied Ilyin jestingly, "and here is Napoleonhimself"- and he pointed to Lavrushka.

　　"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 Rostov. "But why have you collected here?" headded. "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 womenand a man in a white hat were seen coming toward the officers.

　　"The one in pink is mine, so keep off!" said Ilyin on seeingDunyasha running resolutely toward him.

　　"She'll be ours!" said Lavrushka to Ilyin, winking.

　　"What do you want, my pretty?" said Ilyin with a smile.

　　"The princess ordered me to ask your regiment and your name."

　　"This is Count Rostov, squadron commander, and I am your humbleservant."

　　"Co-o-om-pa-ny!" roared the tipsy peasant with a beatific smile ashe looked at Ilyin talking to the girl. Following Dunyasha, Alpatychadvanced to Rostov, having bared his head while still at a distance.

　　"May I make bold to trouble your honor?" said he respectfully, butwith a shade of contempt for the youthfulness of this officer and witha hand thrust into his bosom. "My mistress, daughter of General inChief Prince Nicholas Bolkonski who died on the fifteenth of thismonth, finding herself in difficulties owing to the boorishness ofthese people"- he pointed to the peasants- "asks you to come up to thehouse.... Won't you, please, ride on a little farther," saidAlpatych with a melancholy smile, "as it is not convenient in thepresence of...?" He pointed to the two peasants who kept as close tohim as horseflies to a horse.

　　"Ah!... Alpatych... Ah, Yakov Alpatych... Grand! Forgive us forChrist's sake, eh?" said the peasants, smiling joyfully at him.

　　Rostov looked at the tipsy peasants and smiled.

　　"Or perhaps they amuse your honor?" remarked Alpatych with a staidair, as he pointed at the old men with his free hand.

　　"No, there's not much to be amused at here," said Rostov, and rodeon a little way. "What's the matter?" he asked.

　　"I make bold to inform your honor that the rude peasants heredon't wish to let the mistress leave the estate, and threaten tounharness her horses, so that though everything has been packed upsince morning, her excellency cannot get away."

　　"Impossible!" exclaimed Rostov.

　　"I have the honor to report to you the actual truth," said Alpatych.

　　Rostov dismounted, gave his horse to the orderly, and followedAlpatych to the house, questioning him as to the state of affairs.It appeared that the princess' offer of corn to the peasants theprevious day, and her talk with Dron and at the meeting, hadactually had so bad an effect that Dron had finally given up thekeys and joined the peasants and had not appeared when Alpatych sentfor him; and that in the morning when the princess gave orders toharness for her journey, the peasants had come in a large crowd to thebarn and sent word that they would not let her leave the village: thatthere was an order not to move, and that they would unharness thehorses. Alpatych had gone out to admonish them, but was told (it waschiefly Karp who did the talking, Dron not showing himself in thecrowd) that they could not let the princess go, that there was anorder to the contrary, but that if she stayed they would serve heras before and obey her in everything.

　　At the moment when Rostov and Ilyin were galloping along the road,Princess Mary, despite the dissuasions of Alpatych, her nurse, and themaids, had given orders to harness and intended to start, but when thecavalrymen were espied they were taken for Frenchmen, the coachman ranaway, and the women in the house began to wail.

　　"Father! Benefactor! God has sent you!" exclaimed deeply movedvoices as Rostov passed through the anteroom.

　　Princess Mary was sitting helpless and bewildered in the largesitting room, when Rostov was shown in. She could not grasp who he wasand why he had come, or what was happening to her. When she saw hisRussian face, and by his walk and the first words he utteredrecognized him as a man of her own class, she glanced at him withher deep radiant look and began speaking in a voice that falteredand trembled with emotion. This meeting immediately struck Rostov as aromantic event. "A helpless girl overwhelmed with grief, left to themercy of coarse, rioting peasants! And what a strange fate sent mehere! What gentleness and nobility there are in her features andexpression!" thought he as he looked at her and listened to hertimid story.

　　When she began to tell him that all this had happened the dayafter her father's funeral, her voiced trembled. She turned away,and then, as if fearing he might take her words as meant to move himto pity, looked at him with an apprehensive glance of inquiry. Therewere tears in Rostov's eyes. Princess Mary noticed this and glancedgratefully at him with that radiant look which caused the plainness ofher face to be forgotten.

　　"I cannot express, Princess, how glad I am that I happened to ridehere and am able to show my readiness to serve you," said Rostov,rising. "Go when you please, and I give you my word of honor that noone shall dare to cause you annoyance if only you will allow me to actas your escort." And bowing respectfully, as if to a lady of royalblood, he moved toward the door.

　　Rostov's deferential tone seemed to indicate that though he wouldconsider himself happy to be acquainted with her, he did not wish totake 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 hopeit was all a misunderstanding and that no one is to blame for it." Shesuddenly began to cry.

　　"Excuse me!" she said.

　　Rostov, knitting his brows, left the room with another low bow.BK10|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　Well, is she pretty? Ah, friend- my pink one is delicious; hername is Dunyasha...."

　　But on glancing at Rostov's face Ilyin stopped short. He saw thathis hero and commander was following quite a different train ofthought.

　　Rostov glanced angrily at Ilyin and without replying strode off withrapid steps to the village.

　　"I'll show them; I'll give it to them, the brigands!" said he tohimself.

　　Alpatych at a gliding trot, only just managing not to run, kept upwith him with difficulty.

　　"What decision have you been pleased to come to?" said he.

　　Rostov stopped and, clenching his fists, suddenly and sternly turnedon Alpatych.

　　"Decision? What decision? Old dotard!..." cried he. "What have youbeen about? Eh? The peasants are rioting, and you can't manage them?You're a traitor youself! I know you. I'll flay you all alive!..." Andas if afraid of wasting his store of anger, he left Alpatych andwent rapidly forward. Alpatych, mastering his offended feelings,kept pace with Rostov at a gliding gait and continued to impart hisviews. He said the peasants were obdurate and that at the presentmoment it would be imprudent to "overresist" them without an armedforce, and would it not be better first to send for the military?

　　"I'll give them armed force... I'll 'overresist' them!" utteredRostov meaninglessly, breathless with irrational animal fury and theneed to vent it.

　　Without considering what he would do he moved unconciously withquick, resolute steps toward the crowd. And the nearer he drew to itthe more Alpatych felt that this unreasonable action might producegood results. The peasants in the crowd were similarly impressedwhen they saw Rostov's rapid, firm steps and resolute, frowning face.

　　After the hussars had come to the village and Rostov had gone to seethe princess, a certain confusion and dissension had arisen amongthe crowd. Some of the peasants said that these new arrivals wereRussians and might take it amiss that the mistress was being detained.Dron was of this opinion, but as soon as he expressed it Karp andothers attacked their ex-Elder.

　　"How many years have you been fattening on the commune?" Karpshouted at him. "It's all one to you! You'll dig up your pot ofmoney and take it away with you.... What does it matter to you whetherour homes are ruined or not?"

　　"We've been told to keep order, and that no one is to leave theirhomes or take away a single grain, and that's all about it!" criedanother.

　　"It was your son's turn to be conscripted, but no fear! Youbegrudged your lump of a son," a little old man suddenly beganattacking Dron- "and so they took my Vanka 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 Rostov, followedby Ilyin, Lavrushka, and Alpatych, came up to the crowd, Karp,thrusting his fingers into his belt and smiling a little, walked tothe front. Dron on the contrary retired to the rear and the crowd drewcloser together.

　　"Who is your Elder here? Hey?" shouted Rostov, coming up to thecrowd 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 offand a fierce blow jerked his head to one side.

　　"Caps off, traitors!" shouted Rostov in a wrathful voice. "Where'sthe Elder?" he cried furiously.

　　"The Elder.... He wants the Elder!... Dron Zakharych, you!" meek andflustered voices here and there were heard calling and caps began tocome off their heads.

　　"We don't riot, we're following the orders," declared Karp, and atthat moment several voices began speaking together.

　　"It's as the old men have decided- there's too many of you givingorders."

　　"Arguing? Mutiny!... Brigands! Traitors!" cried Rostov unmeaninglyin a voice not his own, gripping Karp by the collar. "Bind him, bindhim!" he shouted, though there was no one to bind him but Lavrushkaand Alpatych.

　　Lavrushka, however, ran up to Karp and seized him by the arms frombehind.

　　"Shall I call up our men from beyond the hill?" he called out.

　　Alpatych turned to the peasants and ordered two of them by name tocome and bind Karp. The men obediently came out of the crowd and begantaking off their belts.

　　"Where's the Elder?" demanded Rostov in a loud voice.

　　With a pale and frowning face Dron stepped out of the crowd.

　　"Are you the Elder? Bind him, Lavrushka!" shouted Rostov, as if thatorder, too, could not possibly meet with any opposition.

　　And in fact two more peasants began binding Dron, who took off hisown belt and handed it to them, as if to aid them.

　　"And you all listen to me!" said Rostov to the peasants. "Be offto 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," voiceswere heard bickering with one another.

　　"There! What did I say?" said Alpatych, coming into his own again."It's wrong, lads!"

　　"All our stupidity, Yakov Alpatych," came the answers, and thecrowd began at once to disperse through the village.

　　The two bound men were led off to the master's house. The twodrunken 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 thinkingof, you fool?" added the other- "A real fool!"

　　Two hours later the carts were standing in the courtyard of theBogucharovo house. The peasants were briskly carrying out theproprietor's goods and packing them on the carts, and Dron,liberated at Princess Mary's wish from the cupboard where he hadbeen confined, was standing in the yard directing the men.

　　"Don't put it in so carelessly," said one of the peasants, a manwith a round smiling face, taking a casket from a housemaid. "You knowit has cost money! How can you chuck it in like that or shove it underthe cord where it'll get rubbed? I don't like that way of doingthings. Let it all be done properly, according to rule. Look here, putit under the bast matting and cover it with hay- that's the way!"

　　"Eh, books, books!" said another peasant, bringing out PrinceAndrew'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 thedictionaries that were on the top.

　　Unwilling to obtrude himself on the princess, Rostov did not go backto the house but remained in the village awaiting her departure.When her carriage drove out of the house, he mounted and accompaniedher eight miles from Bogucharovo to where the road was occupied by ourtroops. At the inn at Yankovo he respectfully took leave of her, forthe first time permitting himself to kiss her hand.

　　"How can you speak so!" he blushingly replied to Princess Mary'sexpressions of gratitude for her deliverance, as she termed what hadoccurred. "Any police officer would have done as much! If we had hadonly 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 amonly happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance.Good-by, Princess. I wish you happiness and consolation and hope tomeet you again in happier circumstances. If you don't want to makeme blush, please don't thank me!"

　　But the princess, if she did not again thank him in words, thankedhim with the whole expression of her face, radiant with gratitudeand tenderness. She could not believe that there was nothing tothank him for. On the contrary, it seemed to her certain that had henot been there she would have perished at the hands of the mutineersand of the French, and that he had exposed himself to terrible andobvious danger to save her, and even more certain was it that he was aman of lofty and noble soul, able to understand her position and hersorrow. His kind, honest eyes, with the tears rising in them whenshe herself had begun to cry as she spoke of her loss, did leave hermemory.

　　When she had taken leave of him and remained alone she suddenly felther eyes filling with tears, and then not for the first time thestrange question presented itself to her: did she love him?

　　On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess' positionwas not a cheerful one, Dunyasha, who went with her in the carriage,more than once noticed that her mistress leaned out of the windowand 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 fallenin love with a man who would perhaps never love her, she comfortedherself with the thought that no one would ever know it and that shewould not be to blame if, without ever speaking of it to anyone, shecontinued to the end of her life to love the man with whom she hadfallen in love for the first and last time in her life.

　　Sometimes when she recalled his looks, his sympathy, and hiswords, happiness did not appear impossible to her. It was at thosemoments that Dunyasha noticed her smiling as she looked out of thecarriage window.

　　"Was it not fate that brought him to Bogucharovo, and at that verymoment?" thought Princess Mary. "And that caused his sister torefuse my brother?" And in all this Princess Mary saw the hand ofProvidence.

　　The impression the princess made on Rostov was a very agreeable one.To remember her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, hearing ofhis adventure at Bogucharovo, rallied him on having gone to look forhay and having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses in Russia, hegrew angry. It made him angry just because the idea of marrying thegentle Princess Mary, who was attractive to him and had an enormousfortune, had against his will more than once entered his head. Forhimself personally Nicholas could not wish for a better wife: bymarrying her he would make the countess his mother happy, would beable to put his father's affairs in order, and would even- he felt it-ensure Princess Mary's happiness.

　　But Sonya? And his plighted word? That was why Rostov grew angrywhen he was rallied about Princess Bolkonskaya.BK10|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　On receiving command of the armies Kutuzov remembered PrinceAndrew and sent an order for him to report at headquarters.

　　Prince Andrew arrived at Tsarevo-Zaymishche on the very day and atthe very hour that Kutuzov was reviewing the troops for the firsttime. He stopped in the village at the priest's house in front ofwhich stood the commander in chief's carriage, and he sat down onthe bench at the gate awaiting his Serene Highness, as everyone nowcalled Kutuzov. From the field beyond the village came now sounds ofregimental music and now the roar of many voices shouting "Hurrah!" tothe new commander in chief. Two orderlies, a courier and a major-domo,stood near by, some ten paces from Prince Andrew, availingthemselves of Kutuzov's absence and of the fine weather. A short,swarthy lieutenant colonel of hussars with thick mustaches andwhiskers rode up to the gate and, glancing at Prince Andrew,inquired whether his Serene Highness was putting up there andwhether 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 turnedto a smart orderly, who, with the peculiar contempt with which acommander in chief's orderly speaks to officers, replied:

　　"What? His Serene Highness? I expect he'll be here soon. What do youwant?"

　　The lieutenant colonel of hussars smiled beneath his mustache at theorderly's tone, dismounted, gave his horse to a dispatch runner, andapproached Bolkonski with a slight bow. Bolkonski made room for him onthe bench and the lieutenant colonel sat down beside him.

　　"You're also waiting for the commander in chief?" said he. "They sayhe weceives evewyone, thank God!... It's awful with those sausageeaters! Ermolov had weason to ask to be pwomoted to be a German! Nowp'waps Wussians will get a look in. As it was, devil only knows whatwas happening. We kept wetweating and wetweating. Did you take part inthe campaign?" he asked.

　　"I had the pleasure," replied Prince Andrew, "not only of takingpart in the retreat but of losing in that retreat all I held dear- notto mention the estate and home of my birth- my father, who died ofgrief. I belong to the province of Smolensk."

　　"Ah? You're Pwince Bolkonski? Vewy glad to make your acquaintance!I'm Lieutenant Colonel Denisov, better known as 'Vaska,'" saidDenisov, pressing Prince Andrew's hand and looking into his facewith a particularly kindly attention. "Yes, I heard," said hesympathetically, and after a short pause added: "Yes, it's Scythianwarfare. It's all vewy well- only not for those who get it in theneck. So you are Pwince Andwew Bolkonski?" He swayed his head. "Vewypleased, Pwince, to make your acquaintance!" he repeated again,smiling sadly, and he again pressed Prince Andrew's hand.

　　Prince Andrew knew Denisov from what Natasha had told him of herfirst suitor. This memory carried him sadly and sweetly back tothose painful feelings of which he had not thought lately, but whichstill found place in his soul. Of late he had received so many new andvery serious impressions- such as the retreat from Smolensk, his visitto Bald Hills, and the recent news of his father's death- and hadexperienced so many emotions, that for a long time past those memorieshad not entered his mind, and now that they did, they did not act onhim with nearly their former strength. For Denisov, too, thememories awakened by the name of Bolkonski belonged to a distant,romantic past, when after supper and after Natasha's singing he hadproposed to a little girl of fifteen without realizing what he wasdoing. He smiled at the recollection of that time and of his lovefor Natasha, and passed at once to what now interested himpassionately and exclusively. This was a plan of campaign he haddevised while serving at the outposts during the retreat. He hadproposed that plan to Barclay de Tolly and now wished to propose it toKutuzov. The plan was based on the fact that the French line ofoperation was to extended, and it proposed that instead of, orconcurrently with, action on the front to bar the advance of theFrench, we should attack their line of communication. He beganexplaining his plan to Prince Andrew.

　　"They can't hold all that line. It's impossible. I will undertake tobweak thwough. Give me five hundwed men and I will bweak the line,that's certain! There's only one way- guewilla warfare!"

　　Denisov rose and began gesticulating as he explained his plan toBolkonski. In the midst of his explanation shouts were heard fromthe army, growing more incoherent and more diffused, mingling withmusic 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.

　　Bolkonski and Denisov moved to the gate, at which a knot of soldiers(a guard of honor) was standing, and they saw Kutuzov coming downthe street mounted on a rather small sorrel horse. A huge suite ofgenerals rode behind him. Barclay was riding almost beside him, anda crowd of officers ran after and around them shouting, "Hurrah!"

　　His adjutants galloped into the yard before him. Kutuzov wasimpatiently urging on his horse, which ambled smoothly under hisweight, and he raised his hand to his white Horse Guard's cap with ared band and no peak, nodding his head continually. When he came up tothe guard of honor, a fine set of Grenadiers mostly wearingdecorations, who were giving him the salute, he looked at themsilently and attentively for nearly a minute with the steady gaze of acommander and then turned to the crowd of generals and officerssurrounding him. Suddenly his face assumed a subtle expression, heshrugged 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 andDenisov.

　　"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" shouted those behind him.

　　Since Prince Andrew had last seen him Kutuzov had grown still morecorpulent, flaccid, and fat. But the bleached eyeball, the scar, andthe familiar weariness of his expression were still the same. He waswearing the white Horse Guard's cap and a military overcoat with awhip hanging over his shoulder by a thin strap. He sat heavily andswayed limply on his brisk little horse.

　　"Whew... whew... whew!" he whistled just audibly as he rode into theyard. His face expressed the relief of relaxed strain felt by a manwho means to rest after a ceremony. He drew his left foot out of thestirrup and, lurching with his whole body and puckering his facewith the effort, raised it with difficulty onto the saddle, leanedon his knee, groaned, and slipped down into the arms of the Cossacksand 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, movedwith his waddling gait to the porch. "Whew... whew... whew!" hewhistled, and again glanced at Prince Andrew. As often occurs with oldmen, it was only after some seconds that the impression produced byPrince Andrew's face linked itself up with Kutuzov's remembrance ofhis personality.

　　"Ah, how do you do, my dear prince? How do you do, my dear boy? Comealong..." said he, glancing wearily round, and he stepped onto theporch 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 Andrewabruptly.

　　Kutuzov looked at him with eyes wide open with dismay and thentook off his cap and crossed himself:

　　"May the kingdom of Heaven be his! God's will be done to us all!" Hesighed deeply, his whole chest heaving, and was silent for a while. "Iloved him and respected him, and sympathize with you with all myheart."

　　He embraced Prince Andrew, pressing him to his fat breast, and forsome time did not let him go. When he released him Prince Andrew sawthat Kutuzov's flabby lips were trembling and that tears were in hiseyes. He sighed and pressed on the bench with both hands to raisehimself.

　　"Come! Come with me, we'll have a talk," said he.

　　But at that moment Denisov, no more intimidated by his superiorsthan 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.Kutuzov, his hands still pressed on the seat, glanced at him glumly.Denisov, having given his name, announced that he had to communicateto his Serene Highness a matter of great importance for theircountry's welfare. Kutuzov looked wearily at him and, lifting hishands with a gesture of annoyance, folded them across his stomach,repeating the words: "For our country's welfare? Well, what is it?Speak!" Denisov blushed like a girl (it was strange to see the colorrise in that shaggy, bibulous, time-worn face) and boldly began toexpound his plan of cutting the enemy's lines of communication betweenSmolensk and Vyazma. Denisov came from those parts and knew thecountry well. His plan seemed decidedly a good one, especially fromthe strength of conviction with which he spoke. Kutuzov looked down athis own legs, occasionally glancing at the door of the adjoining hutas if expecting something unpleasant to emerge from it. And fromthat hut, while Denisov was speaking, a general with a portfolio underhis arm really did appear.

　　"What?" said Kutuzov, in the midst of Denisov's explanations, "areyou ready so soon?"

　　"Ready, your Serene Highness," replied the general.

　　Kutuzov swayed his head, as much as to say: "How is one man todeal with it all?" and again listened to Denisov.

　　"I give my word of honor as a Wussian officer," said Denisov,"that I can bweak Napoleon's line of communication!"

　　"What relation are you to Intendant General Kiril AndreevichDenisov?" asked Kutuzov, interrupting him.

　　"He is my uncle, your Sewene Highness."

　　"Ah, we were friends," said Kutuzov cheerfully. "All right, allright, friend, stay here at the staff and tomorrow we'll have a talk."

　　With a nod to Denisov he turned away and put out his hand for thepapers Konovnitsyn had brought him.

　　"Would not your Serene Highness like to come inside?" said thegeneral on duty in a discontented voice, "the plans must be examinedand several papers have to be signed."

　　An adjutant came out and announced that everything was inreadiness within. But Kutuzov evidently did not wish to enter thatroom till he was disengaged. He made a grimace...

　　"No, tell them to bring a small table out here, my dear boy. I'lllook at them here," said he. "Don't go away," he added, turning toPrince Andrew, who remained in the porch and listened to the general'sreport.

　　While this was being given, Prince Andrew heard the whisper of awoman's voice and the rustle of a silk dress behind the door.Several times on glancing that way he noticed behind that door aplump, rosy, handsome woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchiefon her head, holding a dish and evidently awaiting the entrance of thecommander in chief. Kutiizov's adjutant whispered to Prince Andrewthat this was the wife of the priest whose home it was, and that sheintended to offer his Serene Highness bread and salt. "Her husband haswelcomed his Serene Highness with the cross at the church, and sheintends to welcome him in the house.... She's very pretty," addedthe adjutant with a smile. At those words Kutuzov looked round. He waslistening to the general's report- which consisted chiefly of acriticism of the position at Tsarevo-Zaymishche- as he had listened toDenisov, and seven years previously had listened to the discussionat the Austerlitz council of war. He evidently listened only becausehe 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 generalcould say would surprise or even interest him, that he knew all thatwould 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. Allthat Denisov had said was clever and to the point. What the generalwas saying was even more clever and to the point, but it was evidentthat Kutuzov despised knowledge and cleverness, and knew ofsomething else that would decide the matter- something independentof clever. ness and knowledge. Prince Andrew watched the commanderin chief's face attentively, and the only expression he could seethere was one of boredom, curiosity as to the meaning of thefeminine whispering behind the door, and a desire to observepropriety. It was evident that Kutuzov despised cleverness andlearning and even the patriotic feeling shown by Denisov, but despisedthem not because of his own intellect, feelings, or knowledge- hedid not try to display any of these- but because of something else. Hedespised them because of his old age and experience of life. Theonly instruction Kutuzov gave of his own accord during that reportreferred to looting by the Russian troops. At the end of the reportthe general put before him for signature a paper relating to therecovery of payment from army commanders for green oats mown down bythe soldiers, when landowners lodged petitions for compensation.

　　After hearing the matter, Kutuzov smacked his lips together andshook 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! Letthem cut the crops and burn wood to their hearts' content. I don'torder it or allow it, but I don't exact compensation either. One can'tget on without it. 'When wood is chopped the chips will fly.'" Helooked at the paper again. "Oh, this German precision!" he muttered,shaking his head.BK10|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　"Well, that's all!" said Kutuzov as he signed the last of thedocuments, and rising heavily and smoothing out the folds in his fatwhite neck he moved toward the door with a more cheerful expression.

　　The priest's wife, flushing rosy red, caught up the dish she hadafter all not managed to present at the right moment, though she hadso long been preparing for it, and with a low bow offered it toKutuzov.

　　He screwed up his eyes, smiled, lifted her chin with his hand, andsaid:

　　"Ah, what a beauty! Thank you, sweetheart!"

　　He took some gold pieces from his trouser pocket and put them on thedish 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 wifesmiled, and with dimples in her rosy cheeks followed him into theroom. The adjutant came out to the porch and asked Prince Andrew tolunch with him. Half an hour later Prince Andrew was again called toKutuzov. He found him reclining in an armchair, still in the sameunbuttoned overcoat. He had in his hand a French book which heclosed as Prince Andrew entered, marking the place with a knife.Prince Andrew saw by the cover that it was Les Chevaliers du Cygneby Madame de Genlis.

　　"Well, sit down, sit down here. Let's have a talk," said Kutuzov."It's sad, very sad. But remember, my dear fellow, that I am afather to you, a second father...."

　　Prince Andrew told Kutuzov all he knew of his father's death, andwhat he had seen at Bald Hills when he passed through it.

　　"What... what they have brought us to!" Kutuzov suddenly cried in anagitated voice, evidently picturing vividly to himself from PrinceAndrew's story the condition Russia was in. "But give me time, give metime!" he said with a grim look, evidently not wishing to continuethis agitating conversation, and added: "I sent for you to keep youwith me."

　　"I thank your Serene Highness, but I fear I am longer fit for thestaff," replied Prince Andrew with a smile which Kutuzov noticed.

　　Kutuzov glanced inquiringly at him.

　　"But above all," added Prince Andrew, "I have grown used to myregiment, am fond of the officers, and I fancy the men also like me. Ishould be sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honor of beingwith you, believe me..."

　　A shrewd, kindly, yet subtly derisive expression lit up Kutuzov'spodgy face. He cut Bolkonski short.

　　"I am sorry, for I need you. But you're right, you're right! It'snot here that men are needed. Advisers are always plentiful, but menare not. The regiments would not be what they are if the would-beadvisers served there as you do. I remember you at Austerlitz.... Iremember, yes, I remember you with the standard!" said Kutuzov, anda flush of pleasure suffused Prince Andrew's face at thisrecollection.

　　Taking his hand and drawing him downwards, Kutuzov offered his cheekto be kissed, and again Prince Andrew noticed tears in the old man'seyes. Though Prince Andrew knew that Kutuzov's tears came easily,and that he was particularly tender to and considerate of him from awish to show sympathy with his loss, yet this reminder of Austerlitzwas both pleasant and flattering to him.

　　"Go your way and God be with you. I know your path is the path ofhonor!" He paused. "I missed you at Bucharest, but I needed someone tosend." And changing the subject, Kutuzov began to speak of the Turkishwar and the peace that had been concluded. "Yes, I have been muchblamed," he said, "both for that war and the peace... but everythingcame at the right time. Tout vient a point a 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 weshould not have made peace with Turkey and should not have beenthrough with that war. Everything in haste, but more haste, lessspeed. Kamenski would have been lost if he had not died. He stormedfortresses with thirty thousand men. It is not difficult to capturea fortress but it is difficult to win a campaign. For that, stormingand attacking but patience and time are wanted. Kamenski sent soldiersto Rustchuk, but I only employed these two things and took morefortresses than Kamenski and made the but eat horseflesh!" He swayedhis 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.... Butbelieve me, my dear boy, there is nothing stronger than those two:patience and time, they will do it all. But the advisers n'entendentpas de cette oreille, voila le mal.* Some want a thing- othersdon'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 shonewith a deep, shrewd look. "I'll tell you what to do," he continued, asPrince Andrew still did not reply: "I will tell you what to do, andwhat I do. Dans le doute, mon cher," he paused, "abstiens-toi"*[2]- hearticulated 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 Ishare your sorrow, and that for you I am not a Serene Highness, nora prince, nor a commander in chief, but a father! If you want anythingcome straight to me. Good-by, my dear boy."

　　Again he embraced and kissed Prince Andrew, but before the latterhad left the room Kutuzov gave a sigh of relief and went on with hisunfinished novel, Les Chevaliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis.

　　Prince Andrew could not have explained how or why it was, butafter that interview with Kutuzov he went back to his regimentreassured as to the general course of affairs and as to the man towhom it had been entrusted. The more he realized the absence of allpersonal motive in that old man- in whom there seemed to remain onlythe habit of passions, and in place of an intellect (grouping eventsand drawing conclusions) only the capacity calmly to contemplate thecourse of events- the more reassured he was that everything would beas it should. "He will not bring in any plan of his own. He will notdevise or undertake anything," thought Prince Andrew, "but he willhear everything, remember everything, and put everything in its place.He will not hinder anything useful nor allow anything harmful. Heunderstands that there is something stronger and more important thanhis own will- the inevitable course of events, and he can see them andgrasp their significance, and seeing that significance can refrainfrom meddling and renounce his personal wish directed to somethingelse. And above all," thought Prince Andrew, "one believes in himbecause he's Russian, despite the novel by Genlis and the Frenchproverbs, and because his voice shook when he said: 'What they havebrought us to!' and had a sob in it when he said he would 'make themeat horseflesh!'"

　　On such feelings, more or less dimly shared by all, the unanimityand general approval were founded with which, despite courtinfluences, the popular choice of Kutuzov as commander in chief wasreceived.BK10|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　After the Emperor had left Moscow, life flowed on there in its usualcourse, and its course was so very usual that it was difficult toremember the recent days of patriotic elation and ardor, hard tobelieve that Russia was really in danger and that the members of theEnglish Club were also sons of the Fatherland ready to sacrificeeverything for it. The one thing that recalled the patriotic fervoreveryone had displayed during the Emperor's stay was the call forcontributions of men and money, a necessity that as soon as thepromises had been made assumed a legal, official form and becameunavoidable.

　　With the enemy's approach to Moscow, the Moscovites' view of theirsituation did not grow more serious but on the contrary became evenmore frivolous, as always happens with people who see a great dangerapproaching. At the approach of danger there are always two voicesthat speak with equal power in the human soul: one very reasonablytells a man to consider the nature of the danger and the means ofescaping it; the other, still more reasonably, says that it is toodepressing and painful to think of the danger, since it is not inman's power to foresee everything and avert the general course ofevents, and it is therefore better to disregard what is painful tillit comes, and to think about what is pleasant. In solitude a mangenerally listens to the first voice, but in society to the second. Soit was now with the inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since peoplehad been as gay in Moscow as that year.

　　Rostopchin's broadsheets, headed by woodcuts of a drink shop, apotman, and a Moscow burgher called Karpushka Chigirin, "who- havingbeen a militiaman and having had rather too much at the pub- heardthat Napoleon wished to come to Moscow, grew angry, abused theFrench in very bad language, came out of the drink shop, and, underthe sign of the eagle, began to address the assembled people," wereread and discussed, together with the latest of Vasili LvovichPushkin's bouts rimes.

　　In the corner room at the Club, members gathered to read thesebroadsheets, and some liked the way Karpushka jeered at the French,saying: "They will swell up with Russian cabbage, burst with ourbuckwheat porridge, and choke themselves with cabbage soup. They areall dwarfs and one peasant woman will toss three of them with ahayfork." Others did not like that tone and said it was stupid andvulgar. It was said that Rostopchin had expelled all Frenchmen andeven all foreigners from Moscow, and that there had been some spiesand agents of Napoleon among them; but this was told chiefly tointroduce Rostopchin's witty remark on that occasion. The foreignerswere deported to Nizhni by boat, and Rostopchin had said to them inFrench: "Rentrez en vousmemes; entrez dans la barque, et n'en faitespas une barque de Charon."* There was talk of all the governmentoffices having been already removed from Moscow, and to thisShinshin's witticism was added- that for that alone Moscow ought to begrateful to Napoleon. It was said that Mamonov's regiment would costhim eight hundred thousand rubles, and that Bezukhov had spent evenmore on his, but that the best thing about Bezukhov's action wasthat he himself was going to don a uniform and ride at the head of hisregiment without charging anything for the show.

　　*"Think it over; get into the barque, and take care not to make it abarque of Charon."

　　"You don't spare anyone," said Julie Drubetskaya as she collectedand pressed together a bunch of raveled lint with her thin, beringedfingers.

　　Julie was preparing to leave Moscow next day and was giving afarewell soiree.

　　"Bezukhov est ridicule, but he is so kind and good-natured. Whatpleasure is there to be so caustique?"

　　"A forfeit!" cried a young man in militia uniform whom Juliecalled "mon chevalier," and who was going with her to Nizhni.

　　In Julie's set, as in many other circles in Moscow, it had beenagreed that they would speak nothing but Russian and that those whomade a slip and spoke French should pay fines to the Committee ofVoluntary Contributions.

　　"Another forfeit for a Gallicism," said a Russian writer who waspresent. "'What pleasure is there to be' is not Russian!"

　　"You spare no one," continued Julie to the young man without heedingthe author's remark.

　　"For caustique- I am guilty and will pay, and I am prepared to payagain for the pleasure of telling you the truth. For Gallicisms Iwon't be responsible," she remarked, turning to the author: "I haveneither the money nor the time, like Prince Galitsyn, to engage amaster to teach me Russian!"

　　"Ah, here he is!" she added. "Quand on... No, no," she said to themilitia officer, "you won't catch me. Speak of the sun and you see itsrays!" and she smiled amiably at Pierre. "We were just talking ofyou," she said with the facility in lying natural to a societywoman. "We were saying that your regiment would be sure to be betterthan Mamonov's."

　　"Oh, don't talk to me of my regiment," replied Pierre, kissing hishostess' hand and taking a seat beside her. "I am so sick of it."

　　"You will, of course, command it yourself?" said Julie, directinga sly, sarcastic glance toward the militia officer.

　　The latter in Pierre's presence had ceased to be caustic, and hisface expressed perplexity as to what Julie's smile might mean. Inspite of his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pierre's personalityimmediately checked any attempt to ridicule him to his face.

　　"No," said Pierre, with a laughing glance at his big, stout body. "Ishould make too good a target for the French, besides I am afraid Ishould hardly be able to climb onto a horse."

　　Among those whom Julie's guests happened to choose to gossip aboutwere the Rostovs.

　　"I hear that their affairs are in a very bad way," said Julie."And he is so unreasonable, the count himself I mean. TheRazumovskis wanted to buy his house and his estate near Moscow, but itdrags 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 isgoing: 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 offall his debts," said the militia officer, speaking of Rostov.

　　"A kindly old man but not up to much. And why do they stay on solong in Moscow? They meant to leave for the country long ago.Natalie is quite well again now, isn't she?" Julie asked Pierre with aknowing smile.

　　"They are waiting for their younger son," Pierre replied. "He joinedObolenski's Cossacks and went to Belaya Tserkov where the regimentis being formed. But now they have had him transferred to myregiment and are expecting him every day. The count wanted to leavelong ago, but the countess won't on any account leave Moscow tillher son returns."

　　"I met them the day before yesterday at the Arkharovs'. Nataliehas recovered her looks and is brighter. She sang a song. How easilysome 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 deSouza's novels."

　　"What knights? What do you mean?" demanded Pierre, blushing.

　　"Oh, come, my dear count! C'est la fable de tout Moscou. Je vousadmire, 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, risingto 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 alwaysmore friendly with Vera- that dear Vera."

　　"No, madame!" Pierre continued in a tone of displeasure, "I have nottaken on myself the role of Natalie Rostova's knight at all, andhave not been their house for nearly a month. But I cannotunderstand the cruelty..."

　　"Qui s'excuse s'accuse,"* said Julie, smiling and waving the linttriumphantly, and to have the last word she promptly changed thesubject. "Do you know what I heard today? Poor Mary Bolkonskayaarrived in Moscow yesterday. Do you know that she has lost herfather?"

　　*"Who excuses himself, accuses himself."

　　"Really? Where is she? I should like very much to see her," saidPierre.

　　"I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going to theirestate 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 isquite a romance. Nicholas Rostov! She was surrounded, and theywanted to kill her and had wounded some of her people. He rushed inand saved her...."

　　"Another romance," said the militia officer. "Really, this generalflight has been arranged to get all the old maids married off. Caticheis one and Princess Bolkonskaya another."

　　"Do you know, I really believe she is un petit peu amoureuse dujeune homme."*

　　*"A little bit in love with the young man."

　　"Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit!"

　　"But how could one say that in Russian?"BK10|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　When Pierre returned home he was handed two of Rostopchin'sbroadsheets that had been brought that day.

　　The first declared that the report that Count Rostopchin hadforbidden people to leave Moscow was false; on the contrary he wasglad that ladies and tradesmen's wives were leaving the city. "Therewill be less panic and less gossip," ran the broadsheet "but I willstake my life on it that that will not enter Moscow." These wordsshowed Pierre clearly for the first time that the French would enterMoscow. The second broadsheet stated that our headquarters were atVyazma, that Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that asmany of the inhabitants of Moscow wished to be armed, weapons wereready for them at the arsenal: sabers, pistols, and muskets whichcould be had at a low price. The tone of the proclamation was not asjocose as in the former Chigirin talks. Pierre pondered over thesebroadsheets. Evidently the terrible stormcloud he had desired with thewhole strength of his soul but which yet aroused involuntary horror inhim was drawing near.

　　"Shall I join the army and enter the service, or wait?" he askedhimself for the hundredth time. He took a pack of cards that lay onthe table and began to lay them out for a game of patience.

　　"If this patience comes out," he said to himself after shuffling thecards, holding them in his hand, and lifting his head, "if it comesout, it means... what does it mean?"

　　He had not decided what it should mean when he heard the voice ofthe eldest princess at the door asking whether she might come in.

　　"Then it will mean that I must go to the army," said Pierre tohimself. "Come in, come in!" he added to the princess.

　　Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and longwaist, was still living in Pierre's house. The two younger ones hadboth married.

　　"Excuse my coming to you, cousin," she said in a reproachful andagitated voice. "You know some decision must be come to. What is goingto happen? Everyone has left Moscow and the people are rioting. How isit that we are staying on?"

　　"On the contrary, things seem satisfactory, ma cousine," said Pierrein the bantering tone he habitually adopted toward her, always feelinguncomfortable in the role of her benefactor.

　　"Satisfactory, indeed! Very satisfactory! Barbara Ivanovna told metoday how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It certainlydoes them credit! And the people too are quite mutinous- they nolonger obey, even my maid has taken to being rude. At this rate theywill 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 waitingfor? I ask just one thing of you, cousin," she went on, "arrange forme to be taken to Petersburg. Whatever I may be, I can't live underBonaparte's rule."

　　"Oh, come, ma cousine! Where do you get your information from? Onthe contrary..."

　　"I won't submit to your Napoleon! Others may if they please.... Ifyou 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 angrywith. Muttering to herself, she sat down on a chair.

　　"But you have been misinformed," said Pierre. "Everything is quietin the city and there is not the slightest danger. See! I've just beenreading..." He showed her the broadsheet. "Count Rostopchin writesthat he will stake his life on it that the enemy will not enterMoscow."

　　"Oh, that count of yours!" said the princess malevolently. "He isa hypocrite, a rascal who has himself roused the people to riot.Didn't he write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, 'whoeverit might be, should be dragged to the lockup by his hair'? (Howsilly!) 'And honor and glory to whoever captures him,' he says. Thisis what his cajolery has brought us to! Barbara Ivanovna told me themob 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 expectingsomething terrible.

　　Next day toward evening the princess set off, and Pierre's headsteward came to inform him that the money needed for the equipmentof his regiment could not be found without selling one of the estates.In general the head steward made out to Pierre that his project ofraising a regiment would ruin him. Pierre listened to him, scarcelyable to repress a smile.

　　"Well then, sell it," said he. "What's to be done? I can't draw backnow!"

　　The worse everything became, especially his own affairs, thebetter was Pierre pleased and the more evident was it that thecatastrophe he expected was approaching. Hardly anyone he knew wasleft in town. Julie had gone, and so had Princess Mary. Of hisintimate friends only the Rostovs remained, but he did not go to seethem.

　　To distract his thoughts he drove that day to the village ofVorontsovo to see the great balloon Leppich was constructing todestroy the foe, and a trial balloon that was to go up next day. Theballoon was not yet ready, but Pierre learned that it was beingconstructed by the Emperor's desire. The Emperor had written toCount Rostopchin as follows:

　　As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew of reliable andintelligent men for his car and send a courier to General Kutuzov tolet him know. I have informed him of the matter.

　　Please impress upon Leppich to be very careful where he descends forthe first time, that he may not make a mistake and fall into theenemy's hands. It is essential for him to combine his movements withthose of the commander in chief.

　　On his way home from Vorontsovo, as he was passing the BolotnoePlace Pierre, seeing a large crowd round the Lobnoe Place, stopped andgot out of his trap. A French cook accused of being a spy was beingflogged. The flogging was only just over, and the executioner wasreleasing from the flogging bench a stout man with red whiskers, inblue stockings and a green jacket, who was moaning piteously.Another criminal, thin and pale, stood near. Judging by their facesthey were both Frenchmen. With a frightened and suffering lookresembling that on the thin Frenchman's face, Pierre pushed his way inthrough 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 centeredon what was passing in Lobnoe Place that no one answered him. Thestout man rose, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and evidentlytrying to appear firm began to pull on his jacket without lookingabout him, but suddenly his lips trembled and he began to cry, inthe way full-blooded grown-up men cry, though angry with himself fordoing so. In the crowd people began talking loudly, to stifle theirfeelings of pity as it seemed to Pierre.

　　"He's cook to some prince."

　　"Eh, mounseer, Russian sauce seems to be sour to a Frenchman... setshis teeth on edge!" said a wrinkled clerk who was standing behindPierre, when the Frenchman began to cry.

　　The clerk glanced round, evidently hoping that his joke would beappreciated. Some people began to laugh, others continued to watchin dismay the executioner who was undressing the other man.

　　Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he turned hastily away, wentback to his trap muttering something to himself as he went, and tookhis seat. As they drove along he shuddered and exclaimed several timesso audibly that the coachman asked him:

　　"What is your pleasure?"

　　"Where are you going?" shouted Pierre to the man, who was driving toLubyanka Street.

　　"To the Governor's, as you ordered," answered the coachman.

　　"Fool! Idiot!" shouted Pierre, abusing his coachman- a thing herarely did. "Home, I told you! And drive faster, blockhead!" "I mustget away this very day," he murmured to himself.

　　At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd surrounding theLobnoe Place, Pierre had so definitely made up his mind that hecould no longer remain in Moscow and would leave for the army thatvery day that it seemed to him that either he had told the coachmanthis or that the man ought to have known it for himself.

　　On reaching home Pierre gave orders to Evstafey- his head coachmanwho knew everything, could do anything, and was known to all Moscow-that he would leave that night for the army at Mozhaysk, and thathis saddle horses should be sent there. This could not all be arrangedthat day, so on Evstafey's representation Pierre had to put off hisdeparture till next day to allow time for the relay horses to besent 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 nightin Perkhushkovo, he learned that there had been a great battle thatevening. (This was the battle of Shevardino.) He was told that therein Perkhushkovo the earth trembled from the firing, but nobody couldanswer his questions as to who had won. At dawn next day Pierre wasapproaching Mozhaysk.

　　Every house in Mozhaysk had soldiers quartered in it, and at thehostel where Pierre was met by his groom and coachman there was noroom to be had. It was full of officers.

　　Everywhere in Mozhaysk and beyond it, troops were stationed or onthe march. Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, andcannon were everywhere. Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, andthe farther he left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged intothat sea of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitationand a new and joyful feeling he had not experienced before. It was afeeling akin to what he had felt at the Sloboda Palace during theEmperor's visit- a sense of the necessity of undertaking something andsacrificing something. He now experienced a glad consciousness thateverything 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 didnot try to determine for whom and for what he felt such particulardelight in sacrificing everything. He was not occupied with thequestion of what to sacrifice for; the fact of sacrificing in itselfafforded him a new and joyous sensation.BK10|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　On the twenty-fourth of August the battle of the ShevardinoRedoubt was fought, on the twenty-fifth not a shot was fired by eitherside, and on the twenty-sixth the battle of Borodino itself tookplace.

　　Why and how were the battles of Shevardino and Borodino given andaccepted? Why was the battle of Borodino fought? There was not theleast sense in it for either the French or the Russians. Its immediateresult for the Russians was, and was bound to be, that we were broughtnearer to the destruction of Moscow- which we feared more thananything in the world; and for the French its immediate result wasthat they were brought nearer to the destruction of their wholearmy- which they feared more than anything in the world. What theresult must be was quite obvious, and yet Napoleon offered and Kutuzovaccepted that battle.

　　If the commanders had been guided by reason, it would seem that itmust have been obvious to Napoleon that by advancing thirteenhundred miles and giving battle with a probability of losing a quarterof his army, he was advancing to certain destruction, and it must havebeen equally clear to Kutuzov that by accepting battle and risking theloss of a quarter of his army he would certainly lose Moscow. ForKutuzov this was mathematically clear, as it is that if when playingdraughts I have one man less and go on exchanging, I shall certainlylose, and therefore should not exchange. When my opponent hassixteen men and I have fourteen, I am only one eighth weaker thanhe, but when I have exchanged thirteen more men he will be three timesas strong as I am.

　　Before the battle of Borodino our strength in proportion to theFrench was about as five to six, but after that battle it was littlemore than one to two: previously we had a hundred thousand against ahundred and twenty thousand; afterwards little more than fiftythousand against a hundred thousand. Yet the shrewd and experiencedKutuzov accepted the battle, while Napoleon, who was said to be acommander of genius, gave it, losing a quarter of his army andlengthening his lines of communication still more. If it is saidthat he expected to end the campaign by occupying Moscow as he hadended a previous campaign by occupying Vienna, there is muchevidence to the contrary. Napoleon's historians themselves tell usthat from Smolensk onwards he wished to stop, knew the danger of hisextended position, and knew that the occupation of Moscow would not bethe end of the campaign, for he had seen at Smolensk the state inwhich Russian towns were left to him, and had not received a singlereply to his repeated announcements of his wish to negotiate.

　　In giving and accepting battle at Borodino, Kutuzov actedinvoluntarily and irrationally. But later on, to fit what hadoccurred, the historians provided cunningly devised evidence of theforesight and genius the generals who, of all the blind tools ofhistory were the most enslaved and involuntary.

　　The ancients have left us model heroic poems in which the heroesfurnish the whole interest of the story, and we are still unable toaccustom ourselves to the fact that for our epoch histories of thatkind are meaningless.

　　On the other question, how the battle of Borodino and thepreceding battle of Shevardino were fought, there also exists adefinite and well-known, but quite false, conception. All thehistorians describe the affair as follows:

　　The Russian army, they say, in its retreat from Smolensk soughtout for itself the best position for a general engagement and foundsuch a position at Borodino.

　　The Russians, they say, fortified this position in advance on theleft of the highroad (from Moscow to Smolensk) and almost at a rightangle to it, from Borodino to Utitsa, at the very place where thebattle was fought.

　　In front of this position, they say, a fortified outpost was setup on the Shevardino mound to observe the enemy. On the twenty-fourth,we are told, Napoleon attacked this advanced post and took it, and, onthe twenty-sixth, attacked the whole Russian army, which was inposition on the field of Borodino.

　　So the histories say, and it is all quite wrong, as anyone who caresto look into the matter can easily convince himself.

　　The Russians did not seek out the best position but, on thecontrary, during the retreat passed many positions better thanBorodino. They did not stop at any one of these positions becauseKutuzov did not wish to occupy a position he had not himself chosen,because the popular demand for a battle had not yet expressed itselfstrongly enough, and because Miloradovich had not yet arrived with themilitia, and for many other reasons. The fact is that otherpositions they had passed were stronger, and that the position atBorodino (the one where the battle was fought), far from being strong,was no more a position than any other spot one might find in theRussian Empire by sticking a pin into the map at hazard.

　　Not only did the Russians not fortify the position on the field ofBorodino to the left of, and at a right angle to, the highroad (thatis, the position on which the battle took place), but never till thetwenty-fifth of August, 1812, did they think that a battle might befought there. This was shown first by the fact that there were noentrenchments there by the twenty fifth and that those begun on thetwenty-fifth and twenty-sixth were not completed, and secondly, by theposition of the Shevardino Redoubt. That redoubt was quite senselessin front of the position where the battle was accepted. Why was itmore strongly fortified than any other post? And why were allefforts exhausted and six thousand men sacrificed to defend it tilllate at night on the twenty-fourth? A Cossack patrol would havesufficed to observe the enemy. Thirdly, as proof that the positionon which the battle was fought had not been foreseen and that theShevardino Redoubt was not an advanced post of that position, wehave the fact that up to the twenty-fifth, Barclay de Tolly andBagration were convinced that the Shevardino Redoubt was the leftflank of the position, and that Kutuzov himself in his report, writtenin hot haste after the battle, speaks of the Shevardino Redoubt as theleft flank of the position. It was much later, when reports on thebattle of Borodino were written at leisure, that the incorrect andextraordinary statement was invented (probably to justify the mistakesof a commander in chief who had to be represented as infallible)that the Shevardino Redoubt was an advanced post- whereas in realityit was simply a fortified point on the left flank- and that the battleof Borodino was fought by us on an entrenched position previouslyselected, where as it was fought on a quite unexpected spot whichwas almost unentrenched.

　　The case was evidently this: a position was selected along the riverKolocha- which crosses the highroad not at a right angle but at anacute angle- so that the left flank was at Shevardino, the right flanknear the village of Novoe, and the center at Borodino at theconfluence of the rivers Kolocha and Voyna.

　　To anyone who looks at the field of Borodino without thinking of howthe battle was actually fought, this position, protected by theriver Kolocha, presents itself as obvious for an army whose object wasto prevent an enemy from advancing along the Smolensk road to Moscow.

　　Napoleon, riding to Valuevo on the twenty-fourth, did not see (asthe history books say he did) the position of the Russians from Utitsato Borodino (he could not have seen that position because it did notexist), nor did he see an advanced post of the Russian army, but whilepursuing the Russian rearguard he came upon the left flank of theRussian position- at the Shevardino Redoubt- and unexpectedly forthe Russians moved his army across the Kolocha. And the Russians,not having time to begin a general engagement, withdrew their leftwing from the position they had intended to occupy and took up a newposition which had not been foreseen and was not fortified. Bycrossing to the other side of the Kolocha 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 plainbetween Utitsa, Semenovsk, and Borodino- a plain no moreadvantageous as a position than any other plain in Russia- and therethe whole battle of the twenty-sixth of August took place.

　　Had Napoleon not ridden out on the evening of the twenty-fourth tothe Kolocha, and had he not then ordered an immediate attack on theredoubt but had begun the attack next morning, no one would havedoubted that the Shevardino Redoubt was the left flank of our andthe battle would have taken place where we expected it. In that casewe should probably have defended the Shevardino Redoubt- our leftflank- still more obstinately. We should have attacked Napoleon in thecenter or on the right, and the engagement would have taken place onthe twenty-fifth, in the position we intended and had fortified. Butas the attack on our left flank took place in the evening after theretreat of our rea guard (that is, immediately after the fight atGridneva), and as the Russian commanders did not wish, or were notin time, to begin a general engagement then on the evening of thetwenty-fourth, the first and chief action of the battle of Borodinowas already lost on the twenty-fourth, and obviously led to the lossof the one fought on the twenty-sixth.

　　After the loss of the Shevardino Redoubt, we found ourselves onthe morning of the twenty-fifth without a position for our left flank,and were forced to bend it back and hastily entrench it where itchanced to be.

　　Not only was the Russian army on the twenty-sixth defended byweak, unfinished entrenchments, but the disadvantage of thatposition was increased by the fact that the Russian commanders- nothaving fully realized what had happened, namely the loss of ourposition on the left flank and the shifting of the whole field ofthe forthcoming battle from right to left- maintained their extendedposition from the village of Novoe to Utitsa, and consequently hadto move their forces from right to left during the battle. So ithappened that throughout the whole battle the Russians opposed theentire French army launched against our left flank with but half asmany men. (Poniatowski's action against Utitsa, and Uvarov's on theright flank against the French, were actions distinct from the maincourse of the battle.) So the battle of Borodino did not take place atall as (in an effort to conceal our commanders' mistakes even at thecost of diminishing the glory due to the Russian army and people) ithas been described. The battle of Borodino was not fought on achosen and entrenched position with forces only slightly weaker thanthose of the enemy, but, as a result of the loss of the ShevardinoRedoubt, the Russians fought the battle of Borodino on an open andalmost unentrenched position, with forces only half as numerous as theFrench; that is to say, under conditions in which it was not merelyunthinkable to fight for ten hours and secure an indecisive result,but unthinkable to keep an army even from complete disintegrationand flight.BK10|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　On the morning of the twenty-fifth Pierre was leaving Mozhaysk. Atthe descent of the high steep hill, down which a winding road ledout of the town past the cathedral on the right, where a service wasbeing held and the bells were ringing, Pierre got out of his vehicleand proceeded on foot. Behind him a cavalry regiment was coming downthe hill preceded by its singers. Coming up toward him was a trainof carts carrying men who had been wounded in the engagement the daybefore. The peasant drivers, shouting and lashing their horses, keptcrossing from side to side. The carts, in each of which three orfour wounded soldiers were lying or sitting, jolted over the stonesthat had been thrown on the steep incline to make it something likea road. The wounded, bandaged with rags, with pale cheeks,compressed lips, and knitted brows, held on to the sides of thecarts as they were jolted against one another. Almost all of themstared with naive, childlike curiosity at Pierre's white hat and greenswallow-tail coat.

　　Pierre's coachman shouted angrily at the convoy of wounded to keepto one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, as it descended thehill with its singers, surrounded Pierre's carriage and blocked theroad. Pierre stopped, being pressed against the side of the cutting inwhich the road ran. The sunshine from behind the hill did notpenetrate into the cutting and there it was cold and damp, but abovePierre's head was the bright August sunshine and the bells soundedmerrily. One of the carts with wounded stopped by the side of the roadclose to Pierre. The driver in his bast shoes ran panting up to it,placed a stone under one of its tireless hind wheels, and beganarranging the breech-band on his little horse.

　　One of the wounded, an old soldier with a bandaged arm who wasfollowing the cart on foot, caught hold of it with his sound handand turned to look at Pierre.

　　"I say, fellow countryman! Will they set us down here or take uson 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 convoyof wounded, now at the cart by which he was standing, in which twowounded men were sitting and one was lying. One of those sitting up inthe cart had probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head waswrapped in rags and one cheek was swollen to the size of a baby'shead. His nose and mouth were twisted to one side. This soldier waslooking at the cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young lad, afair-haired recruit as white as though there was no blood in histhin face, looked at Pierre kindly, with a fixed smile. The thirdlay prone so that his face was not visible. The cavalry singers werepassing 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, themetallic sound of the bells reverberated high above and the hot raysof the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with yet anothersort of merriment. But beneath the slope, by the cart with the woundednear the panting little nag where Pierre stood, it was damp, somber,and sad.

　　The soldier with the swollen cheek looked angrily at the cavalrysingers.

　　"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 understoodwhat 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, butonly saw everywhere the unfamiliar faces of various military men ofdifferent branches of the service, who all looked with astonishment athis white hat and green tail coat.

　　Having gone nearly three miles he at last met an acquaintance andeagerly addressed him. This was one of the head army doctors. He wasdriving toward Pierre in a covered gig, sitting beside a youngsurgeon, and on recognizing Pierre he told the Cossack who occupiedthe 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 oftaking part in a battle.

　　The doctor advised him to apply direct to Kutuzov.

　　"Why should you be God knows where out of sight, during the battle?"he said, exchanging glances with his young companion. "Anyhow hisSerene Highness knows you and will receive you graciously. That's whatyou must do."

　　The doctor seemed tired and in a hurry.

　　"You think so?... Ah, I also wanted to ask you where our position isexactly?" said Pierre.

　　"The position?" repeated the doctor. "Well, that's not my line.Drive past Tatarinova, a lot of digging is going on there. Go up thehillock 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 pointedto his throat. "I'm galloping to the commander of the corps. How domatters stand?... You know, Count, there'll be a battle tomorrow.Out of an army of a hundred thousand we must expect at least twentythousand wounded, and we haven't stretchers, or bunks, or dressers, ordoctors enough for six thousand. We have ten thousand carts, but weneed other things as well- we must manage as best we can!"

　　The strange thought that of the thousands of men, young and old, whohad stared with merry surprise at his hat (perhaps the very men he hadnoticed), twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and deathamazed Pierre.

　　"They may die tomorrow; why are they thinking of anything butdeath?" And by some latent sequence of thought the descent of theMozhaysk hill, the carts with the wounded, the ringing bells, theslanting rays of the sun, and the songs of the cavalrymen vividlyrecurred to his mind.

　　"The cavalry ride to battle and meet the wounded and do not for amoment think of what awaits them, but pass by, winking at the wounded.Yet from among these men twenty thousand are doomed to die, and theywonder at my hat! Strange!" thought Pierre, continuing his way toTatarinova.

　　In front of a landowner's house to the left of the road stoodcarriages, wagons, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels. Thecommander in chief was putting up there, but just when Pierrearrived he was not in and hardly any of the staff were there- they hadgone to the church service. Pierre drove on toward Gorki.

　　When he had ascended the hill and reached the little village street,he saw for the first time peasant militiamen in their white shirts andwith crosses on their caps, who, talking and laughing loudly, animatedand perspiring, were at work on a huge knoll overgrown with grass tothe right of the road.

　　Some of them were digging, others were wheeling barrowloads of earthalong planks, while others stood about doing nothing.

　　Two officers were standing on the knoll, directing the men. Onseeing these peasants, who were evidently still amused by thenovelty of their position as soldiers, Pierre once more thought of thewounded men at Mozhaysk and understood what the soldier had meant whenhe said: "They want the whole nation to fall on them." The sight ofthese bearded peasants at work on the battlefield, with their queer,clumsy boots and perspiring necks, and their shirts opening from theleft toward the middle, unfastened, exposing their sunburnedcollarbones, impressed Pierre more strongly with the solemnity andimportance of the moment than anything he had yet seen or heard.BK10|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　Pierre stepped out of his carriage and, passing the toilingmilitiamen, 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 leftand behind him and brightly lit up the enormous panorama which, risinglike an amphitheater, extended before him in the clear rarefiedatmosphere.

　　From above on the left, bisecting that amphitheater, wound theSmolensk highroad, passing through a village with a white churchsome five hundred paces in front of the knoll and below it. This wasBorodino. Below the village the road crossed the river by a bridgeand, winding down and up, rose higher and higher to the village ofValuevo visible about four miles away, where Napoleon was thenstationed. Beyond Valuevo the road disappeared into a yellowing foreston the horizon. Far in the distance in that birch and fir forest tothe right of the road, the cross and belfry of the Kolocha Monasterygleamed in the sun. Here and there over the whole of that blueexpanse, to right and left of the forest and the road, smokingcampfires could be seen and indefinite masses of troops- ours andthe enemy's. The ground to the right- along the course of theKolocha and Moskva rivers- was broken and hilly. Between the hollowsthe villages of Bezubova and Zakharino showed in the distance. Onthe left the ground was more level; there were fields of grain, andthe smoking ruins of Semenovsk, which had been burned down, could beseen.

　　All that Pierre saw was so indefinite that neither the left northe right side of the field fully satisfied his expectations.Nowhere could he see the battlefield he had expected to find, but onlyfields, 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 evendistinguish our troops from the enemy's.

　　"I must ask someone who knows," he thought, and addressed an officerwho was looking with curiosity at his huge unmilitary figure.

　　"May I ask you," said Pierre, "what village that is in front?"

　　"Burdino, isn't it?" said the officer, turning to his companion.

　　"Borodino," the other corrected him.

　　The officer, evidently glad of an opportunity for a talk, moved upto 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 leftbeyond the river, and the same stern and serious expression thatPierre 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 aknoll on the left, near which some troops could be seen.

　　"Those are ours."

　　"Ah, ours! And there?..." Pierre pointed to another knoll in thedistance with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollowwhere also some campfires were smoking and something black wasvisible.

　　"That's his again," said the officer. (It was the ShevardinoRedoubt.) "It was ours yesterday, but now it is his."

　　"Then how about our position?"

　　"Our position?" replied the officer with a smile of satisfaction. "Ican tell you quite clearly, because I constructed nearly all ourentrenchments. There, you see? There's our center, at Borodino, justthere," and he pointed to the village in front of them with thewhite church. "That's where one crosses the Kolocha. You see downthere where the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, there's thebridge. That's our center. Our right flank is over there"- hepointed sharply to the right, far away in the broken ground- "That'swhere the Moskva 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 flankwas there at Shevardino, you see, where the oak is, but now we havewithdrawn our left wing- now it is over there, do you see that villageand the smoke? That's Semenovsk, yes, there," he pointed toRaevski's knoll. "But the battle will hardly be there. His havingmoved his troops there is only a ruse; he will probably pass roundto the right of the Moskva. But wherever it may be, many a man will bemissing tomorrow!" he remarked.

　　An elderly sergeant who had approached the officer while he wasgiving these explanations had waited in silence for him to finishspeaking, but at this point, evidently not liking the officer'sremark, interrupted him.

　　"Gabions must be sent for," said he sternly.

　　The officer appeared abashed, as though he understood that one mightthink of how many men would be missing tomorrow but ought not to speakto speak of it.

　　"Well, send number three company again," the officer repliedhurriedly.

　　"And you, are you one of the doctors?"

　　"No, I've come on my own," answered Pierre, and he went down thehill 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'llbe here in a minute..." voices were suddenly heard saying; andofficers, soldiers, and militiamen began running forward along theroad.

　　A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodino. Firstalong the dusty road came the infantry in ranks, bareheaded and witharms reversed. From behind them came the sound of church singing.

　　Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past Pierre toward theprocession.

　　"They are bringing her, our Protectress!... The Iberian Mother ofGod!" someone cried.

　　"The Smolensk Mother of God," another corrected him.

　　The militiamen, both those who had been in the village and those whohad been at work on the battery, threw down their spades and ran tomeet the church procession. Following the battalion that marched alongthe dusty road came priests in their vestments- one little old manin a hood with attendants and singers. Behind them soldiers andofficers bore a large, dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover.This was the icon that had been brought from and had since accompaniedthe army. Behind, before, and on both sides, crowds of militiamen withbared heads walked, ran, and bowed to the ground.

　　At the summit of the hill they stopped with the icon; the men whohad been holding it up by the linen bands attached to it were relievedby others, the chanters relit their censers, and service began. Thehot rays of the sun beat down vertically and a fresh soft windplayed with the hair of the bared heads and with the ribbonsdecorating the icon. The singing did not sound loud under the opensky. An immense crowd of bareheaded officers, soldiers, and militiamensurrounded the icon. Behind the priest and a chanter stood thenotabilities on a spot reserved for them. A bald general withgeneral with a St. George's Cross on his neck stood just behind thepriest's back, and without crossing himself (he was evidently aGerman) patiently awaited the end of the service, which heconsidered it necessary to hear to the end, probably to arouse thepatriotism of the Russian people. Another general stood in a martialpose, crossing himself by shaking his hand in front of his chest whilelooking about him. Standing among the crowd of peasants, Pierrerecognized several acquaintances among these notables, but did notlook at them- his whole attention was absorbed in watching the seriousexpression on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militiamen whowere all gazing eagerly at the icon. As soon as the tired chanters,who were singing the service for the twentieth time that day, beganlazily and mechanically to sing: "Save from calamity Thy servants, OMother of God," and the priest and deacon chimed in: "For to Theeunder God we all flee as to an inviolable bulwark and protection,"there again kindled in all those faces the same expression ofconsciousness of the solemnity of the impending moment that Pierre hadseen on the faces at the foot of the hill at Mozhaysk andmomentarily on many and many faces he had met that morning; andheads were bowed more frequently and hair tossed back, and sighs andthe 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 whichway was made for him, was approaching the icon.

　　It was Kutuzov, who had been riding round the position and on hisway back to Tatarinova had stopped where the service was being held.Pierre recognized him at once by his peculiar figure, whichdistinguished him from everybody else.

　　With a long overcoat on his his exceedingly stout,round-shouldered body, with uncovered white head and puffy faceshowing the white ball of the eye he had lost, Kutuzov walked withplunging, swaying gait into the crowd and stopped behind the priest.He crossed himself with an accustomed movement, bent till he touchedthe ground with his hand, and bowed his white head with a deep sigh.Behind Kutuzov was Bennigsen and the suite. Despite the presence ofthe commander in chief, who attracted the attention of all thesuperior officers, the militiamen and soldiers continued their prayerswithout looking at him.

　　When the service was over, Kutuzov stepped up to the icon, sankheavily to his knees, bowed to the ground, and for a long time triedvainly to rise, but could not do so on account of his weakness andweight. His white head twitched with the effort. At last he rose,kissed the icon as a child does with naively pouting lips, and againbowed till he touched the ground with his hand. The other generalsfollowed his example, then the officers, and after them with excitedfaces, pressing on one another, crowding, panting, and pushing,scrambled the soldiers and militiamen.BK10|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　Staggering amid the crush, Pierre looked about him.

　　"Count Peter Kirilovich! How did you get here?" said a voice.

　　Pierre looked round. Boris Drubetskoy, brushing his knees with hishand (he had probably soiled them when he, too, had knelt before theicon), came up to him smiling. Boris was elegantly dressed, with aslightly martial touch appropriate to a campaign. He wore a longcoat and like Kutuzov had a whip slung across his shoulder.

　　Meanwhile Kutuzov had reached the village and seated himself inthe shade of the nearest house, on a bench which one Cossack had runto fetch and another had hastily covered with a rug. An immense andbrilliant suite surrounded him.

　　The icon was carried further, accompanied by the throng. Pierrestopped some thirty paces from Kutuzov, talking to Boris.

　　He explained his wish to be present at the battle and to see theposition.

　　"This is what you must do," said Boris. "I will do the honors of thecamp to you. You will see everything best from where Count Bennigsenwill be. I am in attendance on him, you know; I'll mention it tohim. 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 spendthe night with me and we'll arrange a game of cards. Of course youknow Dmitri Sergeevich? Those are his quarters," and he pointed to thethird house in the village of Gorki.

　　"But I should like to see the right flank. They say it's verystrong," said Pierre. "I should like to start from the Moskva Riverand ride round the whole position."

　　"Well, you can do that later, but the chief thing is the leftflank."

　　"Yes, yes. But where is Prince Bolkonski's regiment? Can you pointit 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 stateour left flank is in," said Boris confidentially lowering his voice."It is not at all what Count Bennigsen intended. He meant to fortifythat knoll quite differently, but..." Boris shrugged his shoulders,"his Serene Highness would not have it, or someone persuaded him.You see..." but Boris did not finish, for at that moment Kaysarov,Kutuzov's adjutant, came up to Pierre. "Ah, Kaysarov!" said Boris,addressing him with an unembarrassed smile, "I was just trying toexplain our position to the count. It is amazing how his SereneHighness could so the intentions of the French!"

　　"You mean the left flank?" asked Kaysarov.

　　"Yes, exactly; the left flank is now extremely strong."

　　Though Kutuzov had dismissed all unnecessary men from the staff,Boris had contrived to remain at headquarters after the changes. Hehad established himself with Count Bennigsen, who, like all on whomBoris had been in attendance, considered young Prince Drubetskoy aninvaluable man.

　　In the higher command there were two sharply defined parties:Kutuzov's party and that of Bennigsen, the chief of staff. Borisbelonged to the latter and no one else, while showing servilerespect to Kutuzov, could so create an impression that the oldfellow was not much good and that Bennigsen managed everything. Nowthe decisive moment of battle had come when Kutuzov would be destroyedand the power pass to Bennigsen, or even if Kutuzov won the battleit would be felt that everything was done by Bennigsen. In any casemany great rewards would have to be given for tomorrow's action, andnew men would come to the front. So Boris was full of nervous vivacityall day.

　　After Kaysarov, others whom Pierre knew came up to him, and he hadnot time to reply to all the questions about Moscow that were showeredupon him, or to listen to all that was told him. The faces allexpressed animation and apprehension, but it seemed to Pierre that thecause of the excitement shown in some of these faces lay chiefly inquestions of personal success; his mind, however, was occupied bythe different expression he saw on other faces- an expression thatspoke not of personal matters but of the universal questions of lifeand death. Kutuzov noticed Pierre's figure and the group gatheredround him.

　　"Call him to me," said Kutuzov.

　　An adjutant told Pierre of his Serene Highness' wish, and Pierrewent toward Kutuzov's bench. But a militiaman got there before him. Itwas Dolokhov.

　　"How did that fellow get here?" asked Pierre.

　　"He's a creature that wriggles in anywhere!" was the answer. "He hasbeen degraded, you know. Now he wants to bob up again. He's beenproposing some scheme or other and has crawled into the enemy's picketline at night.... He's a brave fellow."

　　Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Kutuzov.

　　"I concluded that if I reported to your Serene Highness you mightsend me away or say that you knew what I was reporting, but then Ishouldn't lose anything..." Dolokhov was saying.

　　"Yes, yes."

　　"But if I were right, I should be rendering a service to myFatherland for which I am ready to die."

　　"Yes, yes."

　　"And should your Serene Highness require a man who will not sparehis skin, please think of me.... Perhaps I may prove useful to yourSerene Highness."

　　"Yes... Yes..." Kutuzov repeated, his laughing eye narrowing moreand more as he looked at Pierre.

　　Just then Boris, with his courtierlike adroitness, stepped up toPierre's side near Kutuzov and in a most natural manner, withoutraising his voice, said to Pierre, as though continuing an interruptedconversation:

　　"The militia have put on clean white shirts to be ready to die. Whatheroism, Count!"

　　Boris evidently said this to Pierre in order to be overheard byhis Serene Highness. He knew Kutuzov's attention would be caught bythose words, and so it was.

　　"What are you saying about the militia?" he asked Boris.

　　"Preparing for tomorrow, your Serene Highness- for death- theyhave put on clean shirts."

　　"Ah... a wonderful, a matchless people!" said Kutuzov; and he closedhis eyes and swayed his head. "A matchless people!" he repeated with asigh.

　　"So you want to smell gunpowder?" he said to Pierre. "Yes, it's apleasant 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, Kutuzov began looking aboutabsent-mindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do.

　　Then, evidently remembering what he wanted, he beckoned to AndrewKaysarov, his adjutant's brother.

　　"Those verses... those verses of Marin's... how do they go, eh?Those he wrote about Gerakov: 'Lectures for the corps inditing'...Recite them, recite them!" said he, evidently preparing to laugh.

　　Kaysarov recited.... Kutuzov smilingly nodded his head to the rhythmof the verses.

　　When Pierre had left Kutuzov, Dolokhov came up to him and took hishand.

　　"I am very glad to meet you here, Count," he said aloud,regardless of the presence of strangers and in a particularly resoluteand solemn tone. "On the eve of a day when God alone knows who of usis fated to survive, I am glad of this opportunity to tell you thatI regret the misunderstandings that occurred between us and shouldwish you not to have any ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me."

　　Pierre looked at Dolokhov with a smile, not knowing what to say tohim. With tears in his eyes Dolokhov embraced Pierre and kissed him.

　　Boris said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen turned toPierre 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 Kutuzov left for Tatarinova, and Bennigsen andhis suite, with Pierre among them, set out on their ride along theline.BK10|CH23

　　CHAPTER XXIII

　　From Gorki, Bennigsen descended the highroad to the bridge which,when they had looked it from the hill, the officer had pointed outas being the center of our position and where rows of fragrantnew-mown hay lay by the riverside. They rode across that bridge intothe village of Borodino and thence turned to the left, passing anenormous number of troops and guns, and came to a high knoll wheremilitiamen were digging. This was the redoubt, as yet unnamed, whichafterwards became known as the Raevski Redoubt, or the KnollBattery, but Pierre paid no special attention to it. He did not knowthat it would become more memorable to him than any other spot onthe plain of Borodino.

　　They then crossed the hollow to Semenovsk, where the soldiers weredragging away the last logs from the huts and barns. Then they rodedownhill and uphill, across a ryefield trodden and beaten down as ifby hail, following a track freshly made by the artillery over thefurrows of the plowed land, and reached some fleches* which were stillbeing dug.

　　*A kind of entrenchment.

　　At the fleches Bennigsen stopped and began looking at the ShevardinoRedoubt opposite, which had been ours the day before and where severalhorsemen could be descried. The officers said that either Napoleonor Murat was there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little group ofhorsemen. Pierre also looked at them, trying to guess which of thescarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last those mounted menrode away from the mound and disappeared.

　　Bennigsen spoke to a general who approached him, and beganexplaining the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to him,straining each faculty to understand the essential points of theimpending battle, but was mortified to feel that his mental capacitywas inadequate for the task. He could make nothing of it. Bennigsenstopped speaking and, noticing that Pierre was listening, suddenlysaid to him:

　　"I don't think this interests you?"

　　"On the contrary it's very interesting!" replied Pierre not quitetruthfully.

　　From the fleches they rode still farther to the left, along a roadwinding through a thick, low-growing birch wood. In the middle ofthe wood a brown hare with white feet sprang out and, scared by thetramp of the many horses, grew so confused that it leaped along theroad in front of them for some time, arousing general attention andlaughter, and only when several voices shouted at it did it dart toone side and disappear in the thicket. After going through the woodfor about a mile and a half they came out on a glade where troops ofTuchkov's corps were stationed to defend the left flank.

　　Here, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen talked a great deal andwith much heat, and, as it seemed to Pierre, gave orders of greatmilitary importance. In front of Tuchkov's troops was some high groundnot occupied by troops. Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake,saying that it was madness to leave a height which commanded thecountry around unoccupied and to place troops below it. Some of thegenerals expressed the same opinion. One in particular declared withmartial heat that they were put there to be slaughtered. Bennigsenon his own authority ordered the troops to occupy the high ground.This disposition on the left flank increased Pierre's doubt of his owncapacity to understand military matters. Listening to Bennigsen andthe generals criticizing the position of the troops behind the hill,he quite understood them and shared their opinion, but for that veryreason he could not understand how the man who put them there behindthe hill could have made so gross and palpable a blunder.

　　Pierre did not know that these troops were not, as Bennigsensupposed, put there to defend the position, but were in a concealedposition as an ambush, that they should not be seen and might beable to strike an approaching enemy unexpectedly. Bennigsen did notknow this and moved the troops forward according to his own ideaswithout mentioning the matter to the commander in chief.BK10|CH24

　　CHAPTER XXIV

　　On that bright evening of August 25, Prince Andrew lay leaning onhis elbow in a broken-down shed in the village of Knyazkovo at thefurther end of his regiment's encampment. Through a gap in thebroken wall he could see, beside the wooden fence, a row of thirtyyear-old birches with their lower branches lopped off, a field onwhich shocks of oats were standing, and some bushes near which rosethe smoke of campfires- the soldiers' kitchens.

　　Narrow and burdensome and useless to anyone as his life now seemedto him, Prince Andrew on the eve of battle felt agitated and irritableas he had done seven years before at Austerlitz.

　　He had received and given the orders for next day's battle and hadnothing more to do. But his thoughts- the simplest, clearest, andtherefore most terrible thoughts- would give him no peace. He knewthat tomorrow's battle would be the most terrible of all he hadtaken part in, and for the first time in his life the possibility ofdeath presented itself to him- not in relation to any worldly matteror with reference to its effect on others, but simply in relation tohimself, to his own soul- vividly, plainly, terribly, and almost asa certainty. And from the height of this perception all that hadpreviously tormented and preoccupied him suddenly became illuminedby a cold white light without shadows, without perspective, withoutdistinction of outline. All life appeared to him like magic-lanternpictures at which he had long been gazing by artificial lightthrough a glass. Now he suddenly saw those badly daubed pictures inclear daylight and without a glass. "Yes, yes! There they are, thosefalse images that agitated, enraptured, and tormented me," said heto himself, passing in review the principal pictures of the magiclantern of life and regarding them now in the cold white daylight ofhis clear perception of death. "There they are, those rudely paintedfigures that once seemed splendid and mysterious. Glory, the good ofsociety, love of a woman, the Fatherland itself- how important thesepictures appeared to me, with what profound meaning they seemed tobe filled! And it is all so simple, pale, and crude in the coldwhite light of this morning which I feel is dawning for me." The threegreat sorrows of his life held his attention in particular: his lovefor a woman, his father's death, and the French invasion which hadoverrun half Russia. "Love... that little girl who seemed to mebrimming over with mystic forces! Yes, indeed, I loved her. I maderomantic plans of love and happiness with her! Oh, what a boy Iwas!" he said aloud bitterly. "Ah me! I believed in some ideal lovewhich 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 andhorrible."

　　"When my father built Bald Hills he thought the place was his: hisland, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came and swept him aside,unconscious of his existence, as he might brush a chip from hispath, and his Bald Hills and his whole life fell to pieces. PrincessMary says it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, whenhe is not here and will never return? He is not here! For whom then isthe trial intended? The Fatherland, the destruction of Moscow! Andtomorrow I shall be killed, perhaps not even by a Frenchman but by oneof our own men, by a soldier discharging a musket close to my ear asone of them did yesterday, and the French will come and take me byhead and heels and fling me into a hole that I may not stink undertheir noses, and new conditions of life will arise, which will seemquite ordinary to others and about which I shall know nothing. I shallnot exist..."

　　He looked at the row of birches shining in the sunshine, withtheir motionless green and yellow foliage and white bark. "To die...to be killed tomorrow... That I should not exist... That all thisshould still be, but no me...."

　　And the birches with their light and shade, the curly clouds, thesmoke of the campfires, and all that was around him changed and seemedterrible and menacing. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He rosequickly, went out of the shed, and began to walk about.

　　After he had returned, voices were heard outside the shed. "Who'sthat?" he cried.

　　The red-nosed Captain Timokhin, formerly Dolokhov's squadroncommander, but now from lack of officers a battalion commander,shyly entered the shed followed by an adjutant and the regimentalpaymaster.

　　Prince Andrew rose hastily, listened to the business they had comeabout, gave them some further instructions, and was about to dismissthem 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 trippedover a pole on the ground and had nearly fallen, coming his way. Itwas unpleasant to Prince Andrew to meet people of his own set ingeneral, and Pierre especially, for he reminded him of all the painfulmoments of his last visit to Moscow.

　　"You? What a surprise!" said he. "What brings you here? This isunexpected!"

　　As he said this his eyes and face expressed more than coldness- theyexpressed hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approachedthe shed full of animation, but on seeing Prince Andrew's face he feltconstrained and ill at ease.

　　"I have come... simply... you know... come... it interests me," saidPierre, 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 wouldthey stop it?" said Prince Andrew sarcastically. "Well, and how'sMoscow? And my people? Have they reached Moscow at last?" he askedseriously.

　　"Yes, they have. Julie Drubetskaya told me so. I went to see them,but missed them. They have gone to your estate near Moscow."BK10|CH25

　　CHAPTER XXV

　　The officers were about to take leave, but Prince Andrew, apparentlyreluctant to be left alone with his friend, asked them to stay andhave tea. Seats were brought in and so was the tea. The officers gazedwith surprise at Pierre's huge stout figure and listened to his talkof Moscow and the position of our army, round which he had ridden.Prince Andrew remained silent, and his expression was so forbiddingthat Pierre addressed his remarks chiefly to the good-naturedbattalion commander.

　　"So you understand the whole position of our troops?" PrinceAndrew interrupted him.

　　"Yes- that is, how do you mean?" said Pierre. "Not being amilitary man I can't say I have understood it fully, but Iunderstand the general position."

　　"Well, then, you know more than anyone else, be it who it may," saidPrince Andrew.

　　"Oh!" said Pierre, looking over his spectacles in perplexity atPrince Andrew. "Well, and what do think of Kutuzov's appointment?"he asked.

　　"I was very glad of his appointment, that's all I know," repliedPrince Andrew.

　　"And tell me your opinion of Barclay de Tolly. In Moscow they aresaying heaven knows what about him.... What do you think of him?"

　　"Ask them," replied Prince Andrew, indicating the officers.

　　Pierre looked at Timokhin with the condescendingly interrogativesmile with which everybody involuntarily addressed that officer.

　　"We see light again, since his Serenity has been appointed, yourexcellency," said Timokhin timidly, and continually turning toglance at his colonel.

　　"Why so?" asked Pierre.

　　"Well, to mention only firewood and fodder, let me inform you.Why, when we were retreating from Sventsyani we dare not touch a stickor a wisp of hay or anything. You see, we were going away, so he wouldget it all; wasn't it so, your excellency?" and again Timokhinturned to the prince. "But we daren't. In our regiment two officerswere court-martialed for that kind of thing. But when his Serenitytook command everything became straight forward. Now we see light..."

　　"Then why was it forbidden?"

　　Timokhin looked about in confusion, not knowing what or how toanswer such a question. Pierre put the same question to Prince Andrew.

　　"Why, so as not to lay waste the country we were abandoning to theenemy," said Prince Andrew with venomous irony. "It is very sound: onecan't permit the land to be pillaged and accustom the troops tomarauding. At Smolensk too he judged correctly that the French mightoutflank us, as they had larger forces. But he could not understandthis," cried Prince Andrew in a shrill voice that seemed to escape himinvoluntarily: "he could not understand that there, for the firsttime, we were fighting for Russian soil, and that there was a spiritin the men such as I had never seen before, that we had held theFrench for two days, and that that success had increased ourstrength tenfold. He ordered us to retreat, and all our efforts andlosses went for nothing. He had no thought of betraying us, he triedto do the best he could, he thought out everything, and that is why heis unsuitable. He is unsuitable now, just because he plans outeverything very thoroughly and accurately as every German has to.How can I explain?... Well, say your father has a German valet, and heis a splendid valet and satisfies your father's requirements betterthan you could, then it's all right to let him serve. But if yourfather is mortally sick you'll send the valet away and attend toyour father with your own unpracticed, awkward hands, and willsoothe him better than a skilled man who is a stranger could. So ithas been with Barclay. While Russia was well, a foreigner couldserve her and be a splendid minister; but as soon as she is indanger she needs one of her own kin. But in your Club they have beenmaking him out a traitor! They slander him as a traitor, and theonly result will be that afterwards, ashamed of their falseaccusations, they will make him out a hero or a genius instead of atraitor, and that will be still more unjust. He is an honest andvery 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 allcontingencies... and foresees the adversary's intentions."

　　"But that's impossible," said Prince Andrew as if it were a mattersettled 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, thatin chess you may think over each move as long as you please and arenot limited for time, and with this difference too, that a knight isalways stronger than a pawn, and two pawns are always stronger thanone, while in war a battalion is sometimes stronger than a divisionand sometimes weaker than a company. The relative strength of bodiesof troops can never be known to anyone. Believe me," he went on, "ifthings depended on arrangements made by the staff, I should be theremaking arrangements, but instead of that I have the honor to servehere in the regiment with these gentlemen, and I consider that on ustomorrow's battle will depend and not on those others.... Successnever depends, and never will depend, on position, or equipment, oreven 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 Timokhin,"and in each soldier."

　　Prince Andrew glanced at Timokhin, who looked at his commander inalarm and bewilderment. In contrast to his former reticent taciturnityPrince Andrew now seemed excited. He could apparently not refrain fromexpressing the thoughts that had suddenly occurred to him.

　　"A battle is won by those who firmly resolve to win it! Why did welose the battle at Austerlitz? The French losses were almost equalto ours, but very early we said to ourselves that we were losing thebattle, and we did lose it. And we said so because we had nothing tofight for there, we wanted to get away from the battlefield as soon aswe could. 'We've lost, so let us run,' and we ran. If we had notsaid that till the evening, heaven knows what might not have happened.But tomorrow we shan't say it! You talk about our position, the leftflank weak and the right flank too extended," he went on. "That'sall nonsense, there's nothing of the kind. But what awaits ustomorrow? A hundred million most diverse chances which will be decidedon 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 atpresent is only play. The fact is that those men with whom you haveridden 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 amoment affording opportunities to undermine a rival and obtain anextra cross or ribbon. For me tomorrow means this: a Russian army of ahundred thousand and a French army of a hundred thousand have met tofight, and the thing is that these two hundred thousand men will fightand the side that fights more fiercely and spares itself least willwin. And if you like I will tell you that whatever happens andwhatever muddles those at the top may make, we shall win tomorrow'sbattle. Tomorrow, happen what may, we shall win!"

　　"There now, your excellency! That's the truth, the real truth," saidTimokhin. "Who would spare himself now? The soldiers in mybattalion, believe me, wouldn't drink their vodka! 'It's not the dayfor that!' they say."

　　All were silent. The officers rose. Prince Andrew went out of theshed with them, giving final orders to the adjutant. After they hadgone Pierre approached Prince Andrew and was about to start aconversation when they heard the clatter of three horses' hoofs on theroad not far from the shed, and looking in that direction PrinceAndrew recognized Wolzogen and Clausewitz accompanied by a Cossack.They rode close by continuing to converse, and Prince Andrewinvoluntarily heard these words:

　　"Der Krieg muss in Raum verlegt werden. Der Ansicht kann ich nichtgenug Preis geben,"* said one of them.

　　*"The war must be extended widely. I cannot sufficiently commendthat view."

　　"Oh, ja," said the other, "der Zweck ist nur den Feind zu schwachen,so kann man gewiss nicht den Verlust der Privat-Personen in Achtungnehmen."*

　　*"Oh, yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, so of course onecannot take into account the loss of private individuals."

　　"Oh, no," agreed the other.

　　"Extend widely!" said Prince Andrew with an angry snort, when theyhad ridden past. "In that 'extend' were my father, son, and sister, atBald Hills. That's all the same to him! That's what I was saying toyou- those German gentlemen won't win the battle tomorrow but willonly make all the mess they can, because they have nothing in theirGerman heads but theories not worth an empty eggshell and haven't intheir hearts the one thing needed tomorrow- that which Timokhin 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 doif I had the power," he began again, "I would not take prisoners.Why take prisoners? It's chivalry! The French have destroyed my homeand are on their way to destroy Moscow, they have outraged and areoutraging me every moment. They are my enemies. In my opinion they areall criminals. And so thinks Timokhin and the whole army. Theyshould be executed! Since they are my foes they cannot be myfriends, whatever may have been said at Tilsit."

　　"Yes, yes," muttered Pierre, looking with shining eyes at PrinceAndrew. "I quite agree with you!"

　　The question that had perturbed Pierre on the Mozhaysk hill andall that day now seemed to him quite clear and completely solved. Henow understood the whole meaning and importance of this war and of theimpending battle. All he had seen that day, all the significant andstern expressions on the faces he had seen in passing, were lit up forhim by a new light. He understood that latent heat (as they say inphysics) 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 wouldquite change the whole war and make it less cruel. As it is we haveplayed at war- that's what's vile! We play at magnanimity and all thatstuff. Such magnanimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity andsensibility of a lady who faints when she sees a calf being killed:she is so kind-hearted that she can't look at blood, but enjoys eatingthe calf served up with sauce. They talk to us of the rules of war, ofchivalry, 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; theyhumbugged us and we humbugged them. They plunder other people'shouses, issue false paper money, and worst of all they kill mychildren and my father, and then talk of rules of war andmagnanimity to foes! Take no prisoners, but kill and be killed! He whohas come to this as I have through the same sufferings..."

　　Prince Andrew, who had thought it was all the same to him whether ornot Moscow was taken as Smolensk had been, was suddenly checked in hisspeech by an unexpected cramp in his throat. He paced up and down afew times in silence, but his eyes glittered feverishly and his lipsquivered as he began speaking.

　　"If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to waronly when it was worth while going to certain death, as now. Thenthere would not be war because Paul Ivanovich had offended MichaelIvanovich. 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 leadingwould not follow him into Russia, and we should not go to fight inAustria and Prussia without knowing why. War is not courtesy but themost horrible thing in life; and we ought to understand that and notplay at war. We ought to accept this terrible necessity sternly andseriously. It all lies in that: get rid of falsehood and let war bewar and not a game. As it is now, war is the favorite pastime of theidle and frivolous. The military calling is the most highly honored.

　　"But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What arethe habits of the military? The aim of war is murder; the methods ofwar are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of acountry's inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provision the army,and fraud and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of themilitary class are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline,idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And inspite of all this it is the highest class, respected by everyone.All the kings, except the Chinese, wear military uniforms, and hewho kills most people receives the highest rewards.

　　"They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to murder one another; theykill and maim tens of thousands, and then have thanksgiving servicesfor having killed so many people (they even exaggerate the number),and they announce a victory, supposing that the more people theyhave killed the greater their achievement. How does God above lookat them and hear them?" exclaimed Prince Andrew in a shrill,piercing voice. "Ah, my friend, it has of late become hard for me tolive. I see that I have begun to understand too much. And it doesn'tdo 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 toGorki!" 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," repeatedPrince 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 theexpression of Prince Andrew's face was angry or tender.

　　For some time he stood in silence considering whether he shouldfollow him or go away. "No, he does not want it!" Pierre concluded."And I know that this is our last meeting!" He sighed deeply androde back to Gorki.

　　On re-entering the shed Prince Andrew lay down on a rug, but hecould not sleep.

　　He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded another in hisimagination. On one of them he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividlyrecalled an evening in Petersburg. Natasha with animated and excitedface was telling him how she had gone to look for mushrooms theprevious summer and had lost her way in the big forest. Sheincoherently described the depths of the forest, her feelings, and atalk with a beekeeper she met, and constantly interrupted her story tosay: "No, I can't! I'm not telling it right; no, you don'tunderstand," though he encouraged her by saying that he didunderstand, and he really had understood all she wanted to say. ButNatasha was not satisfied with her own words: she felt that they didnot convey the passionately poetic feeling she had experienced thatday and wished to convey. "He was such a delightful old man, and itwas so dark in the forest... and he had such kind... No, I can'tdescribe it," she had said, flushed and excited. Prince Andrewsmiled now the same happy smile as then when he had looked into hereyes. "I understood her," he thought. "I not only understood her,but it was just that inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, thatfrankness of soul- that very soul of hers which seemed to befettered by her body- it was that soul I loved in her... loved sostrongly and happily..." and suddenly he remembered how his love hadended. "He did not need anything of that kind. He neither saw norunderstood anything of the sort. He only saw in her a pretty and freshyoung 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 againbegan pacing up and down in front of the shed.BK10|CH26

　　CHAPTER XXVI

　　On August 25, the eve of the battle of Borodino, M. de Beausset,prefect of the French Emperor's palace, arrived at Napoleon's quartersat Valuevo with Colonel Fabvier, the former from Paris and thelatter from Madrid.

　　Donning his court uniform, M. de Beausset ordered a box he hadbrought for the Emperor to be carried before him and entered the firstcompartment of Napoleon's tent, where he began opening the box whileconversing with Napoleon's aides-de-camp who surrounded him.

　　Fabvier, not entering the tent, remained at the entrance talkingto some generals of his acquaintance.

　　The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom and wasfinishing his toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presented nowhis back and now his plump hairy chest to the brush with which hisvalet was rubbing him down. Another valet, with his finger over themouth of a bottle, was sprinkling Eau de Cologne on the Emperor'spampered body with an expression which seemed to say that he aloneknew where and how much Eau de Cologne should be sprinkled. Napoleon'sshort hair was wet and matted on the forehead, but his face, thoughpuffy and yellow, expressed physical satisfaction. "Go on, harder,go on!" he muttered to the valet who was rubbing him, slightlytwitching and grunting. An aide-de-camp, who had entered the bedroomto report to the Emperor the number of prisoners taken inyesterday's action, was standing by the door after delivering hismessage, awaiting permission to withdraw. Napoleon, frowning, lookedat him from under his brows.

　　"No prisoners!" said he, repeating the aide-de-camp's words. "Theyare forcing us to exterminate them. So much the worse for theRussian army.... Go on... harder, harder!" he muttered, hunching hisback and presenting his fat shoulders.

　　"All right. Let Monsieur de Beausset enter, and Fabvier too," hesaid, nodding to the aide-de-camp.

　　"Yes, sire," and the aide-de-camp disappeared through the door ofthe tent.

　　Two valets rapidly dressed His Majesty, and wearing the blue uniformof the Guards he went with firm quick steps to the reception room.

　　De Beausset's hands meanwhile were busily engaged arranging thepresent he had brought from the Empress, on two chairs directly infront of the entrance. But Napoleon had dressed and come out with suchunexpected rapidity that he had not time to finish arranging thesurprise.

　　Napoleon noticed at once what they were about and guessed thatthey were not ready. He did not wish to deprive them of the pleasureof giving him a surprise, so he pretended not to see de Beausset andcalled Fabvier to him, listening silently and with a stern frown towhat Fabvier told him of the heroism and devotion of his troopsfighting at Salamanca, at the other end of Europe, with but onethought- to be worthy of their Emperor- and but one fear- to fail toplease him. The result of that battle had been deplorable. Napoleonmade ironic remarks during Fabvier's account, as if he had notexpected that matters could go otherwise in his absence.

　　"I must make up for that in Moscow," said Napoleon. "I'll see youlater," he added, and summoned de Beausset, who by that time hadprepared the surprise, having placed something on the chairs andcovered it with a cloth.

　　De Beausset bowed low, with that courtly French bow which only theold 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 mostcordial tone.

　　"Sire, all Paris regrets your absence," replied de Beausset as wasproper.

　　But though Napoleon knew that de Beausset had to say something ofthis kind, and though in his lucid moments he knew it was untrue, hewas pleased to hear it from him. Again he honored him by touchinghis 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 ofMoscow," replied de Beausset.

　　Napoleon smiled and, lifting his head absentmindedly, glanced to theright. An aide-de-camp approached with gliding steps and offered him agold snuffbox, which he took.

　　"Yes, it has happened luckily for you," he said, raising the opensnuffbox to his nose. "You are fond of travel, and in three days youwill see Moscow. You surely did not expect to see that Asiaticcapital. 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 courtierswere looking at something concealed under a cloth.

　　With courtly adroitness de Beausset half turned and withoutturning his back to the Emperor retired two steps, twitching off thecloth at the same time, and said:

　　"A present to Your Majesty from the Empress."

　　It was a portrait, painted in bright colors by Gerard, of the sonborne to Napoleon by the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boywhom for some reason everyone called "The King of Rome."

　　A very pretty curly-headed boy with a look of the Christ in theSistine Madonna was depicted playing at stick and ball. The ballrepresented the terrestrial globe and the stick in his other hand ascepter.

　　Though it was not clear what the artist meant to express bydepicting the so-called King of Rome spiking the earth with a stick,the allegory apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it had done to allwho had seen it in Paris, quite clear and very pleasing.

　　"The King of Rome!" he said, pointing to the portrait with agraceful gesture. "Admirable!"

　　With the natural capacity of an Italian for changing theexpression of his face at will, he drew nearer to the portrait andassumed a look of pensive tenderness. He felt that what he now saidand did would be historical, and it seemed to him that it would now bebest for him- whose grandeur enabled his son to play stick and ballwith the terrestrial globe- to show, in contrast to that grandeur, thesimplest paternal tenderness. His eyes grew dim, he moved forward,glanced round at a chair (which seemed to place itself under him), andsat down on it before the portrait. At a single gesture from himeveryone went out on tiptoe, leaving the great man to himself andhis emotion.

　　Having sat still for a while he touched- himself not knowing why-the thick spot of paint representing the highest light in theportrait, rose, and recalled de Beausset and the officer on duty. Heordered the portrait to be carried outside his tent, that the OldGuard, stationed round it, might not be deprived of the pleasure ofseeing the King of Rome, the son and heir of their adored monarch.

　　And while he was doing M. de Beausset the honor of breakfasting withhim, they heard, as Napoleon had anticipated, the rapturous cries ofthe officers and men of the Old Guard who had run up to see theportrait.

　　"Vive l'Empereur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive l'Empereur!" camethose ecstatic cries.

　　After breakfast Napoleon in de Beausset's presence dictated hisorder of the day to the army.

　　"Short and energetic!" he remarked when he had read over theproclamation which he had dictated straight off without corrections.It ran:

　　Soldiers! This is the battle you have so longed for. Victory dependson you. It is essential for us; it will give us all we need:comfortable quarters and a speedy return to our country. Behave as youdid at Austerlitz, Friedland, Vitebsk, and Smolensk. Let ourremotest posterity recall your achievements this day with pride. Letit be said of each of you: "He was in the great battle before Moscow!"

　　"Before Moscow!" repeated Napoleon, and inviting M. de Beausset, whowas so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out ofthe tent to where the horses stood saddled.

　　"Your Majesty is too kind!" replied de Beausset to the invitation toaccompany the Emperor; he wanted to sleep, did not know how to rideand 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 beforehis son's portrait grew still louder. Napoleon frowned.

　　"Take him away!" he said, pointing with a gracefully majesticgesture to the portrait. "It is too soon for him to see a field ofbattle."

　　De Beausset closed his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed deeply, toindicate how profoundly he valued and comprehended the Emperor'swords.BK10|CH27

　　CHAPTER XXVII

　　On the twenty-fifth of August, so his historians tell us, Napoleonspent the whole day on horseback inspecting the locality,considering plans submitted to him by his marshals, and personallygiving commands to his generals.

　　The original line of the Russian forces along the river Kolochahad been dislocated by the capture of the Shevardino Redoubt on thetwenty-fourth, and part of the line- the left flank- had been drawnback. That part of the line was not entrenched and in front of itthe ground was more open and level than elsewhere. It was evident toanyone, military or not, that it was here the French should attack. Itwould seem that not much consideration was needed to reach thisconclusion, nor any particular care or trouble on the part of theEmperor and his marshals, nor was there any need of that special andsupreme quality called genius that people are so apt to ascribe toNapoleon; yet the historians who described the event later and the menwho then surrounded Napoleon, and he himself, thought otherwise.

　　Napoleon rode over the plain and surveyed the locality with aprofound air and in silence, nodded with approval or shook his headdubiously, and without communicating to the generals around him theprofound course of ideas which guided his decisions merely gave themhis final conclusions in the form of commands. Having listened to asuggestion from Davout, who was now called Prince d'Eckmuhl, to turnthe Russian left wing, Napoleon said it should not be done, withoutexplaining why not. To a proposal made by General Campan (who was toattack the fleches) to lead his division through the woods, Napoleonagreed, though the so-called Duke of Elchingen (Ney) ventured toremark that a movement through the woods was dangerous and mightdisorder the division.

　　Having inspected the country opposite the Shevardino Redoubt,Napoleon pondered a little in silence and then indicated the spotswhere two batteries should be set up by the morrow to act againstthe 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, andthe dispositions for the battle were written down from his dictation.

　　These dispositions, of which the French historians write withenthusiasm and other historians with profound respect, were asfollows:

　　At dawn the two new batteries established during the night on theplain occupied by the Prince d'Eckmuhl will open fire on theopposing 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 allthe howitzers of Dessaix's and Friant's divisions, will moveforward, open fire, and overwhelm with shellfire the enemy'sbattery, 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 Fouche,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 onthe left, which will have forty guns in all directed against it.

　　General Sorbier must be ready at the first order to advance with allthe howitzers of the Guard's artillery against either one or otherof the entrenchments.

　　During the cannonade Prince Poniatowski is to advance through thewood on the village and turn the enemy's position.

　　General Campan will move through the wood to seize the firstfortification.

　　After the advance has begun in this manner, orders will be givenin accordance with the enemy's movements.

　　The cannonade on the left flank will begin as soon as the guns ofthe right wing are heard. The sharpshooters of Morand's division andof the vice-King's division will open a heavy fire on seeing theattack commence on the right wing.

　　The vice-King will occupy the village and cross by its threebridges, advancing to the same heights as Morand's and Gibrard'sdivisions, which under his leadership will be directed against theredoubt and come into line with the rest of the forces.

　　All this must be done in good order (le tout se fera avec ordre etmethode) as far as possible retaining troops in reserve.

　　The Imperial Camp near Mozhaysk,

　　September, 6, 1812.

　　These dispositions, which are very obscure and confused if oneallows oneself to regard the arrangements without religious awe of hisgenius, related to Napoleon's orders to deal with four points- fourdifferent orders. Not one of these was, or could be, carried out.

　　In the disposition it is said first that the batteries placed on thespot chosen by Napoleon, with the guns of Pernetti and Fouche; whichwere to come in line with them, 102 guns in all, were to open fire andshower shells on the Russian fleches and redoubts. This could not bedone, as from the spots selected by Napoleon the projectiles did notcarry to the Russian works, and those 102 guns shot into the air untilthe nearest commander, contrary to Napoleon's instructions, moved themforward.

　　The second order was that Poniatowski, moving to the village throughthe wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This could not be doneand was not done, because Poniatowski, advancing on the villagethrough the wood, met Tuchkov there barring his way, and could not anddid not turn the Russian position.

　　The third order was: General Campan will move through the wood toseize the first fortification. General Campan's division did not seizethe first fortification but was driven back, for on emerging fromthe wood it had to reform under grapeshot, of which Napoleon wasunaware.

　　The fourth order was: The vice-King will occupy the village(Borodino) and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the sameheights as Morand's and Gdrard's divisions (for whose movements nodirections are given), which under his leadership will be directedagainst the redoubt and come into line with the rest of the forces.

　　As far as one can make out, not so much from this unintelligiblesentence as from the attempts the vice-King made to execute the ordersgiven him, he was to advance from the left through Borodino to theredoubt while the divisions of Morand and Gerard were to advancesimultaneously from the front.

　　All this, like the other parts of the disposition, was not and couldnot be executed. After passing through Borodino the vice-King wasdriven back to the Kolocha and could get no farther; while thedivisions of Morand and Gerard did not take the redoubt but weredriven back, and the redoubt was only taken at the end of the battleby the cavalry (a thing probably unforeseen and not heard of byNapoleon). So not one of the orders in the disposition was, or couldbe, executed. But in the disposition it is said that, after thefight has commenced in this manner, orders will be given in accordancewith the enemy's movements, and so it might be supposed that allnecessary arrangements would be made by Napoleon during the battle.But this was not and could not be done, for during the whole battleNapoleon was so far away that, as appeared later, he could not knowthe course of the battle and not one of his orders during the fightcould be executed.BK10|CH28

　　CHAPTER XXVIII

　　Many historians say that the French did not win the battle ofBorodino because Napoleon had a cold, and that if he had not had acold the orders he gave before and during the battle would have beenstill more full of genius and Russia would have been lost and the faceof the world have been changed. To historians who believe thatRussia was shaped by the will of one man- Peter the Great- and thatFrance from a republic became an empire and French armies went toRussia at the will of one man- Napoleon- to say that Russia remained apower because Napoleon had a bad cold on the twenty-fourth of Augustmay seem logical and convincing.

　　If it had depended on Napoleon's will to fight or not to fight thebattle of Borodino, and if this or that other arrangement dependedon his will, then evidently a cold affecting the manifestation ofhis will might have saved Russia, and consequently the valet whoomitted to bring Napoleon his waterproof boots on the twenty-fourthwould have been the savior of Russia. Along that line of thoughtsuch a deduction is indubitable, as indubitable as the deductionVoltaire made in jest (without knowing what he was jesting at) when hesaw that the Massacre of St. Bartholomew was due to Charles IX'sstomach being deranged. But to men who do not admit that Russia wasformed by the will of one man, Peter I, or that the French Empirewas formed and the war with Russia begun by the will of one man,Napoleon, that argument seems not merely untrue and irrational, butcontrary to all human reality. To the question of what causes historicevents another answer presents itself, namely, that the course ofhuman events is predetermined from on high- depends on the coincidenceof the wills of all who take part in the events, and that a Napoleon'sinfluence on the course of these events is purely external andfictitious.

　　Strange as at first glance it may seem to suppose that theMassacre of St. Bartholomew was not due to Charles IX's will, thoughhe gave the order for it and thought it was done as a result of thatorder; and strange as it may seem to suppose that the slaughter ofeighty thousand men at Borodino was not due to Napoleon's will, thoughhe ordered the commencement and conduct of the battle and thought itwas done because he ordered it; strange as these suppositionsappear, yet human dignity- which tells me that each of us is, if notmore at least not less a man than the great Napoleon- demands theacceptance of that solution of the question, and historicinvestigation abundantly confirms it.

　　At the battle of Borodino Napoleon shot at no one and killed no one.That was all done by the soldiers. Therefore it was not he whokilled people.

　　The French soldiers went to kill and be killed at the battle ofBorodino 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 armyblocking their road to Moscow that the wine was drawn and must bedrunk. Had Napoleon then forbidden them to fight the Russians, theywould have killed him and have proceeded to fight the Russians becauseit was inevitable.

　　When they heard Napoleon's proclamation offering them, ascompensation for mutilation and death, the words of posterity abouttheir having been in the battle before Moscow, they cried "Vivel'Empereur!" just as they had cried "Vive l'Empereur!" at the sight ofthe portrait of the boy piercing the terrestrial globe with a toystick, and just as they would have cried "Vive l'Empereur!" at anynonsense that might be told them. There was nothing left for them todo but cry "Vive l'Empereur!" and go to fight, in order to get foodand rest as conquerors in Moscow. So it was not because ofNapoleon's commands that they killed their fellow men.

　　And it was not Napoleon who directed the course of the battle, fornone of his orders were executed and during the battle he did not knowwhat was going on before him. So the way in which these peoplekilled one another was not decided by Napoleon's will but occurredindependently of him, in accord with the will of hundreds of thousandsof people who took part in the common action. It only seemed toNapoleon that it all took place by his will. And so the questionwhether he had or had not a cold has no more historic interest thanthe cold of the least of the transport soldiers.

　　Moreover, the assertion made by various writers that his cold wasthe cause of his dispositions not being as well planned as on formeroccasions, and of his orders during the battle not being as good aspreviously, is quite baseless, which again shows that Napoleon'scold on the twenty-sixth of August was unimportant.

　　The dispositions cited above are not at all worse, but are evenbetter, than previous dispositions by which he had won victories.His pseudo-orders during the battle were also no worse thanformerly, but much the same as usual. These dispositions and ordersonly seem worse than previous ones because the battle of Borodinowas the first Napoleon did not win. The profoundest and most excellentdispositions and orders seem very bad, and every learned militaristcriticizes them with looks oks importance, when they relate to abattle that has been lost, and the very worst dispositions andorders seem very good, and serious people fill whole volumes todemonstrate their merits, when they relate to a battle that has beenwon.

　　The dispositions drawn up by Weyrother for the battle ofAusterlitz were a model of perfection for that kind of composition,but still they were criticized- criticized for their veryperfection, for their excessive minuteness.

　　Napoleon at the battle of Borodino fulfilled his office asrepresentative of authority as well as, and even better than, at otherbattles. He did nothing harmful to the progress of the battle; heinclined to the most reasonable opinions, he made no confusion, didnot contradict himself, did not get frightened or run away from thefield of battle, but with his great tact and military experiencecarried out his role of appearing to command, calmly and with dignity.BK10|CH29

　　CHAPTER XXIX

　　On returning from a second inspection of the lines, Napoleonremarked:

　　"The chessmen are set up, the game will begin tomorrow!"

　　Having ordered punch and summoned de Beausset, he began to talk tohim about Paris and about some changes he meant to make the Empress'household, surprising the prefect by his memory of minute detailsrelating to the court.

　　He showed an interest in trifles, joked about de Beausset's loveof travel, and chatted carelessly, as a famous, self-confident surgeonwho knows his job does when turning up his sleeves and putting onhis 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 times comes to set to work I shall do it as no one elsecould, but now I can jest, and the more I jest and the calmer I am themore tranquil and confident you ought to be, and the more amazed at mygenius."

　　Having finished his second glass of punch, Napoleon went to restbefore the serious business which, he considered, awaited him nextday. He was so much interested in that task that he was unable tosleep, and in spite of his cold which had grown worse from thedampness of the evening, he went into the large division of the tentat three o'clock in the morning, loudly blowing his nose. He askedwhether the Russians had not withdrawn, and was told that theenemy'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?" Napoleonasked him.

　　"Without doubt, sire," replied Rapp.

　　Napoleon looked at him.

　　"Do you remember, sire, what you did me the honor to say atSmolensk?" continued Rapp. "The wine is drawn and must be drunk."

　　Napoleon frowned and sat silent for a long time leaning his headon his hand.

　　"This poor army!" he suddenly remarked. "It has diminished greatlysince Smolensk. Fortune is frankly a courtesan, Rapp. I have alwayssaid so and I am beginning to experience it. But the Guards, Rapp, theGuards are intact?" he remarked interrogatively.

　　"Yes, sire," replied Rapp.

　　Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and glanced at hiswatch. He was not sleepy and it was still not nearly morning. It wasimpossible to give further orders for the sake of killing time, forthe orders had all been given and were now being executed.

　　"Have the biscuits and rice been served out to the regiments ofthe 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 believingthat his order had been executed. An attendant came in with punch.Napoleon ordered another glass to be brought for Rapp, and silentlysipped his own.

　　"I have neither taste nor smell," he remarked, sniffing at hisglass. "This cold is tiresome. They talk about medicine- what is thegood of medicine when it can't cure a cold! Corvisart gave me theselozenges but they don't help at all. What can doctors cure? Onecan't cure anything. Our body is a machine for living. It is organizedfor that, it is its nature. Let life go on in it unhindered and let itdefend itself, it will do more than if you paralyze it byencumbering it with remedies. Our body is like a perfect watch thatshould go for a certain time; watchmaker cannot open it, he can onlyadjust it by fumbling, and that blindfold.... Yes, our body is justa machine for living, that is all."

　　And having entered on the path of definition, of which he wasfond, Napoleon suddenly and unexpectedly gave a new one.

　　"Do you know, Rapp, what military art is?" asked he. "It is theart of being stronger than the enemy at a given moment. That's all."

　　Rapp made no reply.

　　"Tomorrow we shall have to deal with Kutuzov!" said Napoleon. "Weshall see! Do you remember at Braunau he commanded an army for threeweeks and did not once mount a horse to inspect hisentrenchments.... We shall see!"

　　He looked at his watch. It was still only four o'clock. He did notfeel 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 wentout of the tent. The night was dark and damp, a scarcely perceptiblemoisture was descending from above. Near by, the campfires weredimly burning among the French Guards, and in the distance those ofthe Russian line shone through the smoke. The weather was calm, andthe rustle and tramp of the French troops already beginning to move totake up their positions were clearly audible.

　　Napoleon walked about in front of his tent, looked at the firesand listened to these sounds, and as he was passing a tall guardsmanin a shaggy cap, who was standing sentinel before his tent and haddrawn himself up like a black pillar at sight of the Emperor, Napoleonstopped in front of him.

　　"What year did you enter the service?" he asked with thataffectation of military bluntness and geniality with which he alwaysaddressed 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 Shevardino.

　　It was growing light, the sky was clearing, only a single cloudlay in the east. The abandoned campfires were burning themselves outin the faint morning light.

　　On the right a single deep report of a cannon resounded and diedaway in the prevailing silence. Some minutes passed. A second and athird report shook the air, then a fourth and a fifth boomedsolemnly near by on the right.

　　The first shots had not yet ceased to reverberate before others rangout and yet more were heard mingling with and overtaking one another.

　　Napoleon with his suite rode up to the Shevardino Redoubt where hedismounted. The game had begun.BK10|CH30

　　CHAPTER XXX

　　On returning to Gorki after having seen Prince Andrew, Pierreordered his groom to get the horses ready and to call him early in themorning, and then immediately fell asleep behind a partition in acorner Boris had given up to him.

　　Before he was thoroughly awake next morning everybody had alreadyleft the hut. The panes were rattling in the little windows and hisgroom was shaking him.

　　"Your excellency! Your excellency! Your excellency!" he keptrepeating pertinaciously while he shook Pierre by the shoulder withoutlooking 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 thegentlemen have gone out, and his Serene Highness himself rode pastlong ago."

　　Pierre dressed hastily and ran out to the porch. Outside all wasbright, fresh, dewy, and cheerful. The sun, just bursting forth frombehind a cloud that had concealed it, was shining, with rays stillhalf broken by the clouds, over the roofs of the street opposite, onthe dew-besprinkled dust of the road, on the walls of the houses, onthe windows, the fence, and on Pierre's horses standing before thehut. The roar of guns sounded more distinct outside. An adjutantaccompanied 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 downthe street to the knoll from which he had looked at the field ofbattle the day before. A crowd of military men was assembled there,members of the staff could be heard conversing in French, andKutuzov's gray head in a white cap with a red band was visible, hisgray nape sunk between his shoulders. He was looking through a fieldglass down the highroad before him.

　　Mounting the steps to the knoll Pierre looked at the scene beforehim, spellbound by beauty. It was the same panorama he had admiredfrom that spot the day before, but now the whole place was full oftroops and covered by smoke clouds from the guns, and the slantingrays of the bright sun, rising slightly to the left behind Pierre,cast upon it through the clear morning air penetrating streaks ofrosy, golden tinted light and long dark shadows. The forest at thefarthest extremity of the panorama seemed carved in some preciousstone of a yellowish-green color; its undulating outline wassilhouetted against the horizon and was pierced beyond Valuevo bythe Smolensk highroad crowded with troops. Nearer at hand glitteredgolden cornfields interspersed with copses. There were troops to beseen everywhere, in front and to the right and left. All this wasvivid, majestic, and unexpected; but what impressed Pierre most of allwas the view of the battlefield itself, of Borodino and the hollows onboth sides of the Kolocha.

　　Above the Kolocha, in Borodino and on both sides of it, especiallyto the left where the Voyna flowing between its marshy banks fallsinto the Kolocha, a mist had spread which seemed to melt, to dissolve,and to become translucent when the brilliant sun appeared andmagically colored and outlined everything. The smoke of the gunsmingled with this mist, and over the whole expanse and through thatmist the rays of the morning sun were reflected, flashing back likelightning from the water, from the dew, and from the bayonets of thetroops crowded together by the riverbanks and in Borodino. A whitechurch could be seen through the mist, and here and there the roofs ofhuts in Borodino as well as dense masses of soldiers, or greenammunition chests and ordnance. And all this moved, or seemed to move,as the smoke and mist spread out over the whole space. Just as inthe mist-enveloped hollow near Borodino, so along the entire lineoutside and above it and especially in the woods and fields to theleft, in the valleys and on the summits of the high ground, cloudsof powder smoke seemed continually to spring up out of nothing, nowsingly, now several at a time, some translucent, others dense,which, swelling, growing, rolling, and blending, extended over thewhole expanse.

　　These puffs of smoke and (strange to say) the sound of sound ofthe firing produced the chief beauty of the spectacle.

　　"Puff!"- suddenly a round compact cloud of smoke was seen mergingfrom violet into gray and milky white, and "boom!" came the report asecond later.

　　"Puff! puff!"- and two clouds arose pushing one another and blendingtogether; and "boom, boom!" came the sounds confirming what the eyehad seen.

　　Pierre glanced round at the first cloud, which he had seen as around compact ball, and in its place already were balloons of smokefloating to one side, and- "puff" (with a pause)- "puff, puff!"three and then four more appeared and then from each, with the sameinterval- "boom- boom, boom!" came the fine, firm, precise sounds inreply. It seemed as if those smoke clouds sometimes ran andsometimes stood still while woods, fields, and glittering bayonets ranpast them. From the left, over fields and bushes, those large balls ofsmoke were continually appearing followed by their solemn reports,while nearer still, in the hollows and woods, there burst from themuskets small cloudlets that had no time to become balls, but hadtheir little echoes in just the same way. "Trakh-ta-ta-takh!" came thefrequent crackle of musketry, but it was irregular and feeble incomparison 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 Kutuzov andhis suite, to compare his impressions with those of others. Theywere all looking at the field of battle as he was, and, as it seemedto him, with the same feelings. All their faces were now shiningwith that latent warmth of feeling Pierre had noticed the day beforeand had fully understood after his talk with Prince Andrew.

　　"Go, my dear fellow, go... and Christ be with you!" Kutuzov wassaying to a general who stood beside him, not taking his eye fromthe battlefield.

　　Having received this order the general passed by Pierre on his waydown the knoll.

　　"To the crossing!" said the general coldly and sternly in reply toone of the staff who asked where he was going.

　　"I'll go there too, I too!" thought Pierre, and followed thegeneral.

　　The general mounted a horse a Cossack had brought him. Pierre wentto his groom who was holding his horses and, asking which was thequietest, clambered onto it, seized it by the mane, and turning outhis toes pressed his heels against its sides and, feeling that hisspectacles were slipping off but unable to let go of the mane andreins, he galloped after the general, causing the staff officers tosmile as they watched him from the knoll.BK10|CH31

　　CHAPTER XXXI

　　Having descended the hill the general after whom Pierre wasgalloping turned sharply to the left, and Pierre, losing sight of him,galloped in among some ranks of infantry marching ahead of him. Hetried to pass either in front of them or to the right or left, butthere were soldiers everywhere, all with expression and busy with someunseen but evidently important task. They all gazed with the samedissatisfied and inquiring expression at this stout man in a whitehat, who for some unknown reason threatened to trample them underhis horse's hoofs.

　　"Why ride into the middle of the battalion?" one of them shoutedat him.

　　Another prodded his horse with the butt end of a musket, and Pierre,bending over his saddlebow and hardly able to control his shyinghorse, galloped ahead of the soldiers where there was a free space.

　　There was a bridge ahead of him, where other soldiers stoodfiring. Pierre rode up to them. Without being aware of it he hadcome to the bridge across the Kolocha between Gorki and Borodino,which the French (having occupied Borodino) were attacking in thefirst phase of the battle. Pierre saw that there was a bridge in frontof him and that soldiers were doing something on both sides of itand in the meadow, among the rows of new-mown hay which he had takenno notice of amid the smoke of the campfires the day before; butdespite the incessant firing going on there he had no idea that thiswas the field of battle. He did not notice the sound of the bulletswhistling 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 longtime 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 himagain.

　　"To the left!... Keep to the right!" the men shouted to him.

　　Pierre went to the right, and unexpectedly encountered one ofRaevski's adjutants whom he knew. The adjutant looked angrily athim, evidently also intending to shout at him, but on recognizinghim he nodded.

　　"How have you got here?" he said, and galloped on.

　　Pierre, feeling out of place there, having nothing to do, and afraidof 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 astout colonel who was standing in the meadow, he gave him some messageand then addressed Pierre.

　　"Why have you come here, Count?" he asked with a smile. "Stillinquisitive?"

　　"Yes, yes," assented Pierre.

　　But the adjutant turned his horse about and rode on.

　　"Here it's tolerable," said he, "but with Bagration on the leftflank 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 andin our battery it is still bearable," said the adjutant. "Will youcome?"

　　"Yes, I'll come with you," replied Pierre, looking round for hisgroom.

　　It was only now that he noticed wounded men staggering along orbeing carried on stretchers. On that very meadow he had ridden overthe 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, butseeing the stern expression of the adjutant who was also lookingthat way, he checked himself.

　　Pierre did not find his groom and rode along the hollow with theadjutant to Raevski's Redoubt. His horse lagged behind theadjutant'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 ina puzzled tone.

　　"Why... she's wounded!" said the adjutant. "In the off foreleg abovethe knee. A bullet, no doubt. I congratulate you, Count, on yourbaptism of fire!"

　　Having ridden in the smoke past the Sixth Corps, behind theartillery which had been moved forward and was in action, deafeningthem with the noise of firing, they came to a small wood. There it wascool and quiet, with a scent of autumn. Pierre and the adjutantdismounted 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," someonetold 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 ifI may?"

　　"Yes, do. You'll see everything from there and it's lessdangerous, and I'll come for you."

　　Pierre went to the battery and the adjutant rode on. They did notmeet again, and only much later did Pierre learn that he lost an armthat day.

　　The knoll to which Pierre ascended was that famous one afterwardsknown to the Russians as the Knoll Battery or Raevski's Redoubt, andto the French as la grande redoute, la fatale redoute, la redoute ducentre, around which tens of thousands fell, and which the Frenchregarded as the key to the whole position.

　　This redoubt consisted of a knoll, on three sides of whichtrenches had been dug. Within the entrenchment stood ten guns thatwere being fired through openings in the earthwork.

　　In line with the knoll on both sides stood other guns which alsofired incessantly. A little behind the guns stood infantry. Whenascending that knoll Pierre had no notion that this spot, on whichsmall trenches had been dug and from which a few guns were firing, wasthe most important point of the battle.

　　On the contrary, just because he happened to be there he thoughtit one of the least significant parts of the field.

　　Having reached the knoll, Pierre sat down at one end of a trenchsurrounding the battery and gazed at what was going on around him withan unconsciously happy smile. Occasionally he rose and walked aboutthe battery still with that same smile, trying not to obstruct thesoldiers who were loading, hauling the guns, and continually runningpast him with bags and charges. The guns of that battery were beingfired 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 insupport, here in the battery where a small number of men busy at theirwork were separated from the rest by a trench, everyone experienceda common and as it were family feeling of animation.

　　The intrusion of Pierre's nonmilitary figure in a white hat madean unpleasant impression at first. The soldiers looked askance athim with surprise and even alarm as they went past him. The seniorartillery officer, a tall, long-legged, pockmarked man, moved overto Pierre as if to see the action of the farthest gun and looked athim with curiosity.

　　A young round-faced officer, quite a boy still and evidently onlyjust out of the Cadet College, who was zealously commanding the twoguns entrusted to him, addressed Pierre sternly.

　　"Sir," he said, "permit me to ask you to stand aside. You must notbe here."

　　The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked atPierre. But when they had convinced themselves that this man in thewhite hat was doing no harm, but either sat quietly on the slope ofthe trench with a shy smile or, politely making way for thesoldiers, paced up and down the battery under fire as calmly as ifhe were on a boulevard, their feeling of hostile distrust graduallybegan to change into a kindly and bantering sympathy, such as soldiersfeel for their dogs, cocks, goats, and in general for the animals thatlive with the regiment. The men soon accepted Pierre into theirfamily, adopted him, gave him a nickname ("our gentleman"), and madekindly fun of him among themselves.

　　A shell tore up the earth two paces from Pierre and he looked aroundwith a smile as he brushed from his clothes some earth it had thrownup.

　　"And how's it you're not afraid, sir, really now?" a red-faced,broad-shouldered soldier asked Pierre, with a grin that disclosed aset of sound, white teeth.

　　"Are you afraid, then?" said Pierre.

　　"What else do you expect?" answered the soldier. "She has nomercy, 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, andthe discovery that he did so delighted them.

　　"It's the business of us soldiers. But in a gentleman it'swonderful! There's a gentleman for you!"

　　"To your places!" cried the young officer to the men gatheredround Pierre.

　　The young officer was evidently exercising his duties for thefirst or second time and therefore treated both his superiors andthe men with great precision and formality.

　　The booming cannonade and the fusillade of musketry were growingmore intense over the whole field, especially to the left whereBagration's fleches were, but where Pierre was the smoke of the firingmade it almost impossible to distinguish anything. Moreover, his wholeattention was engrossed by watching the family circle- separatedfrom all else- formed by the men in the battery. His first unconsciousfeeling of joyful animation produced by the sights and sounds of thebattlefield was now replaced by another, especially since he hadseen that soldier lying alone in the hayfield. Now, seated on theslope of the trench, he observed the faces of those around him.

　　By ten o'clock some twenty men had already been carried away fromthe battery; two guns were smashed and cannon balls fell more and morefrequently on the battery and spent bullets buzzed and whistledaround. But the men in the battery seemed not to notice this, andmerry 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 apeasant who ducked low as a cannon ball flew over.

　　Several soldiers gathered by the wall of the trench, looking outto 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. "Ifthey've retired it's because there's work for them to do fartherback."

　　And the sergeant, taking one of the men by the shoulders, gave him ashove 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 ofthose who were moving the gun.

　　"Oh, she nearly knocked our gentleman's hat off!" cried thered-faced humorist, showing his teeth chaffing Pierre. "Awkwardbaggage!" he added reproachfully to a cannon ball that struck a cannonwheel and a man's leg.

　　"Now then, you foxes!" said another, laughing at some militiamenwho, 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 manwhose leg had been torn off.

　　"There, lads... oh, oh!" they mimicked the peasants, "they don'tlike it at all!"

　　Pierre noticed that after every ball that hit the redoubt, and afterevery loss, the liveliness increased more and more.

　　As the flames of the fire hidden within come more and more vividlyand rapidly from an approaching thundercloud, so, as if inopposition to what was taking place, the lightning of hidden firegrowing more and more intense glowed in the faces of these men.

　　Pierre did not look out at the battlefield and was not concernedto know what was happening there; he was entirely absorbed in watchingthis fire which burned ever more brightly and which he felt wasflaming up in the same way in his own soul.

　　At ten o'clock the infantry that had been among the bushes infront of the battery and along the Kamenka streamlet retreated. Fromthe battery they could be seen running back past it carrying theirwounded on their muskets. A general with his suite came to thebattery, and after speaking to the colonel gave Pierre an angry lookand went away again having ordered the infantry supports behind thebattery to lie down, so as to be less exposed to fire. After this fromamid the ranks of infantry to the right of the battery came thesound of a drum and shouts of command, and from the battery one sawhow those ranks of infantry moved forward.

　　Pierre looked over the wall of the trench and was particularlystruck by a pale young officer who, letting his sword hang down, waswalking backwards and kept glancing uneasily around.

　　The ranks of the infantry disappeared amid the smoke but theirlong-drawn shout and rapid musketry firing could still be heard. A fewminutes later crowds of wounded men and stretcher-bearers came backfrom that direction. Projectiles began to fall still more frequentlyin the battery. Several men were lying about who had not been removed.Around the cannon the men moved still more briskly and busily. Noone any longer took notice of Pierre. Once or twice he was shoutedat for being in the way. The senior officer moved with big, rapidstrides from one gun to another with a frowning face. The youngofficer, with his face still more flushed, commanded the men morescrupulously than ever. The soldiers handed up the charges, turned,loaded, and did their business with strained smartness. They gavelittle jumps as they walked, as though they were on springs.

　　The stormcloud had come upon them, and in every face the firewhich Pierre had watched kindle burned up brightly. Pierre standingbeside the commanding officer. The young officer, his hand to hisshako, 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 andbending 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 theearthwork, a soldier, or a gun. Pierre, who had not noticed thesesounds before, now heard nothing else. On the right of the batterysoldiers 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 hewas standing, crumbling down the earth; a black ball flashed beforehis eyes and at the same instant plumped into something. Somemilitiamen who were entering the battery ran back.

　　"All with grapeshot!" shouted the officer.

　　The sergeant ran up to the officer and in a frightened whisperinformed him (as a butler at dinner informs his master that there isno 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 glitteredunder his frowning brow.

　　"Run to the reserves and bring up the ammunition boxes!" heyelled, 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 oppositeside.

　　"Don't fire.... Wait!" he shouted.

　　The man who had been ordered to go for ammunition stumbled againstPierre.

　　"Eh, sir, this is no place for you," said he, and ran down theslope.

　　Pierre ran after him, avoiding the spot where the young officerwas sitting.

　　One cannon ball, another, and a third flew over him, falling infront, beside, and behind him. Pierre ran down the slope. "Where amI going?" he suddenly asked himself when he was already near the greenammunition wagons. He halted irresolutely, not knowing whether toreturn or go on. Suddenly a terrible concussion threw him backwards tothe ground. At the same instant he was dazzled by a great flash offlame, and immediately a deafening roar, crackling, and whistling madehis ears tingle.

　　When he came to himself he was sitting on the ground leaning onhis hands; the ammunition wagons he had been approaching no longerexisted, only charred green boards and rags littered the scorchedgrass, 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.BK10|CH32

　　CHAPTER XXXII

　　Beside himself with terror Pierre jumped up and ran back to thebattery, as to the only refuge from the horrors that surrounded him.

　　On entering the earthwork he noticed that there were men doingsomething there but that no shots were being fired from the battery.He had no time to realize who these men were. He saw the seniorofficer lying on the earth wall with his back turned as if he wereexamining something down below and that one of the soldiers he hadnoticed before was struggling forward shouting "Brothers!" andtrying to free himself from some men who were holding him by thearm. 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 anotherman had been bayoneted in the back before his eyes, for hardly hadhe run into the redoubt before a thin, sallow-faced, perspiring man ina blue uniform rushed on him sword in hand, shouting something.Instinctively guarding against the shock- for they had been runningtogether at full speed before they saw one another- Pierre put out hishands and seized the man (a French officer) by the shoulder with onehand and by the throat with the other. The officer, dropping hissword, seized Pierre by his collar.

　　For some seconds they gazed with frightened eyes at one another'sunfamiliar faces and both were perplexed at what they had done andwhat they were to do next. "Am I taken prisoner or have I taken himprisoner?" each was thinking. But the French officer was evidentlymore inclined to think he had been taken prisoner because Pierre'sstrong hand, impelled by instinctive fear, squeezed his throat evertighter and tighter. The Frenchman was about to say something, whenjust above their heads, terrible and low, a cannon ball whistled,and it seemed to Pierre that the French officer's head had been tornoff, so swiftly had he ducked it.

　　Pierre too bent his head and let his hands fall. Without furtherthought as to who had taken whom prisoner, the Frenchman ran back tothe battery and Pierre ran down the slope stumbling over the deadand wounded who, it seemed to him, caught at his feet. But before hereached the foot of the knoll he was met by a dense crowd of Russiansoldiers who, stumbling, tripping up, and shouting, ran merrily andwildly toward the battery. (This was the attack for which Ermolovclaimed the credit, declaring that only his courage and good luck madesuch a feat possible: it was the attack in which he was said to havethrown some St. George's Crosses he had in his pocket into the batteryfor the first soldiers to take who got there.)

　　The French who had occupied the battery fled, and our troopsshouting "Hurrah!" pursued them so far beyond the battery that itwas difficult to call them back.

　　The prisoners were brought down from the battery and among themwas a wounded French general, whom the officers surrounded. Crowdsof wounded- some known to Pierre and some unknown- Russians andFrench, with faces distorted by suffering, walked, crawled, and werecarried on stretchers from the battery. Pierre again went up ontothe knoll where he had spent over an hour, and of that family circlewhich had received him as a member he did not find a single one. Therewere many dead whom he did not know, but some he recognized. The youngofficer still sat in the same way, bent double, in a pool of bloodat the edge of the earth wall. The red-faced man was stilltwitching, 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 havedone!" he thought, aimlessly going toward a crowd of stretcher bearersmoving from the battlefield.

　　But behind the veil of smoke the sun was still high, and in frontand especially to the left, near Semenovsk, something seemed to beseething in the smoke, and the roar of cannon and musketry did notdiminish, but even increased to desperation like a man who,straining himself, shrieks with all his remaining strength.BK10|CH33

　　CHAPTER XXXIII

　　The chief action of the battle of Borodino was fought within theseven thousand feet between Borodino and Bagration's fleches. Beyondthat space there was, on the one side, a demonstration made by theRussians with Uvarov's cavalry at midday, and on the other side,beyond Utitsa, Poniatowski's collision with Tuchkov; but these twowere detached and feeble actions in comparison with what took place inthe center of the battlefield. On the field between Borodino and thefleches, beside the wood, the chief action of the day took place on anopen space visible from both sides and was fought in the simplestand most artless way.

　　The battle began on both sides with a cannonade from several hundredguns.

　　Then when the whole field was covered with smoke, two divisions,Campan's and Dessaix's, advanced from the French right, whileMurat's troops advanced on Borodino from their left.

　　From the Shevardino Redoubt where Napoleon was standing thefleches were two thirds of a mile away, and it was more than a mile asthe crow flies to Borodino, so that Napoleon could not see what washappening there, especially as the smoke mingling with the mist hidthe whole locality. The soldiers of Dessaix's division advancingagainst the fleches could only be seen till they had entered thehollow that lay between them and the fleches. As soon as they haddescended into that hollow, the smoke of the guns and musketry onthe fleches grew so dense that it covered the whole approach on thatside of it. Through the smoke glimpses could be caught of somethingblack- probably men- and at times the glint of bayonets. But whetherthey were moving or stationary, whether they were French or Russian,could not be discovered from the Shevardino Redoubt.

　　The sun had risen brightly and its slanting rays struck straightinto Napoleon's face as, shading his eyes with his hand, he lookedat the fleches. The smoke spread out before them, and at times itlooked as if the smoke were moving, at times as if the troops moved.Sometimes shouts were heard through the firing, but it wasimpossible to tell what was being done there.

　　Napoleon, standing on the knoll, looked through a field glass, andin its small circlet saw smoke and men, sometimes his own andsometimes Russians, but when he looked again with the naked eye, hecould 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 gazedintently at the battlefield.

　　But not only was it impossible to make out what was happening fromwhere he was standing down below, or from the knoll above on whichsome of his generals had taken their stand, but even from thefleches themselves- in which by this time there were now Russian andnow French soldiers, alternately or together, dead, wounded, alive,frightened, or maddened- even at those fleches themselves it wasimpossible to make out what was taking place. There for severalhours amid incessant cannon and musketry fire, now Russians wereseen alone, now Frenchmen alone, now infantry, and now cavalry: theyappeared, fired, fell, collided, not knowing what to do with oneanother, screamed, and ran back again.

　　From the battlefield adjutants he had sent out, and orderlies fromhis marshals, kept galloping up to Napoleon with reports of theprogress of the action, but all these reports were false, both becauseit was impossible in the heat of battle to say what was happening atany given moment and because many of the adjutants did not go to theactual place of conflict but reported what they had heard from others;and also because while an adjutant was riding more than a mile toNapoleon circumstances changed and the news he brought was alreadybecoming false. Thus an adjutant galloped up from Murat with tidingsthat Borodino had been occupied and the bridge over the Kolocha was inthe hands of the French. The adjutant asked whether Napoleon wishedthe troops to cross it? Napoleon gave orders that the troops shouldform up on the farther side and wait. But before that order was given-almost as soon in fact as the adjutant had left Borodino- the bridgehad been retaken by the Russians and burned, in the very skirmish atwhich Pierre had been present at the beginning of the battle.

　　An adjutant galloped up from the fleches with a pale andfrightened face and reported to Napoleon that their attack had beenrepulsed, Campan wounded, and Davout killed; yet at the very timethe adjutant had been told that the French had been repulsed, thefleches had in fact been recaptured by other French troops, and Davoutwas alive and only slightly bruised. On the basis of these necessarilyuntrustworthy reports Napoleon gave his orders, which had eitherbeen executed before he gave them or could not be and were notexecuted.

　　The marshals and generals, who were nearer to the field of battlebut, like Napoleon, did not take part in the actual fighting andonly occasionally went within musket range, made their ownarrangements without asking Napoleon and issued orders where and inwhat direction to fire and where cavalry should gallop and infantryshould run. But even their orders, like Napoleon's, were seldomcarried out, and then but partially. For the most part things happenedcontrary to their orders. Soldiers ordered to advance ran back onmeeting grapeshot; soldiers ordered to remain where they were,suddenly, seeing Russians unexpectedly before them, sometimes rushedback and sometimes forward, and the cavalry dashed without orders inpursuit of the flying Russians. In this way two cavalry regimentsgalloped through the Semenovsk hollow and as soon as they reachedthe top of the incline turned round and galloped full speed backagain. The infantry moved in the same way, sometimes running toquite other places than those they were ordered to go to. All ordersas to where and when to move the guns, when to send infantry toshoot or horsemen to ride down the Russian infantry- all such orderswere 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 orfor acting on their own initiative, for in battle what is at stakeis what is dearest to man- his own life- and it sometimes seems thatsafety lies in running back, sometimes in running forward; and thesemen who were right in the heat of the battle acted according to themood of the moment. In reality, however, all these movements forwardand backward did not improve or alter the position of the troops.All their rushing and galloping at one another did little harm, theharm of disablement and death was caused by the balls and bullets thatflew over the fields on which these men were floundering about. Assoon as they left the place where the balls and bullets were flyingabout, their superiors, located in the background, re-formed themand brought them under discipline and under the influence of thatdiscipline led them back to the zone of fire, where under theinfluence of fear of death they lost their discipline and rushed aboutaccording to the chance promptings of the throng.BK10|CH34

　　CHAPTER XXXIV

　　Napoleon's generals- Davout, Ney, and Murat, who were near thatregion of fire and sometimes even entered it- repeatedly led into ithuge masses of well-ordered troops. But contrary to what had alwayshappened in their former battles, instead of the news they expected ofthe enemy's flight, these orderly masses returned thence asdisorganized and terrified mobs. The generals re-formed them, buttheir numbers constantly decreased. In the middle of the day Muratsent his adjutant to Napoleon to demand reinforcements.

　　Napoleon sat at the foot of the knoll, drinking punch, whenMurat's adjutant galloped up with an assurance that the Russians wouldbe routed if His Majesty would let him have another division.

　　"Reinforcements?" said Napoleon in a tone of stern surprise, lookingat the adjutant- a handsome lad with long black curls arranged likeMurat's own- as though he did not understand his words.

　　"Reinforcements!" thought Napoleon to himself. "How can they needreinforcements when they already have half the army directed against aweak, unentrenched Russian wing?"

　　"Tell the King of Naples," said he sternly, "that it is not noonyet, and I don't yet see my chessboard clearly. Go!..."

　　The handsome boy adjutant with the long hair sighed deeply withoutremoving his hand from his hat and galloped back to where men werebeing slaughtered.

　　Napoleon rose and having summoned Caulaincourt and Berthier begantalking to them about matters unconnected with the battle.

　　In the midst of this conversation, which was beginning to interestNapoleon, Berthier's eyes turned to look at a general with a suite,who was galloping toward the knoll on a lathering horse. It wasBelliard. Having dismounted he went up to the Emperor with rapidstrides and in a loud voice began boldly demonstrating the necessityof sending reinforcements. He swore on his honor that the Russianswere lost if the Emperor would give another division.

　　Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and continued to pace up and downwithout replying. Belliard began talking loudly and eagerly to thegenerals of the suite around him.

　　"You are very fiery, Belliard," said Napoleon, when he again came upto 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 ofthe battlefield galloped up.

　　"Now then, what do you want?" asked Napoleon in the tone of a manirritated 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, butthe Emperor turned from him, took a couple of steps, stopped, cameback, 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 hesubsequently termed "that gosling I have made an eagle").

　　"Send Claparede's division, sire," replied Berthier, who knew allthe divisions regiments, and battalions by heart.

　　Napoleon nodded assent.

　　The adjutant galloped to Claparede's division and a few minuteslater 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 Claparede. SendFriant's division."

　　Though there was no advantage in sending Friant's division insteadof Claparede's, and even in obvious inconvenience and delay instopping Claparede and sending Friant now, the order was carried outexactly. Napoleon did not notice that in regard to his army he wasplaying the part of a doctor who hinders by his medicines- a role heso justly understood and condemned.

　　Friant's division disappeared as the others had done into thesmoke of the battlefield. From all sides adjutants continued to arriveat a gallop and as if by agreement all said the same thing. They allasked for reinforcements and all said that the Russians were holdingtheir positions and maintaining a hellish fire under which theFrench army was melting away.

　　Napoleon sat on a campstool, wrapped in thought.

　　M. de Beausset, the man so fond of travel, having fasted sincemorning, came up to the Emperor and ventured respectfully to suggestlunch to His Majesty.

　　"I hope I may now congratulate Your Majesty on a victory?" said he.

　　Napoleon silently shook his head in negation. Assuming thenegation to refer only to the victory and not to the lunch, M. deBeausset ventured with respectful jocularity to remark that there isno reason for not having lunch when one can get it.

　　"Go away..." exclaimed Napoleon suddenly and morosely, and turnedaside.

　　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 anever-lucky gambler who, after recklessly flinging money about andalways winning, suddenly just when he has calculated all the chancesof the game, finds that the more he considers his play the more surelyhe loses.

　　His troops were the same, his generals the same, the samepreparations had been made, the same dispositions, and the sameproclamation courte et energique, he himself was still the same: heknew that and knew that he was now even more experienced andskillful than before. Even the enemy was the same as at Austerlitz andFriedland- yet the terrible stroke of his arm had supernaturallybecome impotent.

　　All the old methods that had been unfailingly crowned withsuccess: the concentration of batteries on one point, an attack byreserves to break the enemy's line, and a cavalry attack by "the menof iron," all these methods had already been employed, yet not onlywas there no victory, but from all sides came the same news ofgenerals killed and wounded, of reinforcements needed, of theimpossibility of driving back the Russians, and of disorganizationamong his own troops.

　　Formerly, after he had given two or three orders and uttered a fewphrases, marshals and adjutants had come galloping up withcongratulations and happy faces, announcing the trophies taken, thecorps of prisoners, bundles of enemy eagles and standards, cannonand stores, and Murat had only begged leave to loose the cavalry togather in the baggage wagons. So it had been at Lodi, Marengo, Arcola,Jena, Austerlitz, Wagram, and so on. But now something strange washappening to his troops.

　　Despite news of the capture of the fleches, Napoleon saw that thiswas not the same, not at all the same, as what had happened in hisformer battles. He saw that what he was feeling was felt by all themen about him experienced in the art of war. All their faces lookeddejected, and they all shunned one another's eyes- only a deBeausset could fail to grasp the meaning of what was happening.

　　But Napoleon with his long experience of war well knew the meaningof a battle not gained by the attacking side in eight hours, after allefforts had been expended. He knew that it was a lost battle andthat the least accident might now- with the fight balanced on such astrained center- destroy him and his army.

　　When he ran his mind over the whole of this strange Russian campaignin which not one battle had been won, and in which not a flag, orcannon, or army corps had been captured in two months, when helooked at the concealed depression on the faces around him and heardreports of the Russians still holding their ground- a terrible feelinglike a nightmare took possession of him, and all the unlucky accidentsthat might destroy him occurred to his mind. The Russians might fallon his left wing, might break through his center, he himself mightbe killed by a stray cannon ball. All this was possible. In formerbattles he had only considered the possibilities of success, but nowinnumerable unlucky chances presented themselves, and he expected themall. Yes, it was like a dream in which a man fancies that a ruffian iscoming to attack him, and raises his arm to strike that ruffian aterrible blow which he knows should annihilate him, but then feelsthat his arm drops powerless and limp like a rag, and the horror ofunavoidable destruction seizes him in his helplessness.

　　The news that the Russians were attacking the left flank of theFrench army aroused that horror in Napoleon. He sat silently on acampstool below the knoll, with head bowed and elbows on his knees.Berthier approached and suggested that they should ride along the lineto ascertain the position of affairs.

　　"What? What do you say?" asked Napoleon. "Yes, tell them to bring memy horse."

　　He mounted and rode toward Semenovsk.

　　Amid the powder smoke, slowly dispersing over the whole spacethrough which Napoleon rode, horses and men were lying in pools ofblood, singly or in heaps. Neither Napoleon nor any of his generalshad ever before seen such horrors or so many slain in such a smallarea. The roar of guns, that had not ceased for ten hours, wearied theear and gave a peculiar significance to the spectacle, as music doesto tableaux vivants. Napoleon rode up the high ground at Semenovsk,and through the smoke saw ranks of men in uniforms of a colorunfamiliar to him. They were Russians.

　　The Russians stood in serried ranks behind Semenovsk village and itsknoll, and their guns boomed incessantly along their line and sentforth clouds of smoke. It was no longer a battle: it was acontinuous slaughter which could be of no avail either to the Frenchor the Russians. Napoleon stopped his horse and again fell into thereverie from which Berthier had aroused him. He could not stop whatwas going on before him and around him and was supposed to be directedby 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 tolead the Old Guard into action. Ney and Berthier, standing nearNapoleon, exchanged looks and smiled contemptuously at thisgeneral's senseless offer.

　　Napoleon bowed his head and remained silent a long time.

　　"At eight hundred leagues from France, I will not have my Guarddestroyed!" he said, and turning his horse rode back to Shevardino.BK10|CH35

　　CHAPTER XXXV

　　On the rug-covered bench where Pierre had seen him in the morningsat Kutuzov, his gray head hanging, his heavy body relaxed. He gave noorders, 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 thoseabout him; or, "No, don't, we'd better wait!" He listened to thereports that were brought him and gave directions when hissubordinates demanded that of him; but when listening to the reportsit seemed as if he were not interested in the import of the wordsspoken, but rather in something else- in the expression of face andtone of voice of those who were reporting. By long years of militaryexperience he knew, and with the wisdom of age understood, that itis impossible for one man to direct hundreds of thousands of othersstruggling with death, and he knew that the result of a battle isdecided not by the orders of a commander in chief, nor the place wherethe troops are stationed, nor by the number of cannon or ofslaughtered men, but by that intangible force called the spirit of thearmy, and he watched this force and guided it in as far as that was inhis power.

　　Kutuzov's general expression was one of concentrated quietattention, and his face wore a strained look as if he found itdifficult to master the fatigue of his old and feeble body.

　　At eleven o'clock they brought him news that the fleches captured bythe French had been retaken, but that Prince Bagration was wounded.Kutuzov groaned and swayed his head.

　　"Ride over to Prince Peter Ivanovich and find out about it exactly,"he said to one of his adjutants, and then turned to the Duke ofWurttemberg 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 havereached Semenovsk- his adjutant came back from him and told Kutuzovthat the duke asked for more troops.

　　Kutuzov made a grimace and sent an order to Dokhturov to take overthe command of the first army, and a request to the duke- whom he saidhe could not spare at such an important moment- to return to him. Whenthey brought him news that Murat had been taken prisoner, and thestaff officers congratulated him, Kutuzov smiled.

　　"Wait a little, gentlemen," said he. "The battle is won, and thereis nothing extraordinary in the capture of Murat. Still, it isbetter to wait before we rejoice."

　　But he sent an adjutant to take the news round the army.

　　When Scherbinin came galloping from the left flank with news thatthe French had captured the fleches and the village of Semenovsk,Kutuzov, guessing by the sounds of the battle and by Scherbinin'slooks that the news was bad, rose as if to stretch his legs and,taking Scherbinin's arm, led him aside.

　　"Go, my dear fellow," he said to Ermolov, "and see whether somethingcan't be done."

　　Kutuzov was in Gorki, near the center of the Russian position. Theattack directed by Napoleon against our left flank had been severaltimes repulsed. In the center the French had not got beyondBorodino, and on their left flank Uvarov's cavalry had put theFrench to flight.

　　Toward three o'clock the French attacks ceased. On the faces ofall who came from the field of battle, and of those who stood aroundhim, Kutuzov noticed an expression of extreme tension. He wassatisfied with the day's success- a success exceeding hisexpectations, but the old man's strength was failing him. Severaltimes 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 PrinceAndrew had said, "the war should be extended widely," and whomBagration so detested, rode up while Kutuzov was at dinner. Wolzogenhad come from Barclay de Tolly to report on the progress of affairs onthe left flank. The sagacious Barclay de Tolly, seeing crowds ofwounded men running back and the disordered rear of the army,weighed all the circumstances, concluded that the battle was lost, andsent his favorite officer to the commander in chief with that news.

　　Kutuzov was chewing a piece of roast chicken with difficulty andglanced at Wolzogen with eyes that brightened under their puckeringlids.

　　Wolzogen, nonchalantly stretching his legs, approached Kutuzovwith a half-contemptuous smile on his lips, scarcely touching the peakof his cap.

　　He treated his Serene Highness with a somewhat affectednonchalance intended to show that, as a highly trained military man,he left it to Russians to make an idol of this useless old man, butthat he knew whom he was dealing with. "Der alte Herr" (as in theirown set the Germans called Kutuzov) "is making himself verycomfortable," thought Wolzogen, and looking severely at the dishesin front of Kutuzov he began to report to "the old gentleman" theposition of affairs on the left flank as Barclay had ordered him toand as he himself had seen and understood it.

　　"All the points of our position are in the enemy's hands and wecannot dislodge them for lack of troops, the men are running awayand it is impossible to stop them," he reported.

　　Kutuzov ceased chewing and fixed an astonished gaze on Wolzogen,as if not understand what was said to him. Wolzogen, noticing "the oldgentleman's" agitation, said with a smile:

　　"I have not considered it right to conceal from your Serene Highnesswhat I have seen. The troops are in complete disorder..."

　　"You have seen? You have seen?..." Kutuzov shouted frowning, andrising quickly he went up to Wolzogen.

　　"How... how dare you!..." he shouted, choking and making athreatening gesture with his trembling arms: "How dare you, sir, saythat to me? You know nothing about it. Tell General Barclay from methat his information is incorrect and that the real course of thebattle is better known to me, the commander in chief, than to him."

　　Wolzogen was about to make a rejoinder, but Kutuzov interrupted him.

　　"The enemy has been repulsed on the left and defeated on the rightflank. If you have seen amiss, sir, do not allow yourself to saywhat you don't know! Be so good as to ride to General Barclay andinform him of my firm intention to attack the enemy tomorrow," saidKutuzov sternly.

　　All were silent, and the only sound audible was the heavybreathing of the panting old general.

　　"They are repulsed everywhere, for which I thank God and our bravearmy! The enemy is beaten, and tomorrow we shall drive him from thesacred soil of Russia," said Kutuzov crossing himself, and he suddenlysobbed as his eyes filled with tears.

　　Wolzogen, shrugging his shoulders and curling his lips, steppedsilently aside, marveling at "the old gentleman's" conceitedstupidity.

　　"Ah, here he is, my hero!" said Kutuzov to a portly, handsome,dark-haired general who was just ascending the knoll.

　　This was Raevski, who had spent the whole day at the mostimportant part of the field of Borodino.

　　Raevski reported that the troops were firmly holding their groundand that the French no longer ventured to attack.

　　After hearing him, Kutuzov said in French:

　　"Then you do not think, like some others, that we must retreat?"

　　"On the contrary, your Highness, in indecisive actions it isalways the most stubborn who remain victors," replied Raevski, "and inmy opinion..."

　　"Kaysarov!" Kutuzov called to his adjutant. "Sit down and writeout the order of the day for tomorrow. And you," he continued,addressing another, "ride along the line and that tomorrow we attack."

　　While Kutuzov was talking to Raevski and dictating the order ofthe day, Wolzogen returned from Barclay and said that GeneralBarclay wished to have written confirmation of the order the fieldmarshal had given.

　　Kutuzov, without looking at Wolzogen, gave directions for theorder to be written out which the former commander in chief, toavoid personal responsibility, very judiciously wished to receive.

　　And by means of that mysterious indefinable bond which maintainsthroughout an army one and the same temper, known as "the spirit ofthe army," and which constitutes the sinew of war, Kutuzov's words,his order for a battle next day, immediately became known from one endof the army to the other.

　　It was far from being the same words or the same order thatreached the farthest links of that chain. The tales passing from mouthto mouth at different ends of the army did not even resemble whatKutuzov had said, but the sense of his words spread everywhere becausewhat he said was not the outcome of cunning calculations, but of afeeling that lay in the commander in chief's soul as in that ofevery Russian.

　　And on learning that tomorrow they were to attack the enemy, andhearing from the highest quarters a confirmation of what they wantedto believe, the exhausted, wavering men felt comforted and inspirited.BK10|CH36

　　CHAPTER XXXVI

　　Prince Andrew's regiment was among the reserves which till after oneo'clock were stationed inactive behind Semenovsk, under heavyartillery fire. Toward two o'clock the regiment, having already lostmore than two hundred men, was moved forward into a trampledoatfield in the gap between Semenovsk and the Knoll Battery, wherethousands of men perished that day and on which an intense,concentrated fire from several hundred enemy guns was directed betweenone and two o'clock.

　　Without moving from that spot or firing a single shot the regimenthere lost another third of its men. From in front and especiallyfrom the right, in the unlifting smoke the guns boomed, and out of themysterious 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 passedduring which the cannon balls and shells all flew overhead, butsometimes several men were torn from the regiment in a minute andthe slain were continually being dragged away and the woundedcarried off.

　　With each fresh blow less and less chance of life remained for thosenot yet killed. The regiment stood in columns of battalion, threehundred paces apart, but nevertheless the men were always in one andthe same mood. All alike were taciturn and morose. Talk was rarelyheard in the ranks, and it ceased altogether every time the thud ofa successful shot and the cry of "stretchers!" was heard. Most ofthe time, by their officers' order, the men sat on the ground. One,having taken off his shako, carefully loosened the gathers of itslining and drew them tight again; another, rubbing some dry claybetween his palms, polished his bayonet; another fingered the strapand pulled the buckle of his bandolier, while another smoothed andrefolded his leg bands and put his boots on again. Some built littlehouses of the tufts in the plowed ground, or plaited baskets fromthe straw in the cornfield. All seemed fully absorbed in thesepursuits. When men were killed or wounded, when rows of stretcherswent past, when some troops retreated, and when great masses of theenemy came into view through the smoke, no one paid any attention tothese things. But when our artillery or cavalry advanced or some ofour infantry were seen to move forward, words of approval were heardon all sides. But the liveliest attention was attracted by occurrencesquite apart from, and unconnected with, the battle. It was as if theminds of these morally exhausted men found relief in everyday,commonplace occurrences. A battery of artillery was passing in frontof the regiment. The horse of an ammunition cart put its leg over atrace. "Hey, look at the trace horse!... Get her leg out! She'llfall.... Ah, they don't see it!" came identical shouts from theranks all along the regiment. Another time, general attention wasattracted by a small brown dog, coming heaven knows whence, whichtrotted in a preoccupied manner in front of the ranks with tailstiffly erect till suddenly a shell fell close by, when it yelped,tucked its tail between its legs, and darted aside. Yells andshrieks of laughter rose from the whole regiment. But suchdistractions lasted only a moment, and for eight hours the men hadbeen inactive, without food, in constant fear of death, and their paleand 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 edgeof the meadow beside an oatfield, with head bowed and arms behindhis back. There was nothing for him to do and no orders to be given.Everything went on of itself. The killed were dragged from thefront, the wounded carried away, and the ranks closed up. If anysoldiers ran to the rear they returned immediately and hastily. Atfirst Prince Andrew, considering it his duty to rouse the courage ofthe men and to set them an example, walked about among the ranks,but he soon became convinced that this was unnecessary and thatthere was nothing he could teach them. All the powers of his soul,as of every soldier there, were unconsciously bent on avoiding thecontemplation of the horrors of their situation. He walked along themeadow, dragging his feet, rustling the grass, and gazing at thedust that covered his boots; now he took big strides trying to keep tothe footprints left on the meadow by the mowers, then he counted hissteps, calculating how often he must walk from one strip to another towalk a mile, then he stripped the flowers from the wormwood thatgrew along a boundary rut, rubbed them in his palms, and smelled theirpungent, sweetly bitter scent. Nothing remained of the previousday's thoughts. He thought of nothing. He listened with weary earsto the ever-recurring sounds, distinguishing the whistle of flyingprojectiles from the booming of the reports, glanced at the tiresomelyfamiliar faces of the men of the first battalion, and waited. "Here itcomes... this one is coming our way again!" he thought, listening toan approaching whistle in the hidden region of smoke. "One, another!Again! It has hit...." He stopped and looked at the ranks. "No, it hasgone over. But this one has hit!" And again he started trying to reachthe boundary strip in sixteen paces. A whizz and a thud! Five pacesfrom him, a cannon ball tore up the dry earth and disappeared. A chillran down his back. Again he glanced at the ranks. Probably many hadbeen 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 PrinceAndrew. From the other side a battalion commander rode up.

　　"Look out!" came a frightened cry from a soldier and, like a birdwhirring in rapid flight and alighting on the ground, a shelldropped with little noise within two steps of Prince Andrew andclose 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'sterror infected the men.

　　"Lie down!" cried the adjutant, throwing himself flat on the ground.

　　Prince Andrew hesitated. The smoking shell spun like a top betweenhim and the prostrate adjutant, near a wormwood plant between thefield and the meadow.

　　"Can this be death?" thought Prince Andrew, looking with a quitenew, envious glance at the grass, the wormwood, and the streamlet ofsmoke that curled up from the rotating black ball. "I cannot, I do notwish to die. I love life- I love this grass, this earth, this air...."He thought this, and at the same time remembered that people werelooking at him.

　　"It's shameful, sir!" he said to the adjutant. "What..."

　　He did not finish speaking. At one and the same moment came thesound of an explosion, a whistle of splinters as from a breakingwindow frame, a suffocating smell of powder, and Prince Andrew startedto one side, raising his arm, and fell on his chest. Severalofficers ran up to him. From the right side of his abdomen, bloodwas welling out making a large stain on the grass.

　　The militiamen with stretchers who were called up stood behind theofficers. 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, buthe 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! MyGod!"- 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, startedhurriedly along the path they had trodden down, to the dressingstation.

　　"Keep in step! Ah... those peasants!" shouted an officer, seizing bytheir shoulders and checking the peasants, who were walking unevenlyand jolting the stretcher.

　　"Get into step, Fedor... I say, Fedor!" said the foremost peasant.

　　"Now that's right!" said the one behind joyfully, when he had gotinto step.

　　"Your excellency! Eh, Prince!" said the trembling voice of Timokhin,who had run up and was looking down on the stretcher.

　　Prince Andrew opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker fromthe stretcher into which his head had sunk deep and again hiseyelids drooped.

　　The militiamen carried Prince Andrew to dressing station by thewood, where wagons were stationed. The dressing station consisted ofthree tents with flaps turned back, pitched at the edge of a birchwood. In the wood, wagons and horses were standing. The horses wereeating oats from their movable troughs and sparrows flew down andpecked the grains that fell. Some crows, scenting blood, flew amongthe birch trees cawing impatiently. Around the tents, over more thanfive acres, bloodstained men in various garbs stood, sat, or lay.Around the wounded stood crowds of soldier stretcher-bearers withdismal and attentive faces, whom the officers keeping order tried invain to drive from the spot. Disregarding the officers' orders, thesoldiers stood leaning against their stretchers and gazing intently,as if trying to comprehend the difficult problem of what was takingplace before them. From the tents came now loud angry cries and nowplaintive groans. Occasionally dressers ran out to fetch water, orto point out those who were to be brought in next. The wounded menawaiting their turn outside the tents groaned, sighed, wept, screamed,swore, or asked for vodka. Some were delirious. Prince Andrew'sbearers, stepping over the wounded who had not yet been bandaged, tookhim, as a regimental commander, close up to one of the tents and therestopped, awaiting instructions. Prince Andrew opened his eyes andfor a long time could not make out what was going on around him. Heremembered the meadow, the wormwood, the field, the whirling blackball, and his sudden rush of passionate love of life. Two steps fromhim, leaning against a branch and talking loudly and attractinggeneral attention, stood a tall, handsome, black-hairednoncommissioned officer with a bandaged head. He had been wounded inthe head and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly listening to histalk, a crowd of wounded and stretcher-bearers was gathered.

　　"We kicked him out from there so that he chucked everything, wegrabbed the King himself!" cried he, looking around him with eyes thatglittered 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 himwith shining eyes and experienced a sense of comfort. "But isn't itall the same now?" thought he. "And what will be there, and what hasthere been here? Why was I so reluctant to part with life? There wassomething in this life I did not and do not understand."BK10|CH37

　　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 hissmall bloodstained hands, so as not to smear it. He raised his headand looked about him, but above the level of the wounded men. Heevidently wanted a little respite. After turning his head from rightto left for some time, he sighed and looked down.

　　"All right, immediately," he replied to a dresser who pointed PrinceAndrew 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 havea chance!" remarked one.

　　Prince Andrew was carried in and laid on a table that had onlyjust been cleared and which a dresser was washing down. PrinceAndrew could not make out distinctly what was in that tent. Thepitiful groans from all sides and the torturing pain in his thigh,stomach, and back distracted him. All he saw about him merged into ageneral impression of naked, bleeding human bodies that seemed to fillthe whole of the low tent, as a few weeks previously, on that hotAugust day, such bodies had filled the dirty pond beside theSmolensk road. Yes, it was the same flesh, the same chair a canon, thesight of which had even then filled him with horror, as by apresentiment.

　　There were three operating tables in the tent. Two were occupied,and on the third they placed Prince Andrew. For a little while hewas left alone and involuntarily witnessed what was taking place onthe other two tables. On the nearest one sat a Tartar, probably aCossack, judging by the uniform thrown down beside him. Foursoldiers were holding him, and a spectacled doctor was cutting intohis muscular brown back.

　　"Ooh, ooh, ooh!" grunted the Tartar, and suddenly lifting up hisswarthy snub-nosed face with its high cheekbones, and baring his whiteteeth, he began to wriggle and twitch his body and utter piercing,ringing, and prolonged yells. On the other table, round which manypeople were crowding, a tall well-fed man lay on his back with hishead thrown back. His curly hair, its color, and the shape of his headseemed strangely familiar to Prince Andrew. Several dressers werepressing on his chest to hold him down. One large, white, plump legtwitched rapidly all the time with a feverish tremor. The man wassobbing and choking convulsively. Two doctors- one of whom was paleand trembling- were silently doing something to this man's other, goryleg. When he had finished with the Tartar, whom they covered with anovercoat, the spectacled doctor came up to Prince Andrew, wiping hishands.

　　He glanced at Prince Andrew's face and quickly turned away.

　　"Undress him! What are you waiting for?" he cried angrily to thedressers.

　　His very first, remotest recollections of childhood came back toPrince Andrew's mind when the dresser with sleeves rolled up beganhastily to undo the buttons of his clothes and undressed him. Thedoctor bent down over the wound, felt it, and sighed deeply. Then hemade a sign to someone, and the torturing pain in his abdomen causedPrince Andrew to lose consciousness. When he came to himself thesplintered portions of his thighbone had been extracted, the tornflesh cut away, and the wound bandaged. Water was being sprinkled onhis face. As soon as Prince Andrew opened his eyes, the doctor bentover, kissed him silently on the lips, and hurried away.

　　After the sufferings he had been enduring, Prince Andrew enjoyed ablissful feeling such as he had not experienced for a long time. Allthe best and happiest moments of his life- especially his earliestchildhood, when he used to be undressed and put to bed, and whenleaning over him his nurse sang him to sleep and he, burying hishead in the pillow, felt happy in the mere consciousness of life-returned to his memory, not merely as something past but assomething present.

　　The doctors were busily engaged with the wounded man the shape ofwhose head seemed familiar to Prince Andrew: they were lifting himup and trying to quiet him.

　　"Show it to me.... Oh, ooh... Oh! Oh, ooh!" his frightened moanscould be heard, subdued by suffering and broken by sobs.

　　Hearing those moans Prince Andrew wanted Andrew wanted to weep.Whether because he was dying without glory, or because he was sorry topart with life, or because of those memories of a childhood that couldnot return, or because he was suffering and others were sufferingand that man near him was groaning so piteously- he felt likeweeping childlike, kindly, and almost happy tears.

　　The wounded man was shown his amputated leg stained with clottedblood and with the boot still on.

　　"Oh! Oh, ooh!" he sobbed, like a woman.

　　The doctor who had been standing beside him, preventing PrinceAndrew from seeing his face, moved away.

　　"My God! What is this? Why is he here?" said Prince Andrew tohimself.

　　In the miserable, sobbing, enfeebled man whose leg had just beenamputated, he recognized Anatole Kuragin. Men were supporting him intheir 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 painfullyconnected with me," thought Prince Andrew, not yet clearly graspingwhat he saw before him. "What is the connection of that man with mychildhood and life?" he asked himself without finding an answer. Andsuddenly a new unexpected memory from that realm of pure and lovingchildhood presented itself to him. He remembered Natasha as he hadseen her for the first time at the ball in 1810, with her slender neckand arms and with a frightened happy face ready for rapture, andlove and tenderness for her, stronger and more vivid than ever,awoke in his soul. He now remembered the connection that existedbetween himself and this man who was dimly gazing at him through tearsthat filled his swollen eyes. He remembered everything, and ecstaticpity and love for that man overflowed his happy heart.

　　Prince Andrew could no longer restrain himself and wept tenderloving tears for his fellow men, for himself, and for his own andtheir errors.

　　"Compassion, love of our brothers, for those who love us and forthose who hate us, love of our enemies; yes, that love which Godpreached on earth and which Princess Mary taught me and I did notunderstand- that is what made me sorry to part with life, that is whatremained for me had I lived. But now it is too late. I know it!"BK10|CH38

　　CHAPTER XXXVIII

　　The terrible spectacle of the battlefield covered with dead andwounded, together with the heaviness of his head and the news thatsome 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 tolook at the killed and wounded, thereby, he considered, testing hisstrength of mind. This day the horrible appearance of thebattlefield overcame that strength of mind which he thoughtconstituted his merit and his greatness. He rode hurriedly from thebattlefield and returned to the Shevardino knoll, where he sat onhis campstool, his sallow face swollen and heavy, his eyes dim, hisnose red, and his voice hoarse, involuntarily listening, with downcasteyes, to the sounds of firing. With painful dejection he awaited theend of this action, in which he regarded himself as a participantand which he was unable to arrest. A personal, human feeling for abrief moment got the better of the artificial phantasm of life hehad served so long. He felt in his own person the sufferings and deathhe had witnessed on the battlefield. The heaviness of his head andchest reminded him of the possibility of suffering and death forhimself. 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 forwas rest, tranquillity, and freedom. But when he had been on theSemenovsk heights the artillery commander had proposed to him to bringseveral batteries of artillery up to those heights to strengthen thefire on the Russian troops crowded in front of Knyazkovo. Napoleon hadassented and had given orders that news should be brought to him ofthe effect those batteries produced.

　　An adjutant came now to inform him that the fire of two hundred gunshad been concentrated on the Russians, as he had ordered, but thatthey still held their ground.

　　"Our fire is mowing them down by rows, but still they hold on," saidthe 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, andfor which he gave the order only because he thought it was expected ofhim, was being done. And he fell back into that artificial realm ofimaginary greatness, and again- as a horse walking a treadmillthinks it is doing something for itself- he submissively fulfilled thecruel, sad, gloomy, and inhuman role predestined for him.

　　And not for that day and hour alone were the mind and consciencedarkened of this man on whom the responsibility for what was happeninglay more than on all the others who took part in it. Never to theend of his life could he understand goodness, beauty, or truth, or thesignificance of his actions which were too contrary to goodness andtruth, too remote from everything human, for him ever to be able tograsp their meaning. He could not disavow his actions, belauded asthey 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 withmen killed and maimed (by his will as he believed), did he reckon ashe looked at them how many Russians there were for each Frenchman and,deceiving himself, find reason for rejoicing in the calculation thatthere were five Russians for every Frenchman. Not on that day alonedid he write in a letter to Paris that "the battle field wassuperb," because fifty thousand corpses lay there, but even on theisland of St. Helena in the peaceful solitude where he said heintended to devote his leisure to an account of the great deeds he haddone, he wrote:

　　The Russian war should have been the most popular war of moderntimes: it was a war of good sense, for real interests, for thetranquillity and security of all; it was purely pacific andconservative.

　　It was a war for a great cause, the end of uncertainties and thebeginning of security. A new horizon and new labors were openingout, full of well-being and prosperity for all. The European systemwas already founded; all that remained was to organize it.

　　Satisfied on these great points and with tranquility everywhere, Itoo should have had my Congress and my Holy Alliance. Those ideas werestolen from me. In that reunion of great sovereigns we should havediscussed our interests like one family, and have rendered accountto 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 inthe common fatherland. I should have demanded the freedom of allnavigable rivers for everybody, that the seas should be common to all,and that the great standing armies should be reduced henceforth tomere guards for the sovereigns.

　　On returning to France, to the bosom of the great, strong,magnificent, peaceful, and glorious fatherland, I should haveproclaimed her frontiers immutable; all future wars purelydefensive, all aggrandizement antinational. I should have associatedmy son in the Empire; my dictatorship would have been finished, andhis constitutional reign would have begun.

　　Paris would have been the capital of the world, and the French theenvy of the nations!

　　My leisure then, and my old age, would have been devoted, in companywith the Empress and during the royal apprenticeship of my son, toleisurely visiting, with our own horses and like a true countrycouple, every corner of the Empire, receiving complaints, redressingwrongs, and scattering public buildings and benefactions on allsides and everywhere.

　　Napoleon, predestined by Providence for the gloomy role ofexecutioner of the peoples, assured himself that the aim of hisactions had been the peoples' welfare and that he could control thefate of millions and by the employment of power confer benefactions.

　　"Of four hundred thousand who crossed the Vistula," he wrote furtherof the Russian war, "half were Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Poles,Bavarians, Wurttembergers, Mecklenburgers, Spaniards, Italians, andNeapolitans. The Imperial army, strictly speaking, was one thirdcomposed of Dutch, Belgians, men from the borders of the Rhine,Piedmontese, Swiss, Genevese, Tuscans, Romans, inhabitants of theThirty-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 thousandmen; the Russian army in its retreat from Vilna to Moscow lost inthe various battles four times more men than the French army; theburning of Moscow cost the lives of a hundred thousand Russians whodied of cold and want in the woods; finally, in its march fromMoscow to the Oder the Russian army also suffered from the severity ofthe season; so that by the the time it reached Vilna it numberedonly fifty thousand, and at Kalisch less than eighteen thousand."

　　He imagined that the war with Russia came about by his will, and thehorrors that occurred did not stagger his soul. He boldly took thewhole responsibility for what happened, and his darkened mind foundjustification in the belief that among the hundreds of thousands whoperished there were fewer Frenchmen than Hessians and Bavarians.BK10|CH39

　　CHAPTER XXXIX

　　Several tens of thousands of the slain lay in diverse postures andvarious uniforms on the fields and meadows belonging to the Davydovfamily and to the crown serfs- those fields and meadows where forhundreds of years the peasants of Borodino, Gorki, Shevardino, andSemenovsk had reaped their harvests and pastured their cattle. Atthe dressing stations the grass and earth were soaked with blood for aspace of some three acres around. Crowds of men of various arms,wounded and unwounded, with frightened faces, dragged themselvesback to Mozhaysk from the one army and back to Valuevo from the other.Other crowds, exhausted and hungry, went forward led by theirofficers. Others held their ground and continued to fire.

　　Over the whole field, previously so gaily beautiful with the glitterof bayonets and cloudlets of smoke in the morning sun, there nowspread a mist of damp and smoke and a strange acid smell ofsaltpeter and blood. Clouds gathered and drops of rain began to fallon the dead and wounded, on the frightened, exhausted, andhesitating men, as if to say: "Enough, men! Enough! Cease... bethinkyourselves! 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 toslaughter one another; all the faces expressed hesitation, and thequestion arose in every soul: "For what, for whom, must I kill andbe killed?... You may go and kill whom you please, but I don't want todo so anymore!" By evening this thought had ripened in every soul.At any moment these men might have been seized with horror at whatthey were doing and might have thrown up everything and run awayanywhere.

　　But though toward the end of the battle the men felt all thehorror of what they were doing, though they would have been glad toleave off, some incomprehensible, mysterious power continued tocontrol them, and they still brought up the charges, loaded, aimed,and applied the match, though only one artilleryman survived out ofevery three, and though they stumbled and panted with fatigue,perspiring and stained with blood and powder. The cannon balls flewjust as swiftly and cruelly from both sides, crushing human bodies,and that terrible work which was not done by the will of a man butat the will of Him who governs men and worlds continued.

　　Anyone looking at the disorganized rear of the Russian army wouldhave said that, if only the French made one more slight effort, itwould disappear; and anyone looking at the rear of the French armywould have said that the Russians need only make one more slighteffort and the French would be destroyed. But neither the French northe Russians made that effort, and the flame of battle burned slowlyout.

　　The Russians did not make that effort because they were notattacking the French. At the beginning of the battle they stoodblocking the way to Moscow and they still did so at the end of thebattle as at the beginning. But even had the aim of the Russiansbeen to drive the French from their positions, they could not havemade this last effort, for all the Russian troops had been brokenup, there was no part of the Russian army that had not suffered in thebattle, and though still holding their positions they had lost ONEHALF of their army.

　　The French, with the memory of all their former victories duringfifteen years, with the assurance of Napoleon's invincibility, withthe consciousness that they had captured part of the battlefield andhad lost only a quarter of their men and still had their Guardsintact, twenty thousand strong, might easily have made that effort.The French had attacked the Russian army in order to drive it from itsposition ought to have made that effort, for as long as the Russianscontinued to block the road to Moscow as before, the aim of the Frenchhad not been attained and all their efforts and losses were in vain.But the French did not make that effort. Some historians say thatNapoleon need only have used his Old Guards, who were intact, andthe battle would have been won. To speak of what would have happenedhad Napoleon sent his Guards is like talking of what would happen ifautumn became spring. It could not be. Napoleon did not give hisGuards, not because he did not want to, but because it could not bedone. All the generals, officers. and soldiers of the French army knewit could not be done, because the flagging spirit of the troopswould not permitit.

　　It was not Napoleon alone who had experienced that nightmare feelingof the mighty arm being stricken powerless, but all the generals andsoldiers of his army whether they had taken part in the battle or not,after all their experience of previous battles- when after one tenthof such efforts the enemy had fled- experienced a similar feeling ofterror before an enemy who, after losing HALF his men, stood asthreateningly at the end as at the beginning of the battle. Themoral force of the attacking French army was exhausted. Not thatsort of victory which is defined by the capture of pieces ofmaterial fastened to sticks, called standards, and of the ground onwhich the troops had stood and were standing, but a moral victory thatconvinces the enemy of the moral superiority of his opponent and ofhis own impotence was gained by the Russians at Borodino. The Frenchinvaders, like an infuriated animal that has in its onslaught receiveda mortal wound, felt that they were perishing, but could not stop, anymore than the Russian army, weaker by one half, could help swerving.By impetus gained, the French army was still able to roll forward toMoscow, but there, without further effort on the part of the Russians,it had to perish, bleeding from the mortal wound it had received atBorodino. The direct consequence of the battle of Borodino wasNapoleon's senseless flight from Moscow, his retreat along the oldSmolensk road, the destruction of the invading army of five hundredthousand men, and the downfall of Napoleonic France, on which atBorodino for the first time the hand of an opponent of stronger spirithad been laid.

　　BOOK ELEVEN: 1812

　　CHAPTER I

　　Absolute continuity of motion is not comprehensible to the humanmind. Laws of motion of any kind become comprehensible to man onlywhen he examines arbitrarily selected elements of that motion; butat the same time, a large proportion of human error comes from thearbitrary division of continuous motion into discontinuous elements.There is a well known, so-called sophism of the ancients consisting inthis, that Achilles could never catch up with a tortoise he wasfollowing, in spite of the fact that he traveled ten times as fastas the tortoise. By the time Achilles has covered the distance thatseparated him from the tortoise, the tortoise has covered one tenth ofthat 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 (thatAchilles could never overtake the tortoise) resulted from this: thatmotion was arbitrarily divided into discontinuous elements, whereasthe motion both of Achilles and of the tortoise was continuous.

　　By adopting smaller and smaller elements of motion we onlyapproach a solution of the problem, but never reach it. Only when wehave admitted the conception of the infinitely small, and theresulting geometrical progression with a common ratio of one tenth,and have found the sum of this progression to infinity, do we reacha solution of the problem.

　　A modern branch of mathematics having achieved the art of dealingwith the infinitely small can now yield solutions in other morecomplex problems of motion which used to appear insoluble.

　　This modern branch of mathematics, unknown to the ancients, whendealing with problems of motion admits the conception of theinfinitely small, and so conforms to the chief condition of motion(absolute continuity) and thereby corrects the inevitable errorwhich the human mind cannot avoid when it deals with separate elementsof motion instead of examining continuous motion.

　　In seeking the laws of historical movement just the same thinghappens. The movement of humanity, arising as it does from innumerablearbitrary human wills, is continuous.

　　To understand the laws of this continuous movement is the aim ofhistory. But to arrive at these laws, resulting from the sum of allthose human wills, man's mind postulates arbitrary and disconnectedunits. The first method of history is to take an arbitrarilyselected series of continuous events and examine it apart from others,though there is and can be no beginning to any event, for one eventalways flows uninterruptedly from another.

　　The second method is to consider the actions of some one man- a kingor a commander- as equivalent to the sum of many individual wills;whereas the sum of individual wills is never expressed by the activityof a single historic personage.

　　Historical science in its endeavor to draw nearer to truthcontinually takes smaller and smaller units for examination. Buthowever small the units it takes, we feel that to take any unitdisconnected from others, or to assume a beginning of anyphenomenon, or to say that the will of many men is expressed by theactions of any one historic personage, is in itself false.

　　It needs no critical exertion to reduce utterly to dust anydeductions drawn from history. It is merely necessary to select somelarger or smaller unit as the subject of observation- as criticism hasevery right to do, seeing that whatever unit history observes mustalways be arbitrarily selected.

　　Only by taking infinitesimally small units for observation (thedifferential of history, that is, the individual tendencies of men)and attaining to the art of integrating them (that is, finding the sumof these infinitesimals) can we hope to arrive at the laws of history.

　　The first fifteen years of the nineteenth century in Europepresent an extraordinary movement of millions of people. Men leavetheir 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 anintensive movement which first increases and then slackens. What wasthe cause of this movement, by what laws was it governed? asks themind of man.

　　The historians, replying to this question, lay before us the sayingsand doings of a few dozen men in a building in the city of Paris,calling these sayings and doings "the Revolution"; then they give adetailed biography of Napoleon and of certain people favorable orhostile to him; tell of the influence some of these people had onothers, and say: that is why this movement took place and those areits 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, andonly the sum of those wills first tolerated and then destroyed them.

　　"But every time there have been conquests there have beenconquerors; every time there has been a revolution in any statethere have been great men," says history. And, indeed, human reasonreplies: every time conquerors appear there have been wars, but thisdoes not prove that the conquerors caused the wars and that it ispossible to find the laws of a war in the personal activity of asingle man. Whenever I look at my watch and its hands point to ten,I hear the bells of the neighboring church; but because the bellsbegin to ring when the hands of the clock reach ten, I have no rightto assume that the movement of the bells is caused by the positionof the hands of the watch.

　　Whenever I see the movement of a locomotive I hear the whistle andsee the valves opening and wheels turning; but I have no right toconclude that the whistling and the turning of wheels are the cause ofthe movement of the engine.

　　The peasants say that a cold wind blows in late spring because theoaks are budding, and really every spring cold winds do blow whenthe oak is budding. But though I do not know what causes the coldwinds to blow when the oak buds unfold, I cannot agree with thepeasants that the unfolding of the oak buds is the cause of the coldwind, for the force of the wind is beyond the influence of the buds. Isee only a coincidence of occurrences such as happens with all thephenomena of life, and I see that however much and however carefully Iobserve the hands of the watch, and the valves and wheels of theengine, and the oak, I shall not discover the cause of the bellsringing, the engine moving, or of the winds of spring. To that Imust entirely change my point of view and study the laws of themovement of steam, of the bells, and of the wind. History must dothe same. And attempts in this direction have already been made.

　　To study the laws of history we must completely change the subjectof our observation, must leave aside kings, ministers, and generals,and the common, infinitesimally small elements by which the masses aremoved. No one can say in how far it is possible for man to advancein this way toward an understanding of the laws of history; but itis evident that only along that path does the possibility ofdiscovering the laws of history lie, and that as yet not a millionthpart as much mental effort has been applied in this direction byhistorians as has been devoted to describing the actions of variouskings, commanders, and ministers and propounding the historians' ownreflections concerning these actions.BK11|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　The forces of a dozen European nations burst into Russia. TheRussian army and people avoided a collision till Smolensk was reached,and again from Smolensk to Borodino. The French army pushed on toMoscow, its goal, its impetus ever increasing as it neared its aim,just as the velocity of a falling body increases as it approachesthe earth. Behind it were seven hundred miles of hunger-stricken,hostile country; ahead were a few dozen miles separating it from itsgoal. Every soldier in Napoleon's army felt this and the invasionmoved on by its own momentum.

　　The more the Russian army retreated the more fiercely a spirit ofhatred of the enemy flared up, and while it retreated the armyincreased and consolidated. At Borodino a collision took place.Neither army was broken up, but the Russian army retreated immediatelyafter the collision as inevitably as a ball recoils after collidingwith another having a greater momentum, and with equal inevitabilitythe ball of invasion that had advanced with such momentum rolled onfor some distance, though the collision had deprived it of all itsforce.

　　The Russians retreated eighty miles- to beyond Moscow- and theFrench reached Moscow and there came to a standstill. For five weeksafter that there was not a single battle. The French did not move.As a bleeding, mortally wounded animal licks its wounds, they remainedinert in Moscow for five weeks, and then suddenly, with no freshreason, fled back: they made a dash for the Kaluga road, and (aftera victory- for at Malo-Yaroslavets the field of conflict againremained theirs) without undertaking a single serious battle, theyfled still more rapidly back to Smolensk, beyond Smolensk, beyondthe Berezina, beyond Vilna, and farther still.

　　On the evening of the twenty-sixth of August, Kutuzov and thewhole Russian army were convinced that the battle of Borodino was avictory. Kutuzov reported so to the Emperor. He gave orders to preparefor a fresh conflict to finish the enemy and did this not to deceiveanyone, but because he knew that the enemy was beaten, as everyone whohad taken part in the battle knew it.

　　But all that evening and next day reports came in one afteranother of unheard-of losses, of the loss of half the army, and afresh battle proved physically impossible.

　　It was impossible to give battle before information had beencollected, the wounded gathered in, the supplies of ammunitionreplenished, the slain reckoned up, new officers appointed toreplace those who had been killed, and before the men had had food andsleep. And meanwhile, the very next morning after the battle, theFrench army advanced of itself upon the Russians, carried forward bythe force of its own momentum now seemingly increased in inverseproportion to the square of the distance from its aim. Kutuzov'swish 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, theremust also be a possibility of doing it, and that possibility did notexist. It was impossible not to retreat a day's march, and then in thesame way it was impossible not to retreat another and a third day'smarch, and at last, on the first of September when the army drewnear Moscow- despite the strength of the feeling that had arisen inall ranks- the force of circumstances compelled it to retire beyondMoscow. And the troops retired one more, last, day's march, andabandoned Moscow to the enemy.

　　For people accustomed to think that plans of campaign and battlesare made by generals- as any one of us sitting over a map in his studymay imagine how he would have arranged things in this or thatbattle- the questions present themselves: Why did Kutuzov during theretreat not do this or that? Why did he not take up a positionbefore reaching Fili? Why did he not retire at once by the Kalugaroad, abandoning Moscow? and so on. People accustomed to think in thatway forget, or do not know, the inevitable conditions which alwayslimit the activities of any commander in chief. The activity of acommander in chief does not all resemble the activity we imagine toourselves when we sit at case in our studies examining some campaignon the map, with a certain number of troops on this and that side in acertain 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 inchief is always in the midst of a series of shifting events and sohe never can at any moment consider the whole import of an eventthat is occurring. Moment by moment the event is imperceptibly shapingitself, and at every moment of this continuous, uninterruptedshaping of events the commander in chief is in the midst of a mostcomplex play of intrigues, worries, contingencies, authorities,projects, counsels, threats, and deceptions and is continually obligedto reply to innumerable questions addressed to him, which constantlyconflict with one another.

　　Learned military authorities quite seriously tell us that Kutuzovshould have moved his army to the Kaluga road long before reachingFili, and that somebody actually submitted such a proposal to him. Buta commander in chief, especially at a difficult moment, has alwaysbefore him not one proposal but dozens simultaneously. And all theseproposals, based on strategics and tactics, contradict each other.

　　A commander in chief's business, it would seem, is simply tochoose one of these projects. But even that he cannot do. Events andtime do not wait. For instance, on the twenty-eighth it is suggestedto him to cross to the Kaluga road, but just then an adjutantgallops up from Miloradovich asking whether he is to engage the Frenchor retire. An order must be given him at once, that instant. And theorder to retreat carries us past the turn to the Kaluga road. Andafter the adjutant comes the commissary general asking where thestores are to be taken, and the chief of the hospitals asks wherethe wounded are to go, and a courier from Petersburg brings a letterfrom the sovereign which does not admit of the possibility ofabandoning Moscow, and the commander in chief's rival, the man whois undermining him (and there are always not merely one but severalsuch), presents a new project diametrically opposed to that of turningto the Kaluga road, and the commander in chief himself needs sleep andrefreshment to maintain his energy and a respectable general who hasbeen overlooked in the distribution of rewards comes to complain,and the inhabitants of the district pray to be defended, and anofficer sent to inspect the locality comes in and gives a report quitecontrary to what was said by the officer previously sent; and a spy, aprisoner, and a general who has been on reconnaissance, all describethe position of the enemy's army differently. People accustomed tomisunderstand or to forget these inevitable conditions of acommander in chief's actions describe to us, for instance, theposition of the army at Fili and assume that the commander in chiefcould, on the first of September, quite freely decide whether toabandon Moscow or defend it; whereas, with the Russian army lessthan four miles from Moscow, no such question existed. When had thatquestion been settled? At Drissa and at Smolensk and most palpablyof all on the twenty-fourth of August at Shevardino and on thetwenty-sixth at Borodino, and each day and hour and minute of theretreat from Borodino to Fili.BK11|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　When Ermolov, having been sent by Kutuzov to inspect the position,told the field marshal that it was impossible to fight there beforeMoscow and that they must retreat, Kutuzov looked at him in silence.

　　"Give me your hand," said he and, turning it over so as to feelthe pulse, added: "You are not well, my dear fellow. Think what youare saying!"

　　Kutuzov could not yet admit the possibility of retreating beyondMoscow without a battle.

　　On the Poklonny Hill, four miles from the Dorogomilov gate ofMoscow, Kutuzov got out of his carriage and sat down on a bench by theroadside. A great crowd of generals gathered round him, and CountRostopchin, who had come out from Moscow, joined them. Thisbrilliant company separated into several groups who all discussedthe advantages and disadvantages of the position, the state of thearmy, the plans suggested, the situation of Moscow, and militaryquestions generally. Though they had not been summoned for thepurpose, and though it was not so called, they all felt that thiswas really a council of war. The conversations all dealt with publicquestions. If anyone gave or asked for personal news, it was done in awhisper and they immediately reverted to general matters. No jokes, orlaughter, or smiles even, were seen among all these men. Theyevidently all made an effort to hold themselves at the height thesituation demanded. And all these groups, while talking amongthemselves, tried to keep near the commander in chief (whose benchformed the center of the gathering) and to speak so that he mightoverhear them. The commander in chief listened to what was beingsaid and sometimes asked them to repeat their remarks, but did nothimself take part in the conversations or express any opinion. Afterhearing what was being said by one or other of these groups hegenerally turned away with an air of disappointment, as though theywere not speaking of anything he wished to hear. Some discussed theposition that had been chosen, criticizing not the position itselfso much as the mental capacity of those who had chosen it. Othersargued that a mistake had been made earlier and that a battle shouldhave been fought two days before. Others again spoke of the battleof Salamanca, which was described by Crosart, a newly arrivedFrenchman in a Spanish uniform. (This Frenchman and one of theGerman princes serving with the Russian army were discussing the siegeof Saragossa and considering the possibility of defending Moscow ina similar manner.) Count Rostopchin was telling a fourth group that hewas prepared to die with the city train bands under the walls of thecapital, but that he still could not help regretting having beenleft in ignorance of what was happening, and that had he known itsooner things would have been different.... A fifth group,displaying the profundity of their strategic perceptions, discussedthe direction the troops would now have to take. A sixth group wastalking absolute nonsense. Kutuzov's expression grew more and morepreoccupied and gloomy. From all this talk he saw only one thing: thatto defend Moscow was a physical impossibility in the full meaning ofthose words, that is to say, so utterly impossible that if anysenseless commander were to give orders to fight, confusion wouldresult but the battle would still not take place. It would not takeplace because the commanders not merely all recognized the position tobe impossible, but in their conversations were only discussing whatwould happen after its inevitable abandonment. How could thecommanders lead their troops to a field of battle they considered itimpossible to hold? The lower-grade officers and even the soldiers(who too reason) also considered the position impossible and thereforecould not go to fight, fully convinced as they were of defeat. IfBennigsen insisted on the position being defended and others stilldiscussed it, the question was no longer important in itself butonly as a pretext for disputes and intrigue. This Kutuzov knew well.

　　Bennigsen, who had chosen the position, warmly displayed his Russianpatriotism (Kutuzov could not listen to this without wincing) byinsisting that Moscow must be defended. His aim was as clear asdaylight to Kutuzov: if the defense failed, to throw the blame onKutuzov who had brought the army as far as the Sparrow Hills withoutgiving battle; if it succeeded, to claim the success as his own; or ifbattle were not given, to clear himself of the crime of abandoningMoscow. But this intrigue did not now occupy the old man's mind. Oneterrible question absorbed him and to that question he heard noreply from anyone. The question for him now was: "Have I reallyallowed Napoleon to reach Moscow, and when did I do so? When was itdecided? Can it have been yesterday when I ordered Platov toretreat, or was it the evening before, when I had a nap and toldBennigsen to issue orders? Or was it earlier still?... When, whenwas this terrible affair decided? Moscow must be abandoned. The armymust retreat and the order to do so must be given." To give thatterrible order seemed to him equivalent to resigning the command ofthe army. And not only did he love power to which he was accustomed(the honours awarded to Prince Prozorovski, under whom he had servedin Turkey, galled him), but he was convinced that he was destined tosave Russia and that that was why, against the Emperor's wish and bythe will of the people, he had been chosen commander in chief. Hewas convinced that he alone could maintain command of the army inthese difficult circumstances, and that in all the world he alonecould encounter the invincible Napoleon without fear, and he washorrified at the thought of the order he had to issue. But somethinghad to be decided, and these conversations around him which wereassuming 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, risingfrom the bench, and he rode to Fili where his carriages were waiting.BK11|CH4

　　CHAPTERIV IV

　　The Council of War began to assemble at two in the afternoon inthe better and roomier part of Andrew Savostyanov's hut. The men,women, and children of the large peasant family crowded into theback room across the passage. Only Malasha, Andrew's six-year-oldgranddaughter whom his Serene Highness had petted and to whom he hadgiven a lump of sugar while drinking his tea, remained on the top ofthe brick oven in the larger room. Malasha looked down from the ovenwith shy delight at the faces, uniforms, and decorations of thegenerals, who one after another came into the room and sat down on thebroad benches in the corner under the icons. "Granddad" himself, asMalasha in her own mind called Kutuzov, sat apart in a dark cornerbehind the oven. He sat, sunk deep in a folding armchair, andcontinually cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his coatwhich, though it was unbuttoned, still seemed to pinch his neck. Thosewho entered went up one by one to the field marshal; he pressed thehands of some and nodded to others. His adjutant Kaysarov was about todraw back the curtain of the window facing Kutuzov, but the lattermoved his hand angrily and Kaysarov understood that his SereneHighness 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 inanother bench and put it beside the table. Ermolov, Kaysarov, andToll, who had just arrived, sat down on this bench. In the foremostplace, immediately under the icons, sat Barclay de Tolly, his highforehead merging into his bald crown. He had a St. George's Crossround his neck and looked pale and ill. He had been feverish for twodays and was now shivering and in pain. Beside him sat Uvarov, whowith rapid gesticulations was giving him some information, speaking inlow tones as they all did. Chubby little Dokhturov was listeningattentively with eyebrows raised and arms folded on his stomach. Onthe other side sat Count Ostermann-Tolstoy, seemingly absorbed inhis own thoughts. His broad head with its bold features and glitteringeyes was resting on his hand. Raevski, twitching forward the blackhair on his temples as was his habit, glanced now at Kutuzov and nowat the door with a look of impatience. Konovnitsyn's firm, handsome,and kindly face was lit up by a tender, sly smile. His glance metMalasha's, and the expression of his eyes caused the little girl tosmile.

　　They were all waiting for Bennigsen, who on the pretext ofinspecting the position was finishing his savory dinner. They waitedfor him from four till six o'clock and did not begin theirdeliberations all that time talked in low tones of other matters.

　　Only when Bennigsen had entered the hut did Kutuzov leave his cornerand draw toward the table, but not near enough for the candles thathad been placed there to light up his face.

　　Bennigsen opened the council with the question: "Are we to abandonRussia's ancient and sacred capital without a struggle, or are we todefend it?" A prolonged and general silence followed. There was afrown on every face and only Kutuzov's angry grunts and occasionalcough broke the silence. All eyes were gazing at him. Malasha toolooked at "Granddad." She was nearest to him and saw how his facepuckered; he seemed about to cry, but this did not last long.

　　"Russia's ancient and sacred capital!" he suddenly said, repeatingBennigsen's words in an angry voice and thereby drawing attention tothe false note in them. "Allow me to tell you, your excellency, thatthat question has no meaning for a Russian." (He lurched his heavybody forward.) "Such a question cannot be put; it is senseless! Thequestion I have asked these gentlemen to meet to discuss is a militaryone. The question is that of saving Russia. Is it better to give upMoscow without a battle, or by accepting battle to risk losing thearmy as well as Moscow? That is the question on which I want youropinion," and he sank back in his chair.

　　The discussion began. Bennigsen did not yet consider his gamelost. Admitting the view of Barclay and others that a defensive battleat Fili was impossible, but imbued with Russian patriotism and thelove of Moscow, he proposed to move troops from the right to theleft flank during the night and attack the French right flank thefollowing day. Opinions were divided, and arguments were advancedfor and against that project. Ermolov, Dokhturov, and Raevski agreedwith Bennigsen. Whether feeling it necessary to make a sacrificebefore abandoning the capital or guided by other, personalconsiderations, these generals seemed not to understand that thiscouncil could not alter the inevitable course of events and thatMoscow was in effect already abandoned. The other generals, however,understood it and, leaving aside the question of Moscow, of thedirection the army should take in its retreat. Malasha, who kept hereyes fixed on what was going on before her, understood the meaningof the council differently. It seemed to her that it was only apersonal struggle between "Granddad" and "Long-coat" as she termedBennigsen. She saw that they grew spiteful when they spoke to oneanother, and in her heart she sided with "Granddad." In the midst ofthe conversation she noticed "Granddad" give Bennigsen a quick, subtleglance, and then to her joys he saw that "Granddad" said somethingto "Long-coat" which settled him. Bennigsen suddenly reddened andpaced angrily up and down the room. What so affected him was Kutuzov'scalm and quiet comment on the advantage or disadvantage of Bennigsen'sproposal to move troops by night from the right to the left flank toattack the French right wing.

　　"Gentlemen," said Kutuzov, "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..." Kutuzovseemed to reflect, searching for an example, then with a clear,naive look at Bennigsen he added: "Oh yes; take the battle ofFriedland, which I think the count well remembers, and which was...not fully successful, only because our troops were rearranged too nearthe enemy..."

　　There followed a momentary pause, which seemed very long to themall.

　　The discussion recommenced, but pauses frequently occurred andthey all felt that there was no more to be said.

　　During one of these pauses Kutuzov heaved a deep sigh as ifpreparing to speak. They all looked at him.

　　"Well, gentlemen, I see that it is I who will have to pay for thebroken crockery," said he, and rising slowly he moved to the table."Gentlemen, I have heard your views. Some of you will not agree withme. But I," he paused, "by the authority entrusted to me by mySovereign and country, order a retreat."

　　After that the generals began to disperse with the solemnity andcircumspect silence of people who are leaving, after a funeral.

　　Some of the generals, in low tones and in a strain very differentfrom the way they had spoken during the council, communicatedsomething to their commander in chief.

　　Malasha, who had long been expected for supper, climbed carefullybackwards down from the oven, her bare little feet catching at itsprojections, and slipping between the legs of the generals shedarted out of the room.

　　When he had dismissed the generals Kutuzov sat a long time withhis elbows on the table, thinking always of the same terriblequestion: "When, when did the abandonment of Moscow become inevitable?When was that done which settled the matter? And who was to blamefor it?"

　　"I did not expect this," said he to his adjutant Schneider whenthe latter came in late that night. "I did not expect this! I didnot think this would happen."

　　"You should take some rest, your Serene Highness," repliedSchneider.

　　"But no! They shall eat horseflesh yet, like the Turks!" exclaimedKutuzov without replying, striking the table with his podgy fist."They shall too, if only..."BK11|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　At that very time, in circumstances even more important thanretreating without a battle, namely the evacuation and burning ofMoscow, Rostopchin, who is usually represented as being the instigatorof that event, acted in an altogether different manner from Kutuzov.

　　After the battle of Borodino the abandonment and burning of Moscowwas as inevitable as the retreat of the army beyond Moscow withoutfighting.

　　Every Russian might have predicted it, not by reasoning but by thefeeling implanted in each of us and in our fathers.

　　The same thing that took place in Moscow had happened in all thetowns and villages on Russian soil beginning with Smolensk, withoutthe participation of Count Rostopchin and his broadsheets. Thepeople awaited the enemy unconcernedly, did not riot or become excitedor tear anyone to pieces, but faced its fate, feeling within it thestrength to find what it should do at that most difficult moment.And as soon as the enemy drew near the wealthy classes went awayabandoning their property, while the poorer remained and burned anddestroyed what was left.

　　The consciousness that this would be so and would always be so wasand is present in the heart of every Russian. And a consciousness ofthis, and a foreboding that Moscow would be taken, was present inRussian Moscow society in 1812. Those who had quitted Moscow alreadyin July and at the beginning of August showed that they expected this.Those who went away, taking what they could and abandoning theirhouses and half their belongings, did so from the latent patriotismwhich expresses itself not by phrases or by giving one's children tosave the fatherland and similar unnatural exploits, but unobtrusively,simply, organically, and therefore in the way that always produces themost powerful results.

　　"It is disgraceful to run away from danger; only cowards are runningaway from Moscow," they were told. In his broadsheets Rostopchinimpressed on them that to leave Moscow was shameful. They were ashamedto be called cowards, ashamed to leave, but still they left, knowingit had to be done. Why did they go? It is impossible to suppose thatRostopchin had scared them by his accounts of horrors Napoleon hadcommitted in conquered countries. The first people to go away were therich educated people who knew quite well that Vienna and Berlin hadremained intact and that during Napoleon's occupation theinhabitants had spent their time pleasantly in the company of thecharming Frenchmen whom the Russians, and especially the Russianladies, then liked so much.

　　They went away because for Russians there could be no question as towhether things would go well or ill under French rule in Moscow. Itwas out of the question to be under French rule, it would be the worstthing that could happen. They went away even before the battle ofBorodino and still more rapidly after it, despite Rostopchin's callsto defend Moscow or the announcement of his intention to take thewonder-working icon of the Iberian Mother of God and go to fight, orof the balloons that were to destroy the French, and despite all thenonsense Rostopchin wrote in his broadsheets. They knew that it wasfor the army to fight, and that if it could not succeed it would notdo to take young ladies and house serfs to the Three Hills quarterof Moscow to fight Napoleon, and that they must go away, sorry as theywere to abandon their property to destruction. They went awaywithout thinking of the tremendous significance of that immense andwealthy city being given over to destruction, for a great city withwooden buildings was certain when abandoned by its inhabitants to beburned. They went away each on his own account, and yet it was only inconsequence of their going away that the momentous event wasaccomplished that will always remain the greatest glory of the Russianpeople. The lady who, afraid of being stopped by Count Rostopchin'sorders, had already in June moved with her Negroes and her womenjesters from Moscow to her Saratov estate, with a vagueconsciousness that she was not Bonaparte's servant, was really,simply, and truly carrying out the great work which saved Russia.But Count Rostopchin, who now taunted those who left Moscow and nowhad the government offices removed; now distributed quite uselessweapons to the drunken rabble; now had processions displaying theicons, and now forbade Father Augustin to remove icons or the relicsof saints; now seized all the private carts in Moscow and on onehundred and thirty-six of them removed the balloon that was beingconstructed by Leppich; now hinted that he would burn Moscow andrelated how he had set fire to his own house; now wrote a proclamationto the French solemnly upbraiding them for having destroyed hisOrphanage; now claimed the glory of having hinted that he would burnMoscow and now repudiated the deed; now ordered the people to catchall spies and bring them to him, and now reproached them for doing so;now expelled all the French residents from Moscow, and now allowedMadame Aubert-Chalme (the center of the whole French colony in Moscow)to remain, but ordered the venerable old postmaster Klyucharev to bearrested and exiled for no particular offense; now assembled thepeople at the Three Hills to fight the French and now, to get rid ofthem, handed over to them a man to be killed and himself drove away bya back gate; now declared that he would not survive the fall ofMoscow, and now wrote French verses in albums concerning his sharein the affair- this man did not understand the meaning of what washappening but merely wanted to do something himself that wouldastonish people, to perform some patriotically heroic feat; and like achild he made sport of the momentous, and unavoidable event- theabandonment and burning of Moscow- and tried with his puny hand now tospeed and now to stay the enormous, popular tide that bore him alongwith it.BK11|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Helene, having returned with the court from Vilna to Petersburg,found herself in a difficult position.

　　In Petersburg she had enjoyed the special protection of a grandeewho occupied one of the highest posts in the Empire. In Vilna shehad formed an intimacy with a young foreign prince. When shereturned to Petersburg both the magnate and the prince were there, andboth claimed their rights. Helene was faced by a new problem- how topreserve her intimacy with both without offending either.

　　What would have seemed difficult or even impossible to another womandid not cause the least embarrassment to Countess Bezukhova, whoevidently deserved her reputation of being a very clever woman. Hadshe attempted concealment, or tried to extricate herself from herawkward position by cunning, she would have spoiled her case byacknowledging herself guilty. But Helene, like a really great manwho can do whatever he pleases, at once assumed her own position to becorrect, as she sincerely believed it to be, and that everyone elsewas to blame.

　　The first time the young foreigner allowed himself to reproachher, she lifted her beautiful head and, half turning to him, saidfirmly: "That's just like a man- selfish and cruel! I expected nothingelse. A woman sacrifices herself for you, she suffers, and this is herreward! What right have you, monseigneur, to demand an account of myattachments and friendships? He is a man who has been more than afather to me!" The prince was about to say something, but Heleneinterrupted him.

　　"Well, yes," said she, "it may be that he has other sentiments forme than those of a father, but that is not a reason for me to shutmy door on him. I am not a man, that I should repay kindness withingratitude! Know, monseigneur, that in all that relates to myintimate feelings I render account only to God and to myconscience," she concluded, laying her hand on her beautiful, fullyexpanded 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..." saidHelene, beginning to cry.

　　The prince tried to comfort her, but Helene, 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, butshe mentioned Napoleon and some other exalted personages), that shehad 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'tarrange that?" said Helene.

　　The prince was surprised that so simple an idea had not occurredto him, and he applied for advice to the holy brethren of theSociety of Jesus, with whom he was on intimate terms.

　　A few days later at one of those enchanting fetes which Helenegave at her country house on the Stone Island, the charming Monsieurde Jobert, a man no longer young, with snow white hair and brilliantblack eyes, a Jesuit a robe courte* was presented to her, and in thegarden by the light of the illuminations and to the sound of musictalked to her for a long time of the love of God, of Christ, of theSacred Heart, and of the consolations the one true Catholic religionaffords in this world and the next. Helene was touched, and morethan once tears rose to her eyes and to those of Monsieur de Jobertand their voices trembled. A dance, for which her partner came to seekher, put an end to her discourse with her future directeur deconscience, but the next evening Monsieur de Jobert came to see Helenewhen 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 sheknelt down before the altar to which she was led. The enchanting,middle-aged Frenchman laid his hands on her head and, as she herselfafterward described it, she felt something like a fresh breezewafted into her soul. It was explained to her that this was la grace.

　　After that a long-frocked abbe was brought to her. She confessedto him, and he absolved her from her sins. Next day she received a boxcontaining the Sacred Host, which was left at her house for her topartake of. A few days later Helene learned with pleasure that she hadnow been admitted to the true Catholic Church and that in a few daysthe Pope himself would hear of her and would send her a certaindocument.

　　All that was done around her and to her at this time, all theattention devoted to her by so many clever men and expressed in suchpleasant, refined ways, and the state of dove-like purity she wasnow in (she wore only white dresses and white ribbons all that time)gave her pleasure, but her pleasure did not cause her for a momentto forget her aim. And as it always happens in contests of cunningthat a stupid person gets the better of cleverer ones, Helene-having realized that the main object of all these words and all thistrouble was, after converting her to Catholicism, to obtain money fromher for Jesuit institutions (as to which she received indications)-before parting with her money insisted that the various operationsnecessary to free her from her husband should be performed. In herview the aim of every religion was merely to preserve certainproprieties while affording satisfaction to human desires. And withthis aim, in one of her talks with her Father Confessor, sheinsisted on an answer to the question, in how far was she bound by hermarriage?

　　They were sitting in the twilight by a window in the drawing room.The scent of flowers came in at the window. Helene was wearing a whitedress, transparent over her shoulders and bosom. The abbe, awell-fed man with a plump, clean-shaven chin, a pleasant firm mouth,and white hands meekly folded on his knees, sat close to Helene and,with a subtle smile on his lips and a peaceful look of delight ather beauty, occasionally glanced at her face as he explained hisopinion on the subject. Helene with an uneasy smile looked at hiscurly hair and his plump, clean-shaven, blackish cheeks and everymoment expected the conversation to take a fresh turn. But the abbe,though he evidently enjoyed the beauty of his companion, wasabsorbed 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 vowof conjugal fidelity to a man who on his part, by entering the marriedstate without faith in the religious significance of marriage,committed an act of sacrilege. That marriage lacked the dualsignificance it should have had. Yet in spite of this your vow wasbinding. You swerved from it. What did you commit by so acting? Avenial, or a mortal, sin? A venial sin, for you acted without evilintention. If now you married again with the object of bearingchildren, your sin might be forgiven. But the question is again atwofold one: firstly..."

　　But suddenly Helene, who was getting bored, said with one of herbewitching smiles: "But I think that having espoused the true religionI cannot be bound by what a false religion laid upon me."

　　The director of her conscience was astounded at having the casepresented to him thus with the simplicity of Columbus' egg. He wasdelighted at the unexpected rapidity of his pupil's progress, butcould not abandon the edifice of argument he had laboriouslyconstructed.

　　"Let us understand one another, Countess," said he with a smile, andbegan refuting his spiritual daughter's arguments.BK11|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Helene understood that the question was very simple and easy fromthe ecclesiastical point of view, and that her directors were makingdifficulties only because they were apprehensive as to how thematter would be regarded by the secular authorities.

　　So she decided that it was necessary to prepare the opinion ofsociety. She provoked the jealousy of the elderly magnate and told himwhat she had told her other suitor; that is, she put the matter sothat 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 thissuggestion of marriage with a woman whose husband was alive, as theyounger man had been, but Helene's imperturbable conviction that itwas as simple and natural as marrying a maiden had its effect on himtoo. Had Helene herself shown the least sign of hesitation, shame,or secrecy, her cause would certainly have been lost; but not only didshe show no signs of secrecy or shame, on the contrary, withgood-natured naivete she told her intimate friends (and these were allPetersburg) that both the prince and the magnate had proposed to herand that she loved both and was afraid of grieving either.

　　A rumor immediately spread in Petersburg, not that Helene wantedto be divorced from her husband (had such a report spread many wouldhave opposed so illegal an intention) but simply that theunfortunate and interesting Helene was in doubt which of the two menshe should marry. The question was no longer whether this waspossible, but only which was the better match and how the matter wouldbe regarded at court. There were, it is true, some rigid individualsunable to rise to the height of such a question, who saw in theproject a desecration of the sacrament of marriage, but there were notmany such and they remained silent, while the majority were interestedin Helene's good fortune and in the question which match would bethe more advantageous. Whether it was right or wrong to remarrywhile one had a husband living they did not discuss, for that questionhad evidently been settled by people "wiser than you or me," as theysaid, and to doubt the correctness of that decision would be to riskexposing one's stupidity and incapacity to live in society.

　　Only Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, had come to Petersburg thatsummer to see one of her sons, allowed herself plainly to express anopinion contrary to the general one. Meeting Helene at a ball shestopped her in the middle of the room and, amid general silence,said in her gruff voice: "So wives of living men have started marryingagain! Perhaps you think you have invented a novelty? You have beenforestalled, my dear! It was thought of long ago. It is done in allthe brothels," and with these words Marya Dmitrievna, turning up herwide sleeves with her usual threatening gesture and glancing sternlyround, moved across the room.

　　Though people were afraid of Marya Dmitrievna she was regarded inPetersburg as a buffoon, and so of what she had said they onlynoticed, and repeated in a whisper, the one coarse word she hadused, supposing the whole sting of her remark to lie in that word.

　　Prince Vasili, who of late very often forgot what he had said andrepeated one and the same thing a hundred times, remarked to hisdaughter whenever he chanced to see her:

　　"Helene, I have a word to say to you," and he would lead heraside, drawing her hand downward. "I have heard of certain projectsconcerning... you know. Well my dear child, you know how your father'sheart rejoices to know that you... You have suffered so much....But, my dear child, consult only your own heart. That is all I have tosay," and concealing his unvarying emotion he would press his cheekagainst his daughter's and move away.

　　Bilibin, who had not lost his reputation of an exceedingly cleverman, and who was one of one of the disinterested friends sobrilliant a woman as Helene always has- men friends who can neverchange into lovers- once gave her his view of the matter at a smalland intimate gathering.

　　"Listen, Bilibin," said Helene (she always called friends of thatsort by their surnames), and she touched his coat sleeve with herwhite, beringed fingers. "Tell me, as you would a sister, what I oughtto do. Which of the two?"

　　Bilibin wrinkled up the skin over his eyebrows and pondered, witha smile on his lips.

　　"You are not taking me unawares, you know," said he. "As a truefriend, I have thought and thought again about your affair. You see,if you marry the prince"- he meant the younger man- and he crooked onefinger, "you forever lose the chance of marrying the other, and youwill displease the court besides. (You know there is some kind ofconnection.) But if you marry the old count you will make his lastdays happy, and as widow of the Grand... the prince would no longer bemaking a mesalliance by marrying you," and Bilibin smoothed out hisforehead.

　　"That's a true friend!" said Helene beaming, and again touchingBilibin's sleeve. "But I love them, you know, and don't want todistress either of them. I would give my life for the happiness ofthem both."

　　Bilibin shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that not even hecould help in that difficulty.

　　"Une maitresse-femme!* That's what is called putting thingssquarely. 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?" Bilibinasked, his reputation being so well established that he did not fearto ask so naive a question. "Will he agree?"

　　"Oh, he loves me so!" said Helene, who for some reason imagined thatPierre too loved her. "He will do anything for me."

　　Bilibin puckered his skin in preparation for something witty.

　　"Even divorce you?" said he.

　　Helene laughed.

　　Among those who ventured to doubt the justifiability of the proposedmarriage was Helene's mother, Princess Kuragina. She was continuallytormented by jealousy of her daughter, and now that jealousy concerneda subject near to her own heart, she could not reconcile herself tothe idea. She consulted a Russian priest as to the possibility ofdivorce and remarriage during a husband's lifetime, and the priesttold her that it was impossible, and to her delight showed her atext in the Gospel which (as it seemed to him) plainly remarriagewhile 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, Helene smiled blandlyand ironically.

　　"But it says plainly: 'Whosoever shall marry her that isdivorced...'" said the old princess.

　　"Ah, Maman, ne dites pas de betises. Vous ne comprenez rein. Dans maposition j'ai des devoirs,"* said Helene changing from Russian, inwhich language she always felt that her case did not sound quiteclear, 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, whohas the right to grant dispensations..."

　　Just then the lady companion who lived with Helene came in toannounce 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 furieusecontre lui, parce qu'il m' a manque parole."*

　　*"No, tell him I don't wish to see him, I am furious with him fornot keeping his word to me."

　　"Comtesse, a tout peche misericorde,"* said a fair-haired youngman 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 whohad entered took no notice of her. The princess nodded to her daughterand sidled out of the room.

　　"Yes, she is right," thought the old princess, all her convictionsdissipated by the appearance of His Highness. "She is right, but howis it that we in our irrecoverable youth did not know it? Yet it is sosimple," she thought as she got into her carriage.

　　By the beginning of August Helene's affairs were clearly defined andshe wrote a letter to her husband- who, as she imagined, loved hervery much- informing him of her intention to marry N.N. and of herhaving embraced the one true faith, and asking him to carry out allthe formalities necessary for a divorce, which would be explained tohim by the bearer of the letter.

　　And so I pray God to have you, my friend, in His holy and powerfulkeeping- Your friend Helene.

　　This letter was brought to Pierre's house when he was on the fieldof Borodino.BK11|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　Toward the end of the battle of Borodino, Pierre, having run downfrom Raevski's battery a second time, made his way through a gullyto Knyazkovo with a crowd of soldiers, reached the dressing station,and seeing blood and hearing cries and groans hurried on, stillentangled in the crowds of soldiers.

　　The one thing he now desired with his whole soul was to get awayquickly from the terrible sensations amid which he had lived thatday and return to ordinary conditions of life and sleep quietly in aroom in his own bed. He felt that only in the ordinary conditions oflife would he be able to understand himself and all he had seen andfelt. But such ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found.

　　Though shells and bullets did not whistle over the road alongwhich he was going, still on all sides there was what there had beenon the field of battle. There were still the same suffering,exhausted, and sometimes strangely indifferent faces, the sameblood, the same soldiers' overcoats, the same sounds of firingwhich, though distant now, still aroused terror, and besides thisthere were the foul air and the dust.

　　Having gone a couple of miles along the Mozhaysk road, Pierre satdown by the roadside.

　　Dusk had fallen, and the roar of guns died away. Pierre layleaning on his elbow for a long time, gazing at the shadows that movedpast him in the darkness. He was continually imagining that a cannonball was flying toward him with a terrific whizz, and then heshuddered and sat up. He had no idea how long he had been there. Inthe middle of the night three soldiers, having brought somefirewood, settled down near him and began lighting a fire.

　　The soldiers, who threw sidelong glances at Pierre, got the fireto burn and placed an iron pot on it into which they broke somedried bread and put a little dripping. The pleasant odor of greasyviands mingled with the smell of smoke. Pierre sat up and sighed.The three soldiers were eating and talking among themselves, taking nonotice of him.

　　"And who may you be?" one of them suddenly asked Pierre, evidentlymeaning what Pierre himself had in mind, namely: "If you want to eatwe'll give you some food, only let us know whether you are an honestman."

　　"I, I..." said Pierre, feeling it necessary to minimize his socialposition as much as possible so as to be nearer to the soldiers andbetter understood by them. "By rights I am a militia officer, but mymen 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, andhanded Pierre a wooden spoon after licking it clean.

　　Pierre sat down by the fire and began eating the mash, as theycalled the food in the cauldron, and he thought it more delicious thanany food he had ever tasted. As he sat bending greedily over it,helping himself to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another,his 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 Mozhaysk."

　　"You're a gentleman, aren't you?"

　　"Yes."

　　"And what's your name?"

　　"Peter Kirilych."

　　"Well then, Peter Kirilych, come along with us, we'll take youthere."

　　In the total darkness the soldiers walked with Pierre to Mozhaysk.

　　By the time they got near Mozhaysk and began ascending the steephill into the town, the cocks were already crowing. Pierre went onwith the soldiers, quite forgetting that his inn was at the bottomof the hill and that he had already passed it. He would not soonhave remembered this, such was his state of forgetfulness, had henot halfway up the hill stumbled upon his groom, who had been tolook for him in the town and was returning to the inn. The groomrecognized 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, PeterKirilych- isn't it?"

　　"Good-by, Peter Kirilych!" 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 hispocket. "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.BK11|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Scarcely had Pierre laid his head on the pillow before he felthimself falling asleep, but suddenly, almost with the distinctnessof reality, he heard the boom, boom, boom of firing, the thud ofprojectiles, groans and cries, and smelled blood and powder, and afeeling of horror and dread of death seized him. Filled with fright heopened his eyes and lifted his head from under his cloak. All wastranquil in the yard. Only someone's orderly passed through thegateway, splashing through the mud, and talked to the innkeeper. AbovePierre's head some pigeons, disturbed by the movement he had made insitting up, fluttered under the dark roof of the penthouse. Thewhole courtyard was permeated by a strong peaceful smell of stableyards, delightful to Pierre at that moment. He could see the clearstarry sky between the dark roofs of two penthouses.

　　"Thank God, there is no more of that!" he thought, covering up hishead again. "Oh, what a terrible thing is fear, and how shamefully Iyielded 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 thebattery, those who had given him food, and those who had prayed beforethe icon. They, those strange men he had not previously known, stoodout 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 themwhat they are. But how cast off all the superfluous, devilish burdenof my outer man? There was a time when I could have done it. I couldhave run away from my father, as I wanted to. Or I might have beensent to serve as a soldier after the duel with Dolokhov." And thememory of the dinner at the English Club when he had challengedDolokhov flashed through Pierre's mind, and then he remembered hisbenefactor at Torzhok. And now a picture of a solemn meeting of thelodge presented itself to his mind. It was taking place at the EnglishClub 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 hedied, and how glad I am that he is alive again!" On one side of thetable sat Anatole, Dolokhov, Nesvitski, Denisov, and others likethem (in his dream the category to which these men belonged was asclearly defined in his mind as the category of those he termedthey), and he heard those people, Anatole and Dolokhov, shouting andsinging loudly; yet through their shouting the voice of his benefactorwas heard speaking all the time and the sound of his words was asweighty and uninterrupted as the booming on the battlefield, butpleasant and comforting. Pierre did not understand what his benefactorwas saying, but he knew (the categories of thoughts were also quitedistinct in his dream) that he was talking of goodness and thepossibility of being what they were. And they with their simple, kind,firm faces surrounded his benefactor on all sides. But though theywere kindly they did not look at Pierre and did not know him.Wishing to speak and to attract their attention, he got up, but atthat moment his legs grew cold and bare.He felt ashamed, and with one arm covered his legs from which hiscloak had in fact slipped. For a moment as he was rearranging hiscloak Pierre opened his eyes and saw the same penthouse roofs,posts, and yard, but now they were all bluish, lit up, andglittering with frost or dew.

　　"It is dawn," thought Pierre. "But that's not what I want. I want tohear and understand my benefactor's words." Again he covered himselfup with his cloak, but now neither the lodge nor his benefactor wasthere. There were only thoughts clearly expressed in words, thoughtsthat someone was uttering or that he himself was formulating.

　　Afterwards when he recalled those thoughts Pierre was convinced thatsomeone outside himself had spoken them, though the impressions ofthat day had evoked them. He had never, it seemed to him, been able tothink and express his thoughts like that when awake.

　　"To endure war is the most difficult subordination of man'sfreedom to the law of God," the voice had said. "Simplicity issubmission to the will of God; you cannot escape from Him. And theyare simple. They do not talk, but act. The spoken word is silver butthe unspoken is golden. Man can be master of nothing while he fearsdeath, but he who does not fear it possesses all. If there were nosuffering, man would not know his limitations, would not know himself.The hardest thing [Pierre went on thinking, or hearing, in hisdream] is to be able in your soul to unite the meaning of all. Tounite all?" he asked himself. "No, not to unite. Thoughts cannot beunited, but to harness all these thoughts together is what we need!Yes, one must harness them, must harness them!" he repeated to himselfwith inward rapture, feeling that these words and they alone expressedwhat 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! Yourexcellency!" some voice was repeating. "We must harness, it is time toharness...."

　　It was the voice of the groom, trying to wake him. The sun shonestraight into Pierre's face. He glanced at the dirty innyard in themiddle of which soldiers were watering their lean horses at the pumpwhile carts were passing out of the gate. Pierre turned away withrepugnance, and closing his eyes quickly fell back on the carriageseat. "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 Ito do? Harness, but how can I harness everything?" and Pierre feltwith horror that the meaning of all he had seen and thought in thedream had been destroyed.

　　The groom, the coachman, and the innkeeper told Pierre that anofficer had come with news that the French were already nearMozhaysk 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 behindthem. There were wounded in the yards, at the windows of the houses,and the streets were crowded with them. In the streets, around cartsthat were to take some of the wounded away, shouts, curses, andblows could be heard. Pierre offered the use of his carriage, whichhad overtaken him, to a wounded general he knew, and drove with him toMoscow. On the way Pierre was told of the death of hisbrother-in-law Anatole and of that of Prince Andrew.BK11|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　On the thirteenth of August Pierre reached Moscow. Close to thegates of the city he was met by Count Rostopchin's adjutant.

　　"We have been looking for you everywhere," said the adjutant. "Thecount wants to see you particularly. He asks you to come to him atonce on a very important matter."

　　Without going home, Pierre took a cab and drove to see the Moscowcommander in chief.

　　Count Rostopchin had only that morning returned to town from hissummer villa at Sokolniki. The anteroom and reception room of hishouse were full of officials who had been summoned or had come fororders. Vasilchikov and Platov had already seen the count andexplained to him that it was impossible to defend Moscow and that itwould have to be surrendered. Though this news was being concealedfrom the inhabitants, the officials- the heads of the variousgovernment departments- knew that Moscow would soon be in theenemy's hands, just as Count Rostopchin himself knew it, and to escapepersonal responsibility they had all come to the governor to ask howthey were to deal with their various departments.

　　As Pierre was entering the reception room a courier from the armycame out of Rostopchin's private room.

　　In answer to questions with which he was greeted, the courier made adespairing gesture with his hand and passed through the room.

　　While waiting in the reception room Pierre with weary eyes watchedthe various officials, old and young, military and civilian, whowere there. They all seemed dissatisfied and uneasy. Pierre went up toa group of men, one of whom he knew. After greeting Pierre theycontinued their conversation.

　　"If they're sent out and brought back again later on it will do noharm, but as things are now one can't answer for anything."

　　"But you see what he writes..." said another, pointing to aprinted sheet he held in his hand.

　　"That's another matter. That's necessary for the people," said thefirst.

　　"What is it?" asked Pierre.

　　"Oh, it's a fresh broadsheet."

　　Pierre took it and began reading.

　　His Serene Highness has passed through Mozhaysk in order to joinup with the troops moving toward him and has taken up a strongposition where the enemy will not soon attack him. Forty eight gunswith ammunition have been sent him from here, and his SereneHighness says he will defend Moscow to the last drop of blood and iseven ready to fight in the streets. Do not be upset, brothers, thatthe law courts are closed; things have to be put in order, and we willdeal with villains in our own way! When the time comes I shall wantboth town and peasant lads and will raise the cry a day or twobeforehand, but they are not wanted yet so I hold my peace. An ax willbe useful, a hunting spear not bad, but a three-pronged fork will bebest of all: a Frenchman is no heavier than a sheaf of rye. Tomorrowafter dinner I shall take the Iberian icon of the Mother of God to thewounded in the Catherine Hospital where we will have some waterblessed. 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 thetown," said Pierre, "and that the position..."

　　"Well, of course! That's what we were saying," replied the firstspeaker.

　　"And what does he mean by 'One of my eyes was sore but now I am onthe lookout with both'?" asked Pierre.

　　"The count had a sty," replied the adjutant smiling, "and was verymuch upset when I told him people had come to ask what was thematter with him. By the by, Count," he added suddenly, addressingPierre with a smile, "we heard that you have family troubles andthat the countess, your wife..."

　　"I have heard nothing," Pierre replied unconcernedly. "But what haveyou heard?"

　　"Oh, well, you know people often invent things. I only say what Iheard."

　　"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 expectit's nonsense...."

　　"Possibly," remarked Pierre, looking about him absent-mindedly. "Andwho is that?" he asked, indicating a short old man in a clean bluepeasant overcoat, with a big snow-white beard and eyebrows and a ruddyface.

　　"He? That's a tradesman, that is to say, he's the restaurant keeper,Vereshchagin. Perhaps you have heard of that affair with theproclamation."

　　"Oh, so that is Vereshchagin!" said Pierre, looking at the firm,calm face of the old man and seeking any indication of his being atraitor.

　　"That's not he himself, that's the father of the fellow who wrotethe proclamation," said the adjutant. "The young man is in prisonand I expect it will go hard with him."

　　An old gentleman wearing a star and another official, a Germanwearing a cross round his neck, approached the speaker.

　　"It's a complicated story, you know," said the adjutant. "Thatproclamation appeared about two months ago. The count was informedof it. He gave orders to investigate the matter. Gabriel Ivanovichhere made the inquiries. The proclamation had passed through exactlysixty-three hands. He asked one, 'From whom did you get it?' 'Fromso-and-so.' He went to the next one. 'From whom did you get it?' andso on till he reached Vereshchagin, a half educated tradesman, youknow, 'a pet of a trader,'" said the adjutant smiling. "They askedhim, 'Who gave it you?' And the point is that we knew whom he had itfrom. He could only have had it from the Postmaster. But evidentlythey had come to some understanding. He replied: 'From no one; Imade it up myself.' They threatened and questioned him, but he stuckto 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?' 'Iwrote it myself.' Well, you know the count," said the adjutantcheerfully, with a smile of pride, "he flared up dreadfully- andjust think of the fellow's audacity, lying, and obstinacy!"

　　"And the count wanted him to say it was from Klyucharev? Iunderstand!" said Pierre.

　　"Not at all," rejoined the adjutant in dismay. "Klyucharev had hisown sins to answer for without that and that is why he has beenbanished. But the point is that the count was much annoyed. 'How couldyou have written it yourself?' said he, and he took up the HamburgGazette that was lying on the table. 'Here it is! You did not write ityourself but translated it, and translated it abominably, becauseyou 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'sso, 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 upmyself.' 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 tohard 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'sson, a dandy and lady-killer. He attended some lectures somewhereand imagines that the devil is no match for him. That's the sort offellow 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 ascepter in one hand and an orb in the other. Well, he took that iconhome with him for a few days and what did he do? He found somescoundrel of a painter..."BK11|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　In the middle of this fresh tale Pierre was summoned to thecommander in chief.

　　When he entered the private room Count Rostopchin, puckering hisface, was rubbing his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short man wassaying something, but when Pierre entered he stopped speaking and wentout.

　　"Ah, how do you do, great warrior?" said Rostopchin as soon as theshort man had left the room. "We have heard of your prowess. Butthat's not the point. Between ourselves, mon cher, do you belong tothe Masons?" he went on severely, as though there were something wrongabout it which he nevertheless intended to pardon. Pierre remainedsilent. "I am well informed, my friend, but I am aware that thereare Masons and Masons and I hope that you are not one of those whoon 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.Speranski and Magnitski have been deported to their proper place.Mr. Klyucharev has been treated in the same way, and so have otherswho on the plea of building up the temple of Solomon have tried todestroy the temple of their fatherland. You can understand thatthere are reasons for this and that I could not have exiled thePostmaster had he not been a harmful person. It has now come to myknowledge that you lent him your carriage for his removal from town,and that you have even accepted papers from him for safe custody. Ilike 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 menof that stamp and to leave here as soon as possible."

　　"But what did Klyucharev do wrong, Count?" asked Pierre.

　　"That is for me to know, but not for you to ask," shoutedRostopchin.

　　"If he is accused of circulating Napoleon's proclamation it is notproved that he did so," said Pierre without looking at Rostopchin,"and Vereshchagin..."

　　"There we are!" Rostopchin shouted at Pierre louder than before,frowning suddenly. "Vereshchagin is a renegade and a traitor whowill be punished as he deserves," said he with the vindictive heatwith which people speak when recalling an insult. "But I did notsummon you to discuss my actions, but to give you advice- or anorder if you prefer it. I beg you to leave the town and break offall communication with such men as Klyucharev. And I will knock thenonsense out of anybody"- but probably realizing that he wasshouting at Bezukhov who so far was not guilty of anything, headded, taking Pierre's hand in a friendly manner, "We are on the eveof a public disaster and I haven't time to be polite to everybodywho has business with me. My head is sometimes in a whirl. Well, moncher, what are you doing personally?"

　　"Why, nothing," answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changingthe 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 afterPierre, "is it true that the countess has fallen into the clutchesof the holy fathers of the Society of Jesus?"

　　Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchin's room more sullen andangry than he had ever before shown himself.

　　When he reached home it was already getting dark. Some eightpeople had come to see him that evening: the secretary of a committee,the colonel of his battalion, his steward, his major-domo, and variouspetitioners. They all had business with Pierre and wanted decisionsfrom him. Pierre did not understand and was not interested in any ofthese questions and only answered them in order to get rid of thesepeople. When left alone at last he opened and read his wife's letter.

　　"They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed... that oldman... Simplicity is submission to God. Suffering is necessary...the meaning of all... one must harness... my wife is gettingmarried... One must forget and understand..." And going to his bedhe threw himself on it without undressing and immediately fell asleep.

　　When he awoke next morning the major-domo came to inform him thata special messenger, a police officer, had come from CountRostopchin to know whether Count Bezukhov had left or was leavingthe town.

　　A dozen persons who had business with Pierre were awaiting him inthe drawing room. Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going tosee them, went to the back porch and out through the gate.

　　From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one ofBezukhov's household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierreagain or knew where he was.BK11|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　The Rostovs remained in Moscow till the first of September, that is,till the eve of the enemy's entry into the city.

　　After Petya had joined Obolenski's regiment of Cossacks and left forBelaya Tserkov where that regiment was forming, the countess wasseized with terror. The thought that both her sons were at the war,had both gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow either orboth of them might be killed like the three sons of one of heracquaintances, struck her that summer for the first time with cruelclearness. She tried to get Nicholas back and wished to go herselfto join Petya, or to get him an appointment somewhere in Petersburg,but neither of these proved possible. Petya could not return unlesshis regiment did so or unless he was transferred to another regimenton active service. Nicholas was somewhere with the army and had notsent a word since his last letter, in which he had given a detailedaccount of his meeting with Princess Mary. The countess did notsleep at night, or when she did fall asleep dreamed that she saw hersons lying dead. After many consultations and conversations, the countat last devised means to tranquillize her. He got Petya transferredfrom Obolenski's regiment to Bezukhov's, which was in training nearMoscow. Though Petya would remain in the service, this transferwould give the countess the consolation of seeing at least one ofher sons under her wing, and she hoped to arrange matters for herPetya so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed toplaces where he could not possibly take part in a battle. As long asNicholas alone was in danger the countess imagined that she lovedher first-born more than all her other children and even reproachedherself for it; but when her youngest: the scapegrace who had been badat lessons, was always breaking things in the house and making himselfa nuisance to everybody, that snub-nosed Petya with his merry blackeyes and fresh rosy cheeks where soft down was just beginning to show-when he was thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel men who werefighting somewhere about something and apparently finding pleasurein it- then his mother thought she loved him more, much more, than allher other children. The nearer the time came for Petya to return,the more uneasy grew the countess. She began to think she wouldnever live to see such happiness. The presence of Sonya, of herbeloved Natasha, or even of her husband irritated her. "What do I wantwith them? I want no one but Petya," she thought.

　　At the end of August the Rostovs received another letter fromNicholas. He wrote from the province of Voronezh where he had beensent to procure remounts, but that letter did not set the countessat ease. Knowing that one son was out of danger she became the moreanxious about Petya.

　　Though by the twentieth of August nearly all the Rostovs'acquaintances had left Moscow, and though everybody tried topersuade the countess to get away as quickly as possible, she wouldnot bear of leaving before her treasure, her adored Petya, returned.On the twenty-eighth of August he arrived. The passionate tendernesswith which his mother received him did not please the sixteen-year-oldofficer. Though she concealed from him her intention of keeping himunder her wing, Petya guessed her designs, and instinctively fearingthat he might give way to emotion when with her- might "becomewomanish" as he termed it to himself- he treated her coldly, avoidedher, and during his stay in Moscow attached himself exclusively toNatasha for whom he had always had a particularly brotherlytenderness, almost lover-like.

　　Owing to the count's customary carelessness nothing was ready fortheir departure by the twenty-eighth of August and the carts that wereto come from their Ryazan and Moscow estates to remove their householdbelongings did not arrive till the thirtieth.

　　From the twenty-eighth till the thirty-first all Moscow was in abustle and commotion. Every day thousands of men wounded at Borodinowere brought in by the Dorogomilov gate and taken to various partsof Moscow, and thousands of carts conveyed the inhabitants and theirpossessions out by the other gates. In spite of Rostopchin'sbroadsheets, or because of them or independently of them, thestrangest and most contradictory rumors were current in the town. Somesaid that no one was to be allowed to leave the city, others on thecontrary said that all the icons had been taken out of the churchesand everybody was to be ordered to leave. Some said there had beenanother battle after Borodino at which the French had been routed,while others on the contrary reported that the Russian army bad beendestroyed. Some talked about the Moscow militia which, preceded by theclergy, would go to the Three Hills; others whispered that Augustinhad been forbidden to leave, that traitors had been seized, that thepeasants were rioting and robbing people on their way from Moscow, andso on. But all this was only talk; in reality (though the Council ofFili, at which it was decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet beenheld) 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 savetheir belongings. It was felt that everything would suddenly breakup 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 dieimmediately, but yet looks about him and straightens the cap that isawry on his head, so Moscow involuntarily continued its wonted life,though it knew that the time of its destruction was near when theconditions of life to which its people were accustomed to submit wouldbe completely upset.

　　During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow the wholeRostov family was absorbed in various activities. The head of thefamily, Count Ilya Rostov, continually drove about the city collectingthe current rumors from all sides and gave superficial and hastyorders at home about the preparations for their departure.

　　The countess watched the things being packed, was dissatisfiedwith everything, was constantly in pursuit of Petya who was alwaysrunning away from her, and was jealous of Natasha with whom he spentall his time. Sonya alone directed the practical side of matters bygetting things packed. But of late Sonya had been particularly sad andsilent. Nicholas' letter in which he mentioned Princess Mary hadelicited, in her presence, joyous comments from the countess, whosaw an intervention of Providence in this meeting of the princessand Nicholas.

　　"I was never pleased at Bolkonski's engagement to Natasha," said thecountess, "but I always wanted Nicholas to marry the princess, and hada presentiment that it would happen. What a good thing it would be!"

　　Sonya felt that this was true: that the only possibility ofretrieving the Rostovs' 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 onherself all the difficult work of directing the storing and packing oftheir things and was busy for whole days. The count and countessturned to her when they had any orders to give. Petya and Natasha onthe contrary, far from helping their parents, were generally anuisance and a hindrance to everyone. Almost all day long the houseresounded with their running feet, their cries, and theirspontaneous laughter. They laughed and were gay not because therewas any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and mirth were in theirhearts and so everything that happened was a cause for gaiety andlaughter to them. Petya was in high spirits because having left home aboy he had returned (as everybody told him) a fine young man,because he was at home, because he had left Belaya Tserkov where therewas no hope of soon taking part in a battle and had come to Moscowwhere there was to be fighting in a few days, and chiefly becauseNatasha, whose lead he always followed, was in high spirits. Natashawas gay because she had been sad too long and now nothing reminded herof the cause of her sadness, and because she was feeling well. She wasalso happy because she had someone to adore her: the adoration ofothers was a lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to make themrun freely- and Petya adored her. Above all, they were gay becausethere was a war near Moscow, there would be fighting at the towngates, arms were being given out, everybody was escaping- going awaysomewhere, and in general something extraordinary was happening, andthat is always exciting, especially to the young.BK11|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　On Saturday, the thirty-first of August, everything in theRostovs' house seemed topsy-turvy. All the doors were open, all thefurniture was being carried out or moved about, and the mirrors andpictures had been taken down. There were trunks in the rooms, and hay,wrapping paper, and ropes were scattered about. The peasants and houseserfs carrying out the things were treading heavily on the parquetfloors. The yard was crowded with peasant carts, some loaded highand already corded up, others still empty.

　　The voices and footsteps of the many servants and of the peasantswho had come with the carts resounded as they shouted to one anotherin the yard and in the house. The count bad been out since morning.The countess had a headache brought on by all the noise and turmoiland was lying down in the new sitting room with a vinegar compresson her head. Petya was not at home, he had gone to visit a friend withwhom he meant to obtain a transfer from the militia to the activearmy. Sonya was in the ballroom looking after the packing of the glassand china. Natasha was sitting on the floor of her dismantled roomwith dresses, ribbons, and scarves strewn all about her, gazingfixedly at the floor and holding in her hands the old ball dress(already out of fashion) which she had worn at her first Petersburgball.

　　Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when everyone else was so busy,and several times that morning had tried to set to work, but her heartwas not in it, and she could not and did not know how to do anythingexcept with all her heart and all her might. For a while she had stoodbeside Sonya while the china was being packed and tried to help, butsoon gave it up and went to her room to pack her own things. Atfirst she found it amusing to give away dresses and ribbons to themaids, but when that was done and what was left had still to bepacked, she found it dull.

　　"Dunyasha, you pack! You will, won't you, dear?" And when Dunyashawillingly promised to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on thefloor, took her old ball dress, and fell into a reverie quiteunrelated to what ought to have occupied her thoughts now. She wasroused from her reverie by the talk of the maids in the next room(which was theirs) and by the sound of their hurried footsteps goingto the back porch. Natasha got up and looked out of the window. Anenormously long row of carts full of wounded men had stopped in thestreet.

　　The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, coachmen, maids, footmen,postilions, and scullions stood at the gate, staring at the wounded.

　　Natasha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair andholding an end of it in each hand, went out into the street.

　　The former housekeeper, old Mavra Kuzminichna, had stepped out ofthe crowd by the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood constructed ofbast mats, and was speaking to a pale young officer who lay inside.Natasha moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly, still holding herhandkerchief, and listened to what the housekeeper was saying.

　　"Then you have nobody in Moscow?" she was saying. "You would be morecomfortable somewhere in a house... in ours, for instance... thefamily are leaving."

　　"I don't know if it would be allowed," replied the officer in a weakvoice. "Here is our commanding officer... ask him," and he pointedto a stout major who was walking back along the street past the row ofcarts.

　　Natasha glanced with frightened eyes at the face of the woundedofficer 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 hiseyes and smiling.

　　Natasha quietly repeated her question, and her face and whole mannerwere so serious, though she was still holding the ends of herhandkerchief, that the major ceased smiling and after some reflection-as if considering in how far the thing was possible- replied in theaffirmative.

　　"Oh yes, why not? They may," he said.

　　With a slight inclination of her head, Natasha stepped backquickly to Mavra Kuzminichna, who stood talking compassionately to theofficer.

　　"They may. He says they may!" whispered Natasha.

　　The cart in which the officer lay was turned into the Rostovs' yard,and dozens of carts with wounded men began at the invitation of thetownsfolk to turn into the yards and to draw up at the entrances ofthe houses in Povarskaya Street. Natasha was evidently pleased to bedealing with new people outside the ordinary routine of her life.She and Mavra Kuzminichna tried to get as many of the wounded aspossible into their yard.

　　"Your Papa must be told, though," said Mavra Kuzminichna.

　　"Never mind, never mind, what does it matter? For one day we canmove 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 ifwe put them into the wing, the men's room, or the nurse's room, wemust ask permission."

　　"Well, I'll ask."

　　Natasha ran into the house and went on tiptoe through thehalf-open door into the sitting room, where there was a smell ofvinegar and Hoffman's drops.

　　"Are you asleep, Mamma?"

　　"Oh, what sleep-?" said the countess, waking up just as she wasdropping into a doze.

　　"Mamma darling!" said Natasha, kneeling by her mother and bringingher face close to her mother's, "I am sorry, forgive me, I'll never doit again; I woke you up! Mavra Kuzminichna has sent me: they havebrought some wounded here- officers. Will you let them come? They havenowhere to go. I knew you'd let them come!" she said quickly all inone breath.

　　"What officers? Whom have they brought? I don't understandanything about it," said the countess.

　　Natasha laughed, and the countess too smiled slightly.

　　"I knew you'd give permission... so I'll tell them," and, havingkissed her mother, Natasha 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 thehouse?" said Natasha.

　　"Of course it is," he answered absently. "That's not the point. Ibeg you not to indulge in trifles now, but to help to pack, andtomorrow we must go, go, go!...."

　　And the count gave a similar order to the major-domo and theservants.

　　At dinner Petya having returned home told them the news he hadheard. He said the people had been getting arms in the Kremlin, andthat though Rostopchin's broadsheet had said that he would sound acall two or three days in advance, the order had certainly alreadybeen given for everyone to go armed to the Three Hills tomorrow, andthat there would be a big battle there.

　　The countess looked with timid horror at her son's eager, excitedface as he said this. She realized that if she said a word about hisnot going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the thought of theimpending engagement) he would say something about men, honor, and thefatherland- something senseless, masculine, and obstinate whichthere would be no contradicting, and her plans would be spoiled; andso, hoping to arrange to leave before then and take Petya with heras their protector and defender, she did not answer him, but afterdinner called the count aside and implored him with tears to takeher away quickly, that very night if possible. With a woman'sinvoluntary loving cunning she, who till then had not shown any alarm,said that she would die of fright if they did not leave that verynight. Without any pretense she was now afraid of everything.BK11|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　Madame Schoss, who had been out to visit her daughter, increased thecountess' fears still more by telling what she had seen at a spiritdealer's in Myasnitski Street. When returning by that street she hadbeen unable to pass because of a drunken crowd rioting in front of theshop. She had taken a cab and driven home by a side street and thecabman had told her that the people were breaking open the barrelsat the drink store, having received orders to do so.

　　After dinner the whole Rostov household set to work withenthusiastic haste packing their belongings and preparing for theirdeparture. The old count, suddenly setting to work, kept passingfrom the yard to the house and back again, shouting confusedinstructions to the hurrying people, and flurrying them still more.Petya directed things in the yard. Sonya, owing to the count'scontradictory orders, lost her head and did not know what to do. Theservants ran noisily about the house and yard, shouting and disputing.Natasha, with the ardor characteristic of all she did suddenly setto work too. At first her intervention in the business of packingwas received skeptically. Everybody expected some prank from her anddid not wish to obey her; but she resolutely and passionately demandedobedience, grew angry and nearly cried because they did not heedher, and at last succeeded in making them believe her. Her firstexploit, which cost her immense effort and established herauthority, was the packing of the carpets. The count had valuableGobelin tapestries and Persian carpets in the house. When Natashaset to work two cases were standing open in the ballroom, one almostfull up with crockery, the other with carpets. There was also muchchina standing on the tables, and still more was being brought in fromthe storeroom. A third case was needed and servants had gone tofetch it.

　　"Sonya, wait a bit- we'll pack everything into these," said Natasha.

　　"You can't, Miss, we have tried to," said the butler's assistant.

　　"No, wait a minute, please."

　　And Natasha began rapidly taking out of the case dishes and plateswrapped 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 threecases," said the butler's assistant.

　　"Oh, wait, please!" And Natasha began rapidly and deftly sorting outthe things. "These aren't needed," said she, putting aside some platesof Kiev ware. "These- yes, these must go among the carpets," she said,referring to the Saxony china dishes.

　　"Don't, Natasha! Leave it alone! We'll get it all packed," urgedSonya reproachfully.

　　"What a young lady she is!" remarked the major-domo.

　　But Natasha would not give in. She turned everything out and beganquickly repacking, deciding that the inferior Russian carpets andunnecessary crockery should not be taken at all. When everything hadbeen taken out of the cases, they recommenced packing, and it turnedout that when the cheaper things not worth taking had nearly allbeen 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. Afew more things might have been taken out, but Natasha insisted onhaving her own way. She packed, repacked, pressed, made the butler'sassistant and Petya- whom she had drawn into the business ofpacking- press on the lid, and made desperate efforts herself.

　　"That's enough, Natasha," said Sonya. "I see you were right, butjust take out the top one."

　　"I won't!" cried Natasha, with one hand bolding back the hair thathung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed downthe carpets. "Now press, Petya! Press, Vasilich, press hard!" shecried.

　　The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Natasha, clapping her hands,screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes. But this onlylasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh and they now trustedher completely. The count was not angry even when they told him thatNatasha had countermanded an order of his, and the servants now cameto her to ask whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and whether itmight be corded up. Thanks to Natasha's directions the work now wenton expeditiously, unnecessary things were left, and the mostvaluable packed as compactly as possible.

　　But hard as they all worked till quite late that night, they couldnot get everything packed. The countess had fallen asleep and thecount, having put off their departure till next morning, went to bed.

　　Sonya and Natasha slept in the sitting room without undressing.

　　That night another wounded man was driven down the Povarskaya, andMavra Kuzminichna, who was standing at the gate, had him broughtinto the Rostovs' yard. Mavra Kuzminichna concluded that he was a veryimportant man. He was being conveyed in a caleche with a raisedhood, and was quite covered by an apron. On the box beside thedriver sat a venerable old attendant. A doctor and two soldiersfollowed the carriage in a cart.

　　"Please come in here. The masters are going away and the whole housewill be empty," said the old woman to the old attendant.

　　"Well, perhaps," said he with a sigh. "We don't expect to get himhome alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but it's a longway from here, and there's nobody living in it."

　　"Do us the honor to come in, there's plenty of everything in themaster's house. Come in," said Mavra Kuzminichna. "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 caleche, looked into it, shook hishead disconsolately, told the driver to turn into the yard, andstopped beside Mavra Kuzminichna.

　　"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 tookhim into the wing and put him in the room that had been MadameSchoss'.

　　This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bolkonski.BK11|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　Moscow's last day had come. It was a clear bright autumn day, aSunday. The church bells everywhere were ringing for service, justas usual on Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to realize what awaited thecity.

　　Only two things indicated the social condition of Moscow- therabble, that is the poor people, and the price of commodities. Anenormous crowd of factory hands, house serfs, and peasants, withwhom some officials, seminarists, and gentry were mingled, had goneearly that morning to the Three Hills. Having waited there forRostopchin who did not turn up, they became convinced that Moscowwould be surrendered, and then dispersed all about the town to thepublic houses and cookshops. Prices too that day indicated the stateof affairs. The price of weapons, of gold, of carts and horses, keptrising, but the value of paper money and city articles kept falling,so that by midday there were instances of carters removing valuablegoods, such as cloth, and receiving in payment a half of what theycarted, while peasant horses were fetching five hundred rubles each,and furniture, mirrors, and bronzes were being given away for nothing.

　　In the Rostovs' staid old-fashioned house the dissolution offormer conditions of life was but little noticeable. As to the serfsthe only indication was that three out of their huge retinuedisappeared during the night, but nothing was stolen; and as to thevalue of their possessions, the thirty peasant carts that had comein from their estates and which many people envied proved to beextremely valuable and they were offered enormous sums of money forthem. Not only were huge sums offered for the horses and carts, but onthe previous evening and early in the morning of the first ofSeptember, orderlies and servants sent by wounded officers came to theRostovs' and wounded men dragged themselves there from the Rostovs'and from neighboring houses where they were accommodated, entreatingthe servants to try to get them a lift out of Moscow. The major-domoto whom these entreaties were addressed, though he was sorry for thewounded, resolutely refused, saying that he dare not even mentionthe matter to the count. Pity these wounded men as one might, it wasevident that if they were given one cart there would be no reason torefuse another, or all the carts and one's own carriages as well.Thirty carts could not save all the wounded and in the generalcatastrophe one could not disregard oneself and one's own family. Sothought the major-domo on his master's behalf.

　　On waking up that morning Count Ilya Rostov left his bedroom softly,so as not to wake the countess who had fallen asleep only towardmorning, and came out to the porch in his lilac silk dressing gown. Inthe yard stood the carts ready corded. The carriages were at the frontporch. The major-domo stood at the porch talking to an elderly orderlyand to a pale young officer with a bandaged arm. On seeing the countthe major-domo made a significant and stern gesture to them both to goaway.

　　"Well, Vasilich, is everything ready?" asked the count, and strokinghis bald head he looked good-naturedly at the officer and theorderly 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, Godwilling! 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 intosome corner of one of your carts! I have nothing here with me.... Ishall be all right on a loaded cart..."

　　Before the officer had finished speaking the orderly made the samerequest on behalf of his master.

　　"Oh, yes, yes,yes!" said the count hastily. "I shall be verypleased, very pleased. Vasilich, you'll see to it. Just unload oneor two carts. Well, what of it... do what's necessary..." said thecount, muttering some indefinite order.

　　But at the same moment an expression of warm gratitude on theofficer's face had already sealed the order. The count looked aroundhim. In the yard, at the gates, at the window of the wings, woundedofficers and their orderlies were to be seen. They were all looking atthe count and moving toward the porch.

　　"Please step into the gallery, your excellency," said themajor-domo. "What are your orders about the pictures?"

　　The count went into the house with him, repeating his order not torefuse the wounded who asked for a lift.

　　"Well, never mind, some of the things can be unloaded," he addedin a soft, confidential voice, as though afraid of being overheard.

　　At nine o'clock the countess woke up, and Matrena Timofeevna, whohad been her lady's maid before her marriage and now performed asort of chief gendarme's duty for her, came to say that MadameSchoss was much offended and the young ladies' summer dresses couldnot be left behind. On inquiry, the countess learned that MadameSchoss was offended because her trunk had been taken down from itscart, and all the loads were being uncorded and the luggage takenout of the carts to make room for wounded men whom the count in thesimplicity 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 officercame to me to ask for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours arethings that can be bought but think what being left behind means tothem!... Really now, in our own yard- we asked them in ourselves andthere are officers among them.... You know, I think, my dear... letthem be taken... where's the hurry?"

　　The count spoke timidly, as he always did when talking of moneymatters. The countess was accustomed to this tone as a precursor ofnews of something detrimental to the children's interests, such as thebuilding of a new gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of aprivate theater or an orchestra. She was accustomed always to opposeanything announced in that timid tone and considered it her duty to doso.

　　She assumed her dolefully submissive manner and said to her husband:"Listen to me, Count, you have managed matters so that we aregetting nothing for the house, and now you wish to throw away all our-all the children's property! You said yourself that we have ahundred thousand rubles' worth of things in the house. I don'tconsent, my dear, I don't! Do as you please! It's the government'sbusiness to look after the wounded; they know that. Look at theLopukhins opposite, they cleared out everything two days ago. That'swhat other people do. It's only we who are such fools. If you haveno pity on me, have some for the children."

　　Flourishing his arms in despair the count left the room withoutreplying.

　　"Papa, what are you doing that for?" asked Natasha, who had followedhim into her mother's room.

　　"Nothing! What business is it of yours?" muttered the count angrily.

　　"But I heard," said Natasha. "Why does Mamma object?"

　　"What business is it of yours?" cried the count.

　　Natasha stepped up to the window and pondered.

　　"Papa! Here's Berg coming to see us," said she, looking out of thewindow.BK11|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Berg, the Rostovs' son-in-law, was already a colonel wearing theorders of Vladimir and Anna, and he still filled the quiet andagreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of theassistant 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 everyonein the army was asking for leave to visit Moscow and had somethingto do there. So he considered it necessary to ask for leave of absencefor family and domestic reasons.

　　Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce little trapwith a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. Helooked attentively at the carts in the yard and while going up tothe porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it.

　　From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps intothe drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the hands ofNatasha and Sonya, and hastened to inquire after "Mamma's" health.

　　"Health, at a time like this?" said the count. "Come, tell us thenews! 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 theleaders, so to say, have now assembled in council. No one knows whatis coming. But in general I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroicspirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian army, which they- whichit" (he corrected himself) "has shown or displayed in the battle ofthe twenty-sixth- there are no words worthy to do it justice! I tellyou, Papa" (he smote himself on the breast as a general he had heardspeaking had done, but Berg did it a trifle late for he should havestruck his breast at the words "Russian army"), "I tell you franklythat we, the commanders, far from having to urge the men on oranything of that kind, could hardly restrain those... those... yes,those exploits of antique valor," he went on rapidly. "General Barclayde Tolly risked his life everywhere at the head of the troops, I canassure you. Our corps was stationed on a hillside. You can imagine!"

　　And Berg related all that he remembered of the various tales hehad heard those days. Natasha watched him with an intent gaze thatconfused him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answerto some question.

　　"Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian warriorscannot be imagined or adequately praised!" said Berg, glancing roundat Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, replying to herintent look with a smile. "'Russia is not in Moscow, she lives inthe hearts of her sons!' Isn't it so, Papa?" said he.

　　Just then the countess came in from the sitting room with a wearyand dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed herhand, asked about her health, and, swaying his head from side toside to express sympathy, remained standing beside her.

　　"Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these are hard and sadtimes for every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You have stilltime 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 readyyet. Somebody after all must see to things. One misses Mitenka at suchtimes. There won't be any end to it."

　　The count was about to say something, but evidently restrainedhimself. He got up from his chair and went to the door.

　　At that moment Berg drew out his handkerchief as if to blow his noseand, seeing the knot in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly andsignificantly.

　　"And I have a great favor to ask of you, Papa," said he.

　　"Hm..." said the count, and stopped.

　　"I was driving past Yusupov's house just now," said Berg with alaugh, "when the steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether Iwouldn't buy something. I went in out of curiosity, you know, andthere is a small chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how dearVera wanted a chiffonier like that and how we had a dispute about it."(At the mention of the chiffonier and dressing table Berginvoluntarily changed his tone to one of pleasure at his admirabledomestic arrangements.) "And it's such a beauty! It pulls out andhas a secret English drawer, you know! And dear Vera has long wantedone. I wish to give her a surprise, you see. I saw so many of thosepeasant carts in your yard. Please let me have one, I will pay the manwell, 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 wantedit, for dear Vera's sake."

　　"Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil, the devil, thedevil..." 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.

　　Natasha left the room with her father and, as if finding itdifficult to reach some decision, first followed him and then randownstairs.

　　Petya was in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to theservants who were to leave Moscow. The loaded carts were stillstanding in the yard. Two of them had been uncorded and a woundedofficer was climbing into one of them helped by an orderly.

　　"Do you know what it's about?" Petya asked Natasha.

　　She understood that he meant what were their parents quarrelingabout. She did not answer.

　　"It's because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to thewounded," said Petya. "Vasilich told me. I consider..."

　　"I consider," Natasha suddenly almost shouted, turning her angryface to Petya, "I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so... Idon't know what. Are we despicable Germans?"

　　Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakeningand letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turned and rushedheadlong up the stairs.

　　Berg was sitting beside the countess consoling her with therespectful attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, waspacing up and down the room, when Natasha, her face distorted byanger, burst in like a tempest and approached her mother with rapidsteps.

　　"It's horrid! It's abominable! she screamed. "You can't possiblyhave ordered it!"

　　Berg and the countess looked at her, perplexed and frightened. Thecount stood still at the window and listened.

　　"Mamma, it's impossible: see what is going on in the yard!" shecried. "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 isgoing 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 forher mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her husband didnot turn to look at her now, and she glanced round quite disconcerted.

　　"Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering anyone?" she said, notsurrendering at once.

　　"Mamma, darling, forgive me!"

　　But the countess pushed her daughter away and went up to herhusband.

　　"My dear, you order what is right.... You know I don't understandabout it," said she, dropping her eyes shamefacedly.

　　"The eggs... the eggs are teaching the hen," muttered the countthrough tears of joy, and he embraced his wife who was glad to hideher look of shame on his breast.

　　"Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?..." asked Natasha. "We willstill take all the most necessary things."

　　The count nodded affirmatively, and Natasha, at the rapid pace atwhich she used to run when playing at tag, ran through the ballroom tothe anteroom and downstairs into the yard.

　　The servants gathered round Natasha, but could not believe thestrange order she brought them until the count himself, in hiswife's name, confirmed the order to give up all the carts to thewounded and take the trunks to the storerooms. When they understoodthat order the servants set to work at this new task with pleasure andzeal. It no longer seemed strange to them but on the contrary itseemed the only thing that could be done, just as a quarter of an hourbefore it had not seemed strange to anyone that the wounded shouldbe left behind and the goods carted away but that had seemed theonly 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 thecarts. The wounded dragged themselves out of their rooms and stoodwith pale but happy faces round the carts. The news that carts were tobe had spread to the neighboring houses, from which wounded menbegan to come into the Rostovs' yard. Many of the wounded asked themnot to unload the carts but only to let them sit on the top of thethings. But the work of unloading, once started, could not bearrested. It seemed not to matter whether all or only half thethings were left behind. Cases full of china, bronzes, pictures, andmirrors that had been so carefully packed the night before now layabout the yard, and still they went on searching for and findingpossibilities of unloading this or that and letting the wounded haveanother and yet another cart.

　　"We can take four more men," said the steward. "They can have mytrap, or else what is to become of them?"

　　"Let them have my wardrobe cart," said the countess. "Dunyasha cango with me in the carriage."

　　They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent it to take wounded men froma house two doors off. The whole household, servants included, wasbright and animated. Natasha was in a state of rapturous excitementsuch as she had not known for a long time.

　　"What could we fasten this onto?" asked the servants, trying tofix a trunk on the narrow footboard behind a carriage. "We must keepat least one cart."

　　"What's in it?" asked Natasha.

　　"The count's books."

　　"Leave it, Vasilich will put it away. It's not wanted."

　　The phaeton was full of people and there was a doubt as to whereCount Peter could sit.

　　"On the box. You'll sit on the box, won't you, Petya?" criedNatasha.

　　Sonya too was busy all this time, but the aim of her efforts wasquite different from Natasha's. She was putting away the things thathad to be left behind and making a list of them as the countesswished, and she tried to get as much taken away with them as possible.BK11|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　Before two o'clock in the afternoon the Rostovs' 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 caleche in which Prince Andrew was being taken attracted Sonya'sattention as it passed the front porch. With the help of a maid shewas arranging a seat for the countess in the huge high coach thatstood at the entrance.

　　"Whose caleche is that?" she inquired, leaning out of the carriagewindow.

　　"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 Bolkonski himself! They say heis dying," replied the maid with a sigh.

　　Sonya jumped out of the coach and ran to the countess. The countess,tired out and already dressed in shawl and bonnet for her journey, waspacing up and down the drawing room, waiting for the household toassemble for the usual silent prayer with closed doors beforestarting. Natasha was not in the room.

　　"Mamma," said Sonya, "Prince Andrew is here, mortally wounded. He isgoing with us."

　　The countess opened her eyes in dismay and, seizing Sonya's arm,glanced around.

　　"Natasha?" she murmured.

　　At that moment this news had only one significance for both of them.They knew their Natasha, and alarm as to what would happen if sheheard this news stifled all sympathy for the man they both liked.

　　"Natasha does not know yet, but he is going with us," said Sonya.

　　"You say he is dying?"

　　Sonya nodded.

　　The countess put her arms around Sonya and began to cry.

　　"The ways of God are past finding out!" she thought, feeling thatthe Almighty Hand, hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in allthat was now taking place.

　　"Well, Mamma? Everything is ready. What's the matter?" askedNatasha, as with animated face she ran into the room.

　　"Nothing," answered the countess. "If everything is ready let usstart."

　　And the countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face.Sonya embraced Natasha and kissed her.

　　Natasha looked at her inquiringly.

　　"What is it? What has happened?"

　　"Nothing... No..."

　　"Is it something very bad for me? What is it?" persisted Natashawith her quick intuition.

　　Sonya sighed and made no reply. The count, Petya, Madame Schoss,Mavra Kuzminichna, and Vasilich came into the drawing room and, havingclosed the doors, they all sat down and remained for some momentssilently seated without looking at one another.

　　The count was the first to rise, and with a loud sigh crossedhimself before the icon. All the others did the same. Then the countembraced Mavra Kuzminichna and Vasilich, who were to remain in Moscow,and while they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he pattedtheir backs lightly with some vaguely affectionate and comfortingwords. The countess went into the oratory and there Sonya found her onher knees before the icons that had been left here and there hangingon the wall. (The most precious ones, with which some family traditionwas connected, were being taken with them.)

　　In the porch and in the yard the men whom Petya had armed withswords and daggers, with trousers tucked inside their high boots andwith belts and girdles tightened, were taking leave of those remainingbehind.

　　As is always the case at a departure, much had been forgotten or putin the wrong place, and for a long time two menservants stood one oneach side of the open door and the carriage steps waiting to helpthe countess in, while maids rushed with cushions and bundles from thehouse to the carriages, the caleche, the phaeton, and back again.

　　"They always will forget everything!" said the countess. "Don'tyou know I can't sit like that?"

　　And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth, without replying but with anaggrieved look on her face, hastily got into the coach to rearrangethe seat.

　　"Oh, those servants!" said the count, swaying his head.

　　Efim, the old coachman, who was the only one the countess trusted todrive her, sat perched up high on the box and did not so much asglance round at what was going on behind him. From thirty years'experience he knew it would be some time yet before the order, "Beoff, in God's name!" would be given him: and he knew that even when itwas said he would be stopped once or twice more while they sent backto fetch something that had been forgotten, and even after that hewould again be stopped and the countess herself would lean out ofthe window and beg him for the love of heaven to drive carefullydown the hill. He knew all this and therefore waited calmly for whatwould happen, with more patience than the horses, especially thenear one, the chestnut Falcon, who was pawing the ground andchamping his bit. At last all were seated, the carriage steps werefolded and pulled up, the door was shut, somebody was sent for atraveling case, and the countess leaned out and said what she had tosay. Then Efim deliberately doffed his hat and began crossing himself.The postilion and all the other servants did the same. "Off, inGod's name!" said Efim, putting on his hat. "Start!" The postilionstarted the horses, the off pole horse tugged at his collar, thehigh springs creaked, and the body of the coach swayed. The footmansprang onto the box of the moving coach which jolted as it passedout of the yard onto the uneven roadway; the other vehicles joltedin their turn, and the procession of carriages moved up the street. Inthe carriages, the caleche, and the phaeton, all crossed themselves asthey passed the church opposite the house. Those who were to remain inMoscow walked on either side of the vehicles seeing the travelers off.

　　Rarely had Natasha experienced so joyful a feeling as now, sittingin the carriage beside the countess and gazing at the slowlyreceding walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Occasionally she leanedout of the carriage window and looked back and then forward at thelong train of wounded in front of them. Almost at the head of the lineshe could see the raised hood of Prince Andrew's caleche. She didnot know who was in it, but each time she looked at the procession hereyes sought that caleche. She knew it was right in front.

　　In Kudrino, from the Nikitski, Presnya, and Podnovinsk Streetscame several other trains of vehicles similar to the Rostovs', andas they passed along the Sadovaya Street the carriages and cartsformed two rows abreast.

　　As they were going round the Sukharev water tower Natasha, who wasinquisitively and alertly scrutinizing the people driving or walkingpast, suddenly cried out in joyful surprise:

　　"Dear me! Mamma, Sonya, look, it's he!"

　　"Who? Who?"

　　"Look! Yes, on my word, it's Bezukhov!" said Natasha, putting herhead out of the carriage and staring at a tall, stout man in acoachman's long coat, who from his manner of walking and moving wasevidently a gentleman in disguise, and who was passing under thearch of the Sukharev tower accompanied by a small, sallow-faced,beardless old man in a frieze coat.

　　"Yes, it really is Bezukhov in a coachman's coat, with aqueer-looking old boy. Really," said Natasha, "look, look!"

　　"No, it's not he. How can you talk such nonsense?"

　　"Mamma," screamed Natasha, "I'll stake my head it's he! I assureyou! Stop, stop!" she cried to the coachman.

　　But the coachman could not stop, for from the Meshchanski Streetcame more carts and carriages, and the Rostovs were being shouted atto move on and not block the way.

　　In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, theRostovs all saw Pierre- or someone extraordinarily like him- in acoachman's coat, going down the street with head bent and a seriousface beside a small, beardless old man who looked like a footman. Thatold man noticed a face thrust out of the carriage window gazing atthem, and respectfully touching Pierre's elbow said something to himand pointed to the carriage. Pierre, evidently engrossed in thought,could not at first understand him. At length when he had understoodand looked in the direction the old man indicated, he recognizedNatasha, and following his first impulse stepped instantly and rapidlytoward the coach. But having taken a dozen steps he seemed to remembersomething and stopped.

　　Natasha's face, leaning out of the window, beamed with quizzicalkindliness.

　　"Peter Kirilovich, come here! We have recognized you! This iswonderful!" she cried, holding out her hand to him. "What are youdoing? Why are you like this?"

　　Pierre took her outstretched hand and kissed it awkwardly as hewalked along beside her while the coach still moved on.

　　"What is the matter, Count?" asked the countess in a surprised andcommiserating tone.

　　"What? What? Why? Don't ask me," said Pierre, and looked round atNatasha whose radiant, happy expression- of which he was consciouswithout 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.Goodby!"

　　"Ah, if only I were a man? I'd certainly stay with you. Howsplendid!" said Natasha. "Mamma, if you'll let me, I'll stay!"

　　Pierre glanced absently at Natasha 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 battletomorrow..." he began, but Natasha interrupted him.

　　"But what is the matter with you, Count? You are not likeyourself...."

　　"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!" anddropping behind the carriage he stepped onto the pavement.

　　Natasha continued to lean out of the window for a long time, beamingat him with her kindly, slightly quizzical, happy smile.BK11|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　For the last two days, ever since leaving home, Pierre had beenliving in the empty house of his deceased benefactor, Bazdeev. This ishow it happened.

　　When he woke up on the morning after his return to Moscow and hisinterview with Count Rostopchin, he could not for some time make outwhere he was and what was expected of him. When he was informed thatamong others awaiting him in his reception room there was aFrenchman who had brought a letter from his wife, the Countess Helene,he felt suddenly overcome by that sense of confusion andhopelessness to which he was apt to succumb. He felt that everythingwas now at an end, all was in confusion and crumbling to pieces,that nobody was right or wrong, the future held nothing, and there wasno escape from this position. Smiling unnaturally and muttering tohimself, he first sat down on the sofa in an attitude of despair, thenrose, went to the door of the reception room and peeped through thecrack, returned flourishing his arms, and took up a book. Hismajor-domo came in a second time to say that the Frenchman who hadbrought the letter from the countess was very anxious to see him ifonly for a minute, and that someone from Bazdeev's widow had called toask Pierre to take charge of her husband's books, as she herself wasleaving for the country.

　　"Oh, yes, in a minute; wait... or no! No, of course... go and sayI will come directly," Pierre replied to the major-domo.

　　But as soon as the man had left the room Pierre took up his hatwhich was lying on the table and went out of his study by the otherdoor. There was no one in the passage. He went along the wholelength of this passage to the stairs and, frowning and rubbing hisforehead with both hands, went down as far as the first landing. Thehall porter was standing at the front door. From the landing wherePierre stood there was a second staircase leading to the backentrance. He went down that staircase and out into the yard. No onehad seen him. But there were some carriages waiting, and as soon asPierre stepped out of the gate the coachmen and the yard porternoticed him and raised their caps to him. When he felt he was beinglooked at he behaved like an ostrich which hides its head in a bush inorder not to be seen: he hung his head and quickening his pace wentdown the street.

　　Of all the affairs awaiting Pierre that day the sorting of JosephBazdeev's books and papers appeared to him the most necessary.

　　He hired the first cab he met and told the driver to go to thePatriarch's Ponds, where the widow Bazdeev's house was.

　　Continually turning round to look at the rows of loaded carts thatwere making their way from all sides out of Moscow, and balancinghis 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 theKremlin and that tomorrow everyone would be sent out beyond theThree Hills gates and a great battle would be fought there.

　　Having reached the Patriarch's Ponds Pierre found the Bazdeevs'house, where he had not been for a long time past. He went up to thegate. Gerasim, that sallow beardless old man Pierre had seen atTorzhok five years before with Joseph Bazdeev, came out in answer tohis knock.

　　"At home?" asked Pierre.

　　"Owing to the present state of things Sophia Danilovna has gone tothe Torzhok 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. Makar Alexeevich, the brother of mylate 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 Makar Alexeevich was Joseph Bazdeev's half-insanebrother and a hard drinker.

　　"Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in..." said Pierre and entered thehouse.

　　A tall, bald-headed old man with a red nose, wearing a dressing gownand with galoshes on his bare feet, stood in the anteroom. On seeingPierre he muttered something angrily and went away along the passage.

　　"He was a very clever man but has now grown quite feeble, as yourhonor sees," said Gerasim. "Will you step into the study?" Pierrenodded. "As it was sealed up so it has remained, but SophiaDanilovna gave orders that if anyone should come from you they were tohave the books."

　　Pierre went into that gloomy study which he had entered with suchtrepidation in his benefactor's lifetime. The room, dusty anduntouched since the death of Joseph Bazdeev was now even gloomier.

　　Gerasim opened one of the shutters and left the room on tiptoe.Pierre went round the study, approached the cupboard in which themanuscripts were kept, and took out what had once been one of the mostimportant, the holy of holies of the order. This was the authenticScotch Acts with Bazdeev's notes and explanations. He sat down atthe dusty writing table, and, having laid the manuscripts beforehim, opened them out, closed them, finally pushed them away, andresting his head on his hand sank into meditation.

　　Gerasim looked cautiously into the study several times and sawPierre always sitting in the same attitude.

　　More than two hours passed and Gerasim took the liberty of makinga slight noise at the door to attract his attention, but Pierre didnot hear him.

　　"Is the cabman to be discharged, your honor?"

　　"Oh yes!" said Pierre, rousing himself and rising hurriedly. "Lookhere," he added, taking Gerasim by a button of his coat and lookingdown at the old man with moist, shining, and ecstatic eyes, "I say, doyou 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 Gerasim. "Will you have something toeat?"

　　"No, but I want something else. I want peasant clothes and apistol," said Pierre, unexpectedly blushing.

　　"Yes, your excellency," said Gerasim after thinking for a moment.

　　All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in his benefactor'sstudy, and Gerasim heard him pacing restlessly from one corner toanother and talking to himself. And he spent the night on a bed madeup for him there.

　　Gerasim, being a servant who in his time had seen many strangethings, accepted Pierre's taking up his residence in the house withoutsurprise, and seemed pleased to have someone to wait on. That sameevening- without even asking himself what they were wanted for- heprocured a coachman's coat and cap for Pierre, and promised to get himthe pistol next day. Makar Alexeevich came twice that eveningshuffling along in his galoshes as far as the door and stopped andlooked ingratiatingly at Pierre. But as soon as Pierre turned towardhim he wrapped his dressing gown around him with a shamefaced andangry look and hurried away. It was when Pierre (wearing thecoachman's coat which Gerasim had procured for him and had disinfectedby steam) was on his way with the old man to buy the pistol at theSukharev market that he met the Rostovs.BK11|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　Kutuzov's order to retreat through Moscow to the Ryazan road wasissued at night on the first of September.

　　The first troops started at once, and during the night theymarched slowly and steadily without hurry. At daybreak, however, thosenearing the town at the Dorogomilov bridge saw ahead of them masses ofsoldiers crowding and hurrying across the bridge, ascending on theopposite side and blocking the streets and alleys, while endlessmasses of troops were bearing down on them from behind, and anunreasoning hurry and alarm overcame them. They all rushed forwardto the bridge, onto it, and to the fords and the boats. Kutuzovhimself 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 therear guard remained in the Dorogomilov suburb, where they had ampleroom. 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 Poklonny Hill looking atthe panorama spread out before him. From the twenty-sixth of August tothe second of September, that is from the battle of Borodino to theentry of the French into Moscow, during the whole of that agitating,memorable week, there had been the extraordinary autumn weather thatalways comes as a surprise, when the sun hangs low and gives more heatthan in spring, when everything shines so brightly in the rare clearatmosphere that the eyes smart, when the lungs are strengthened andrefreshed by inhaling the aromatic autumn air, when even the nightsare warm, and when in those dark warm nights, golden stars startle anddelight us continually by falling from the sky.

　　At ten in the morning of the second of September this weatherstill held.

　　The brightness of the morning was magical. Moscow seen from thePoklonny Hill lay spaciously spread out with her river, her gardens,and her churches, and she seemed to be living her usual life, hercupolas glittering like stars in the sunlight.

　　The view of the strange city with its peculiar architecture, such ashe had never seen before, filled Napoleon with the rather enviousand uneasy curiosity men feel when they see an alien form of life thathas no knowledge of them. This city was evidently living with the fullforce of its own life. By the indefinite signs which, even at adistance, distinguish a living body from a dead one, Napoleon from thePoklonny Hill perceived the throb of life in the town and felt, asit were, the breathing of that great and beautiful body.

　　Every Russian looking at Moscow feels her to be a mother; everyforeigner who sees her, even if ignorant of her significance as themother city, must feel her feminine character, and Napoleon felt it.

　　"Cette ville asiatique aux innombrables eglises, Moscou la sainte.La voila done enfin, cette fameuse ville! Il etait temps,"* said he,and dismounting he ordered a plan of Moscow to be spread out beforehim, and summoned Lelorgne d'Ideville, the interpreter.

　　*"That Asiatic city of the innumerable churches, holy Moscow! Hereit is then at last, that famous city. It was high time."

　　"A town captured by the enemy is like a maid who has lost herhonor," thought he (he had said so to Tuchkov at Smolensk). Fromthat point of view he gazed at the Oriental beauty he had not seenbefore. It seemed strange to him that his long-felt wish, which hadseemed unattainable, had at last been realized. In the clear morninglight he gazed now at the city and now at the plan, considering itsdetails, and the assurance of possessing it agitated and awed him.

　　"But could it be otherwise?" he thought. "Here is this capital at myfeet. Where is Alexander now, and of what is he thinking? A strange,beautiful, and majestic city; and a strange and majestic moment! Inwhat light must I appear to them!" thought he, thinking of his troops."Here she is, the reward for all those fainthearted men," hereflected, glancing at those near him and at the troops who wereapproaching and forming up. "One word from me, one movement of myhand, and that ancient capital of the Tsars would perish. But myclemency is always ready to descend upon the vanquished. I must bemagnanimous and truly great. But no, it can't be true that I am inMoscow," he suddenly thought. "Yet here she is lying at my feet,with her golden domes and crosses scintillating and twinkling in thesunshine. But I shall spare her. On the ancient monuments of barbarismand 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 takingplace lay in the personal struggle between himself and Alexander.)"From the height of the Kremlin- yes, there is the Kremlin, yes- Iwill give them just laws; I will teach them the meaning of truecivilization, I will make generations of boyars remember theirconqueror with love. I will tell the deputation that I did not, and donot, desire war, that I have waged war only against the false policyof their court; that I love and respect Alexander and that in Moscow Iwill accept terms of peace worthy of myself and of my people. I do notwish 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 peaceand welfare of all my subjects.' However, I know their presence willinspire me, and I shall speak to them as I always do: clearly,impressively, and majestically. But can it be true that I am inMoscow? Yes, there she lies."

　　"Qu'on m'amene les boyars,"* said he to his suite.

　　*"Bring the boyars to me."

　　A general with a brilliant suite galloped off at once to fetch theboyars.

　　Two hours passed. Napoleon had lunched and was again standing in thesame place on the Poklonny Hill awaiting the deputation. His speech tothe boyars had already taken definite shape in his imagination. Thatspeech was full of dignity and greatness as Napoleon understood it.

　　He was himself carried away by the tone of magnanimity he intendedto adopt toward Moscow. In his imagination he appointed days forassemblies at the palace of the Tsars, at which Russian notables andhis own would mingle. He mentally appointed a governor, one whowould win the hearts of the people. Having learned that there weremany charitable institutions in Moscow he mentally decided that hewould shower favors on them all. He thought that, as in Africa hehad to put on a burnoose and sit in a mosque, so in Moscow he mustbe beneficent like the Tsars. And in order finally to touch the heartsof the Russians- and being like all Frenchmen unable to imagineanything sentimental without a reference to ma chere, ma tendre, mapauvre mere* - he decided that he would place an inscription on allthese establishments in large letters: "This establishment isdedicated to my dear mother." Or no, it should be simply: Maison de maMere,*[2] he concluded. "But am I really in Moscow? Yes, here itlies before me, but why is the deputation from the city so long inappearing?" he wondered.

　　*"My dear, my tender, my poor mother."

　　*[2] "House of my Mother."

　　Meanwhile an agitated consultation was being carried on inwhispers among his generals and marshals at the rear of his suite.Those sent to fetch the deputation had returned with the news thatMoscow was empty, that everyone had left it. The faces of those whowere not conferring together were pale and perturbed. They were notalarmed by the fact that Moscow had been abandoned by itsinhabitants (grave as that fact seemed), but by the question how totell the Emperor- without putting him in the terrible position ofappearing ridiculous- that he had been awaiting the boyars so longin vain: that there were drunken mobs left in Moscow but no oneelse. Some said that a deputation of some sort must be scrapedtogether, others disputed that opinion and maintained that the Emperorshould first be carefully and skillfully prepared, and then told thetruth.

　　"He will have to be told, all the same," said some gentlemen ofthe suite. "But, gentlemen..."

　　The position was the more awkward because the Emperor, meditatingupon his magnanimous plans, was pacing patiently up and down beforethe outspread map, occasionally glancing along the road to Moscow fromunder 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'sinstinct suggesting to him that the sublime moment having been toolong drawn out was beginning to lose its sublimity, gave a sign withhis hand. A single report of a signaling gun followed, and the troops,who were already spread out on different sides of Moscow, moved intothe city through Tver, Kaluga, and Dorogomilov gates. Faster andfaster, vying with one another, they moved at the double or at a trot,vanishing amid the clouds of dust they raised and making the airring with a deafening roar of mingling shouts.

　　Drawn on by the movement of his troops Napoleon rode with them asfar as the Dorogomilov gate, but there again stopped and,dismounting from his horse, paced for a long time by theKammer-Kollezski rampart, awaiting the deputation.BK11|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　Meanwhile Moscow was empty. There were still people in it, perhaps afiftieth part of its former inhabitants had remained, but it wasempty. 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 glanceit seems as much alive as other hives.

　　The bees circle round a queenless hive in the hot beams of themidday sun as gaily as around the living hives; from a distance itsmells of honey like the others, and bees fly in and out in the sameway. But one has only to observe that hive to realize that there is nolonger any life in it. The bees do not fly in the same way, thesmell and the sound that meet the beekeeper are not the same. To thebeekeeper's tap on the wall of the sick hive, instead of the formerinstant unanimous humming of tens of thousands of bees with theirabdomens threateningly compressed, and producing by the rapidvibration of their wings an aerial living sound, the only reply is adisconnected buzzing from different parts of the deserted hive. Fromthe alighting board, instead of the former spirituous fragrant smellof honey and venom, and the warm whiffs of crowded life, comes an odorof emptiness and decay mingling with the smell of honey. There areno longer sentinels sounding the alarm with their abdomens raised, andready to die in defense of the hive. There is no longer the measuredquiet sound of throbbing activity, like the sound of boiling water,but diverse discordant sounds of disorder. In and out of the hive longblack robber bees smeared with honey fly timidly and shiftily. They donot sting, but crawl away from danger. Formerly only bees laden withhoney flew into the hive, and they flew out empty; now they fly outladen. The beekeeper opens the lower part of the hive and peers in.Instead of black, glossy bees- tamed by toil, clinging to oneanother'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 directionson 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 floorlittered with bits of wax, excrement, dying bees scarcely moving theirlegs, and dead ones that have not been cleared away.

　　The beekeeper opens the upper part of the hive and examines thesuper. Instead of serried rows of bees sealing up every gap in thecombs and keeping the brood warm, he sees the skillful complexstructures of the combs, but no longer in their former state ofpurity. All is neglected and foul. Black robber bees are swiftly andstealthily prowling about the combs, and the short home bees,shriveled and listless as if they were old, creep slowly about withouttrying to hinder the robbers, having lost all motive and all senseof life. Drones, bumblebees, wasps, and butterflies knock awkwardlyagainst the walls of the hive in their flight. Here and there amongthe cells containing dead brood and honey an angry buzzing cansometimes be heard. Here and there a couple of bees, by force of habitand custom cleaning out the brood cells, with efforts beyond theirstrength laboriously drag away a dead bee or bumblebee without knowingwhy they do it. In another corner two old bees are languidly fighting,or cleaning themselves, or feeding one another, without themselvesknowing whether they do it with friendly or hostile intent. In a thirdplace a crowd of bees, crushing one another, attack some victim andfight and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or killed, dropsfrom 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 ofbees sitting back to back and guarding the high mystery of generation,he sees hundreds of dull, listless, and sleepy shells of bees. Theyhave almost all died unawares, sitting in the sanctuary they hadguarded and which is now no more. They reek of decay and death. Only afew of them still move, rise, and feebly fly to settle on theenemy's hand, lacking the spirit to die stinging him; the rest aredead and fall as lightly as fish scales. The beekeeper closes thehive, chalks a mark on it, and when he has time tears out its contentsand 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 Kammer-Kollezskirampart, 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 peopleaimlessly moving about, following their old habits and hardly aware ofwhat they were doing.

　　When with due circumspection Napoleon was informed that Moscow wasempty, he looked angrily at his informant, turned away, and silentlycontinued to walk to and fro.

　　"My carriage!" he said.

　　He took his seat beside the aide-de-camp on duty and drove intothe suburb. "Moscow deserted!" he said to himself. "What an incredibleevent!"

　　He did not drive into the town, but put up at an inn in theDorogomilov suburb.

　　The coup de theatre had not come off.BK11|CH21

　　CHAPTER XXI

　　The Russian troops were passing through Moscow from two o'clock atnight till two in the afternoon and bore away with them the woundedand the last of the inhabitants who were leaving.

　　The greatest crush during the movement of the troops took place atthe Stone, Moskva, and Yauza bridges.

　　While the troops, dividing into two parts when passing around theKremlin, were thronging the Moskva and the Stone bridges, a great manysoldiers, taking advantage of the stoppage and congestion, turned backfrom the bridges and slipped stealthily and silently past the churchof Vasili the Beatified and under the Borovitski gate, back up thehill to the Red Square where some instinct told them they could easilytake things not belonging to them. Crowds of the kind seen at cheapsales filled all the passages and alleys of the Bazaar. But there wereno dealers with voices of ingratiating affability inviting customersto enter; there were no hawkers, nor the usual motley crowd offemale purchasers- but only soldiers, in uniforms and overcoats thoughwithout muskets, entering the Bazaar empty-handed and silentlymaking their way out through its passages with bundles. Tradesmenand their assistants (of whom there were but few) moved about amongthe soldiers quite bewildered. They unlocked their shops and lockedthem up again, and themselves carried goods away with the help theirassistants. On the square in front of the Bazaar were drummers beatingthe muster call. But the roll of the drums did not make the lootingsoldiers run in the direction of the drum as formerly, but madethem, on the contrary, run farther away. Among the soldiers in theshops and passages some men were to be seen in gray coats, withclosely shaven heads. Two officers, one with a scarf over hisuniform and mounted on a lean, dark-gray horse, the other in anovercoat and on foot, stood at the corner of Ilyinka 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 infantrymenwithout muskets who, holding up the skirts of their overcoats, wereslipping 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 therest 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 restfrom 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 wentwith him into the arcade. Some soldiers started running away in agroup. 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 hisarms.

　　"Your honor!" said he. "Be so good as to protect us! We won't grudgetrifles, you are welcome to anything- we shall be delighted!Pray!... I'll fetch a piece of cloth at once for such an honorablegentleman, 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 beplaced 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 whatany of you like!" And flourishing his arm energetically he turnedsideways to the officer.

　　"It's all very well for you, Ivan Sidorych, to talk," said the firsttradesman angrily. "Please step inside, your honor!"

　　"Talk indeed!" cried the thin one. "In my three shops here I havea hundred thousand rubles' worth of goods. Can they be saved whenthe army has gone? Eh, what people! 'Against God's might our handscan'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 oneof the passages.

　　From one open shop came the sound of blows and vituperation, andjust as the officer came up to it a man in a gray coat with a shavenhead 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 thatmoment fearful screams reached them from the huge crowd on theMoskva bridge and the officer ran out into the square.

　　"What is it? What is it?" he asked, but his comrade was alreadygalloping off past Vasili the Beatified in the direction from whichthe screams came.

　　The officer mounted his horse and rode after him. When he reachedthe bridge he saw two unlimbered guns, the infantry crossing thebridge, several overturned carts, and frightened and laughing facesamong the troops. Beside the cannon a cart was standing to which twohorses were harnessed. Four borzois with collars were pressing closeto the wheels. The cart was loaded high, and at the very top, beside achild's chair with its legs in the air, sat a peasant woman utteringpiercing and desperate shrieks. He was told by his fellow officersthat the screams of the crowd and the shrieks of the woman were due tothe fact that General Ermolov, coming up to the crowd and learningthat soldiers were dispersing among the shops while crowds ofcivilians blocked the bridge, had ordered two guns to be unlimberedand made a show of firing at the bridge. The crowd, crushing oneanother, upsetting carts, and shouting and squeezing desperately,had cleared off the bridge and the troops were now moving forward.BK11|CH22

　　CHAPTER XXII

　　Meanwhile, the city itself was deserted. There was hardly anyonein the streets. The gates and shops were all closed, only here andthere round the taverns solitary shouts or drunken songs could beheard. Nobody drove through the streets and footsteps were rarelyheard. The Povarskaya was quite still and deserted. The huge courtyardof the Rostovs' house was littered with wisps of hay and with dungfrom the horses, and not a soul was to be seen there. In the greatdrawing room of the house, which had been left with all itcontained, were two people. They were the yard porter Ignat, and thepage boy Mishka, Vasilich's grandson who had stayed in Moscow with hisgrandfather. Mishka had opened the clavichord and was strumming onit with one finger. The yard porter, his arms akimbo, stood smilingwith satisfaction before the large mirror.

　　"Isn't it fine, eh, Uncle Ignat?" said the boy, suddenly beginningto strike the keyboard with both hands.

　　"Only fancy!" answered Ignat, surprised at the broadening grin onhis face in the mirror.

　　"Impudence! Impudence!" they heard behind them the voice of MavraKuzminichna who had entered silently. "How he's grinning, the fat mug!Is that what you're here for? Nothing's cleared away down there andVasilich is worn out. Just you wait a bit!"

　　Ignat left off smiling, adjusted his belt, and went out of theroom with meekly downcast eyes.

　　"Aunt, I did it gently," said the boy.

　　"I'll give you something gently, you monkey you!" cried MavraKuzminichna, raising her arm threateningly. "Go and get the samovar toboil for your grandfather."

　　Mavra Kuzminichna 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 gonext- to drink tea in the servants' wing with Vasilich, or into thestoreroom 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 toopen it. Mavra Kuzminichna went to the gate.

　　"Who do you want?"

　　"The count- Count Ilya Andreevich Rostov."

　　"And who are you?"

　　"An officer, I have to see him," came the reply in a pleasant,well-bred Russian voice.

　　Mavra Kuzminichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, withthe round face of a Rostov, entered the yard.

　　"They have gone away, sir. Went away yesterday at vespertime,"said Mavra Kuzminichna cordially.

　　The young officer standing in the gateway, as if hesitatingwhether to enter or not, clicked his tongue.

　　"Ah, how annoying!" he muttered. "I should have come yesterday....Ah, what a pity."

　　Meanwhile, Mavra Kuzminichna was attentively and sympatheticallyexamining the familiar Rostov features of the young man's face, histattered 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 andplaced 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 hehas been very kind to me. As you see" (he glanced with an amused airand good-natured smile at his coat and boots) "my things are wornout and I have no money, so I was going to ask the count..."

　　Mavra Kuzminichna 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 theservants' quarters.

　　While Mavra Kuzminichna was running to her room the officer walkedabout the yard gazing at his worn-out boots with lowered head and afaint smile on his lips. "What a pity I've missed Uncle! What a niceold woman! Where has she run off to? And how am I to find thenearest way to overtake my regiment, which must by now be getting nearthe Rogozhski gate?" thought he. Just then Mavra Kuzminichnaappeared from behind the corner of the house with a frightened yetresolute look, carrying a rolled-up check kerchief in her hand.While still a few steps from the officer she unfolded the kerchief andtook out of it a white twenty-five-ruble assignat and hastily handedit to him.

　　"If his excellency had been at home, as a kinsman he would ofcourse... but as it is..."

　　Mavra Kuzminichna grew abashed and confused. The officer did notdecline, but took the note quietly and thanked her.

　　"If the count had been at home..." Mavra Kuzminichna went onapologetically. "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 officerran almost at a trot through the deserted streets toward the Yauzabridge to overtake his regiment.

　　But Mavra Kuzminichna stood at the closed gate for some time withmoist eyes, pensively swaying her head and feeling an unexpectedflow of motherly tenderness and pity for the unknown young officer.BK11|CH23

　　CHAPTER XXIII

　　From an unfinished house on the Varvarka, the ground floor ofwhich was a dramshop, came drunken shouts and songs. On benchesround the tables in a dirty little room sat some ten factory hands.Tipsy and perspiring, with dim eyes and wide-open mouths, they wereall laboriously singing some song or other. They were singingdiscordantly, arduously, and with great effort, evidently notbecause they wished to sing, but because they wanted to show they weredrunk and on a spree. One, a tall, fair-haired lad in a clean bluecoat, was standing over the others. His face with its fine straightnose would have been handsome had it not been for his thin,compressed, twitching lips and dull, gloomy, fixed eyes. Evidentlypossessed by some idea, he stood over those who were singing, andsolemnly and jerkily flourished above their heads his white arm withthe sleeve turned up to the elbow, trying unnaturally to spread outhis dirty fingers. The sleeve of his coat kept slipping down and healways carefully rolled it up again with his left hand, as if itwere most important that the sinewy white arm he was flourishingshould be bare. In the midst of the song cries were heard, andfighting and blows in the passage and porch. The tall lad waved hisarm.

　　"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 theleadership of the tall lad were drinking in the dramshop that morning,had brought the publican some skins from the factory and for thishad had drink served them. The blacksmiths from a neighboringsmithy, hearing the sounds of revelry in the tavern and supposing itto have been broken into, wished to force their way in too and a fightin the porch had resulted.

　　The publican was fighting one of the smiths at the door, and whenthe workmen came out the smith, wrenching himself free from the tavernkeeper, fell face downward on the pavement.

　　Another smith tried to enter the doorway, pressing against thepublican with his chest.

　　The lad with the turned-up sleeve gave the smith a blow in theface and cried wildly: "They're fighting us, lads!"

　　At that moment the first smith got up and, scratching his bruisedface 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 awoman 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 avoice addressing the publican. "What have you killed a man for, youthief?"

　　The tall lad, standing in the porch, turned his bleared eyes fromthe publican to the smith and back again as if considering whom heought to fight now.

　　"Murderer!" he shouted suddenly to the publican. "Bind him, lads!"

　　"I daresay you would like to bind me!" shouted the publican, pushingaway the men advancing on him, and snatching his cap from his headhe flung it on the ground.

　　As if this action had some mysterious and menacing significance, theworkmen surrounding the publican paused in indecision.

　　"I know the law very well, mates! I'll take the matter to thecaptain of police. You think I won't get to him? Robbery is notpermitted to anybody now a days!" shouted the publican, picking up hiscap.

　　"Come along then! Come along then!" the publican and the tallyoung fellow repeated one after the other, and they moved up thestreet together.

　　The bloodstained smith went beside them. The factory hands andothers followed behind, talking and shouting.

　　At the corner of the Moroseyka, opposite a large house with closedshutters and bearing a bootmaker's signboard, stood a score of thin,worn-out, gloomy-faced bootmakers, wearing overalls and longtattered coats.

　　"He should pay folks off properly," a thin workingman, with frowningbrows and a straggly beard, was saying.

　　"But he's sucked our blood and now he thinks he's quit of us. He'sbeen misleading us all the week and now that he's brought us to thispass he's made off."

　　On seeing the crowd and the bloodstained man the workman ceasedspeaking, and with eager curiosity all the bootmakers joined themoving 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 youthink? Look what folks are saying."

　　Questions and answers were heard. The publican, taking advantageof the increased crowd, dropped behind and returned to his tavern.

　　The tall youth, not noticing the disappearance of his foe, waved hisbare arm and went on talking incessantly, attracting general attentionto himself. It was around him that the people chiefly crowded,expecting answers from him to the questions that occupied all theirminds.

　　"He must keep order, keep the law, that's what the government isthere for. Am I not right, good Christians?" said the tall youth, witha scarcely perceptible smile. "He thinks there's no government! Howcan one do without government? Or else there would be plenty who'd robus."

　　"Why talk nonsense?" rejoined voices in the crowd. "Will they giveup Moscow like this? They told you that for fun, and you believedit! 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 whatpeople are saying," said some of the mob pointing to the tall youth.

　　By the wall of China-Town a smaller group of people were gatheredround a man in a frieze coat who held a paper in his hand.

　　"An ukase, they are reading an ukase! Reading an ukase!" criedvoices in the crowd, and the people rushed toward the reader.

　　The man in the frieze coat was reading the broadsheet of August 31When the crowd collected round him he seemed confused, but at thedemand of the tall lad who had pushed his way up to him, he began in arather 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 hislips and a frown on his brow), "to consult with him to act, and to aidthe army to exterminate these scoundrels. We too will take part..."the reader went on, and then paused ("Do you see," shouted the youthvictoriously, "he's going to clear up the whole affair foryou...."), "in destroying them, and will send these visitors to thedevil. I will come back to dinner, and we'll set to work. We willdo, completely do, and undo these scoundrels."

　　The last words were read out in the midst of complete silence. Thetall lad hung his head gloomily. It was evident that no one hadunderstood the last part. In particular, the words "I will come backto dinner," evidently displeased both reader and audience. Thepeople's minds were tuned to a high pitch and this was too simpleand needlessly comprehensible- it was what any one of them mighthave said and therefore was what an ukase emanating from the highestauthority should not say.

　　They all stood despondent and silent. The tall youth moved hislips and swayed from side to side.

　　"We should ask him... that's he himself?"... "Yes, ask himindeed!... Why not? He'll explain"... voices in the rear of thecrowd were suddenly heard saying, and the general attention turnedto the police superintendent's trap which drove into the squareattended by two mounted dragoons.

　　The superintendent of police, who had that morning by CountRostopchin's orders to burn the barges and had in connection with thatmatter acquired a large sum of money which was at that moment in hispocket, on seeing a crowd bearing down upon him told his coachman tostop.

　　"What people are these?" he shouted to the men, who were movingsingly 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 anykind of riot, but as his highest excellence said..."

　　"The count has not left, he is here, and an order will be issuedconcerning you," said the superintendent of police. "Go on!" heordered his coachman.

　　The crowd halted, pressing around those who had heard what thesuperintendent had said, and looking at the departing trap.

　　The superintendent of police turned round at that moment with ascared look, said something to his coachman, and his horsesincreased their speed.

　　"It's a fraud, lads! Lead the way to him, himself!" shouted the tallyouth. "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 thecrowd went in the direction of the Lubyanka Street.

　　"There now, the gentry and merchants have gone away and left us toperish. Do they think we're dogs?" voices in the crowd were heardsaying more and more frequently.BK11|CH24

　　CHAPTER XXIV

　　On the evening of the first of September, after his interview withKutuzov, Count Rostopchin had returned to Moscow mortified andoffended because he had not been invited to attend the council of war,and because Kutuzov had paid no attention to his offer to take part inthe defense of the city; amazed also at the novel outlook revealedto him at the camp, which treated the tranquillity of the capitaland its patriotic fervor as not merely secondary but quiteirrelevant and unimportant matters. Distressed, offended, andsurprised by all this, Rostopchin had returned to Moscow. After supperhe lay down on a sofa without undressing, and was awakened soonafter midnight by a courier bringing him a letter from Kutuzov. Thisletter requested the count to send police officers to guide the troopsthrough the town, as the army was retreating to the Ryazan road beyondMoscow. This was not news to Rostopchin. He had known that Moscowwould be abandoned not merely since his interview the previous daywith Kutuzov on the Poklonny Hill but ever since the battle ofBorodino, for all the generals who came to Moscow after that battlehad 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 Rostopchin's ownpermission. Yet all the same this information astonished and irritatedthe count, coming as it did in the form of a simple note with an orderfrom Kutuzov, and received at night, breaking in on his beauty sleep.

　　When later on in his memoirs Count Rostopchin explained hisactions at this time, he repeatedly says that he was then actuatedby two important considerations: to maintain tranquillity in Moscowand expedite the departure of the inhabitants. If one accepts thistwofold aim all Rostopchin's actions appear irreproachable. "Whywere the holy relics, the arms, ammunition, gunpowder, and stores ofcorn not removed? Why were thousands of inhabitants deceived intobelieving that Moscow would not be given up- and thereby ruined?""To presence the tranquillity of the city," explains Count Rostopchin."Why were bundles of useless papers from the government offices, andLeppich's balloon and other articles removed?" "To leave the townempty," explains Count Rostopchin. One need only admit that publictranquillity is in danger and any action finds a justification.

　　All the horrors of the reign of terror were based only on solicitudefor public tranquillity.

　　On what, then, was Count Rostopchin's fear for the tranquillity ofMoscow based in 1812? What reason was there for assuming anyprobability of an uprising in the city? The inhabitants were leavingit and the retreating troops were filling it. Why should that causethe masses to riot?

　　Neither in Moscow nor anywhere in Russia did anything resemblingan insurrection ever occur when the enemy entered a town. More thanten thousand people were still in Moscow on the first and second ofSeptember, and except for a mob in the governor's courtyard, assembledthere at his bidding, nothing happened. It is obvious that there wouldhave been even less reason to expect a disturbance among the people ifafter the battle of Borodino, when the surrender of Moscow becamecertain or at least probable, Rostopchin instead of exciting thepeople by distributing arms and broadsheets had taken steps toremove all the holy relics, the gunpowder, munitions, and money, andhad told the population plainly that the town would be abandoned.

　　Rostopchin, though he had patriotic sentiments, was a sanguine andimpulsive man who had always moved in the highest administrativecircles and had no understanding at all of the people he supposedhimself to be guiding. Ever since the enemy's entry into Smolensk hehad in imagination been playing the role of director of the popularfeeling of "the heart of Russia." Not only did it seem to him (as toall administrators) that he controlled the external actions ofMoscow's inhabitants, but he also thought he controlled their mentalattitude by means of his broadsheets and posters, written in acoarse tone which the people despise in their own class and do notunderstand from those in authority. Rostopchin was so pleased with thefine role of leader of popular feeling, and had grown so used to it,that the necessity of relinquishing that role and abandoning Moscowwithout any heroic display took him unawares and he suddenly feltthe ground slip away from under his feet, so that he positively didnot know what to do. Though he knew it was coming, he did not till thelast moment wholeheartedly believe that Moscow would be abandoned, anddid not prepare for it. The inhabitants left against his wishes. Ifthe government offices were removed, this was only done on thedemand of officials to whom the count yielded reluctantly. He wasabsorbed in the role he had created for himself. As is often thecase with those gifted with an ardent imagination, though he hadlong known that Moscow would be abandoned he knew it only with hisintellect, he did not believe it in his heart and did not adapthimself mentally to this new position of affairs.

　　All his painstaking and energetic activity (in how far it was usefuland had any effect on the people is another question) had beensimply directed toward arousing in the masses his own feeling ofpatriotic hatred of the French.

　　But when events assumed their true historical character, whenexpressing hatred for the French in words proved insufficient, when itwas not even possible to express that hatred by fighting a battle,when self-confidence was of no avail in relation to the one questionbefore Moscow, when the whole population streamed out of Moscow as oneman, abandoning their belongings and proving by that negative actionall the depth of their national feeling, then the role chosen byRostopchin suddenly appeared senseless. He unexpectedly felt himselfridiculous, weak, and alone, with no ground to stand on.

　　When, awakened from his sleep, he received that cold, peremptorynote from Kutuzov, he felt the more irritated the more he felt himselfto blame. All that he had been specially put in charge of, the stateproperty which he should have removed, was still in Moscow and itwas 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?" heruminated. "Not I, of course. I had everything ready. I had Moscowfirmly in hand. And this is what they have let it come to! Villains!Traitors!" he thought, without clearly defining who the villains andtraitors were, but feeling it necessary to hate those traitors whoeverthey might be who were to blame for the false and ridiculousposition in which he found himself.

　　All that night Count Rostopchin issued orders, for which people cameto him from all parts of Moscow. Those about him had never seen thecount so morose and irritable.

　　"Your excellency, the Director of the Registrar's Department hassent for instructions... From the Consistory, from the Senate, fromthe University, from the Foundling Hospital, the Suffragan has sent...asking for information.... What are your orders about the FireBrigade? From the governor of the prison... from the superintendent ofthe lunatic asylum..." All night long such announcements werecontinually being received by the count.

　　To all these inquiries he gave brief and angry replies indicatingthat orders from him were not now needed, that the whole affair,carefully prepared by him, had now been ruined by somebody, and thatthat somebody would have to bear the whole responsibility for all thatmight happen.

　　"Oh, tell that blockhead," he said in reply to the question from theRegistrar's Department, "that he should remain to guard his documents.Now why are you asking silly questions about the Fire Brigade? Theyhave horses, let them be off to Vladimir, and not leave them to theFrench."

　　"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 thelunatics out into the town. When lunatics command our armies Godevidently means these other madmen to be free."

　　In reply to an inquiry about the convicts in the prison, CountRostopchin 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, Meshkov,Vereshchagin..."

　　"Vereshchagin! Hasn't he been hanged yet?" shouted Rostopchin."Bring him to me!"BK11|CH25

　　CHAPTER XXV

　　Toward nine o'clock in the morning, when the troops were alreadymoving through Moscow, nobody came to the count any more forinstructions. Those who were able to get away were going of theirown accord, those who remained behind decided for themselves what theymust do.

　　The count ordered his carriage that he might drive to Sokolniki, andsat in his study with folded hands, morose, sallow, and taciturn.

　　In quiet and untroubled times it seems to every administrator thatit is only by his efforts that the whole population under his ruleis kept going, and in this consciousness of being indispensableevery administrator finds the chief reward of his labor and efforts.While the sea of history remains calm the ruler-administrator in hisfrail bark, holding on with a boat hook to the ship of the peopleand himself moving, naturally imagines that his efforts move theship he is holding on to. But as soon as a storm arises and the seabegins to heave and the ship to move, such a delusion is no longerpossible. The ship moves independently with its own enormous motion,the boat hook no longer reaches the moving vessel, and suddenly theadministrator, instead of appearing a ruler and a source of power,becomes an insignificant, useless, feeble man.

　　Rostopchin felt this, and it was this which exasperated him.

　　The superintendent of police, whom the crowd had stopped, went in tosee him at the same time as an adjutant who informed the count thatthe horses were harnessed. They were both pale, and the superintendentof police, after reporting that he had executed the instructions hehad received, informed the count that an immense crowd had collectedin the courtyard and wished to see him.

　　Without saying a word Rostopchin rose and walked hastily to hislight, luxurious drawing room, went to the balcony door, took holdof the handle, let it go again, and went to the window from which hehad a better view of the whole crowd. The tall lad was standing infront, flourishing his arm and saying something with a stern look. Theblood stained smith stood beside him with a gloomy face. A drone ofvoices was audible through the closed window.

　　"Is my carriage ready?" asked Rostopchin, stepping back from thewindow.

　　"It is, your excellency," replied the adjutant.

　　Rostopchin 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 yourorders, to go against the French, and they shouted something abouttreachery. But it is a turbulent crowd, your excellency- I hardlymanaged 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!" exclaimedRostopchin angrily.

　　He stood by the balcony door looking at the crowd.

　　"This is what they have done with Russia! This is what they havedone with me!" thought he, full of an irrepressible fury that welledup within him against the someone to whom what was happening mightbe attributed. As often happens with passionate people, he wasmastered 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 atthe crowd: "this rabble they have roused by their folly! They want avictim," he thought as he looked at the tall lad flourishing hisarm. And this thought occurred to him just because he himselfdesired a victim, something on which to vent his rage.

　　"Is the carriage ready?" he asked again.

　　"Yes, your excellency. What are your orders about Vereshchagin? Heis waiting at the porch," said the adjutant.

　　"Ah!" exclaimed Rostopchin, as if struck by an unexpectedrecollection.

　　And rapidly opening the door he went resolutely out onto thebalcony. 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. "Thankyou for coming. I'll come out to you in a moment, but we must firstsettle with the villain. We must punish the villain who has caused theruin of Moscow. Wait for me!"

　　And the count stepped as briskly back into the room and slammedthe 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 theFrench... He'll show you what law is!" the mob were saying as ifreproving 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 movedeagerly from the balcony toward the porch. Rostopchin, coming outthere with quick angry steps, looked hastily around as if seekingsomeone.

　　"Where is he?" he inquired. And as he spoke he saw a young mancoming round the corner of the house between two dragoons. He had along thin neck, and his head, that had been half shaved, was againcovered by short hair. This young man was dressed in a threadbare bluecloth coat lined with fox fur, that had once been smart, and dirtyhempen convict trousers, over which were pulled his thin, dirty,trodden-down boots. On his thin, weak legs were heavy chains whichhampered his irresolute movements.

　　"Ah!" said Rostopchin, hurriedly turning away his eyes from theyoung man in the fur-lined coat and pointing to the bottom step of theporch. "Put him there."

　　The young man in his clattering chains stepped clumsily to thespot indicated, holding away with one finger the coat collar whichchafed 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 onthe step the silence continued. Only among the back rows of thepeople, 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 stepRostopchin stood frowning and rubbing his face with his hand.

　　"Lads!" said he, with a metallic ring in his voice. "This man,Vereshchagin, is the scoundrel by whose doing Moscow is perishing."

　　The young man in the fur-lined coat, stooping a little, stood in asubmissive attitude, his fingers clasped before him. His emaciatedyoung face, disfigured by the half-shaven head, hung downhopelessly. At the count's first words he raised it slowly andlooked up at him as if wishing to say something or at least to meethis eye. But Rostopchin did not look at him. A vein in the young man'slong thin neck swelled like a cord and went blue behind the ear, andsuddenly his face flushed.

　　All eyes were fixed on him. He looked at the crowd, and renderedmore hopeful by the expression he read on the faces there, he smiledsadly and timidly, and lowering his head shifted his feet on the step.

　　"He has betrayed his Tsar and his country, he had gone over toBonaparte. He alone of all the Russians has disgraced the Russianname, he has caused Moscow to perish," said Rostopchin in a sharp,even voice, but suddenly he glanced down at Vereshchagin who continuedto 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 toone another. To keep one another back, to breathe in that stiflingatmosphere, to be unable to stir, and to await something unknown,uncomprehended, and terrible, was becoming unbearable. Thosestanding in front, who had seen and heard what had taken placebefore them, all stood with wide open eyes and mouths, strainingwith all their strength, and held back the crowd that was pushingbehind them.

　　"Beat him!... Let the traitor perish and not disgrace the Russianname!" shouted Rostopchin. "Cut him down. I command it."

　　Hearing not so much the words as the angry tone of Rostopchin'svoice, the crowd moaned and heaved forward, but again paused.

　　"Count!" exclaimed the timid yet theatrical voice of Vereshchagin inthe midst of the momentary silence that ensued, "Count! One God isabove us both...." He lifted his head and again the thick vein inhis thin neck filled with blood and the color rapidly came and went inhis face.

　　He did not finish what he wished to say.

　　"Cut him down! I command it..." shouted Rostopchin, suddenly growingpale like Vereshchagin.

　　"Draw sabers!" cried the dragoon officer, drawing his own.

　　Another still stronger wave flowed through the crowd and reachingthe front ranks carried it swaying to the very steps of the porch. Thetall youth, with a stony look on his face, and rigid and uplifted arm,stood beside Vereshchagin.

　　"Saber him!" the dragoon officer almost whispered.

　　And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury,struck Vereshchagin on the head with the blunt side of his saber.

　　"Ah!" cried Vereshchagin in meek surprise, looking round with afrightened 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 fromVereshchagin he uttered a plaintive cry of pain, and that cry wasfatal. The barrier of human feeling, strained to the utmost, thathad held the crowd in check suddenly broke. The crime had begun andmust now be completed. The plaintive moan of reproach was drowned bythe threatening and angry roar of the crowd. Like the seventh and lastwave that shatters a ship, that last irresistible wave burst fromthe rear and reached the front ranks, carrying them off their feet andengulfing them all. The dragoon was about to repeat his blow.Vereshchagin 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 himunder the feet of the pressing, struggling crowd.

　　Some beat and tore at Vereshchagin, others at the tall youth. Andthe screams of those that were being trampled on and of those whotried to rescue the tall lad only increased the fury of the crowd.It was a long time before the dragoons could extricate the bleedingyouth, beaten almost to death. And for a long time, despite thefeverish haste with which the mob tried to end the work that hadbeen begun, those who were hitting, throttling, and tearing atVereshchagin were unable to kill him, for the crowd pressed from allsides, swaying as one mass with them in the center and rendering itimpossible for them either to kill him or let him go.

　　"Hit him with an ax, eh!... Crushed?... Traitor, he soldChrist.... Still alive... tenacious... serves him right! Tortureserves a thief right. Use the hatchet!... What- still alive?"

　　Only when the victim ceased to struggle and his cries changed to along-drawn, measured death rattle did the crowd around hisprostrate, bleeding corpse begin rapidly to change places. Each onecame up, glanced at what had been done, and with horror, reproach, andastonishment 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 fellowtoo... must have been a merchant's son. What men!... and they say he'snot the right one.... How not the right one?... O Lord! And there'sanother has been beaten too- they say he's nearly done for.... Oh, thepeople... 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 corpsein his excellency's courtyard unseemly, told the dragoons to take itaway. Two dragoons took it by its distorted legs and dragged italong the ground. The gory, dust-stained, half-shaven head with itslong neck trailed twisting along the ground. The crowd shrank backfrom it.

　　At the moment when Vereshchagin fell and the crowd closed in withsavage yells and swayed about him, Rostopchin suddenly turned paleand, instead of going to the back entrance where his carriageawaited him, went with hurried steps and bent head, not knowingwhere and why, along the passage leading to the rooms on the groundfloor. The count's face was white and he could not control thefeverish twitching of his lower jaw.

　　"This way, your excellency... Where are you going?... This way,please..." said a trembling, frightened voice behind him.

　　Count Rostopchin was unable to reply and, turning obediently, wentin the direction indicated. At the back entrance stood his caleche.The distant roar of the yelling crowd was audible even there. Hehastily took his seat and told the coachman to drive him to hiscountry house in Sokolniki.

　　When they reached the Myasnitski Street and could no longer hear theshouts of the mob, the count began to repent. He remembered withdissatisfaction the agitation and fear he had betrayed before hissubordinates. "The mob is terrible- disgusting," he said to himself inFrench. "They are like wolves whom nothing but flesh can appease.""Count! One God is above us both!"- Vereshchagin's words suddenlyrecurred to him, and a disagreeable shiver ran down his back. But thiswas only a momentary feeling and Count Rostopchin smileddisdainfully at himself. "I had other duties," thought he. "The peoplehad to be appeased. Many other victims have perished and are perishingfor the public good"- and he began thinking of his social duties tohis family and to the city entrusted to him, and of himself- nothimself as Theodore Vasilyevich Rostopchin (he fancied that TheodoreVasilyevich Rostopchin was sacrificing himself for the public good)but himself as governor, the representative of authority and of theTsar. "Had I been simply Theodore Vasilyevich my course of actionwould have been quite different, but it was my duty to safeguard mylife and dignity as commander in chief."

　　Lightly swaying on the flexible springs of his carriage and nolonger hearing the terrible sounds of the crowd, Rostopchin grewphysically calm and, as always happens, as soon as he becamephysically tranquil his mind devised reasons why he should be mentallytranquil too. The thought which tranquillized Rostopchin was not a newone. Since the world began and men have killed one another no onehas ever committed such a crime against his fellow man withoutcomforting 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 hewho commits such a crime always knows just where that welfare lies.And Rostopchin now knew it.

　　Not only did his reason not reproach him for what he had done, buthe even found cause for self-satisfaction in having so successfullycontrived to avail himself of a convenient opportunity to punish acriminal and at the same time pacify the mob.

　　"Vereshchagin was tried and condemned to death," thoughtRostopchin (though the Senate had only condemned Vereshchagin tohard labor), "he was a traitor and a spy. I could not let him gounpunished and so I have killed two birds with one stone: to appeasethe mob I gave them a victim and at the same time punished amiscreant."

　　Having reached his country house and begun to give orders aboutdomestic arrangements, the count grew quite tranquil.

　　Half an hour later he was driving with his fast horses across theSokolniki field, no longer thinking of what had occurred butconsidering what was to come. He was driving to the Yauza bridge wherehe had heard that Kutuzov was. Count Rostopchin was mentally preparingthe angry and stinging reproaches he meant to address to Kutuzov forhis deception. He would make that foxy old courtier feel that theresponsibility for all the calamities that would follow theabandonment of the city and the ruin of Russia (as Rostopchin regardedit) would fall upon his doting old head. Planning beforehand what hewould say to Kutuzov, Rostopchin turned angrily in his caleche andgazed sternly from side to side.

　　The Sokolniki field was deserted. Only at the end of it, in front ofthe almshouse and the lunatic asylum, could be seen some people inwhite and others like them walking singly across the field shoutingand gesticulating.

　　One of these was running to cross the path of Count Rostopchin'scarriage, and the count himself, his coachman, and his dragoons lookedwith vague horror and curiosity at these released lunatics andespecially at the one running toward them.

　　Swaying from side to side on his long, thin legs in his flutteringdressing gown, this lunatic was running impetuously, his gaze fixed onRostopchin, shouting something in a hoarse voice and making signs tohim to stop. The lunatic's solemn, gloomy face was thin and yellow,with its beard growing in uneven tufts. His black, agate pupils withsaffron-yellow whites moved restlessly near the lower eyelids.

　　"Stop! Pull up, I tell you!" he cried in a piercing voice, and againshouted something breathlessly with emphatic intonations and gestures.

　　Coming abreast of the caleche 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... shallrise. 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 Rostopchin suddenly grew pale as he had done when the crowdclosed in on Vereshchagin. He turned away. "Go fas... faster!" hecried in a trembling voice to his coachman. The caleche flew overthe ground as fast as the horses could draw it, but for a long timeCount Rostopchin still heard the insane despairing screams growingfainter in the distance, while his eyes saw nothing but theastonished, frightened, bloodstained face of "the traitor" in thefur-lined coat.

　　Recent as that mental picture was, Rostopchin already felt that ithad cut deep into his heart and drawn blood. Even now he feltclearly that the gory trace of that recollection would not pass withtime, but that the terrible memory would, on the contrary, dwell inhis heart ever more cruelly and painfully to the end of his life. Heseemed still to hear the sound of his own words: "Cut him down! Icommand it...."

　　"Why did I utter those words? It was by some accident I saidthem.... I need not have said them," he thought. "And then nothingwould have happened." He saw the frightened and then infuriated faceof the dragoon who dealt the blow, the look of silent, timidreproach that boy in the fur-lined coat had turned upon him. "But Idid not do it for my own sake. I was bound to act that way.... Themob, the traitor... the public welfare," thought he.

　　Troops were still crowding at the Yauza bridge. It was hot. Kutuzov,dejected and frowning, sat on a bench by the bridge toying with hiswhip in the sand when a caleche dashed up noisily. A man in ageneral's uniform with plumes in his hat went up to Kutuzov and saidsomething in French. It was Count Rostopchin. He told Kutuzov thathe had come because Moscow, the capital, was no more and only the armyremained.

　　"Things would have been different if your Serene Highness had nottold me that you would not abandon Moscow without another battle;all this would not have happened," he said.

　　Kutuzov looked at Rostopchin as if, not grasping what was said tohim, he was trying to read something peculiar written at that momenton the face of the man addressing him. Rostopchin grew confused andbecame silent. Kutuzov slightly shook his head and not taking hispenetrating gaze from Rostopchin's face muttered softly:

　　"No! I shall not give up Moscow without a battle!"

　　Whether Kutuzov was thinking of something entirely different when hespoke those words, or uttered them purposely, knowing them to bemeaningless, at any rate Rostopchin made no reply and hastily lefthim. And strange to say, the Governor of Moscow, the proud CountRostopchin, took up a Cossack whip and went to the bridge where hebegan with shouts to drive on the carts that blocked the way.BK11|CH26

　　CHAPTER XXVI

　　Toward four o'clock in the afternoon Murat's troops were enteringMoscow. In front rode a detachment of Wurttemberg hussars and behindthem rode the King of Naples himself accompanied by a numerous suite.

　　About the middle of the Arbat Street, near the Church of theMiraculous Icon of St. Nicholas, Murat halted to await news from theadvanced detachment as to the condition in which they had found thecitadel, le Kremlin.

　　Around Murat gathered a group of those who had remained in Moscow.They all stared in timid bewilderment at the strange, long-hairedcommander dressed up in feathers and gold.

　　"Is that their Tsar himself? He's not bad!" low voices could beheard saying.

　　An interpreter rode up to the group.

　　"Take off your cap... your caps!" These words went from one toanother in the crowd. The interpreter addressed an old porter andasked if it was far to the Kremlin. The porter, listening inperplexity to the unfamiliar Polish accent and not realizing thatthe interpreter was speaking Russian, did not understand what wasbeing said to him and slipped behind the others.

　　Murat approached the interpreter and told him to ask where theRussian army was. One of the Russians understood what was asked andseveral voices at once began answering the interpreter. A Frenchofficer, returning from the advanced detachment, rode up to Muratand reported that the gates of the citadel had been barricaded andthat there was probably an ambuscade there.

　　"Good!" said Murat and, turning to one of the gentlemen in hissuite, ordered four light guns to be moved forward to fire at thegates.

　　The guns emerged at a trot from the column following Murat andadvanced up the Arbat. When they reached the end of the VozdvizhenkaStreet they halted and drew in the Square. Several French officerssuperintended the placing of the guns and looked at the Kremlinthrough field glasses.

　　The bells in the Kremlin were ringing for vespers, and this soundtroubled the French. They imagined it to be a call to arms. A fewinfantrymen ran to the Kutafyev Gate. Beams and wooden screens hadbeen put there, and two musket shots rang out from under the gate assoon as an officer and men began to run toward it. A general who wasstanding by the guns shouted some words of command to the officer, andthe 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 screenscame the strange sound of a few voices shouting. Instantly as at aword of command the expression of cheerful serenity on the faces ofthe French general, officers, and men changed to one of determinedconcentrated readiness for strife and suffering. To all of them fromthe marshal to the least soldier, that place was not the Vozdvizhenka,Mokhavaya, or Kutafyev Street, nor the Troitsa Gate (places familiarin Moscow), but a new battlefield which would probably provesanguinary. And all made ready for that battle. The cries from thegates ceased. The guns were advanced, the artillerymen blew the ashoff their linstocks, and an officer gave the word "Fire!" This wasfollowed by two whistling sounds of canister shot, one afteranother. The shot rattled against the stone of the gate and upon thewooden beams and screens, and two wavering clouds of smoke rose overthe Square.

　　A few instants after the echo of the reports resounding over thestone-built Kremlin had died away the French heard a strange soundabove their head. Thousands of crows rose above the walls andcircled in the air, cawing and noisily flapping their wings.Together with that sound came a solitary human cry from the gatewayand amid the smoke appeared the figure of a bareheaded man in apeasant's coat. He grasped a musket and took aim at the French."Fire!" repeated the officer once more, and the reports of a musketand of two cannon shots were heard simultaneously. The gate againhidden by smoke.

　　Nothing more stirred behind the screens and the French infantrysoldiers and officers advanced to the gate. In the gateway lay threewounded and four dead. Two men in peasant coats ran away at the footof the wall, toward the Znamenka.

　　"Clear that away!" said the officer, pointing to the beams and thecorpses, and the French soldiers, after dispatching the wounded, threwthe corpses over the parapet.

　　Who these men were nobody knew. "Clear that away!" was all thatwas said of them, and they were thrown over the parapet and removedlater on that they might not stink. Thiers alone dedicates a feweloquent lines to their memory: "These wretches had occupied thesacred citadel, having supplied themselves with guns from the arsenal,and fired" (the wretches) "at the French. Some of them were saberedand the Kremlin was purged of their presence."

　　Murat was informed that the way had been cleared. The French enteredthe gates and began pitching their camp in the Senate Square. Out ofthe windows of the Senate House the soldiers threw chairs into theSquare for fuel and kindled fires there.

　　Other detachments passed through the Kremlin and encamped alongthe Moroseyka, the Lubyanka, and Pokrovka Streets. Others quarteredthemselves along the Vozdvizhenka, the Nikolski, and the TverskoyStreets. No masters of the houses being found anywhere, the Frenchwere not billeted on the inhabitants as is usual in towns but lived init as in a camp.

　　Though tattered, hungry, worn out, and reduced to a third of theiroriginal 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 intotheir different lodgings. As soon as the men of the variousregiments began to disperse among the wealthy and deserted houses, thearmy was lost forever and there came into being something nondescript,neither citizens nor soldiers but what are known as marauders. Whenfive weeks later these same men left Moscow, they no longer formedan army. They were a mob of marauders, each carrying a quantity ofarticles which seemed to him valuable or useful. The aim of each manwhen he left Moscow was no longer, as it had been, to conquer, butmerely to keep what he had acquired. Like a monkey which puts itspaw into the narrow neck of a jug, and having seized a handful of nutswill not open its fist for fear of losing what it holds, and thereforeperishes, the French when they left Moscow had inevitably to perishbecause they carried their loot with them, yet to abandon what theyhad stolen was as impossible for them as it is for the monkey toopen its paw and let go of its nuts. Ten minutes after each regimenthad entered a Moscow district, not a soldier or officer was left.Men in military uniforms and Hessian boots could be seen through thewindows, laughing and walking through the rooms. In cellars andstorerooms similar men were busy among the provisions, and in theyards unlocking or breaking open coach house and stable doors,lighting fires in kitchens and kneading and baking bread withrolled-up sleeves, and cooking; or frightening, amusing, orcaressing women and children. There were many such men both in theshops and houses- but there was no army.

　　Order after order was issued by the French commanders that dayforbidding the men to disperse about the town, sternly forbiddingany violence to the inhabitants or any looting, and announcing aroll call for that very evening. But despite all these measures themen, who had till then constituted an army, flowed all over thewealthy, deserted city with its comforts and plentiful supplies. Asa hungry herd of cattle keeps well together when crossing a barrenfield, but gets out of hand and at once disperses uncontrollably assoon as it reaches rich pastures, so did the army disperse all overthe wealthy city.

　　No residents were left in Moscow, and the soldiers- like waterpercolating through sand- spread irresistibly through the city inall directions from the Kremlin into which they had first marched. Thecavalry, on entering a merchant's house that had been abandoned andfinding there stabling more than sufficient for their horses, went on,all the same, to the next house which seemed to them better. Many ofthem appropriated several houses, chalked their names on them, andquarreled and even fought with other companies for them. Before theyhad had time to secure quarters the soldiers ran out into thestreets to see the city and, hearing that everything had beenabandoned, rushed to places where valuables were to be had for thetaking. The officers followed to check the soldiers and wereinvoluntarily drawn into doing the same. In Carriage Row carriages hadbeen left in the shops, and generals flocked there to selectcaleches and coaches for themselves. The few inhabitants who hadremained invited commanding officers to their houses, hoping therebyto secure themselves from being plundered. There were masses of wealthand there seemed no end to it. All around the quarters occupied by theFrench were other regions still unexplored and unoccupied where,they thought, yet greater riches might be found. And Moscow engulfedthe army ever deeper and deeper. When water is spilled on dry groundboth the dry ground and the water disappear and mud results; and inthe same way the entry of the famished army into the rich and desertedcity resulted in fires and looting and the destruction of both thearmy and the wealthy city.

　　The French attributed the Fire of Moscow au patriotisme feroce deRostopchine,* the Russians to the barbarity of the French. In reality,however, it was not, and could not be, possible to explain the burningof Moscow by making any individual, or any group of people,responsible for it. Moscow was burned because it found itself in aposition in which any town built of wood was bound to burn, quiteapart from whether it had, or had not, a hundred and thirty inferiorfire engines. Deserted Moscow had to burn as inevitably as a heap ofshavings has to burn on which sparks continually fall for severaldays. A town built of wood, where scarcely a day passes withoutconflagrations when the house owners are in residence and a policeforce is present, cannot help burning when its inhabitants have leftit and it is occupied by soldiers who smoke pipes, make campfires ofthe Senate chairs in the Senate Square, and cook themselves mealstwice a day. In peacetime it is only necessary to billet troops in thevillages of any district and the number of fires in that districtimmediately increases. How much then must the probability of fire beincreased in an abandoned, wooden town where foreign troops arequartered. "Le patriotisme feroce de Rostopchine" and the barbarity ofthe French were not to blame in the matter. Moscow was set on fireby the soldiers' pipes, kitchens, and campfires, and by thecarelessness of enemy soldiers occupying houses they did not own. Evenif there was any arson (which is very doubtful, for no one had anyreason to burn the houses- in any case a troublesome and dangerousthing to do), arson cannot be regarded as the cause, for the samething would have happened without any incendiarism.

　　*To Rostopchin's ferocious patriotism.

　　However tempting it might be for the French to blame Rostopchin'sferocity and for Russians to blame the scoundrel Bonaparte, or lateron to place an heroic torch in the hands of their own people, it isimpossible not to see that there could be no such direct cause ofthe fire, for Moscow had to burn as every village, factory, or housemust burn which is left by its owners and in which strangers areallowed to live and cook their porridge. Moscow was burned by itsinhabitants, it is true, but by those who had abandoned it and notby those who remained in it. Moscow when occupied by the enemy did notremain intact like Berlin, Vienna, and other towns, simply because itsinhabitants abandoned it and did not welcome the French with bread andsalt, nor bring them the keys of the city.BK11|CH27

　　CHAPTER XXVII

　　The absorption of the French by Moscow, radiating starwise as itdid, only reached the quarter where Pierre was staying by theevening 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 completelyobsessed by one persistent thought. He did not know how or when thisthought had taken such possession of him, but he remembered nothing ofthe past, understood nothing of the present, and all he saw andheard appeared to him like a dream.

　　He had left home only to escape the intricate tangle of life'sdemands that enmeshed him, and which in his present condition he wasunable to unravel. He had gone to Joseph Alexeevich's house, on theplea of sorting the deceased's books and papers, only in search ofrest from life's turmoil, for in his mind the memory of JosephAlexeevich was connected with a world of eternal, solemn, and calmthoughts, quite contrary to the restless confusion into which hefelt himself being drawn. He sought a quiet refuge, and in JosephAlexeevich's study he really found it. When he sat with his elbowson the dusty writing table in the deathlike stillness of the study,calm and significant memories of the last few days rose one afteranother in his imagination, particularly of the battle of Borodino andof that vague sense of his own insignificance and insincerity comparedwith the truth, simplicity, and strength of the class of men hementally classed as they. When Gerasim roused him from his reverie theidea occurred to him of taking part in the popular defense of Moscowwhich he knew was projected. And with that object he had asked Gerasimto get him a peasant's coat and a pistol, confiding to him hisintentions of remaining in Joseph Alexeevich's house and keeping hisname secret. Then during the first day spent in inaction andsolitude (he tried several times to fix his attention on the Masonicmanuscripts, but was unable to do so) the idea that had previouslyoccurred to him of the cabalistic significance of his name inconnection with Bonaparte's more than once vaguely presented itself.But the idea that he, L'russe Besuhof, was destined to set a limitto the power of the Beast was as yet only one of the fancies thatoften passed through his mind and left no trace behind.

　　When, having bought the coat merely with the object of taking partamong the people in the defense of Moscow, Pierre had met theRostovs and Natasha had said to him: "Are you remaining inMoscow?... How splendid!" the thought flashed into his mind that itreally would be a good thing, even if Moscow were taken, for him toremain there and do what he was predestined to do.

　　Next day, with the sole idea of not sparing himself and notlagging in any way behind them, Pierre went to the Three Hills gate.But when he returned to the house convinced that Moscow would not bedefended, he suddenly felt that what before had seemed to him merely apossibility had now become absolutely necessary and inevitable. Hemust remain in Moscow, concealing his name, and must meet Napoleon andkill 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 in1809 by a German student in Vienna, and knew that the student had beenshot. And the risk to which he would expose his life by carrying outhis design excited him still more.

　　Two equally strong feelings drew Pierre irresistibly to thispurpose. The first was a feeling of the necessity of sacrifice andsuffering in view of the common calamity, the same feeling that hadcaused him to go to Mozhaysk on the twenty-fifth and to make his wayto the very thick of the battle and had now caused him to run awayfrom his home and, in place of the luxury and comfort to which hewas accustomed, to sleep on a hard sofa without undressing and eat thesame food as Gerasim. The other was that vague and quite Russianfeeling of contempt for everything conventional, artificial, andhuman- for everything the majority of men regard as the greatestgood in the world. Pierre had first experienced this strange andfascinating feeling at the Sloboda Palace, when he had suddenly feltthat wealth, power, and life- all that men so painstakingly acquireand guard- if it has any worth has so only by reason the joy withwhich it can all be renounced.

　　It was the feeling that induces a volunteer recruit to spend hislast penny on drink, and a drunken man to smash mirrors or glasses forno apparent reason and knowing that it will cost him all the moneyhe possesses: the feeling which causes a man to perform actionswhich from an ordinary point of view are insane, to test, as itwere, his personal power and strength, affirming the existence of ahigher, nonhuman criterion of life.

　　From the very day Pierre had experienced this feeling for thefirst time at the Sloboda Palace he had been continuously under itsinfluence, but only now found full satisfaction for it. Moreover, atthis moment Pierre was supported in his design and prevented fromrenouncing it by what he had already done in that direction. If hewere now to leave Moscow like everyone else, his flight from home, thepeasant coat, the pistol, and his announcement to the Rostovs thathe would remain in Moscow would all become not merely meaninglessbut contemptible and ridiculous, and to this Pierre was verysensitive.

　　Pierre's physical condition, as is always the case, correspondedto his mental state. The unaccustomed coarse food, the vodka hedrank during those days, the absence of wine and cigars, his dirtyunchanged linen, two almost sleepless nights passed on a short sofawithout bedding- all this kept him in a state of excitementbordering on insanity.

　　It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The French had alreadyentered Moscow. Pierre knew this, but instead of acting he onlythought about his undertaking, going over its minutest details inhis mind. In his fancy he did not clearly picture to himself eitherthe striking of the blow or the death of Napoleon, but withextraordinary vividness and melancholy enjoyment imagined his owndestruction and heroic endurance.

　　"Yes, alone, for the sake of all, I must do it or perish!" hethought. "Yes, I will approach... and then suddenly... with pistolor dagger? But that is all the same! 'It is not I but the hand ofProvidence that punishes thee,' I shall say," thought he, imaginingwhat he would say when killing Napoleon. "Well then, take me andexecute me!" he went on, speaking to himself and bowing his headwith a sad but firm expression.

　　While Pierre, standing in the middle of the room, was talking tohimself in this way, the study door opened and on the thresholdappeared the figure of Makar Alexeevich, always so timid before butnow quite transformed.

　　His dressing gown was unfastened, his face red and distorted. He wasobviously drunk. On seeing Pierre he grew confused at first, butnoticing 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. "Isay I won't surrender, I say... Am I not right, sir?"

　　He paused and then suddenly seeing the pistol on the table seized itwith unexpected rapidity and ran out into the corridor.

　　Gerasim and the porter, who had followed Makar Alexeevich, stoppedhim in the vestibule and tried to take the pistol from him. Pierre,coming out into the corridor, looked with pity and repulsion at thehalf-crazy old man. Makar Alexeevich, frowning with exertion, heldon to the pistol and screamed hoarsely, evidently with some heroicfancy 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 Gerasim, trying carefully tosteer Makar Alexeevich by the elbows back to the door.

　　"Who are you? Bonaparte!..." shouted Makar Alexeevich.

　　"That's not right, sir. Come to your room, please, and rest. Allowme to have the pistol."

　　"Be off, thou base slave! Touch me not! See this?" shouted MakarAlexeevich, brandishing the pistol. "Board them!"

　　"Catch hold!" whispered Gerasim to the porter.

　　They seized Makar Alexeevich by the arms and dragged him to thedoor.

　　The vestibule was filled with the discordant sounds of a struggleand of a tipsy, hoarse voice.

　　Suddenly a fresh sound, a piercing feminine scream, reverberatedfrom the porch and the cook came running into the vestibule.

　　"It's them! Gracious heavens! O Lord, four of them, horsemen!" shecried.

　　Gerasim and the porter let Makar Alexeevich go, and in the nowsilent corridor the sound of several hands knocking at the frontdoor could be heard.BK11|CH28

　　CHAPTER XXVIII

　　Pierre, having decided that until he had carried out his design hewould disclose neither his identity nor his knowledge of French, stoodat the half-open door of the corridor, intending to conceal himself assoon as the French entered. But the French entered and still Pierredid 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 dullexpression. The officer walked in front, leaning on a stick andslightly limping. When he had advanced a few steps he stopped,having apparently decided that these were good quarters, turnedround to the soldiers standing at the entrance, and in a loud voice ofcommand ordered them to put up the horses. Having done that, theofficer, lifting his elbow with a smart gesture, stroked hismustache and lightly touched his hat.

　　"Bonjour, la compagnie!"* said he gaily, smiling and looking abouthim.

　　*"Good day, everybody!"

　　No one gave any reply.

　　"Vous etes le bourgeois?"* the officer asked Gerasim.

　　*"Are you the master here?"

　　Gerasim gazed at the officer with an alarmed and inquiring look.

　　"Quartier, quartier, logement!" said the officer, looking down atthe little man with a condescending and good-natured smile. "Lesfrancais sont de bons enfants. Que diable! Voyons! Ne nous fachonspas, mon vieux!"* added he, clapping the scared and silent Gerasimon the shoulder. "Well, does no one speak French in thisestablishment?" he asked again in French, looking around and meetingPierre's eyes. Pierre moved away from the door.

　　*"Quarters, quarters, lodgings! The French are good fellows. Whatthe devil! There, don't let us be cross, old fellow!"

　　Again the officer turned to Gerasim and asked him to show him therooms in the house.

　　"Master, not here- don't understand... me, you..." said Gerasim,trying to render his words more comprehensible by contorting them.

　　Still smiling, the French officer spread out his hands beforeGerasim's nose, intimating that he did not understand him either,and moved, limping, to the door at which Pierre was standing. Pierrewished to go away and conceal himself, but at that moment he saw MakarAlexeevich appearing at the open kitchen door with the pistol in hishand. With a madman's cunning, Makar Alexeevich 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 momentPierre threw himself on the drunkard. Just when Pierre snatched at andstruck up the pistol Makar Alexeevich at last got his fingers on thetrigger, there was a deafening report, and all were enveloped in acloud 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 tothe officer and addressed him in French.

　　"You are not wounded?" he asked.

　　"I think not," answered the Frenchman, feeling himself over. "ButI have had a lucky escape this time," he added, pointing to thedamaged plaster of the wall. "Who is that man?" said he, lookingsternly at Pierre.

　　"Oh, I am really in despair at what has occurred," said Pierrerapidly, quite forgetting the part he had intended to play. "He isan unfortunate madman who did not know what he was doing."

　　The officer went up to Makar Alexeevich and took him by the collar.

　　Makar Alexeevich was standing with parted lips, swaying, as if aboutto fall asleep, as he leaned against the wall.

　　"Brigand! You shall pay for this," said the Frenchman, letting go ofhim. "We French are merciful after victory, but we do not pardontraitors," he added, with a look of gloomy dignity and a fineenergetic gesture.

　　Pierre continued, in French, to persuade the officer not to holdthat drunken imbecile to account. The Frenchman listened in silencewith the same gloomy expression, but suddenly turned to Pierre witha smile. For a few seconds he looked at him in silence. His handsomeface assumed a melodramatically gentle expression and he held outhis hand.

　　"You have saved my life. You are French," said he.

　　For a Frenchman that deduction was indubitable. Only a Frenchmancould perform a great deed, and to save his life- the life of M.Ramballe, captain of the 13th Light Regiment- was undoubtedly a verygreat deed.

　　But however indubitable that conclusion and the officer's convictionbased 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 hisfinger before his nose and smiling. "You shall tell me all aboutthat presently. I am delighted to meet a compatriot. Well, and whatare we to do with this man?" he added, addressing himself to Pierre asto a brother.

　　Even if Pierre were not a Frenchman, having once received thatloftiest of human appellations he could not renounce it, said theofficer's look and tone. In reply to his last question Pierre againexplained who Makar Alexeevich was and how just before their arrivalthat drunken imbecile had seized the loaded pistol which they hadnot had time to recover from him, and begged the officer to let thedeed go unpunished.

　　The Frenchman expanded his chest and made a majestic gesture withhis arm.

　　"You have saved my life! You are French. You ask his pardon? I grantit you. Lead that man away!" said he quickly and energetically, andtaking the arm of Pierre whom he had promoted to be a Frenchman forsaving his life, he went with him into the room.

　　The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, came into the passageasking what had happened, and expressed their readiness to punishthe 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 meanwhilehad time to visit the kitchen, came up to his officer.

　　"Captain, there is soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen," saidhe. "Shall I serve them up?"

　　"Yes, and some wine," answered the captain.BK11|CH29

　　CHAPTER XXIX

　　When the French officer went into the room with Pierre the latteragain thought it his duty to assure him that he was not French andwished to go away, but the officer would not hear of it. He was sovery polite, amiable, good-natured, and genuinely grateful to Pierrefor saving his life that Pierre had not the heart to refuse, and satdown with him in the parlor- the first room they entered. ToPierre's assurances that he was not a Frenchman, the captain,evidently not understanding how anyone could decline so flatteringan appellation, shrugged his shoulders and said that if Pierreabsolutely insisted on passing for a Russian let it be so, but for allthat he would be forever bound to Pierre by gratitude for saving hislife.

　　Had this man been endowed with the slightest capacity for perceivingthe feelings of others, and had he at all understood what Pierre'sfeelings were, the latter would probably have left him, but theman's animated obtuseness to everything other than himself disarmedPierre.

　　"A Frenchman or a Russian prince incognito," said the officer,looking at Pierre's fine though dirty linen and at the ring on hisfinger. "I owe my life to you and offer you my friendship. A Frenchmannever forgets either an insult or a service. I offer you myfriendship. That is all I can say."

　　There was so much good nature and nobility (in the French sense ofthe word) in the officer's voice, in the expression of his face and inhis gestures, that Pierre, unconsciously smiling in response to theFrenchman's smile, pressed the hand held out to him.

　　"Captain Ramballe, of the 13th Light Regiment, Chevalier of theLegion of Honor for the affair on the seventh of September," heintroduced himself, a self-satisfied irrepressible smile puckering hislips under his mustache. "Will you now be so good as to tell me withwhom I have the honor of conversing so pleasantly, instead of being inthe 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 reasonfor concealing it, but the Frenchman hastily interrupted him.

　　"Oh, please!" said he. "I understand your reasons. You are anofficer... 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 amquite at your service. You belong to the gentry?" he concluded witha shade of inquiry in his tone. Pierre bent his head. "Yourbaptismal name, if you please. That is all I ask. Monsieur Pierre, yousay.... That's all I want to know."

　　When the mutton and an omelet had been served and a samovar andvodka brought, with some wine which the French had taken from aRussian cellar and brought with them, Ramballe invited Pierre to sharehis dinner, and himself began to eat greedily and quickly like ahealthy and hungry man, munching his food rapidly with his strongteeth, 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, theorderly, brought some hot water in a saucepan and placed a bottle ofclaret in it. He also brought a bottle of kvass, taken from thekitchen for them to try. That beverage was already known to the Frenchand had been given a special name. They called it limonade de cochon(pig's lemonade), and Morel spoke well of the limonade de cochon hehad found in the kitchen. But as the captain had the wine they hadtaken while passing through Moscow, he left the kvass to Morel andapplied himself to the bottle of Bordeaux. He wrapped the bottle up toits neck in a table napkin and poured out wine for himself and forPierre. The satisfaction of his hunger and the wine rendered thecaptain still more lively and he chatted incessantly all throughdinner.

　　"Yes, my dear Monsieur Pierre, I owe you a fine votive candle forsaving me from that maniac.... You see, I have bullets enough in mybody already. Here is one I got at Wagram" (he touched his side)"and a second at Smolensk"- he showed a scar on his cheek- "and thisleg which as you see does not want to march, I got that on the seventhat the great battle of la Moskowa. Sacre Dieu! It was splendid! Thatdeluge of fire was worth seeing. It was a tough job you set usthere, my word! You may be proud of it! And on my honor, in spite ofthe cough I caught there, I should be ready to begin again. I pitythose 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 Isit here. Three times we reached the guns and three times we werethrown back like cardboard figures. Oh, it was beautiful, MonsieurPierre! Your grenadiers were splendid, by heaven! I saw them closeup their ranks six times in succession and march as if on parade. Finefellows! Our King of Naples, who knows what's what, cried 'Bravo!' Ha,ha! So you are one of us soldiers!" he added, smiling, after amomentary pause. "So much the better, so much the better, MonsieurPierre! Terrible in battle... gallant... with the fair" (he winked andsmiled), "that's what the French are, Monsieur Pierre, aren't they?"

　　The captain was so naively and good-humoredly gay, so real, and sopleased with himself that Pierre almost winked back as he lookedmerrily at him. Probably the word "gallant" turned the captain'sthoughts to the state of Moscow.

　　"Apropos, tell me please, is it true that the women have all leftMoscow? What a queer idea! What had they to be afraid of?"

　　"Would not the French ladies leave Paris if the Russians enteredit?" 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 forhim.

　　The captain looked at Pierre. He had a habit of stopping short inthe middle of his talk and gazing intently with his laughing, kindlyeyes.

　　"Well, if you hadn't told me you were Russian, I should have wageredthat 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 knowParis is a savage. You can tell a Parisian two leagues off. Paris isTalma, la Duchenois, Potier, the Sorbonne, the boulevards," andnoticing that his conclusion was weaker than what had gone before,he added quickly: "There is only one Paris in the world. You have beento Paris and have remained Russian. Well, I don't esteem you theless for it."

　　Under the influence of the wine he had drunk, and after the dayshe had spent alone with his depressing thoughts, Pierreinvoluntarily enjoyed talking with this cheerful and good-natured man.

　　"To return to your ladies- I hear they are lovely. What a wretchedidea to go and bury themselves in the steppes when the French armyis in Moscow. What a chance those girls have missed! Your peasants,now- that's another thing; but you civilized people, you ought to knowus better than that. We took Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome,Warsaw, all the world's capitals.... We are feared, but we areloved. We are nice to know. And then the Emperor..." he began, butPierre interrupted him.

　　"The Emperor," Pierre repeated, and his face suddenly became sad andembarrassed, "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.... Iassure you I was his enemy eight years ago. My father was anemigrant count.... But that man has vanquished me. He has taken holdof me. I could not resist the sight of the grandeur and glory withwhich he has covered France. When I understood what he wanted- whenI saw that he was preparing a bed of laurels for us, you know, Isaid to myself: 'That is a monarch,' and I devoted myself to him! Sothere! Oh yes, mon cher, he is the greatest man of the ages past orfuture."

　　"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 histalk.

　　Their conversation was interrupted by the cries of several voices atthe gate and by Morel, who came to say that some Wurttemberg hussarshad come and wanted to put up their horses in the yard where thecaptain's horses were. This difficulty had arisen chiefly becausethe hussars did not understand what was said to them in French.

　　The captain had their senior sergeant called in, and in a sternvoice asked him to what regiment he belonged, who was his commandingofficer, and by what right he allowed himself to claim quarters thatwere already occupied. The German who knew little French, answered thetwo first questions by giving the names of his regiment and of hiscommanding officer, but in reply to the third question which he didnot understand said, introducing broken French into his own German,that he was the quartermaster of the regiment and his commander hadordered him to occupy all the houses one after another. Pierre, whoknew German, translated what the German said to the captain and gavethe captain's reply to the Wurttemberg hussar in German. When he hadunderstood what was said to him, the German submitted and took his menelsewhere. The captain went out into the porch and gave some orders ina loud voice.

　　When he returned to the room Pierre was sitting in the same place asbefore, with his head in his hands. His face expressed suffering. Hereally was suffering at that moment. When the captain went out andhe was left alone, suddenly he came to himself and realized theposition he was in. It was not that Moscow had been taken or thatthe happy conquerors were masters in it and were patronizing him.Painful as that was it was not that which tormented Pierre at themoment. He was tormented by the consciousness of his own weakness. Thefew glasses of wine he had drunk and the conversation with thisgood-natured man had destroyed the mood of concentrated gloom in whichhe had spent the last few days and which was essential for theexecution of his design. The pistol, dagger, and peasant coat wereready. Napoleon was to enter the town next day. Pierre stillconsidered that it would be a useful and worthy action to slay theevildoer, but now he felt that he would not do it. He did not knowwhy, but he felt a foreboding that he would not carry out hisintention. He struggled against the confession of his weakness butdimly felt that he could not overcome it and that his former gloomyframe 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 atune.

　　The Frenchman's chatter which had previously amused Pierre nowrepelled him. The tune he was whistling, his gait, and the gesturewith which he twirled his mustache, all now seemed offensive. "Iwill go away immediately. I won't say another word to him," thoughtPierre. He thought this, but still sat in the same place. A strangefeeling of weakness tied him to the spot; he wished to get up and goaway, but could not do so.

　　The captain, on the other hand, seemed very cheerful. He paced upand down the room twice. His eyes shone and his mustache twitched asif he were smiling to himself at some amusing thought.

　　"The colonel of those Wurttembergers is delightful," he suddenlysaid. "He's a German, but a nice fellow all the same.... But he's aGerman." 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 someseconds with laughing eyes. "These Germans are first-rate fools, don'tyou think so, Monsieur Pierre?" he concluded.

　　"Well, let's have another bottle of this Moscow Bordeaux, shallwe? Morel will warm us up another little bottle. Morel!" he called outgaily.

　　Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine. The captain looked atPierre by the candlelight and was evidently struck by the troubledexpression on his companion's face. Ramballe, with genuine distressand sympathy in his face, went up to Pierre and bent over him.

　　"There now, we're sad," said he, touching Pierre's hand. "Have Iupset 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'seyes whose expression of sympathy was pleasing to him.

　　"Honestly, without speaking of what I owe you, I feel friendship foryou. Can I do anything for you? Dispose of me. It is for life anddeath. I say it with my hand on my heart!" said he, striking hischest.

　　"Thank you," said Pierre.

　　The captain gazed intently at him as he had done when he learnedthat "shelter" was Unterkunft in German, and his face suddenlybrightened.

　　"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 emptiedhis too, again pressed Pierre's hand, and leaned his elbows on thetable in a pensive attitude.

　　"Yes, my dear friend," he began, "such is fortune's caprice. Whowould have said that I should be a soldier and a captain of dragoonsin the service of Bonaparte, as we used to call him? Yet here I amin Moscow with him. I must tell you, mon cher," he continued in thesad 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 naive frankness the captain toldPierre the story of his ancestors, his childhood, youth, andmanhood, and all about his relations and his financial and familyaffairs, "ma pauvre mere" playing of course an important part in thestory.

　　"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 atPierre, 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 theeager enthusiasm with which he spoke of women. Though all Ramballe'slove stories had the sensual character which Frenchmen regard as thespecial charm and poetry of love, yet he told his story with suchsincere conviction that he alone had experienced and known all thecharm of love and he described women so alluringly that Pierrelistened to him with curiosity.

　　It was plain that l'amour which the Frenchman was so fond of was notthat low and simple kind that Pierre had once felt for his wife, norwas it the romantic love stimulated by himself that he experienced forNatasha. (Ramballe despised both these kinds of love equally: theone he considered the "love of clodhoppers" and the other the "love ofsimpletons.") L'amour which the Frenchman worshiped consistedprincipally in the unnaturalness of his relation to the woman and in acombination of incongruities giving the chief charm to the feeling.

　　Thus the captain touchingly recounted the story of his love for afascinating marquise of thirty-five and at the same time for acharming, innocent child of seventeen, daughter of the bewitchingmarquise. The conflict of magnanimity between the mother and thedaughter, ending in the mother's sacrificing herself and offeringher daughter in marriage to her lover, even now agitated thecaptain, though it was the memory of a distant past. Then he recountedan episode in which the husband played the part of the lover, andhe- the lover- assumed the role of the husband, as well as severaldroll incidents from his recollections of Germany, where "shelter"is called Unterkunft and where the husbands eat sauerkraut and theyoung girls are "too blonde."

　　Finally, the latest episode in Poland still fresh in the captain'smemory, and which he narrated with rapid gestures and glowing face,was of how he had saved the life of a Pole (in general, the savingof life continually occurred in the captain's stories) and the Polehad entrusted to him his enchanting wife (parisienne de coeur) whilehimself entering the French service. The captain was happy, theenchanting Polish lady wished to elope with him, but, prompted bymagnanimity, the captain restored the wife to the husband, saying ashe did so: "I have saved your life, and I save your honor!" Havingrepeated these words the captain wiped his eyes and gave himself ashake, as if driving away the weakness which assailed him at thistouching recollection.

　　Listening to the captain's tales, Pierre- as often happens late inthe evening and under the influence of wine- followed all that wastold him, understood it all, and at the same time followed a trainof personal memories which, he knew not why, suddenly arose in hismind. While listening to these love stories his own love for Natashaunexpectedly rose to his mind, and going over the pictures of thatlove in his imagination he mentally compared them with Ramballe'stales. Listening to the story of the struggle between love and duty,Pierre saw before his eyes every minutest detail of his last meetingwith the object of his love at the Sukharev water tower. At the timeof that meeting it had not produced an effect upon him- he had noteven once recalled it. But now it seemed to him that that meetinghad had in it something very important and poetic.

　　"Peter Kirilovich, come here! We have recognized you," he now seemedto 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... andthere seemed to him something pathetic and touching in all this.

　　Having finished his tale about the enchanting Polish lady, thecaptain asked Pierre if he had ever experienced a similar impulse tosacrifice himself for love and a feeling of envy of the legitimatehusband.

　　Challenged by this question Pierre raised his head and felt a needto express the thoughts that filled his mind. He began to explain thathe understood love for a women somewhat differently. He said that inall his life he had loved and still loved only one woman, and that shecould never be his.

　　"Tiens!" said the captain.

　　Pierre then explained that he had loved this woman from his earliestyears, but that he had not dared to think of her because she was tooyoung, and because he had been an illegitimate son without a name.Afterwards when he had received a name and wealth he dared not thinkof her because he loved her too well, placing her far above everythingin the world, and especially therefore above himself.

　　When he had reached this point, Pierre asked the captain whetherhe understood that.

　　The captain made a gesture signifying that even if he did notunderstand it he begged Pierre to continue.

　　"Platonic love, clouds..." he muttered.

　　Whether it was the wine he had drunk, or an impulse of frankness, orthe thought that this man did not, and never would, know any ofthose who played a part in his story, or whether it was all thesethings together, something loosened Pierre's tongue. Speakingthickly and with a faraway look in his shining eyes, he told the wholestory of his life: his marriage, Natasha'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 firstconcealed- his own position and even his name.

　　More than anything else in Pierre's story the captain wasimpressed by the fact that Pierre was very rich, had two mansions inMoscow, 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 Pokrovkaa fire glowed- the first of those that were beginning in Moscow. Tothe right and high up in the sky was the sickle of the waning moon andopposite to it hung that bright comet which was connected inPierre's heart with his love. At the gate stood Gerasim, the cook, andtwo Frenchmen. Their laughter and their mutually incomprehensibleremarks in two languages could be heard. They were looking at the glowseen in the town.

　　There was nothing terrible in the one small, distant fire in theimmense city.

　　Gazing at the high starry sky, at the moon, at the comet, and at theglow from the fire, Pierre experienced a joyful emotion. "There now,how good it is, what more does one need?" thought he. And suddenlyremembering his intention he grew dizzy and felt so faint that heleaned against the fence to save himself from falling.

　　Without taking leave of his new friend, Pierre left the gate withunsteady steps and returning to his room lay down on the sofa andimmediately fell asleep.BK11|CH30

　　CHAPTER XXX

　　The glow of the first fire that began on the second of September waswatched from the various roads by the fugitive Muscovites and by theretreating troops, with many different feelings.

　　The Rostov party spent the night at Mytishchi, fourteen miles fromMoscow. They had started so late on the first of September, the roadhad been so blocked by vehicles and troops, so many things had beenforgotten for which servants were sent back, that they had decidedto spend that night at a place three miles out of Moscow. The nextmorning they woke late and were again delayed so often that theyonly got as far as Great Mytishchi. At ten o'clock that evening theRostov family and the wounded traveling with them were all distributedin the yards and huts of that large village. The Rostovs' servants andcoachmen and the orderlies of the wounded officers, after attending totheir masters, had supper, fed the horses, and came out into theporches.

　　In a neighboring hut lay Raevski's adjutant with a fracturedwrist. The awful pain he suffered made him moan incessantly andpiteously, and his moaning sounded terrible in the darkness of theautumn night. He had spent the first night in the same yard as theRostovs. The countess said she had been unable to close her eyes onaccount of his moaning, and at Mytishchi she moved into a worse hutsimply to be farther away from the wounded man.

　　In the darkness of the night one of the servants noticed, abovethe high body of a coach standing before the porch, the small glowof another fire. One glow had long been visible and everybody knewthat it was Little Mytishchi burning- set on fire by Mamonov'sCossacks.

　　"But look here, brothers, there's another fire!" remarked anorderly.

　　All turned their attention to the glow.

　　"But they told us Little Mytishchi had been set on fire by Mamonov'sCossacks."

　　"But that's not Mytishchi, it's farther away."

　　"Look, it must be in Moscow!"

　　Two of the gazers went round to the other side of the coach andsat down on its steps.

　　"It's more to the left, why, Little Mytishchi is over there, andthis 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: eitherin the Sushchevski or the Rogozhski quarter."

　　No one replied to this remark and for some time they all gazedsilently at the spreading flames of the second fire in the distance.

　　Old Daniel Terentich, the count's valet (as he was called), cameup to the group and shouted at Mishka.

　　"What are you staring at, you good-for-nothing?... The count will becalling and there's nobody there; go and gather the clothes together."

　　"I only ran out to get some water," said Mishka.

　　"But what do you think, Daniel Terentich? Doesn't it look as if thatglow were in Moscow?" remarked one of the footmen.

　　Daniel Terentich made no reply, and again for a long time theywere all silent. The glow spread, rising and failing, farther andfarther 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 thecrows flying. Lord have mercy on us sinners!"

　　"They'll put it out, no fear!"

　　"Who's to put it out?" Daniel Terentich, who had hitherto beensilent, was heard to say. His voice was calm and deliberate. "Moscowit is, brothers," said he. "Mother Moscow, the white..." his voicefaltered, and he gave way to an old man's sob.

　　And it was as if they had all only waited for this to realize thesignificance for them of the glow they were watching. Sighs wereheard, words of prayer, and the sobbing of the count's old valet.BK11|CH31

　　CHAPTER XXXI

　　The valet, returning to the cottage, informed the count thatMoscow was burning. The count donned his dressing gown and went out tolook. Sonya and Madame Schoss, who had not yet undressed, went outwith him. Only Natasha and the countess remained in the room. Petyawas no longer with the family, he had gone on with his regimentwhich was making for Troitsa.

　　The countess, on hearing that Moscow was on fire, began to cry.Natasha, pale, with a fixed look, was sitting on the bench under theicons just where she had sat down on arriving and paid no attention toher father's words. She was listening to the ceaseless moaning ofthe adjutant, three houses off.

　　"Oh, how terrible," said Sonya returning from the yard chilled andfrightened. "I believe the whole of Moscow will burn, there's an awfulglow! Natasha, do look! You can see it from the window," she said toher cousin, evidently wishing to distract her mind.

　　But Natasha looked at her as if not understanding what was said toher and again fixed her eyes on the corner of the stove. She hadbeen in this condition of stupor since the morning, when Sonya, to thesurprise and annoyance of the countess, had for some unaccountablereason found it necessary to tell Natasha of Prince Andrew's wound andof his being with their party. The countess had seldom been so angrywith anyone as she was with Sonya. Sonya had cried and begged to beforgiven and now, as if trying to atone for her fault, paidunceasing attention to her cousin.

　　"Look, Natasha, how dreadfully it is burning!" said she.

　　"What's burning?" asked Natasha. "Oh, yes, Moscow."

　　And as if in order not to offend Sonya and to get rid of her, sheturned her face to the window, looked out in such a way that it wasevident that she could not see anything, and again settled down in herformer attitude.

　　"But you didn't see it!"

　　"Yes, really I did," Natasha replied in a voice that pleaded to beleft in peace.

　　Both the countess and Sonya understood that, naturally, neitherMoscow nor the burning of Moscow nor anything else could seem ofimportance to Natasha.

　　The count returned and lay down behind the partition. The countesswent up to her daughter and touched her head with the back of her handas she was wont to do when Natasha was ill, then touched herforehead with her lips as if to feel whether she was feverish, andfinally 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 Natasha.

　　When Natasha had been told that morning that Prince Andrew wasseriously wounded and was traveling with their party, she had at firstasked many questions: Where was he going? How was he wounded? Was itserious? And could she see him? But after she had been told that shecould not see him, that he was seriously wounded but that his life wasnot in danger, she ceased to ask questions or to speak at all,evidently disbelieving what they told her, and convinced that say whatshe might she would still be told the same. All the way she had satmotionless in a corner of the coach with wide open eyes, and theexpression 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 seatedherself on arriving. She was planning something and either deciding orhad already decided something in her mind. The countess knew this, butwhat it might be she did not know, and this alarmed and tormented her.

　　"Natasha, undress, darling; lie down on my bed."

　　A bed had been made on a bedstead for the countess only. MadameSchoss and the two girls were to sleep on some hay on the floor.

　　"No, Mamma, I will lie down here on the floor," Natasha repliedirritably and she went to the window and opened it. Through the openwindow the moans of the adjutant could be heard more distinctly. Sheput her head out into the damp night air, and the countess saw herslim neck shaking with sobs and throbbing against the window frame.Natasha knew it was not Prince Andrew who was moaning. She knew PrinceAndrew was in the same yard as themselves and in a part of the hutacross the passage; but this dreadful incessant moaning made hersob. The countess exchanged a look with Sonya.

　　"Lie down, darling; lie down, my pet," said the countess, softlytouching Natasha's shoulders. "Come, lie down."

　　"Oh, yes... I'll lie down at once," said Natasha, and beganhurriedly 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 madeup on the floor, jerked her thin and rather short plait of hair to thefront, and began replaiting it. Her long, thin, practiced fingersrapidly unplaited, replaited, and tied up her plait. Her head movedfrom side to side from habit, but her eyes, feverishly wide, lookedfixedly before her. When her toilet for the night was finished shesank gently onto the sheet spread over the hay on the side nearest thedoor.

　　"Natasha, you'd better lie in the middle," said Sonya.

　　"I'll stay here," muttered Natasha. "Do lie down," she addedcrossly, and buried her face in the pillow.

　　The countess, Madame Schoss, and Sonya undressed hastily and laydown. The small lamp in front of the icons was the only light leftin the room. But in the yard there was a light from the fire at LittleMytishchi a mile and a half away, and through the night came the noiseof people shouting at a tavern Mamonov's Cossacks had set up acrossthe street, and the adjutant's unceasing moans could still be heard.

　　For a long time Natasha listened attentively to the sounds thatreached her from inside and outside the room and did not move. Firstshe heard her mother praying and sighing and the creaking of her bedunder her, then Madame Schoss' familiar whistling snore and Sonya'sgentle breathing. Then the countess called to Natasha. Natasha did notanswer.

　　"I think she's asleep, Mamma," said Sonya softly.

　　After short silence the countess spoke again but this time no onereplied.

　　Soon after that Natasha heard her mother's even breathing. Natashadid not move, though her little bare foot, thrust out from under thequilt, was growing cold on the bare floor.

　　As if to celebrate a victory over everybody, a cricket chirped ina crack in the wall. A cock crowed far off and another replied nearby. The shouting in the tavern had died down; only the moaning ofthe adjutant was heard. Natasha sat up.

　　"Sonya, are you asleep? Mamma?" she whispered.

　　No one replied. Natasha rose slowly and carefully, crossedherself, and stepped cautiously on the cold and dirty floor with herslim, supple, bare feet. The boards of the floor creaked. Steppingcautiously from one foot to the other she ran like a kitten the fewsteps to the door and grasped the cold door handle.

　　It seemed to her that something heavy was beating rhythmicallyagainst all the walls of the room: it was her own heart, sinkingwith alarm and terror and overflowing with love.

　　She opened the door and stepped across the threshold and onto thecold, damp earthen floor of the passage. The cold she felt refreshedher. With her bare feet she touched a sleeping man, stepped overhim, and opened the door into the part of the hut where PrinceAndrew lay. It was dark in there. In the farthest corner, on a benchbeside a bed on which something was lying, stood a tallow candlewith a long, thick, and smoldering wick.

　　From the moment she had been told that of Prince Andrew's woundand his presence there, Natasha had resolved to see him. She did notknow why she had to, she knew the meeting would be painful, but feltthe more convinced that it was necessary.

　　All day she had lived only in hope of seeing him that night. But nowthat the moment had come she was filled with dread of what she mightsee. How was he maimed? What was left of him? Was he like thatincessant moaning of the adjutant's? Yes, he was altogether like that.In her imagination he was that terrible moaning personified. Whenshe saw an indistinct shape in the corner, and mistook his kneesraised under the quilt for his shoulders, she imagined a horrible bodythere, and stood still in terror. But an irresistible impulse drew herforward. She cautiously took one step and then another, and foundherself in the middle of a small room containing baggage. Another man-Timokhin- 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. Timokhin, kept awake bythe pain in his wounded leg, gazed with wide-open eyes at this strangeapparition of a girl in a white chemise, dressing jacket, andnightcap. The valet's sleepy, frightened exclamation, "What do youwant? What's the matter?" made Natasha approach more swiftly to whatwas 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 candlewick, and she saw Prince Andrew clearly with his arms outside thequilt, and such as she had always seen him.

　　He was the same as ever, but the feverish color of his face, hisglittering eyes rapturously turned toward her, and especially hisneck, delicate as a child's, revealed by the turn-down collar of hisshirt, gave him a peculiarly innocent, childlike look, such as she hadnever 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.BK11|CH32

　　CHAPTER XXXII

　　Seven days had passed since Prince Andrew found himself in theambulance station on the field of Borodino. His feverish state and theinflammation of his bowels, which were injured, were in the doctor'sopinion sure to carry him off. But on the seventh day he ate withpleasure a piece of bread with some tea, and the doctor noticed thathis temperature was lower. He had regained consciousness that morning.The first night after they left Moscow had been fairly warm and he hadremained in the caleche, but at Mytishchi the wounded man himselfasked to be taken out and given some tea. The pain caused by hisremoval into the hut had made him groan aloud and again loseconsciousness. When he had been placed on his camp bed he lay for along time motionless with closed eyes. Then he opened them andwhispered softly: "And the tea?" His remembering such a small detailof everyday life astonished the doctor. He felt Prince Andrew's pulse,and to his surprise and dissatisfaction found it had improved. Hewas dissatisfied because he knew by experience that if his patient didnot die now, he would do so a little later with greater suffering.Timokhin, the red-nosed major of Prince Andrew's regiment, hadjoined him in Moscow and was being taken along with him, having beenwounded in the leg at the battle of Borodino. They were accompanied bya doctor, Prince Andrew's valet, his coach. man, and two orderlies.

　　They gave Prince Andrew some tea. He drank it eagerly, lookingwith feverish eyes at the door in front of him as if trying tounderstand and remember something.

　　"I don't want any more. Is Timokhin here?" he asked.

　　Timokhin 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 hewas feeling. Prince Andrew answered all his questions reluctantlybut reasonably, and then said he wanted a bolster placed under himas he was uncomfortable and in great pain. The doctor and valet liftedthe cloak with which he was covered and, making wry faces at thenoisome smell of mortifying flesh that came from the wound, beganexamining that dreadful place. The doctor was very much displeasedabout something and made a change in the dressings, turning thewounded man over so that he groaned again and grew unconscious anddelirious from the agony. He kept asking them to get him the bookand 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 apiteous voice.

　　The doctor went into the passage to wash his hands.

　　"You fellows have no conscience," said he to the valet who waspouring water over his hands. "For just one moment I didn't look afteryou... 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 underhim!" said the valet.

　　The first time Prince Andrew understood where he was and what wasthe matter with him and remembered being wounded and how was when heasked to be carried into the hut after his caleche had stopped atMytishchi. After growing confused from pain while being carried intothe hut he again regained consciousness, and while drinking tea oncemore recalled all that had happened to him, and above all vividlyremembered the moment at the ambulance station when, at the sight ofthe sufferings of a man he disliked, those new thoughts had come tohim which promised him happiness. And those thoughts, though now vagueand indefinite, again possessed his soul. He remembered that he hadnow a new source of happiness and that this happiness had something todo with the Gospels. That was why he asked for a copy of them. Theuncomfortable position in which they had put him and turned him overagain confused his thoughts, and when he came to himself a thirdtime it was in the complete stillness of the night. Everybody near himwas sleeping. A cricket chirped from across the passage; someone wasshouting and singing in the street; cockroaches rustled on thetable, on the icons, and on the walls, and a big fly flopped at thehead of the bed and around the candle beside him, the wick of whichwas 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 thepower and will to select one sequence of thoughts or events on whichto fix his whole attention. A healthy man can tear himself away fromthe deepest reflections to say a civil word to someone who comes inand can then return again to his own thoughts. But Prince Andrew'smind was not in a normal state in that respect. All the powers ofhis mind were more active and clearer than ever, but they actedapart from his will. Most diverse thoughts and images occupied himsimultaneously. At times his brain suddenly began to work with avigor, clearness, and depth it had never reached when he was inhealth, but suddenly in the midst of its work it would turn to someunexpected idea and he had not the strength to turn it back again.

　　"Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me of which man cannot bedeprived," he thought as he lay in the semi-darkness of the quiet hut,gazing fixedly before him with feverish wide open eyes. "A happinesslying beyond material forces, outside the material influences that acton man- a happiness of the soul alone, the happiness of loving.Every man can understand it, but to conceive it and enjoin it waspossible only for God. But how did God enjoin that law? And why wasthe Son...?"

　　And suddenly the sequence of these thoughts broke off, and PrinceAndrew 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 beingerected out of slender needles or splinters, to the sound of thiswhispered music. He felt that he had to balance carefully (though itwas difficult) so that this airy structure should not collapse; butnevertheless it kept collapsing and again slowly rising to the soundof whispered rhythmic music- "it stretches, stretches, spreading outand stretching," said Prince Andrew to himself. While listening tothis whispering and feeling the sensation of this drawing out andthe construction of this edifice of needles, he also saw by glimpses ared halo round the candle, and heard the rustle of the cockroaches andthe 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 andyet to his surprise it did not destroy the structure, though itknocked against the very region of his face where it was rising. Butbesides this there was something else of importance. It wassomething white by the door- the statue of a sphinx, which alsooppressed him.

　　"But perhaps that's my shirt on the table," he thought, "andthat's my legs, and that is the door, but why is it alwaysstretching and drawing itself out, and 'piti-piti-piti' and 'ti-ti'and 'piti-piti-piti'...? That's enough, please leave off!" PrinceAndrew painfully entreated someone. And suddenly thoughts and feelingsagain swam to the surface of his mind with peculiar clearness andforce.

　　"Yes- love," he thought again quite clearly. "But not love whichloves for something, for some quality, for some purpose, or for somereason, but the love which I- while dying- first experienced when Isaw my enemy and yet loved him. I experienced that feeling of lovewhich is the very essence of the soul and does not require anobject. Now again I feel that bliss. To love one's neighbors, tolove one's enemies, to love everything, to love God in all Hismanifestations. It is possible to love someone dear to you withhuman love, but an enemy can only be loved by divine love. That is whyI experienced such joy when I felt that I loved that man. What hasbecome of him? Is he alive?...

　　"When loving with human love one may pass from love to hatred, butdivine love cannot change. No, neither death nor anything else candestroy it. It is the very essence of the soul. Yet how many peoplehave I hated in my life? And of them all, I loved and hated none asI did her." And he vividly pictured to himself Natasha, not as hehad done in the past with nothing but her charms which gave himdelight, but for the first time picturing to himself her soul. Andhe understood her feelings, her sufferings, shame, and remorse. He nowunderstood for the first time all the cruelty of his rejection of her,the cruelty of his rupture with her. "If only it were possible forme 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 thefly... And his attention was suddenly carried into another world, aworld of reality and delirium in which something particular washappening. In that world some structure was still being erected anddid not fall, something was still stretching out, and the candlewith its red halo was still burning, and the same shirtlike sphinx laynear the door; but besides all this something creaked, there was awhiff of fresh air, and a new white sphinx appeared, standing at thedoor. And that sphinx had the pale face and shining eyes of the veryNatasha of whom he had just been thinking.

　　"Oh, how oppressive this continual delirium is," thought PrinceAndrew, trying to drive that face from his imagination. But the faceremained before him with the force of reality and drew nearer.Prince Andrew wished to return that former world of pure thought,but he could not, and delirium drew him back into its domain. The softwhispering voice continued its rhythmic murmur, something oppressedhim and stretched out, and the strange face was before him. PrinceAndrew collected all his strength in an effort to recover hissenses, he moved a little, and suddenly there was a ringing in hisears, a dimness in his eyes, and like a man plunged into water he lostconsciousness. When he came to himself, Natasha, that same livingNatasha whom of all people he most longed to love with this new puredivine love that had been revealed to him, was kneeling before him. Herealized that it was the real living Natasha, and he was not surprisedbut quietly happy. Natasha, motionless on her knees (she was unable tostir), with frightened eyes riveted on him, was restraining hersobs. Her face was pale and rigid. Only in the lower part of itsomething quivered.

　　Prince Andrew sighed with relief, smiled, and held out his hand.

　　"You?" he said. "How fortunate!"

　　With a rapid but careful movement Natasha drew nearer to him onher knees and, taking his hand carefully, bent her face over it andbegan 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 Natasha in ascarcely audible, broken whisper, and began kissing his hand morerapidly, just touching it with her lips.

　　"I love you more, better than before," said Prince Andrew, liftingher 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. Natasha's thin pale face,with its swollen lips, was more than plain- it was dreadful. ButPrince Andrew did not see that, he saw her shining eyes which werebeautiful. They heard the sound of voices behind them.

　　Peter the valet, who was now wide awake, had roused the doctor.Timokhin, who had not slept at all because of the pain in his leg, hadlong been watching all that was going on, carefully covering hisbare body with the sheet as he huddled up on his bench.

　　"What's this?" said the doctor, rising from his bed. "Please goaway, madam!"

　　At that moment a maid sent by the countess, who had noticed herdaughter's absence, knocked at the door.

　　Like a somnambulist aroused from her sleep Natasha went out of theroom and, returning to her hut, fell sobbing on her bed.

　　From that time, during all the rest of the Rostovs' journey, atevery halting place and wherever they spent a night, Natasha neverleft the wounded Bolkonski, and the doctor had to admit that he hadnot expected from a young girl either such firmness or such skill innursing a wounded man.

　　Dreadful as the countess imagined it would be should Prince Andrewdie in her daughter's arms during the journey- as, judging by what thedoctor said, it seemed might easily happen- she could not opposeNatasha. Though with the intimacy now established between thewounded man and Natasha the thought occurred that should he recovertheir former engagement would be renewed, no one- least of all Natashaand Prince Andrew- spoke of this: the unsettled question of life anddeath, which hung not only over Bolkonski but over all Russia, shutout all other considerations.BK11|CH33

　　CHAPTER XXXIII

　　On the third of September Pierre awoke late. His head was aching,the clothes in which he had slept without undressing feltuncomfortable on his body, and his mind had a dim consciousness ofsomething shameful he had done the day before. That something shamefulwas his yesterday's conversation with Captain Ramballe.

　　It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed peculiarly dark out ofdoors. Pierre rose, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with anengraved stock which Gerasim had replaced on the writing table, heremembered where he was and what lay before him that very day.

　　"Am I not too late?" he thought. "No, probably he won't make hisentry 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 togo out. But it then occurred to him for the first time that hecertainly could not carry the weapon in his hand through thestreets. It was difficult to hide such a big pistol even under hiswide coat. He could not carry it unnoticed in his belt or under hisarm. Besides, it had been discharged, and he had not had time toreload it. "No matter, dagger will do," he said to himself, thoughwhen planning his design he had more than once come to theconclusion that the chief mistake made by the student in 1809 had beento try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as his chief aimconsisted not in carrying out his design, but in proving to himselfthat he would not abandon his intention and was doing all he couldto achieve it, Pierre hastily took the blunt jagged dagger in agreen sheath which he had bought at the Sukharev market with thepistol, and hid it under his waistcoat.

　　Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on hishead, Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise ormeeting the captain, and passed out into the street.

　　The conflagration, at which he had looked with so muchindifference the evening before, had greatly increased during thenight. Moscow was on fire in several places. The buildings in CarriageRow, across the river, in the Bazaar and the Povarskoy, as well as thebarges on the Moskva River and the timber yards by the DorogomilovBridge, were all ablaze.

　　Pierre's way led through side streets to the Povarskoy and fromthere to the church of St. Nicholas on the Arbat, where he had longbefore decided that the deed should should be done. The gates ofmost of the houses were locked and the shutters up. The streets andlanes were deserted. The air was full of smoke and the smell ofburning. Now and then he met Russians with anxious and timid faces,and Frenchmen with an air not of the city but of the camp, walkingin the middle of the streets. Both the Russians and the Frenchlooked 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 towhat class he could belong. The French followed him withastonishment in their eyes chiefly because Pierre, unlike all theother Russians who gazed at the French with fear and curiosity, paidno attention to them. At the gate of one house three Frenchmen, whowere explaining something to some Russians who did not understandthem, stopped Pierre asking if he did not know French.

　　Pierre shook his head and went on. In another side street a sentinelstanding beside a green caisson shouted at him, but only when theshout was threateningly repeated and he heard the click of the man'smusket as he raised it did Pierre understand that he had to pass onthe other side of the street. He heard nothing and saw nothing of whatwent on around him. He carried his resolution within himself in terrorand haste, like something dreadful and alien to him, for, after theprevious night's experience, he was afraid of losing it. But he wasnot destined to bring his mood safely to his destination. And even hadhe not been hindered by anything on the way, his intention could notnow have been carried out, for Napoleon had passed the Arbat more thanfour hours previously on his way from the Dorogomilov suburb to theKremlin, and was now sitting in a very gloomy frame of mind in a royalstudy in the Kremlin, giving detailed and exact orders as tomeasures to be taken immediately to extinguish the fire, to preventlooting, and to reassure the inhabitants. But Pierre did not knowthis; he was entirely absorbed in what lay before him, and wastortured- as those are who obstinately undertake a task that isimpossible for them not because of its difficulty but because of itsincompatibility with their natures- by the fear of weakening at thedecisive moment and so losing his self-esteem.

　　Though he heard and saw nothing around him he found his way byinstinct and did not go wrong in the side streets that led to thePovarskoy.

　　As Pierre approached that street the smoke became denser and denser-he even felt the heat of the fire. Occasionally curly tongues of flamerose from under the roofs of the houses. He met more people in thestreets and they were more excited. But Pierre, though he felt thatsomething unusual was happening around him, did not realize that hewas approaching the fire. As he was going along a foot path across awide-open space adjoining the Povarskoy on one side and the gardens ofPrince Gruzinski's house on the other, Pierre suddenly heard thedesperate weeping of a woman close to him. He stopped as ifawakening from a dream and lifted his head.

　　By the side of the path, on the dusty dry grass, all sorts ofhousehold goods lay in a heap: featherbeds, a samovar, icons, andtrunks. On the ground, beside the trunks, sat a thin woman no longeryoung, with long, prominent upper teeth, and wearing a black cloak andcap. This woman, swaying to and fro and muttering something, waschoking with sobs. Two girls of about ten and twelve, dressed in dirtyshort frocks and cloaks, were staring at their mother with a look ofstupefaction on their pale frightened faces. The youngest child, a boyof about seven, who wore an overcoat and an immense cap evidentlynot his own, was crying in his old nurse's arms. A dirty, barefootedmaid was sitting on a trunk, and, having undone her pale-coloredplait, was pulling it straight and sniffing at her singed hair. Thewoman's husband, a short, round-shouldered man in the undressuniform of a civilian official, with sausage-shaped whiskers andshowing under his square-set cap the hair smoothly brushed forwardover his temples, with expressionless face was moving the trunks,which were placed one on another, and was dragging some garmentsfrom under them.

　　As soon as she saw Pierre, the woman almost threw herself at hisfeet.

　　"Dear people, good Christians, save me, help me, dear friends...help us, somebody," she muttered between her sobs. "My girl... Mydaughter! My youngest daughter is left behind. She's burned! Ooh!Was it for this I nursed you.... Ooh!"

　　"Don't, Mary Nikolievna!" said her husband to her in a low voice,evidently only to justify himself before the stranger. "Sister musthave taken her, or else where can she be?" he added.

　　"Monster! Villain!" shouted the woman angrily, suddenly ceasing toweep. "You have no heart, you don't feel for your own child! Anotherman would have rescued her from the fire. But this is a monster andneither a man nor a father! You, honored sir, are a noble man," shewent on, addressing Pierre rapidly between her sobs. "The fire brokeout alongside, and blew our way, the maid called out 'Fire!' and werushed to collect our things. We ran out just as we were.... This iswhat we have brought away.... The icons, and my dowry bed, all therest is lost. We seized the children. But not Katie! Ooh! OLord!..." 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 manmight help her.

　　"Oh, dear sir!" she cried, seizing him by the legs. "Mybenefactor, set my heart at ease.... Aniska, go, you horrid girl, showhim the way!" she cried to the maid, angrily opening her mouth andstill 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 herplait, sighed, and went on her short, bare feet along the path. Pierrefelt as if he had come back to life after a heavy swoon. He held hishead higher, his eyes shone with the light of life, and with swiftsteps he followed the maid, overtook her, and came out on thePovarskoy. The whole street was full of clouds of black smoke. Tonguesof flame here and there broke through that cloud. A great number ofpeople crowded in front of the conflagration. In the middle of thestreet stood a French general saying something to those around him.Pierre, accompanied by the maid, was advancing to the spot where thegeneral 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 sidestreet, by the Nikulins'!"

　　Pierre turned back, giving a spring now and then to keep up withher. 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, openeda gate in a wooden fence and, stopping, pointed out to him a smallwooden wing of the house, which was burning brightly and fiercely. Oneof its sides had fallen in, another was on fire, and bright flamesissued from the openings of the windows and from under the roof.

　　As Pierre passed through the fence gate, he was enveloped by hot airand involuntarily stopped.

　　"Which is it? Which is your house?" he asked.

　　"Ooh!" wailed the girl, pointing to the wing. "That's it, that wasour lodging. You've burned to death, our treasure, Katie, myprecious little missy! Ooh!" lamented Aniska, who at the sight ofthe fire felt that she too must give expression to her feelings.

　　Pierre rushed to the wing, but the heat was so great that heinvoluntarily passed round in a curve and came upon the large housethat was as yet burning only at one end, just below the roof, andaround which swarmed a crowd of Frenchmen. At first Pierre did notrealize what these men, who were dragging something out, were about;but seeing before him a Frenchman hitting a peasant with a blunt saberand trying to take from him a fox-fur coat, he vaguely understood thatlooting 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 thepeople, and the sight of the swaying smoke, now gathering into thickblack clouds and now soaring up with glittering sparks, with hereand there dense sheaves of flame (now red and now like golden fishscales creeping along the walls), and the heat and smoke andrapidity of motion, produced on Pierre the usual animating effectsof a conflagration. It had a peculiarly strong effect on him becauseat the sight of the fire he felt himself suddenly freed from the ideasthat had weighed him down. He felt young, bright, adroit, andresolute. He ran round to the other side of the lodge and was about todash into that part of it which was still standing, when just abovehis head he heard several voices shouting and then a cracking soundand the ring of something heavy falling close beside him.

　　Pierre looked up and saw at a window of the large house someFrenchmen who had just thrown out the drawer of a chest, filled withmetal articles. Other French soldiers standing below went up to thedrawer.

　　"What does this fellow want?" shouted one of them referring toPierre.

　　"There's a child in that house. Haven't you seen a child?" criedPierre.

　　"What's he talking about? Get along!" said several voices, and oneof the soldiers, evidently afraid that Pierre might want to takefrom them some of the plate and bronzes that were in the drawer, movedthreateningly toward him.

　　"A child?" shouted a Frenchman from above. "I did hear somethingsquealing in the garden. Perhaps it's his brat that the fellow islooking 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 thegarden 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 witha spot on his cheek, in shirt sleeves, really did jump out of a windowon the ground floor, and clapping Pierre on the shoulder ran withhim into the garden.

　　"Hurry up, you others!" he called out to his comrades. "It's gettinghot."

　　When they reached a gravel path behind the house the Frenchmanpulled Pierre by the arm and pointed to a round, graveled spacewhere 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 theFrenchman. "Good-by, Fatty. We must be human, we are all mortal youknow!" and the Frenchman with the spot on his cheek ran back to hiscomrades.

　　Breathless with joy, Pierre ran to the little girl and was goingto take her in his arms. But seeing a stranger the sickly,scrofulous-looking child, unattractively like her mother, began toyell and run away. Pierre, however, seized her and lifted her in hisarms. She screamed desperately and angrily and tried with her littlehands to pull Pierre's hands away and to bite them with her slobberingmouth. Pierre was seized by a sense of horror and repulsion such as hehad experienced when touching some nasty little animal. But he made aneffort not to throw the child down and ran with her to the largehouse. It was now, however, impossible to get back the way he hadcome; the maid, Aniska, was no longer there, and Pierre with a feelingof pity and disgust pressed the wet, painfully sobbing child tohimself as tenderly as he could and ran with her through the gardenseeking another way out.BK11|CH34

　　CHAPTER XXXIV

　　Having run through different yards and side streets, Pierre got backwith his little burden to the Gruzinski garden at the corner of thePovarskoy. He did not at first recognize the place from which he hadset out to look for the child, so crowded was it now with people andgoods that had been dragged out of the houses. Besides Russianfamilies who had taken refuge here from the fire with theirbelongings, there were several French soldiers in a variety ofclothing. Pierre took no notice of them. He hurried to find the familyof that civil servant in order to restore the daughter to her motherand go to save someone else. Pierre felt that he had still much todo and to do quickly. Glowing with the heat and from running, hefelt at that moment more strongly than ever the sense of youth,animation, and determination that had come on him when he ran tosave the child. She had now become quiet and, clinging with her littlehands to Pierre's coat, sat on his arm gazing about her like somelittle wild animal. He glanced at her occasionally with a slightsmile. He fancied he saw something pathetically innocent in thatfrightened, sickly little face.

　　He did not find the civil servant or his wife where he had leftthem. He walked among the crowd with rapid steps, scanning the variousfaces he met. Involuntarily he noticed a Georgian or Armenian familyconsisting of a very handsome old man of Oriental type, wearing a new,cloth-covered, sheepskin coat and new boots, an old woman of similartype, and a young woman. That very young woman seemed to Pierre theperfection 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 thecrowd on the open space, she, in her rich satin cloak with a brightlilac shawl on her head, suggested a delicate exotic plant thrownout onto the snow. She was sitting on some bundles a little behind theold woman, and looked from under her long lashes with motionless,large, almond-shaped eyes at the ground before her. Evidently shewas aware of her beauty and fearful because of it. Her face struckPierre and, hurrying along by the fence, he turned several times tolook at her. When he had reached the fence, still without findingthose he sought, he stopped and looked about him.

　　With the child in his arms his figure was now more conspicuousthan before, and a group of Russians, both men and women, gatheredabout him.

　　"Have you lost anyone, my dear fellow? You're of the gentryyourself, aren't you? Whose child is it?" they asked him.

　　Pierre replied that the child belonged to a woman in a black coatwho had been sitting there with her other children, and he askedwhether anyone knew where she had gone.

　　"Why, that must be the Anferovs," said an old deacon, addressing apockmarked peasant woman. "Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy!" he addedin his customary bass.

　　"The Anferovs? No," said the woman. "They left in the morning.That must be either Mary Nikolievna's or the Ivanovs'!"

　　"He says 'a woman,' and Mary Nikolievna is a lady," remarked a houseserf.

　　"Do you know her? She's thin, with long teeth," said Pierre.

　　"That's Mary Nikolievna! They went inside the garden when thesewolves 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 lamentingand crying," continued the woman. "It's she. Here, this way!"

　　But Pierre was not listening to the woman. He had for some secondsbeen intently watching what was going on a few steps away. He waslooking at the Armenian family and at two French soldiers who had goneup to them. One of these, a nimble little man, was wearing a blue coattied round the waist with a rope. He had a nightcap on his head andhis feet were bare. The other, whose appearance particularly struckPierre, was a long, lank, round-shouldered, fair-haired man, slow inhis movements and with an idiotic expression of face. He wore awoman's loose gown of frieze, blue trousers, and large torn Hessianboots. The little barefooted Frenchman in the blue coat went up to theArmenians and, saying something, immediately seized the old man by hislegs and the old man at once began pulling off his boots. The other inthe frieze gown stopped in front of the beautiful Armenian girl andwith his hands in his pockets stood staring at her, motionless andsilent.

　　"Here, take the child!" said Pierre peremptorily and hurriedly tothe woman, handing the little girl to her. "Give her back to them,give her back!" he almost shouted, putting the child, who beganscreaming, on the ground, and again looking at the Frenchman and theArmenian family.

　　The old man was already sitting barefoot. The little Frenchman hadsecured his second boot and was slapping one boot against the other.The old man was saying something in a voice broken by sobs, but Pierrecaught but a glimpse of this, his whole attention was directed tothe Frenchman in the frieze gown who meanwhile, swaying slowly fromside to side, had drawn nearer to the young woman and taking his handsfrom his pockets had seized her by the neck.

　　The beautiful Armenian still sat motionless and in the sameattitude, with her long lashes drooping as if she did not see orfeel what the soldier was doing to her.

　　While Pierre was running the few steps that separated him from theFrenchman, the tall marauder in the frieze gown was already tearingfrom her neck the necklace the young Armenian was wearing, and theyoung woman, clutching at her neck, screamed piercingly.

　　"Let that woman alone!" exclaimed Pierre hoarsely in a furiousvoice, seizing the soldier by his round shoulders and throwing himaside.

　　The soldier fell, got up, and ran away. But his comrade, throwingdown the boots and drawing his sword, moved threateningly towardPierre.

　　"Voyons, Pas de betises!"* he cried.

　　*"Look here, no nonsense!"

　　Pierre was in such a transport of rage that he remembered nothingand his strength increased tenfold. He rushed at the barefootedFrenchman and, before the latter had time to draw his sword, knockedhim off his feet and hammered him with his fists. Shouts of approvalwere heard from the crowd around, and at the same moment a mountedpatrol of French Uhlans appeared from round the corner. The Uhlanscame up at a trot to Pierre and the Frenchman and surrounded them.Pierre remembered nothing of what happened after that. He onlyremembered beating someone and being beaten and finally feeling thathis hands were bound and that a crowd of French soldiers stoodaround him and were searching him.

　　"Lieutenant, he has a dagger," were the first words Pierreunderstood.

　　"Ah, a weapon?" said the officer and turned to the barefootedsoldier who had been arrested with Pierre. "All right, you can tellall about it at the court-martial." Then he turned to Pierre. "Doyou speak French?"

　　Pierre looked around him with bloodshot eyes and did not reply.His face probably looked very terrible, for the officer said somethingin a whisper and four more Uhlans left the ranks and placed themselveson both sides of Pierre.

　　"Do you speak French?" the officer asked again, keeping at adistance 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 tobe a French salesman from one of the Moscow shops.

　　"He does not look like a common man," said the interpreter, aftera 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 mustanswer 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 stoodthe pockmarked peasant woman with the little girl, and when the patrolstarted she moved forward.

　　"Where are they taking you to, you poor dear?" said she. "And thelittle girl, the little girl, what am I to do with her if she's nottheirs?" said the woman.

　　"What does that woman want?" asked the officer.

　　Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation increased at the sightof the little girl he had saved.

　　"What does she want?" he murmured. "She is bringing me my daughterwhom I have just saved from the flames," said he. "Good-by!" Andwithout knowing how this aimless lie had escaped him, he went alongwith resolute and triumphant steps between the French soldiers.

　　The French patrol was one of those sent out through the variousstreets of Moscow by Durosnel's order to put a stop to the pillage,and especially to catch the incendiaries who, according to the generalopinion which had that day originated among the higher Frenchofficers, were the cause of the conflagrations. After marching througha number of streets the patrol arrested five more Russian suspects:a small shopkeeper, two seminary students, a peasant, and a houseserf, besides several looters. But of all these various suspectedcharacters, Pierre was considered to be the most suspicious of all.When they had all been brought for the night to a large house on theZubov Rampart that was being used as a guardhouse, Pierre was placedapart under strict guard.

　　BOOK TWELVE: 1812

　　CHAPTER I

　　In Petersburg at that time a complicated struggle was beingcarried on with greater heat than ever in the highest circles, betweenthe parties of Rumyantsev, the French, Marya Fedorovna, the Tsarevich,and others, drowned as usual by the buzzing of the court drones. Butthe calm, luxurious life of Petersburg, concerned only aboutphantoms and reflections of real life, went on in its old way and madeit hard, except by a great effort, to realize the danger and thedifficult position of the Russian people. There were the samereceptions and balls, the same French theater, the same courtinterests and service interests and intrigues as usual. Only in thevery highest circles were attempts made to keep in mind thedifficulties of the actual position. Stories were whispered of howdifferently the two Empresses behaved in these difficultcircumstances. The Empress Marya, concerned for the welfare of thecharitable and educational institutions under her patronage, had givendirections that they should all be removed to Kazan, and the thingsbelonging to these institutions had already been packed up. TheEmpress Elisabeth, however, when asked what instructions she wouldbe pleased to give- with her characteristic Russian patriotism hadreplied that she could give no directions about state institutions forthat was the affair of the sovereign, but as far as she personally wasconcerned she would be the last to quit Petersburg.

　　At Anna Pavlovna's on the twenty-sixth of August, the very day ofthe battle of Borodino, there was a soiree, the chief feature of whichwas to be the reading of a letter from His Lordship the Bishop whensending the Emperor an icon of the Venerable Sergius. It wasregarded as a model of ecclesiastical, patriotic eloquence. PrinceVasili himself, famed for his elocution, was to read it. (He used toread at the Empress'.) The art of his reading was supposed to lie inrolling out the words, quite independently of their meaning, in a loudand singsong voice alternating between a despairing wail and atender murmur, so that the wail fell quite at random on one word andthe murmur on another. This reading, as was always the case at AnnaPavlovna's soirees, had a political significance. That evening sheexpected several important personages who had to be made ashamed oftheir visits to the French theater and aroused to a patriotictemper. A good many people had already arrived, but Anna Pavlovna, notyet seeing all those whom she wanted in her drawing room, did notlet the reading begin but wound up the springs of a generalconversation.

　　The news of the day in Petersburg was the illness of CountessBezukhova. She had fallen ill unexpectedly a few days previously,had missed several gatherings of which she was usually ornament, andwas said to be receiving no one, and instead of the celebratedPetersburg doctors who usually attended her had entrusted herself tosome Italian doctor who was treating her in some new and unusual way.

　　They all knew very well that the enchanting countess' illnessarose from an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands atthe same time, and that the Italian's cure consisted in removingsuch inconvenience; but in Anna Pavlovna's presence no one dared tothink of this or even appear to know it.

　　"They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it isangina 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 thedoctor 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 Pavlovna,coming up just then. "I sent to ask for news, and hear that she is alittle better. Oh, she is certainly the most charming woman in theworld," she went on, with a smile at her own enthusiasm. "We belong todifferent camps, but that does not prevent my esteeming her as shedeserves. She is very unfortunate!" added Anna Pavlovna.

　　Supposing that by these words Anna Pavlovna was somewhat lifting theveil from the secret of the countess' malady, an unwary young manventured to express surprise that well known doctors had not beencalled in and that the countess was being attended by a charlatanwho might employ dangerous remedies.

　　"Your information maybe better than mine," Anna Pavlovna suddenlyand venomously retorted on the inexperienced young man, "but I know ongood authority that this doctor is a very learned and able man. Heis private physician to the Queen of Spain."

　　And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned toanother group where Bilibin was talking about the Austrians: havingwrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out againand utter one of his mots.

　　"I think it is delightful," he said, referring to a diplomaticnote that had been sent to Vienna with some Austrian bannerscaptured from the French by Wittgenstein, "the hero of Petropol" as hewas then called in Petersburg.

　　"What? What's that?" asked Anna Pavlovna, securing silence for themot, which she had heard before.

　　And Bilibin repeated the actual words of the diplomatic dispatch,which he had himself composed.

　　"The Emperor returns these Austrian banners," said Bilibin,"friendly banners gone astray and found on a wrong path," and his browbecame smooth again.

　　"Charming, charming!" observed Prince Vasili.

　　"The path to Warsaw, perhaps," Prince Hippolyte remarked loudlyand unexpectedly. Everybody looked at him, understanding what hemeant. Prince Hippolyte himself glanced around with amused surprise.He knew no more than the others what his words meant. During hisdiplomatic career he had more than once noticed that such utteranceswere received as very witty, and at every opportunity he uttered inthat way the first words that entered his head. "It may turn outvery well," he thought, "but if not, they'll know how to arrangematters." And really, during the awkward silence that ensued, thatinsufficiently patriotic person entered whom Anna Pavlovna had beenwaiting for and wished to convert, and she, smiling and shaking afinger at Hippolyte, invited Prince Vasili to the table and bringinghim two candles and the manuscript begged him to begin. Everyonebecame silent.

　　"Most Gracious Sovereign and Emperor! " Prince Vasili sternlydeclaimed, looking round at his audience as if to inquire whetheranyone had anything to say to the contrary. But no one saidanything. "Moscow, our ancient capital, the New Jerusalem, receivesher Christ"- he placed a sudden emphasis on the word her- "as a motherreceives her zealous sons into her arms, and through the gatheringmists, foreseeing the brilliant glory of thy rule, sings inexultation, 'Hosanna, blessed is he that cometh!'"

　　Prince Vasili pronounced these last words in a tearful voice.

　　Bilibin attentively examined his nails, and many of those presentappeared intimidated, as if asking in what they were to blame. AnnaPavlovna whispered the next words in advance, like an old womanmuttering the prayer at Communion: "Let the bold and insolentGoliath..." she whispered.

　　Prince Vasili continued.

　　"Let the bold and insolent Goliath from the borders of Franceencompass the realms of Russia with death-bearing terrors; humbleFaith, the sling of the Russian David, shall suddenly smite his headin his blood-thirsty pride. This icon of the Venerable Sergius, theservant of God and zealous champion of old of our country's weal, isoffered to Your Imperial Majesty. I grieve that my waning strengthprevents rejoicing in the sight of your most gracious presence. Iraise fervent prayers to Heaven that the Almighty may exalt the raceof the just, and mercifully fulfill the desires of Your Majesty."

　　"What force! What a style!" was uttered in approval both of readerand of author.

　　Animated by that address Anna Pavlovna's guests talked for a longtime of the state of the fatherland and offered various conjectures asto the result of the battle to be fought in a few days.

　　"You will see," said Anna Pavlovna, "that tomorrow, on the Emperor'sbirthday, we shall receive news. I have a favorable presentiment!"BK12|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　Anna Pavlovna's presentiment was in fact fulfilled. Next dayduring the service at the palace church in honor of the Emperor'sbirthday, Prince Volkonski was called out of the church and received adispatch from Prince Kutuzov. It was Kutuzov's report, written fromTatarinova on the day of the battle. Kutuzov wrote that the Russianshad not retreated a step, that the French losses were much heavierthan ours, and that he was writing in haste from the field of battlebefore collecting full information. It followed that there must havebeen a victory. And at once, without leaving the church, thanks wererendered to the Creator for His help and for the victory.

　　Anna Pavlovna's presentiment was justified, and all that morning ajoyously festive mood reigned in the city. Everyone believed thevictory to have been complete, and some even spoke of Napoleon'shaving been captured, of his deposition, and of the choice of a newruler for France.

　　It is very difficult for events to be reflected in their realstrength and completeness amid the conditions of court life and farfrom the scene of action. General events involuntarily groupthemselves around some particular incident. So now the courtiers'pleasure was based as much on the fact that the news had arrived onthe Emperor's birthday as on the fact of the victory itself. It waslike a successfully arranged surprise. Mention was made in Kutuzov'sreport of the Russian losses, among which figured the names ofTuchkov, Bagration, and Kutaysov. In the Petersburg world this sadside of the affair again involuntarily centered round a singleincident: Kutaysov's death. Everybody knew him, the Emperor liked him,and he was young and interesting. That day everyone met with thewords:

　　"What a wonderful coincidence! Just during the service. But what aloss Kutaysov is! How sorry I am!"

　　"What did I tell about Kutuzov?" Prince Vasili now said with aprophet's pride. "I always said he was the only man capable ofdefeating Napoleon."

　　But next day no news arrived from the army and the public moodgrew anxious. The courtiers suffered because of the suffering thesuspense occasioned the Emperor.

　　"Fancy the Emperor's position!" said they, and instead ofextolling Kutuzov as they had done the day before, they condemnedhim as the cause of the Emperor's anxiety. That day Prince Vasili nolonger boasted of his protege Kutuzov, but remained silent when thecommander in chief was mentioned. Moreover, toward evening, as ifeverything conspired to make Petersburg society anxious and uneasy,a terrible piece of news was added. Countess Helene Bezukhova hadsuddenly died of that terrible malady it had been so agreeable tomention. Officially, at large gatherings, everyone said thatCountess Bezukhova had died of a terrible attack of angina pectoris,but in intimate circles details were mentioned of how the privatephysician of the Queen of Spain had prescribed small doses of acertain drug to produce a certain effect; but Helene, tortured bythe fact that the old count suspected her and that her husband to whomshe had written (that wretched, profligate Pierre) had not replied,had suddenly taken a very large dose of the drug, and had died inagony before assistance could be rendered her. It was said that PrinceVasili and the old count had turned upon the Italian, but the latterhad produced such letters from the unfortunate deceased that theyhad immediately let the matter drop.

　　Talk in general centered round three melancholy facts: the Emperor'slack of news, the loss of Kutuzov, and the death of Helene.

　　On the third day after Kutuzov's report a country gentlemanarrived from Moscow, and news of the surrender of Moscow to the Frenchspread through the whole town. This was terrible! What a positionfor the Emperor to be in! Kutuzov was a traitor, and Prince Vasiliduring the visits of condolence paid to him on the occasion of hisdaughter's death said of Kutuzov, whom he had formerly praised (it wasexcusable for him in his grief to forget what he had said), that itwas impossible to expect anything else from a blind and depraved oldman.

　　"I only wonder that the fate of Russia could have been entrustedto such a man."

　　As long as this news remained unofficial it was possible to doubtit, but the next day the following communication was received fromCount Rostopchin:

　　Prince Kutuzov's adjutant has brought me a letter in which hedemands police officers to guide the army to the Ryazan road. Hewrites that he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutuzov'saction decides the fate of the capital and of your empire! Russia willshudder to learn of the abandonment of the city in which her greatnessis centered and in which lie the ashes of your ancestors! I shallfollow the army. I have had everything removed, and it only remainsfor me to weep over the fate of my fatherland.

　　On receiving this dispatch the Emperor sent Prince Volkonski toKutuzov with the following rescript:

　　Prince Michael Ilarionovich! Since the twenty-ninth of August I havereceived no communication from you, yet on the first of September Ireceived from the commander in chief of Moscow, via Yaroslavl, the sadnews that you, with the army, have decided to abandon Moscow. Youcan yourself imagine the effect this news has had on me, and yoursilence increases my astonishment. I am sending this byAdjutant-General Prince Volkonski, to hear from you the situation ofthe army and the reasons that have induced you to take this melancholydecision.BK12|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger fromKutuzov reached Petersburg with the official announcement of thatevent. This messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman who did not knowRussian, but who was quoique etranger, russe de coeur et d'ame,* as hesaid of himself.

　　*Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul.

　　The Emperor at once received this messenger in his study at thepalace on Stone Island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow beforethe campaign and who did not know Russian, yet felt deeply moved (ashe wrote) when he appeared before notre tres gracieux souverain*with the news of the burning of Moscow, dont les flammes eclairaientsa route.*[2]

　　*Our most gracious sovereign.

　　*[2] Whose flames illumined his route.

　　Though the source of M. Michaud's chagrin must have been differentfrom that which caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad face whenshown 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?" askedthe Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing.

　　Michaud respectfully delivered the message Kutuzov had entrustedto him, which was that it had been impossible to fight beforeMoscow, and that as the only remaining choice was between losing thearmy as well as Moscow, or losing Moscow alone, the field marshalhad 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 hewas frightened by what he had done.

　　The Emperor began to breathe heavily and rapidly, his lower liptrembled, and tears instantly appeared in his fine blue eyes.

　　But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly frowned, as if blaminghimself for his weakness, and raising his head addressed Michaud ina firm voice:

　　"I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, that Providencerequires great sacrifices of us... I am ready to submit myself inall things to His will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave thearmy when it saw my ancient capital abandoned without a battle? Didyou not notice discouragement?..."

　　Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm once more, Michaud alsogrew calm, but was not immediately ready to reply to the Emperor'sdirect and relevant question which required a direct answer.

　　"Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly as befits a loyalsoldier?" he asked to gain time.

　　"Colonel, I always require it," replied the Emperor. "Concealnothing from me, I wish to know absolutely how things are."

　　"Sire!" said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely perceptible smile onhis lips, having now prepared a well-phrased reply, "sire, I leftthe whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest soldier, withoutexception in desperate and agonized terror..."

　　"How is that?" the Emperor interrupted him, frowning sternly. "Wouldmisfortune make my Russians lose heart?... Never!"

　　Michaud had only waited for this to bring out the phrase he hadprepared.

　　"Sire," he said, with respectful playfulness, "they are onlyafraid lest Your Majesty, in the goodness of your heart, shouldallow yourself to be persuaded to make peace. They are burning for thecombat," declared this representative of the Russian nation, "and toprove to Your Majesty by the sacrifice of their lives how devoted theyare...."

　　"Ah!" said the Emperor reassured, and with a kindly gleam in hiseyes, 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 tohis full height and addressing Michaud with a gracious and majesticgesture, "and tell our brave men and all my good subjects wherever yougo that when I have not a soldier left I shall put myself at thehead of my beloved nobility and my good peasants and so use the lastresources of my empire. It still offers me more than my enemiessuppose," said the Emperor growing more and more animated; "but shouldit ever be ordained by Divine Providence," he continued, raising toheaven his fine eyes shining with emotion, "that my dynasty shouldcease to reign on the throne of my ancestors, then after exhaustingall the means at my command, I shall let my beard grow to here" (hepointed halfway down his chest) "and go and eat potatoes with themeanest of my peasants, rather than sign the disgrace of my countryand of my beloved people whose sacrifices I know how to appreciate."

　　Having uttered these words in an agitated voice the Emperor suddenlyturned away as if to hide from Michaud the tears that rose to hiseyes, and went to the further end of his study. Having stood there afew moments, he strode back to Michaud and pressed his arm below theelbow with a vigorous movement. The Emperor's mild and handsome facewas flushed and his eyes gleamed with resolution and anger.

　　"Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say to you here, perhaps wemay recall it with pleasure someday... Napoleon or I," said theEmperor, touching his breast. "We can no longer both reign together. Ihave 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 firmresolution in the Emperor's eyes, Michaud- quoique etranger, russede coeur et d'ame- at that solemn moment felt himself enraptured byall that he had heard (as he used afterwards to say), and gaveexpression to his own feelings and those of the Russian people whoserepresentative he considered himself to be, in the following words:

　　"Sire!" said he, "Your Majesty is at this moment signing the gloryof the nation and the salvation of Europe!"

　　With an inclination of the head the Emperor dismissed him.BK12|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　It is natural for us who were not living in those days to imaginethat when half Russia had been conquered and the inhabitants wereficeing to distant provinces, and one levy after another was beingraised for the defense of the fatherland, all Russians from thegreatest to the least were solely engaged in sacrificing themselves,saving their fatherland, or weeping over its downfall. The tales anddescriptions of that time without exception speak only of theself-sacrifice, patriotic devotion, despair, grief, and the heroism ofthe Russians. But it was not really so. It appears so to us because wesee only the general historic interest of that time and do not see allthe personal human interests that people had. Yet in reality thosepersonal interests of the moment so much transcend the generalinterests that they always prevent the public interest from being feltor even noticed. Most of the people at that time paid no attentionto the general progress of events but were guided only by theirprivate interests, and they were the very people whose activities atthat period were most useful.

　　Those who tried to understand the general course of events and totake part in it by self-sacrifice and heroism were the most uselessmembers of society, they saw everything upside down, and all theydid for the common good turned out to be useless and foolish- likePierre's and Mamonov's regiments which looted Russian villages, andthe lint the young ladies prepared and that never reached the wounded,and so on. Even those, fond of intellectual talk and of expressingtheir feelings, who discussed Russia's position at the timeinvoluntarily introduced into their conversation either a shade ofpretense and falsehood or useless condemnation and anger directedagainst people accused of actions no one could possibly be guiltyof. In historic events the rule forbidding us to eat of the fruit ofthe Tree of Knowledge is specially applicable. Only unconscious actionbears fruit, and he who plays a part in an historic event neverunderstands its significance. If he tries to realize it his effortsare fruitless.

　　The more closely a man was engaged in the events then taking placein Russia the less did he realize their significance. In Petersburgand in the provinces at a distance from Moscow, ladies, andgentlemen in militia uniforms, wept for Russia and its ancient capitaland talked of self-sacrifice and so on; but in the army whichretired beyond Moscow there was little talk or thought of Moscow,and when they caught sight of its burned ruins no one swore to beavenged on the French, but they thought about their next pay, theirnext quarters, of Matreshka the vivandiere, and like matters.

　　As the war had caught him in the service, Nicholas Rostov took aclose and prolonged part in the defense of his country, but did socasually, without any aim at self-sacrifice, and he therefore lookedat what was going on in Russia without despair and without dismallyracking his brains over it. Had he been asked what he thought of thestate of Russia, he would have said that it was not his business tothink about it, that Kutuzov and others were there for that purpose,but that he had heard that the regiments were to be made up to theirfull 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 ofa regiment in a couple of years' time.

　　As he looked at the matter in this way, he learned that he was beingsent to Voronezh to buy remounts for his division, not only withoutregret at being prevented from taking part in the coming battle, butwith the greatest pleasure- which he did not conceal and which hiscomrades fully understood.

　　A few days before the battle of Borodino, Nicholas received thenecessary money and warrants, and having sent some hussars on inadvance, he set out with post horses for Voronezh.

　　Only a man who has experienced it- that is, has passed some monthscontinuously in an atmosphere of campaigning and war- can understandthe delight Nicholas felt when he escaped from the region covered bythe army's foraging operations, provision trains, and hospitals. When-free from soldiers, wagons, and the filthy traces of a camp- he sawvillages with peasants and peasant women, gentlemen's countryhouses, fields where cattle were grazing, posthouses withstationmasters asleep in them, he rejoiced as though seeing all thisfor the first time. What for a long while specially surprised anddelighted him were the women, young and healthy, without a dozenofficers making up to each of them; women, too, who were pleased andflattered that a passing officer should joke with them.

　　In the highest spirits Nicholas arrived at night at a hotel inVoronezh, ordered things he had long been deprived of in camp, andnext day, very clean-shaven and in a full-dress uniform he had notworn for a long time, went to present himself to the authorities.

　　The commander of the militia was a civilian general, an old manwho was evidently pleased with his military designation and rank. Hereceived Nicholas brusquely (imagining this to be characteristicallymilitary) and questioned him with an important air, as ifconsidering the general progress of affairs and approving anddisapproving with full right to do so. Nicholas was in such goodspirits that this merely amused him.

　　From the commander of the militia he drove to the governor. Thegovernor was a brisk little man, very simple and affable. He indicatedthe stud farms at which Nicholas might procure horses, recommendedto him a horse dealer in the town and a landowner fourteen miles outof town who had the best horses, and promised to assist him in everyway.

　　"You are Count Ilya Rostov's son? My wife was a great friend of yourmother's. We are at home on Thursdays- today is Thursday, so pleasecome and see us quite informally," said the governor, taking leaveof him.

　　Immediately on leaving the governor's, Nicholas hired post horsesand, taking his squadron quartermaster with him, drove at a gallopto the landowner, fourteen miles away, who had the stud. Everythingseemed to him pleasant and easy during that first part of his stayin Voronezh and, as usually happens when a man is in a pleasantstate of mind, everything went well and easily.

　　The landowner to whom Nicholas went was a bachelor, an oldcavalryman, a horse fancier, a sportsman, the possessor of somecentury-old brandy and some old Hungarian wine, who had a snuggerywhere he smoked, and who owned some splendid horses.

　　In very few words Nicholas bought seventeen picked stallions for sixthousand 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 wasalready on the friendliest terms- galloped back over abominable roads,in the brightest frame of mind, continually urging on the driver so asto be in time for the governor's party.

　　When he had changed, poured water over his head, and scentedhimself, Nicholas arrived at the governor's rather late, but withthe phrase "better late than never" on his lips.

　　It was not a ball, nor had dancing been announced, but everyone knewthat Catherine Petrovna would play valses and the ecossaise on theclavichord and that there would be dancing, and so everyone had comeas to a ball.

　　Provincial life in 1812 went on very much as usual, but with thisdifference, that it was livelier in the towns in consequence of thearrival of many wealthy families from Moscow, and as in everythingthat went on in Russia at that time a special recklessness wasnoticeable, an "in for a penny, in for a pound- who cares?" spirit,and the inevitable small talk, instead of turning on the weather andmutual acquaintances, now turned on Moscow, the army, and Napoleon.

　　The society gathered together at the governor's was the best inVoronezh.

　　There were a great many ladies and some of Nicholas' Moscowacquaintances, but there were no men who could at all vie with thecavalier of St. George, the hussar remount officer, the good-naturedand well-bred Count Rostov. Among the men was an Italian prisoner,an officer of the French army; and Nicholas felt that the presenceof that prisoner enhanced his own importance as a Russian hero. TheItalian was, as it were, a war trophy. Nicholas felt this, it seemedto him that everyone regarded the Italian in the same light, and hetreated him cordially though with dignity and restraint.

　　As soon as Nicholas entered in his hussar uniform, diffusingaround him a fragrance of perfume and wine, and had uttered thewords "better late than never" and heard them repeated several timesby others, people clustered around him; all eyes turned on him, and hefelt at once that he had entered into his proper position in theprovince- that of a universal favorite: a very pleasant position,and intoxicatingly so after his long privations. At postingstations, at inns, and in the landowner's snuggery, maidservants hadbeen flattered by his notice, and here too at the governor's partythere were (as it seemed to Nicholas) an inexhaustible number ofpretty young women, married and unmarried, impatiently awaiting hisnotice. The women and girls flirted with him and, from the firstday, the people concerned themselves to get this fine youngdaredevil of an hussar married and settled down. Among these was thegovernor's wife herself, who welcomed Rostov as a near relative andcalled him "Nicholas."

　　Catherine Petrovna did actually play valses and the ecossaise, anddancing began in which Nicholas still further captivated theprovincial society by his agility. His particularly free manner ofdancing even surprised them all. Nicholas was himself rather surprisedat the way he danced that evening. He had never danced like that inMoscow and would even have considered such a very free and easy mannerimproper and in bad form, but here he felt it incumbent on him toastonish them all by something unusual, something they would have toaccept as the regular thing in the capital though new to them in theprovinces.

　　All the evening Nicholas paid attention to a blue-eyed, plump andpleasing little blonde, the wife of one of the provincial officials.With the naive conviction of young men in a merry mood that othermen's wives were created for them, Rostov did not leave the lady'sside and treated her husband in a friendly and conspiratorial style,as if, without speaking of it, they knew how capitally Nicholas andthe lady would get on together. The husband, however, did not seemto share that conviction and tried to behave morosely with Rostov. Butthe latter's good-natured naivete was so boundless that sometimes evenhe involuntarily yielded to Nicholas' good humor. Toward the end ofthe evening, however, as the wife's face grew more flushed andanimated, the husband's became more and more melancholy and solemn, asthough there were but a given amount of animation between them andas the wife's share increased the husband's diminished.BK12|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　Nicholas sat leaning slightly forward in an armchair, bendingclosely over the blonde lady and paying her mythological complimentswith a smile that never left his face. Jauntily shifting theposition of his legs in their tight riding breeches, diffusing an odorof perfume, and admiring his partner, himself, and the fine outlinesof his legs in their well-fitting Hessian boots, Nicholas told theblonde lady that he wished to run away with a certain lady here inVoronezh.

　　"Which lady?"

　　"A charming lady, a divine one. Her eyes" (Nicholas looked at hispartner) "are blue, her mouth coral and ivory; her figure" (he glancedat her shoulders) "like Diana's...."

　　The husband came up and sullenly asked his wife what she was talkingabout.

　　"Ah, Nikita Ivanych!" cried Nicholas, rising politely, and as ifwishing Nikita Ivanych to share his joke, he began to tell him ofhis intention to elope with a blonde lady.

　　The husband smiled gloomily, the wife gaily. The governor'sgood-natured wife came up with a look of disapproval.

　　"Anna Ignatyevna wants to see you, Nicholas," said she,pronouncing the name so that Nicholas at once understood that AnnaIgnatyevna was a very important person. "Come, Nicholas! You knowyou let me call you so?"

　　"Oh, yes, Aunt. Who is she?"

　　"Anna Ignatyevna Malvintseva. She has heard from her niece how yourescued her... Can you guess?"

　　"I rescued such a lot of them!" said Nicholas.

　　"Her niece, Princess Bolkonskaya. She is here in Voronezh with heraunt. 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 ladywith a blue headdress, who had just finished her game of cards withthe most important personages of the town. This was Malvintseva,Princess Mary's aunt on her mother's side, a rich, childless widow whoalways lived in Voronezh. When Rostov approached her she wasstanding settling up for the game. She looked at him and, screwingup her eyes sternly, continued to upbraid the general who had won fromher.

　　"Very pleased, mon cher," she then said, holding out her hand toNicholas. "Pray come and see me."

　　After a few words about Princess Mary and her late father, whomMalvintseva had evidently not liked, and having asked what Nicholasknew of Prince Andrew, who also was evidently no favorite of hers, theimportant old lady dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invitationto come to see her.

　　Nicholas promised to come and blushed again as he bowed. At themention of Princess Mary he experienced a feeling of shyness andeven of fear, which he himself did not understand.

　　When he had parted from Malvintseva Nicholas wished to return to thedancing, but the governor's little wife placed her plump hand on hissleeve and, saying that she wanted to have a talk with him, led him toher sitting room, from which those who were there immediately withdrewso as not to be in her way.

　　"Do you know, dear boy," began the governor's wife with a seriousexpression on her kind little face, "that really would be the matchfor 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 Petrovnaspeaks of Lily, but I say, no- the princess! Do you want me to doit? I am sure your mother will be grateful to me. What a charming girlshe is, really! And she is not at all so plain, either."

　　"Not at all," replied Nicholas as if offended at the idea. "Asbefits a soldier, Aunt, I don't force myself on anyone or refuseanything," 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 thesimplicity of his heart; it did not enter his head that a pastime sopleasant 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 arrangea match... and Soyna...?" And on taking leave of the governor'swife, 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 intimatethoughts (which he would not have told to his mother, his sister, orhis friend) to this woman who was almost a stranger. When heafterwards recalled that impulse to unsolicited and inexplicablefrankness which had very important results for him, it seemed tohim- as it seems to everyone in such cases- that it was merely somesilly whim that seized him: yet that burst of frankness, together withother trifling events, had immense consequences for him and for allhis family.

　　"You see, Aunt, Mamma has long wanted me to marry an heiress, butthe very idea of marrying for money is repugnant to me."

　　"Oh yes, I understand," said the governor's wife.

　　"But Princess Bolkonskaya- that's another matter. I will tell youthe truth. In the first place I like her very much, I feel drawn toher; and then, after I met her under such circumstances- so strangely,the idea often occurred to me: 'This is fate.' Especially if youremember that Mamma had long been thinking of it; but I had neverhappened to meet her before, somehow it had always happened that wedid not meet. And as long as my sister Natasha was engaged to herbrother it was of course out of the question for me to think ofmarrying her. And it must needs happen that I should meet her justwhen Natasha's engagement had been broken off... and theneverything... So you see... I never told this to anyone and neverwill, only to you."

　　The governor's wife pressed his elbow gratefully.

　　"You know Sonya, my cousin? I love her, and promised to marry her,and will do so.... So you see there can be no question about-" saidNicholas incoherently and blushing.

　　"My dear boy, what a way to look at it! You know Sonya has nothingand you yourself say your Papa's affairs are in a very bad way. Andwhat about your mother? It would kill her, that's one thing. Andwhat sort of life would it be for Sonya- if she's a girl with a heart?Your mother in despair, and you all ruined.... No, my dear, you andSonya 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? Andbesides, 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? Thereis always a right way of doing things," replied the governor's wife.

　　"What a matchmaker you are, Aunt..." said Nicholas, kissing herplump little hand.BK12|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostov, Princess Maryhad found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from PrinceAndrew giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvintseva atVoronezh. That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented herduring her father's illness, since his death, and especially since hermeeting with Rostov was smothered by arrangements for the journey,anxiety about her brother, settling in a new house, meeting newpeople, and attending to her nephew's education. She was sad. Now,after a month passed in quiet surroundings, she felt more and moredeeply the loss of her father which was associated in her mind withthe ruin of Russia. She was agitated and incessantly tortured by thethought of the dangers to which her brother, the only intimateperson now remaining to her, was exposed. She was worried too abouther nephew's education for which she had always felt herselfincompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt at peace- apeace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personaldreams and hopes that had been on the point of awakening within herand were related to her meeting with Rostov.

　　The day after her party the governor's wife came to seeMalvintseva and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarkedthat though under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, ofcourse, not to be thought of, all the same the young people might bebrought together and could get to know one another. Malvintsevaexpressed approval, and the governor's wife began to speak of Rostovin Mary's presence, praising him and telling how he had blushed whenPrincess Mary's name was mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced apainful rather than a joyful feeling- her mental tranquillity wasdestroyed, and desires, doubts, self-reproach, and hopes reawoke.

　　During the two days that elapsed before Rostov called, Princess Marycontinually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First shedecided not to come to the drawing room when he called to see heraunt- that it would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, toreceive visitors; then she thought this would be rude after what hehad done for her; then it occurred to her that her aunt and thegovernor's wife had intentions concerning herself and Rostov- theirlooks and words at times seemed to confirm this supposition- thenshe told herself that only she, with her sinful nature, could thinkthis of them: they could not forget that situated as she was, whilestill wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking would be an insult toher and to her father's memory. Assuming that she did go down to seehim, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say to her and what shewould say to him, and these words sometimes seemed undeservedly coldand then to mean too much. More than anything she feared lest theconfusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as soon as shesaw him.

　　But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawingroom that Count Rostov had called, the princess showed no confusion,only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a newand radiant light.

　　"You have met him, Aunt?" said she in a calm voice, unable herselfto understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural.

　　When Rostov entered the room, the princess dropped her eyes for aninstant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and thenjust as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his lookwith shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace shehalf rose with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender, delicatehand to him, and began to speak in a voice in which for the first timenew deep womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was inthe drawing room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise.Herself a consummate coquette, she could not have maneuvered better onmeeting a man she wished to attract.

　　"Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really hasgreatly improved without my having noticed it. And above all, whattact and grace!" thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.

　　Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, shewould have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at thechange that had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognizedthat dear, loved face, a new life force took possession of her andcompelled her to speak and act apart from her own will. From thetime Rostov entered, her face became suddenly transformed. It was asif a light had been kindled in a carved and painted lantern and theintricate, skillful, artistic work on its sides, that previouslyseemed dark, coarse, and meaningless, was suddenly shown up inunexpected and striking beauty. For the first time all that pure,spiritual, inward travail through which she had lived appeared onthe 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 herdelicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face.

　　Rostov saw all this as clearly as if he had known her whole life. Hefelt that the being before him was quite different from, and betterthan, anyone he had met before, and above all better than himself.

　　Their conversation was very simple and unimportant. They spoke ofthe war, and like everyone else unconsciously exaggerated their sorrowabout it; they spoke of their last meeting- Nicholas trying tochange the subject- they talked of the governor's kind wife, ofNicholas' relations, and of Princess Mary's.

　　She did not talk about her brother, diverting the conversation assoon as her aunt mentioned Andrew. Evidently she could speak ofRussia's misfortunes with a certain artificiality, but her brother wastoo near her heart and she neither could nor would speak lightly ofhim. Nicholas noticed this, as he noticed every shade of PrincessMary's character with an observation unusual to him, and everythingconfirmed his conviction that she was a quite unusual andextraordinary being. Nicholas blushed and was confused when peoplespoke to him about the princess (as she did when he was mentioned) andeven when he thought of her, but in her presence he felt quite atease, and said not at all what he had prepared, but what, quiteappropriately, occurred to him at the moment.

　　When a pause occurred during his short visit, Nicholas, as isusual when there are children, turned to Prince Andrew's little son,caressing him and asking whether he would like to be an hussar. Hetook the boy on his knee, played with him, and looked round atPrincess Mary. With a softened, happy, timid look she watched theboy she loved in the arms of the man she loved. Nicholas alsonoticed that look and, as if understanding it, flushed with pleasureand 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; butall the same the governor's wife went on with her matchmaking, passingon to Nicholas the flattering things Princess Mary said of him andvice versa, and insisting on his declaring himself to Princess Mary.For this purpose she arranged a meeting between the young people atthe bishop's house before Mass.

　　Though Rostov told the governeor's wife that he would not make anydeclaration to Princess Mary, he promised to go.

　　As at Tilsit Rostov had not allowed himself to doubt that whateverybody considered right was right, so now, after a short butsincere struggle between his effort to arrange his life by his ownsense of justice, and in obedient submission to circumstances, hechose the latter and yielded to the power he felt irresistiblycarrying him he knew not where. He knew that after his promise toSonya it would be what he deemed base to declare his feelings toPrincess Mary. And he knew that he would never act basely. But he alsoknew (or rather felt at the bottom of his heart) that by resigninghimself now to the force of circumstances and to those who wereguiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doingsomething very important- more important than anything he had everdone in his life.

　　After meeting Princess Mary, though the course of his life went onexternally as before, all his former amusements lost their charm forhim and he often thought about her. But he never thought about heras he had thought of all the young ladies without exception whom hehad met in society, nor as he had for a long time, and at one timerapturously, thought about Sonya. He had pictured each of thoseyoung ladies as almost all honest-hearted young men do, that is, asa possible wife, adapting her in his imagination to all the conditionsof married life: a white dressing gown, his wife at the tea table, hiswife's carriage, little ones, Mamma and Papa, their relations toher, and so on- and these pictures of the future had given himpleasure. But with Princess Mary, to whom they were trying to gethim engaged, he could never picture anything of future married life.If he tried, his pictures seemed incongruous and false. It made himafraid.BK12|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　The dreadful news of the battle of Borodino, of our losses in killedand wounded, and the still more terrible news of the loss of Moscowreached Voronezh in the middle of September. Princess Mary, havinglearned of her brother's wound only from the Gazette and having nodefinite news of him, prepared (so Nicholas heard, he had not seen heragain himself) to set off in search of Prince Andrew.

　　When he received the news of the battle of Borodino and theabandonment of Moscow, Rostov was not seized with despair, anger,the desire for vengeance, or any feeling of that kind, buteverything in Voronezh suddenly seemed to him dull and tiresome, andhe experienced an indefinite feeling of shame and awkwardness. Theconversations he heard seemed to him insincere; he did not know how tojudge all these affairs and felt that only in the regiment wouldeverything again become clear to him. He made haste to finish buyingthe horses, and often became unreasonably angry with his servant andsquadron quartermaster.

　　A few days before his departure a special thanksgiving, at whichNicholas was present, was held in the cathedral for the Russianvictory. He stood a little behind the governor and held himself withmilitary decorum through the service, meditating on a great variety ofsubjects. When the service was over the governor's wife beckoned himto her.

　　"Have you seen the princess?" she asked, indicating with amovement of her head a lady standing on the opposite side, beyondthe choir.

　　Nicholas immediately recognized Princess Mary not so much by theprofile 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 lasttime before leaving the church.

　　Nicholas looked at her face with surprise. It was the same face hehad seen before, there was the same general expression of refined,inner, spiritual labor, but now it was quite differently lit up. Therewas a pathetic expression of sorrow, prayer, and hope in it. As hadoccurred before when she was present, Nicholas went up to herwithout waiting to be prompted by the governor's wife and not askinghimself whether or not it was right and proper to address her herein church, and told her he had heard of her trouble and sympathizedwith his whole soul. As soon as she heard his voice a vivid glowkindled in her face, lighting up both her sorrow and her joy.

　　"There is one thing I wanted to tell you, Princess," said Rostov."It is that if your brother, Prince Andrew Nikolievich, were notliving, it would have been at once announced in the Gazette, as heis a colonel."

　　The princess looked at him, not grasping what he was saying, butcheered by the expression of regretful sympathy on his face.

　　"And I have known so many cases of a splinter wound" (the Gazettesaid it was a shell) "either proving fatal at once or being veryslight," continued Nicholas. "We must hope for the best, and I amsure..."

　　Princess Mary interrupted him.

　　"Oh, that would be so dread..." she began and, prevented byagitation from finishing, she bent her head with a movement asgraceful as everything she did in his presence and, looking up athim gratefully, went out, following her aunt.

　　That evening Nicholas did not go out, but stayed at home to settlesome accounts with the horse dealers. When he had finished thatbusiness it was already too late to go anywhere but still too early togo 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 hadmet her in Smolensk province. His having encountered her in suchexceptional circumstances, and his mother having at one time mentionedher to him as a good match, had drawn his particular attention to her.When he met her again in Voronezh the impression she made on him wasnot merely pleasing but powerful. Nicholas had been struck by thepeculiar moral beauty he observed in her at this time. He was,however, preparing to go away and it had not entered his head toregret that he was thus depriving himself of chances of meeting her.But that day's encounter in church had, he felt, sunk deeper thanwas desirable for his peace of mind. That pale, sad, refined face,that radiant look, those gentle graceful gestures, and especiallythe deep and tender sorrow expressed in all her features agitatedhim and evoked his sympathy. In men Rostov could not bear to see theexpression of a higher spiritual life (that was why he did not likePrince Andrew) and he referred to it contemptuously as philosophyand dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very sorrow which revealedthe depth of a whole spiritual world foreign to him was anirresistible 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 Sonya?" And heinvoluntarily compared the two: the lack of spirituality in the oneand the abundance of it in the other- a spirituality he himself lackedand therefore valued most highly. He tried to picture what wouldhappen were he free. How he would propose to her and how she wouldbecome his wife. But no, he could not imagine that. He felt awed,and no clear picture presented itself to his mind. He had long agopictured to himself a future with Sonya, and that was all clear andsimple just because it had all been thought out and he knew allthere was in Sonya, but it was impossible to picture a future withPrincess Mary, because he did not understand her but simply loved her.

　　Reveries about Sonya had had something merry and playful in them,but to dream of Princess Mary was always difficult and a littlefrightening.

　　"How she prayed!" he thought. "It was plain that her whole soulwas 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 Iwant?" he suddenly thought. "What do I want? To be free, released fromSonya... She was right," he thought, remembering what the governor'swife had said: "Nothing but misfortune can come of marrying Sonya.Muddles, grief for Mamma... business difficulties... muddles, terriblemuddles! Besides, I don't love her- not as I should. O, God! releaseme from this dreadful, inextricable position!" he suddenly began topray. "Yes, prayer can move mountains, but one must have faith and notpray as Natasha and I used to as children, that the snow might turninto sugar- and then run out into the yard to see whether it haddone so. No, but I am not praying for trifles now," he thought as heput his pipe down in a corner, and folding his hands placed himselfbefore the icon. Softened by memories of Princess Mary he began topray as he had not done for a long time. Tears were in his eyes and inhis throat when the door opened and Lavrushka came in with somepapers.

　　"Blockhead! Why do you come in without being called?" criedNicholas, quickly changing his attitude.

　　"From the governor," said Lavrushka in a sleepy voice. "A courierhas 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 motherand the other from Sonya. He recognized them by the handwriting andopened Sonya's first. He had read only a few lines when he turned paleand 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 letterand reading it. He glanced through it, then read it again, and thenagain, and standing still in the middle of the room he raised hisshoulders, stretching out his hands, with his mouth wide open andhis eyes fixed. What he had just been praying for with confidence thatGod would hear him had come to pass; but Nicholas was as muchastonished as if it were something extraordinary and unexpected, andas if the very fact that it had happened so quickly proved that it hadnot come from God to whom he had prayed, but by some ordinarycoincidence.

　　This unexpected and, as it seemed to Nicholas, quite voluntaryletter from Sonya freed him from the knot that fettered him and fromwhich there had seemed no escape. She wrote that the lastunfortunate events- the loss of almost the whole of the Rostovs'Moscow property- and the countess' repeatedly expressed wish thatNicholas should marry Princess Bolkonskaya, together with hissilence and coldness of late, had all combined to make her decide torelease him from his promise and set him completely free.

　　It would be too painful to me to think that I might be a cause ofsorrow or discord in the family that has been so good to me (shewrote), 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 assuredthat, in spite of everything, no one can love you more than does

　　Your Sonya

　　Both letters were written from Troitsa. The other, from thecountess, described their last days in Moscow, their departure, thefire, and the destruction of all their property. In this letter thecountess also mentioned that Prince Andrew was among the woundedtraveling with them; his state was very critical, but the doctorsaid there was now more hope. Sonya and Natasha were nursing him.

　　Next day Nicholas took his mother's letter and went to seePrincess Mary. Neither he nor she said a word about what "Natashanursing him" might mean, but thanks to this letter Nicholas suddenlybecame almost as intimate with the princess as if they were relations.

　　The following day he saw Princess Mary off on her journey toYaroslavl, and a few days later left to rejoin his regiment.BK12|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　Sonya's letter written from Troitsa, which had come as an answerto Nicholas' prayer, was prompted by this: the thought of gettingNicholas married to an heiress occupied the old countess' mind moreand more. She knew that Sonya was the chief obstacle to thishappening, and Sonya's life in the countess' house had grown harderand harder, especially after they had received a letter fromNicholas telling of his meeting with Princess Mary in Bogucharovo. Thecountess let no occasion slip of making humiliating or cruel allusionsto Sonya.

　　But a few days before they left Moscow, moved and excited by allthat was going on, she called Sonya to her and, instead of reproachingand making demands on her, tearfully implored her to sacrifice herselfand repay all that the family had done for her by breaking off herengagement with Nicholas.

　　"I shall not be at peace till you promise me this."

　　Sonya burst into hysterical tears and replied through her sobsthat she would do anything and was prepared for anything, but gaveno actual promise and could not bring herself to decide to do what wasdemanded of her. She must sacrifice herself for the family that hadreared and brought her up. To sacrifice herself for others was Sonya'shabit. Her position in the house was such that only by sacrifice couldshe 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 happilyconscious that they raised her in her own esteem and in that ofothers, and so made her more worthy of Nicholas whom she loved morethan anything in the world. But now they wanted her to sacrifice thevery thing that constituted the whole reward for her self-sacrificeand the whole meaning of her life. And for the first time she feltbitterness against those who had been her benefactors only totorture her the more painfully; she felt jealous of Natasha who hadnever experienced anything of this sort, had never needed to sacrificeherself, but made others sacrifice themselves for her and yet wasbeloved by everybody. And for the first time Sonya felt that out ofher pure, quiet love for Nicholas a passionate feeling was beginningto grow up which was stronger than principle, virtue, or religion.Under the influence of this feeling Sonya, whose life of dependencehad taught her involuntarily to be secretive, having answered thecountess in vague general terms, avoided talking with her and resolvedto wait till she should see Nicholas, not in order to set him free buton the contrary at that meeting to bind him to her forever.

　　The bustle and terror of the Rostovs' last days in Moscow stifledthe gloomy thoughts that oppressed Sonya. She was glad to findescape from them in practical activity. But when she heard of PrinceAndrew's presence in their house, despite her sincere pity for him andfor Natasha, she was seized by a joyful and superstitious feeling thatGod did not intend her to be separated from Nicholas. She knew thatNatasha loved no one but Prince Andrew and had never ceased to lovehim. She knew that being thrown together again under such terriblecircumstances they would again fall in love with one another, and thatNicholas would then not be able to marry Princess Mary as they wouldbe within the prohibited degrees of affinity. Despite all the terrorof what had happened during those last days and during the firstdays of their journey, this feeling that Providence was intervening inher personal affairs cheered Sonya.

　　At the Troitsa monastery the Rostovs first broke their journey for awhole day.

　　Three large rooms were assigned to them in the monastery hostelry,one of which was occupied by Prince Andrew. The wounded man was muchbetter that day and Natasha was sitting with him. In the next room satthe count and countess respectfully conversing with the prior, who wascalling on them as old acquaintances and benefactors of the monastery.Sonya was there too, tormented by curiosity as to what Prince Andrewand Natasha were talking about. She heard the sound of their voicesthrough the door. That door opened and Natasha came out, lookingexcited. Not noticing the monk, who had risen to greet her and wasdrawing back the wide sleeve on his right arm, she went up to Sonyaand took her hand.

　　"Natasha, what are you about? Come here!" said the countess.

　　Natasha went up to the monk for his blessing, and advised her topray for aid to God and His saint.

　　As soon as the prior withdrew, Natasha took her friend by the handand went with her into the unoccupied room.

　　"Sonya, will he live?" she asked. "Sonya, how happy I am, and howunhappy!... Sonya, dovey, everything is as it used to be. If only helives! He cannot... because... because... of" and Natasha burst intotears.

　　"Yes! I knew it! Thank God!" murmured Sonya. "He will live."

　　Sonya was not less agitated than her friend by the latter's fear andgrief and by her own personal feelings which she shared with no one.Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natasha. "If only he lives!" shethought. Having wept, talked, and wiped away their tears, the twofriends went together to Prince Andrew's door. Natasha opened itcautiously and glanced into the room, Sonya standing beside her at thehalf-open door.

　　Prince Andrew was lying raised high on three pillows. His paleface was calm, his eyes closed, and they could see his regularbreathing.

　　"O, Natasha!" Sonya suddenly almost screamed, catching hercompanion's arm and stepping back from the door.

　　"What? What is it?" asked Natasha.

　　"It's that, that..." said Sonya, with a white face and tremblinglips.

　　Natasha softly closed the door and went with Sonya to the window,not yet understanding what the latter was telling her.

　　"You remember," said Sonya with a solemn and frightenedexpression. "You remember when I looked in the mirror for you... atOtradnoe at Christmas? Do you remember what I saw?"

　　"Yes, yes!" cried Natasha opening her eyes wide, and vaguelyrecalling that Sonya had told her something about Prince Andrew whomshe had seen lying down.

　　"You remember?" Sonya went on. "I saw it then and told everybody,you and Dunyasha. I saw him lying on a bed," said she, making agesture with her hand and a lifted finger at each detail, "and that hehad his eyes closed and was covered just with a pink quilt, and thathis hands were folded," she concluded, convincing herself that thedetails she had just seen were exactly what she had seen in themirror.

　　She had in fact seen nothing then but had mentioned the firstthing that came into her head, but what she had invented then seemedto her now as real as any other recollection. She not onlyremembered what she had then said- that he turned to look at her andsmiled and was covered with something red- but was firmly convincedthat she had then seen and said that he was covered with a pinkquilt and that his eyes were closed.

　　"Yes, yes, it really was pink!" cried Natasha, who now thought shetoo remembered the word pink being used, and saw in this the mostextraordinary 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 Sonya, clutchingat her head.

　　A few minutes later Prince Andrew rang and Natasha went to him,but Sonya, feeling unusually excited and touched, remained at thewindow thinking about the strangeness of what had occurred.

　　They had an opportunity that day to send letters to the army, andthe countess was writing to her son.

　　"Sonya!" said the countess, raising her eyes from her letter asher niece passed, "Sonya, won't you write to Nicholas?" She spoke in asoft, tremulous voice, and in the weary eyes that looked over herspectacles Sonya read all that the countess meant to convey with thesewords. Those eyes expressed entreaty, shame at having to ask, fearof a refusal, and readiness for relentless hatred in case of suchrefusal.

　　Sonya went up to the countess and, kneeling down, kissed her hand.

　　"Yes, Mamma, I will write," said she.

　　Sonya was softened, excited, and touched by all that had occurredthat day, especially by the mysterious fulfillment she had just seenof her vision. Now that she knew that the renewal of Natasha'srelations with Prince Andrew would prevent Nicholas from marryingPrincess Mary, she was joyfully conscious of a return of thatself-sacrificing spirit in which she was accustomed to live andloved to live. So with a joyful consciousness of performing amagnanimous deed- interrupted several times by the tears that dimmedher velvety black eyes- she wrote that touching letter the arrivalof which had so amazed Nicholas.BK12|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　The officer and soldiers who had arrested Pierre treated him withhostility but yet with respect, in the guardhouse to which he wastaken. In their attitude toward him could still be felt bothuncertainty 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 forthe new guard- both officers and men- he was not as interesting ashe had been to his captors; and in fact the guard of the second daydid not recognize in this big, stout man in a peasant coat thevigorous person who had fought so desperately with the marauder andthe convoy and had uttered those solemn words about saving a child;they saw in him only No. 17 of the captured Russians, arrested anddetained for some reason by order of the Higher Command. If theynoticed anything remarkable about Pierre, it was only his unabashed,meditative concentration and thoughtfulness, and the way he spokeFrench, which struck them as surprisingly good. In spite of this hewas placed that day with the other arrested suspects, as theseparate room he had occupied was required by an officer.

　　All the Russians confined with Pierre were men of the lowest classand, recognizing him as a gentleman, they all avoided him, moreespecially as he spoke French. Pierre felt sad at hearing themmaking 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 wastaken with the others to a house where a French general with a whitemustache sat with two colonels and other Frenchmen with scarves ontheir arms. With the precision and definiteness customary inaddressing prisoners, and which is supposed to preclude human frailty,Pierre like the others was questioned as to who he was, where he hadbeen, with what object, and so on.

　　These questions, like questions put at trials generally, left theessence of the matter aside, shut out the possibility of thatessence's being revealed, and were designed only to form a channelthrough which the judges wished the answers of the accused to flowso as to lead to the desired result, namely a conviction. As soon asPierre began to say anything that did not fit in with that aim, thechannel was removed and the water could flow to waste. Pierre felt,moreover, what the accused always feel at their trial, perplexity asto why these questions were put to him. He had a feeling that it wasonly out of condescension or a kind of civility that this device ofplacing 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 gavethem the right to demand answers to their questions, and that the soleobject of that assembly was to inculpate him. And so, as they hadthe power and wish to inculpate him, this expedient of an inquiryand trial seemed unnecessary. It was evident that any answer wouldlead to conviction. When asked what he was doing when he was arrested,Pierre replied in a rather tragic manner that he was restoring toits parents a child he had saved from the flames. Why had he foughtthe marauder? Pierre answered that he "was protecting a woman," andthat "to protect a woman who was being insulted was the duty ofevery man; that..." They interrupted him, for this was not to thepoint. Why was he in the yard of a burning house where witnesses hadseen him? He replied that he had gone out to see what was happening inMoscow. Again they interrupted him: they had not asked where he wasgoing, but why he was found near the fire? Who was he? they asked,repeating their first question, which he had declined to answer. Againhe replied that he could not answer it.

　　"Put that down, that's bad... very bad," sternly remarked thegeneral with the white mustache and red flushed face.

　　On the fourth day fires broke out on the Zubovski rampart.

　　Pierre and thirteen others were moved to the coach house of amerchant's house near the Crimean bridge. On his way through thestreets Pierre felt stifled by the smoke which seemed to hang over thewhole city. Fires were visible on all sides. He did not then realizethe significance of the burning of Moscow, and looked at the fireswith horror.

　　He passed four days in the coach house near the Crimean bridge andduring that time learned, from the talk of the French soldiers, thatall those confined there were awaiting a decision which might come anyday from the marshal. What marshal this was, Pierre could not learnfrom the soldiers. Evidently for them "the marshal" represented a veryhigh and rather mysterious power.

　　These first days, before the eighth of September when theprisoners were had up for a second examination, were the hardest ofall for Pierre.BK12|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　On the eighth of September an officer- a very important onejudging by the respect the guards showed him- entered the coachhouse where the prisoners were. This officer, probably someone onthe staff, was holding a paper in his hand, and called over all theRussians there, naming Pierre as "the man who does not give his name."Glancing indolently and indifferently at all the prisoners, he orderedthe officer in charge to have them decently dressed and tidied upbefore taking them to the marshal. An hour later a squad of soldiersarrived 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 takenfrom the guardhouse on the Zubovski rampart, but rose through the pureair in columns. No flames were seen, but columns of smoke rose onall sides, and all Moscow as far as Pierre could see was one vastcharred ruin. On all sides there were waste spaces with only stovesand chimney stacks still standing, and here and there the blackenedwalls of some brick houses. Pierre gazed at the ruins and did notrecognize districts he had known well. Here and there he could seechurches that had not been burned. The Kremlin, which was notdestroyed, gleamed white in the distance with its towers and thebelfry of Ivan the Great. The domes of the New Convent of the Virginglittered brightly and its bells were ringing particularly clearly.These bells reminded Pierre that it was Sunday and the feast of theNativity of the Virgin. But there seemed to be no one to celebratethis holiday: everywhere were blackened ruins, and the few Russians tobe seen were tattered and frightened people who tried to hide whenthey saw the French.

　　It was plain that the Russian nest was ruined and destroyed, butin place of the Russian order of life that had been destroyed,Pierre unconsciously felt that a quite different, firm, French orderhad been established over this ruined nest. He felt this in thelooks of the soldiers who, marching in regular ranks briskly andgaily, were escorting him and the other criminals; he felt it in thelooks of an important French official in a carriage and pair driven bya soldier, whom they met on the way. He felt it in the merry sounds ofregimental music he heard from the left side of the field, and feltand realized it especially from the list of prisoners the Frenchofficer had read out when he came that morning. Pierre had beentaken by one set of soldiers and led first to one and then toanother place with dozens of other men, and it seemed that theymight have forgotten him, or confused him with the others. But no: theanswers he had given when questioned had come back to him in hisdesignation as "the man who does not give his name," and under thatappellation, which to Pierre seemed terrible, they were now leadinghim somewhere with unhesitating assurance on their faces that he andall the other prisoners were exactly the ones they wanted and thatthey were being taken to the proper place. Pierre felt himself to bean insignificant chip fallen among the wheels of a machine whoseaction he did not understand but which was working well.

　　He and the other prisoners were taken to the right side of theVirgin's Field, to a large white house with an immense garden notfar from the convent. This was Prince Shcherbitov's house, wherePierre had often been in other days, and which, as he learned from thetalk of the soldiers, was now occupied by the marshal, the Duke ofEckmuhl (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 glassgallery, an anteroom, and a hall, which were familiar to him, into along low study at the door of which stood an adjutant.

　　Davout, spectacles on nose, sat bent over a table at the further endof the room. Pierre went close up to him, but Davout, evidentlyconsulting a paper that lay before him, did not look up. Withoutraising his eyes, he said in a low voice:

　　"Who are you?"

　　Pierre was silent because he was incapable of uttering a word. Tohim Davout was not merely a French general, but a man notorious forhis cruelty. Looking at his cold face, as he sat like a sternschoolmaster who was prepared to wait awhile for an answer, Pierrefelt that every instant of delay might cost him his life; but he didnot know what to say. He did not venture to repeat what he had said athis first examination, yet to disclose his rank and position wasdangerous and embarrassing. So he was silent. But before he haddecided what to do, Davout raised his head, pushed his spectacles backon his forehead, screwed up his eyes, and looked intently at him.

　　"I know that man," he said in a cold, measured tone, evidentlycalculated to frighten Pierre.

　　The chill that had been running down Pierre's back now seized hishead as in a vise.

　　"You cannot know me, General, I have never seen you..."

　　"He is a Russian spy," Davout interrupted, addressing anothergeneral who was present, but whom Pierre had not noticed.

　　Davout turned away. With an unexpected reverberation in his voicePierre rapidly began:

　　"No, monseigneur," he said, suddenly remembering that Davout was aduke. "No, monseigneur, you cannot have known me. I am a militiaofficer and have not quitted Moscow."

　　"Your name?" asked Davout.

　　"Bezukhov."

　　"What proof have I that you are not lying?"

　　"Monseigneur!" exclaimed Pierre, not in an offended but in apleading voice.

　　Davout looked up and gazed intently at him. For some seconds theylooked at one another, and that look saved Pierre. Apart fromconditions of war and law, that look established human relationsbetween the two men. At that moment an immense number of things passeddimly through both their minds, and they realized that they wereboth children of humanity and were brothers.

　　At the first glance, when Davout had only raised his head from thepapers where human affairs and lives were indicated by numbers, Pierrewas merely a circumstance, and Davout could have shot him withoutburdening his conscience with an evil deed, but now he saw in him ahuman being. He reflected for a moment.

　　"How can you show me that you are telling the truth?" said Davoutcoldly.

　　Pierre remembered Ramballe, and named him and his regiment and thestreet where the house was.

　　"You are not what you say," returned Davout.

　　In a trembling, faltering voice Pierre began adducing proofs ofthe truth of his statements.

　　But at that moment an adjutant entered and reported something toDavout.

　　Davout brightened up at the news the adjutant brought, and beganbuttoning up his uniform. It seemed that he had quite forgottenPierre.

　　When the adjutant reminded him of the prisoner, he jerked his headin Pierre's direction with a frown and ordered him to be led away. Butwhere they were to take him Pierre did not know: back to the coachhouse or to the place of execution his companions had pointed out tohim as they crossed the Virgin's Field.

　　He turned his head and saw that the adjutant was putting anotherquestion 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 wasfar, or in which direction. His faculties were quite numbed, he wasstupefied, and noticing nothing around him went on moving his legsas the others did till they all stopped and he stopped too. The onlythought in his mind at that time was: who was it that had reallysentenced him to death? Not the men on the commission that had firstexamined him- not one of them wished to or, evidently, could have doneit. It was not Davout, who had looked at him in so human a way. Inanother moment Davout would have realized that he was doing wrong, butjust then the adjutant had come in and interrupted him. Theadjutant, also, had evidently had no evil intent though he mighthave refrained from coming in. Then who was executing him, killinghim, depriving him of life- him, Pierre, with all his memories,aspirations, hopes, and thoughts? Who was doing this? And Pierrefelt that it was no one.

　　It was a system- a concurrence of circumstances.

　　A system of some sort was killing him- Pierre- depriving him oflife, of everything, annihilating him.BK12|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　From Prince Shcherbatov's house the prisoners were led straight downthe Virgin's Field, to the left of the nunnery, as far as a kitchengarden in which a post had been set up. Beyond that post a fresh pithad been dug in the ground, and near the post and the pit a largecrowd stood in a semicircle. The crowd consisted of a few Russians andmany of Napoleon's soldiers who were not on duty- Germans, Italians,and Frenchmen, in a variety of uniforms. To the right and left ofthe post stood rows of French troops in blue uniforms with redepaulets and high boots and shakos.

　　The prisoners were placed in a certain order, according to thelist (Pierre was sixth), and were led to the post. Several drumssuddenly began to beat on both sides of them, and at that sound Pierrefelt as if part of his soul had been torn away. He lost the power ofthinking or understanding. He could only hear and see. And he had onlyone wish- that the frightful thing that had to happen should happenquickly. Pierre looked round at his fellow prisoners and scrutinizedthem.

　　The two first were convicts with shaven heads. One was tall andthin, the other dark, shaggy, and sinewy, with a flat nose. Thethird was a domestic serf, about forty-five years old, with grizzledhair and a plump, well-nourished body. The fourth was a peasant, avery handsome man with a broad, light-brown beard and black eyes.The fifth was a factory hand, a thin, sallow-faced lad of eighteenin a loose coat.

　　Pierre heard the French consulting whether to shoot themseparately or two at a time. "In couples," replied the officer incommand in a calm voice. There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiersand it was evident that they were all hurrying- not as men hurry to dosomething they understand, but as people hurry to finish a necessarybut unpleasant and incomprehensible task.

　　A French official wearing a scarf came up to the right of the row ofprisoners and read out the sentence in Russian and in French.

　　Then two pairs of Frenchmen approached the criminals and at theofficer's command took the two convicts who stood first in the row.The convicts stopped when they reached the post and, while sackswere being brought, looked dumbly around as a wounded beast looks atan approaching huntsman. One crossed himself continually, the otherscratched his back and made a movement of the lips resembling a smile.With hurried hands the soldiers blindfolded them, drawing the sacksover their heads, and bound them to the post.

　　Twelve sharpshooters with muskets stepped out of the ranks with afirm regular tread and halted eight paces from the post. Pierre turnedaway to avoid seeing what was going to happen. Suddenly a crackling,rolling noise was heard which seemed to him louder than the mostterrific thunder, and he looked round. There was some smoke, and theFrenchmen were doing something near the pit, with pale faces andtrembling hands. Two more prisoners were led up. In the same way andwith similar looks, these two glanced vainly at the onlookers withonly a silent appeal for protection in their eyes, evidently unable tounderstand or believe what was going to happen to them. They could notbelieve it because they alone knew what their life meant to them,and so they neither understood nor believed that it could be takenfrom them.

　　Again Pierre did not wish to look and again turned away; but againthe sound as of a frightful explosion struck his ear, and at thesame moment he saw smoke, blood, and the pale, scared faces of theFrenchmen who were again doing something by the post, theirtrembling hands impeding one another. Pierre, breathing heavily,looked around as if asking what it meant. The same question wasexpressed in all the looks that met his.

　　On the faces of all the Russians and of the French soldiers andofficers without exception, he read the same dismay, horror, andconflict that were in his own heart. "But who, after all, is doingthis? They are all suffering as I am. Who then is it? Who?" flashedfor an instant through his mind.

　　"Sharpshooters of the 86th, forward!" shouted someone. The fifthprisoner, the one next to Pierre, was led away- alone. Pierre didnot understand that he was saved, that he and the rest had beenbrought 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 momentthey laid hands on him he sprang aside in terror and clutched atPierre. (Pierre shuddered and shook himself free.) The lad wasunable 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 hesuddenly understood something. Whether he understood that screamingwas useless or whether he thought it incredible that men should killhim, at any rate he took his stand at the post, waiting to beblindfolded like the others, and like a wounded animal looked aroundhim with glittering eyes.

　　Pierre was no longer able to turn away and close his eyes. Hiscuriosity and agitation, like that of the whole crowd, reached thehighest pitch at this fifth murder. Like the others this fifth manseemed calm; he wrapped his loose cloak closer and rubbed one barefoot with the other.

　　When they began to blindfold him he himself adjusted the knotwhich hurt the back of his head; then when they propped him againstthe bloodstained post, he leaned back and, not being comfortable inthat position, straightened himself, adjusted his feet, and leanedback again more comfortably. Pierre did not take his eyes from him anddid not miss his slightest movement.

　　Probably a word of command was given and was followed by the reportsof eight muskets; but try as he would Pierre could not afterwardsremember having heard the slightest sound of the shots. He only sawhow the workman suddenly sank down on the cords that held him, howblood showed itself in two places, how the ropes slackened under theweight of the hanging body, and how the workman sat down, his headhanging unnaturally and one leg bent under him. Pierre ran up to thepost. No one hindered him. Pale, frightened people were doingsomething around the workman. The lower jaw of an old Frenchman with athick mustache trembled as he untied the ropes. The body collapsed.The soldiers dragged it awkwardly from the post and began pushing itinto the pit.

　　They all plainly and certainly knew that they were criminals whomust hide the traces of their guilt as quickly as possible.

　　Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the factory lad was lyingwith his knees close up to his head and one shoulder higher than theother. That shoulder rose and fell rhythmically and convulsively,but spadefuls of earth were already being thrown over the wholebody. One of the soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted gruffly andangrily at Pierre to go back. But Pierre did not understand him andremained near the post, and no one drove him away.

　　When the pit had been filled up a command was given. Pierre wastaken back to his place, and the rows of troops on both sides of thepost made a half turn and went past it at a measured pace. Thetwenty-four sharpshooters with discharged muskets, standing in thecenter of the circle, ran back to their places as the companies passedby.

　　Pierre gazed now with dazed eyes at these sharpshooters who ran incouples out of the circle. All but one rejoined their companies.This one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushedback, and his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pitat the spot from which he had fired. He swayed like a drunken man,taking some steps forward and back to save himself from falling. Anold, noncommissioned officer ran out of the ranks and taking him bythe elbow dragged him to his company. The crowd of Russians andFrenchmen began to disperse. They all went away silently and withdrooping 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 soldierwho was trying to find some relief after what had been done, but wasnot able to do so. Without finishing what he had begun to say hemade a hopeless movement with his arm and went away.BK12|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　After the execution Pierre was separated from the rest of theprisoners and placed alone in a small, ruined, and befouled church.

　　Toward evening a noncommissioned officer entered with two soldiersand told him that he had been pardoned and would now go to thebarracks for the prisoners of war. Without understanding what was saidto him, Pierre got up and went with the soldiers. They took him to theupper end of the field, where there were some sheds built of charredplanks, beams, and battens, and led him into one of them. In thedarkness some twenty different men surrounded Pierre. He looked atthem without understanding who they were, why they were there, or whatthey wanted of him. He heard what they said, but did not understandthe meaning of the words and made no kind of deduction from orapplication of them. He replied to questions they put to him, butdid not consider who was listening to his replies, nor how theywould understand them. He looked at their faces and figures, butthey all seemed to him equally meaningless.

　　From the moment Pierre had witnessed those terrible murderscommitted by men who did not wish to commit them, it was as if themainspring of his life, on which everything depended and which madeeverything appear alive, had suddenly been wrenched out and everythinghad collapsed into a heap of meaningless rubbish. Though he did notacknowledge it to himself, his faith in the right ordering of theuniverse, in humanity, in his own soul, and in God, had beendestroyed. He had experienced this before, but never so strongly asnow. When similar doubts had assailed him before, they had been theresult of his own wrongdoing, and at the bottom of his heart he hadfelt that relief from his despair and from those doubts was to befound within himself. But now he felt that the universe had crumbledbefore his eyes and only meaningless ruins remained, and this not byany fault of his own. He felt that it was not in his power to regainfaith in the meaning of life.

　　Around him in the darkness men were standing and evidently somethingabout him interested them greatly. They were telling him something andasking him something. Then they led him away somewhere, and at last hefound himself in a corner of the shed among men who were laughingand talking on all sides.

　　"Well, then, mates... that very prince who..." some voice at theother end of the shed was saying, with a strong emphasis on the wordwho.

　　Sitting silent and motionless on a heap of straw against the wall,Pierre sometimes opened and sometimes closed his eyes. But as soonas he closed them he saw before him the dreadful face of the factorylad- especially dreadful because of its simplicity- and the faces ofthe murderers, even more dreadful because of their disquiet. And heopened his eyes again and stared vacantly into the darkness aroundhim.

　　Beside him in a stooping position sat a small man of whosepresence he was first made aware by a strong smell of perspirationwhich came from him every time he moved. This man was doingsomething to his legs in the darkness, and though Pierre could not seehis face he felt that the man continually glanced at him. On growingused to the darkness Pierre saw that the man was taking off his legbands, and the way he did it aroused Pierre's interest.

　　Having unwound the string that tied the band on one leg, hecarefully coiled it up and immediately set to work on the other leg,glancing up at Pierre. While one hand hung up the first string theother was already unwinding the band on the second leg. In this way,having carefully removed the leg bands by deft circular motions of hisarm following one another uninterruptedly, the man hung the legbands up on some pegs fixed above his head. Then he took out aknife, cut something, closed the knife, placed it under the head ofhis bed, and, seating himself comfortably, clasped his arms roundhis lifted knees and fixed his eyes on Pierre. The latter wasconscious of something pleasant, comforting, and well rounded in thesedeft movements, in the man's well-ordered arrangements in hiscorner, and even in his very smell, and he looked at the man withouttaking his eyes from him.

　　"You've seen a lot of trouble, sir, eh?" the little man suddenlysaid.

　　And there was so much kindliness and simplicity in his singsongvoice that Pierre tried to reply, but his jaw trembled and he felttears rising to his eyes. The little fellow, giving Pierre no timeto betray his confusion, instantly continued in the same pleasanttones:

　　"Eh, lad, don't fret!" said he, in the tender singsong caressingvoice old Russian peasant women employ. "Don't fret, friend- 'sufferan hour, live for an age!' that's how it is, my dear fellow. Andhere we live, thank heaven, without offense. Among these folk, too,there are good men as well as bad," said he, and still speaking, heturned on his knees with a supple movement, got up, coughed, andwent off to another part of the shed.

　　"Eh, you rascal!" Pierre heard the same kind voice saying at theother 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 athim, returned to his place and sat down. In his hands he had somethingwrapped in a rag.

　　"Here, eat a bit, sir," said he, resuming his former respectful toneas he unwrapped and offered Pierre some baked potatoes. "We had soupfor dinner and the potatoes are grand!"

　　Pierre had not eaten all day and the smell of the potatoes seemedextremely pleasant to him. He thanked the soldier and began to eat.

　　"Well, are they all right?" said the soldier with a smile. "Youshould do like this."

　　He took a potato, drew out his clasp knife, cut the potato intotwo equal halves on the palm of his hand, sprinkled some salt on itfrom 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 poorfellows? 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 hismouth and flew out involuntarily he went on: "How was it, sir, thatyou 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, andtried 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 lastof 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 Apsheron regiment. I was dying offever. We weren't told anything. There were some twenty of us lyingthere. 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 Platon, and the surname isKarataev," he added, evidently wishing to make it easier for Pierre toaddress him. "They call me 'little falcon' in the regiment. How is oneto help feeling sad? Moscow- she's the mother of cities. How can onesee 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," headded rapidly.

　　"What? What did you say?" asked Pierre.

　　"Who? I?" said Karataev. "I say things happen not as we plan butas God judges," he replied, thinking that he was repeating what he hadsaid before, and immediately continued:

　　"Well, and you, have you a family estate, sir? And a house? So youhave abundance, then? And a housewife? And your old parents, arethey still living?" he asked.

　　And though it was too dark for Pierre to see, he felt that asuppressed smile of kindliness puckered the soldier's lips as he putthese 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 noneas dear as one's own mother!" said he. "Well, and have you littleones?" he went on asking.

　　Again Pierre's negative answer seemed to distress him, and hehastened to add:

　　"Never mind! You're young folks yet, and please God may still havesome. 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 Karataev, "never decline a prisonor a beggar's sack!"

　　He seated himself more comfortably and coughed, evidentlypreparing to tell a long story.

　　"Well, my dear fellow, I was still living at home," he began. "Wehad a well-to-do homestead, plenty of land, we peasants lived well andour house was one to thank God for. When Father and we went out mowingthere were seven of us. We lived well. We were real peasants. It sohappened..."

　　And Platon Karataev told a long story of how he had gone intosomeone'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 thoughtit was a misfortune but it turned out a blessing! If it had not beenfor my sin, my brother would have had to go as a soldier. But he, myyounger brother, had five little ones, while I, you see, only left awife behind. We had a little girl, but God took her before I went as asoldier. I come home on leave and I'll tell you how it was, I look andsee that they are living better than before. The yard full ofcattle, the women at home, two brothers away earning wages, and onlyMichael the youngest, at home. Father, he says, 'All my children arethe same to me: it hurts the same whichever finger gets bitten. But ifPlaton hadn't been shaved for a soldier, Michael would have had togo.' called us all to him and, will you believe it, placed us in frontof the icons. 'Michael,' he says, 'come here and bow down to his feet;and you, young woman, you bow down too; and you, grandchildren, alsobow 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'snot 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 Platon shifted his seat on the straw.

　　After a short silence he rose.

　　"Well, I think you must be sleepy," said he, and began rapidlycrossing himself and repeating:

　　"Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord JesusChrist, 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 theway. Lay me down like a stone, O God, and raise me up like a loaf," hemuttered as he lay down, pulling his coat over him.

　　"What prayer was that you were saying?" asked Pierre.

　　"Eh?" murmured Platon, who had almost fallen asleep. "What was Isaying? I was praying. Don't you pray?"

　　"Yes, I do," said Pierre. "But what was that you said: Frola andLavra?"

　　"Well, of course," replied Platon quickly, "the horses' saints.One must pity the animals too. Eh, the rascal! Now you've curled upand got warm, you daughter of a bitch!" said Karataev, touching thedog that lay at his feet, and again turning over he fell asleepimmediately.

　　Sounds of crying and screaming came from somewhere in the distanceoutside, and flames were visible through the cracks of the shed, butinside it was quiet and dark. For a long time Pierre did not sleep,but lay with eyes open in the darkness, listening to the regularsnoring of Platon who lay beside him, and he felt that the worldthat had been shattered was once more stirring in his soul with anew beauty and on new and unshakable foundations.BK12|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　Twenty-three soldiers, three officers, and two officials wereconfined in the shed in which Pierre had been placed and where heremained for four weeks.

　　When Pierre remembered them afterwards they all seemed misty figuresto him except Platon Karataev, who always remained in his mind amost vivid and precious memory and the personification of everythingRussian, kindly, and round. When Pierre saw his neighbor nextmorning at dawn the first impression of him, as of something round,was fully confirmed: Platon's whole figure- in a French overcoatgirdled with a cord, a soldier's cap, and bast shoes- was round. Hishead was quite round, his back, chest, shoulders, and even his arms,which he held as if ever ready to embrace something, were rounded, hispleasant smile and his large, gentle brown eyes were also round.

　　Platon Karataev must have been fifty, judging by his stories ofcampaigns he had been in, told as by an old soldier. He did nothimself know his age and was quite unable to determine it. But hisbrilliantly white, strong teeth which showed in two unbrokensemicircles 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 wholebody gave an impression of suppleness and especially of firmness andendurance.

　　His face, despite its fine, rounded wrinkles, had an expression ofinnocence and youth, his voice was pleasant and musical. But the chiefpeculiarity of his speech was its directness and appositeness. Itwas evident that he never considered what he had said or was goingto say, and consequently the rapidity and justice of his intonationhad an irresistible persuasiveness.

　　His physical strength and agility during the first days of hisimprisonment were such that he seemed not to know what fatigue andsickness meant. Every night before lying down, he said: "Lord, layme down as a stone and raise me up as a loaf!" and every morning ongetting up, he said: "I lay down and curled up, I get up and shakemyself." And indeed he only had to lie down, to fall asleep like astone, and he only had to shake himself, to be ready without amoment's delay for some work, just as children are ready to playdirectly they awake. He could do everything, not very well but notbadly. He baked, cooked, sewed, planed, and mended boots. He wasalways busy, and only at night allowed himself conversation- ofwhich he was fond- and songs. He did not sing like a trained singerwho knows he is listened to, but like the birds, evidently giving ventto the sounds in the same way that one stretches oneself or walksabout to get rid of stiffness, and the sounds were alwayshigh-pitched, mournful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his face atsuch times was very serious.

　　Having been taken prisoner and allowed his beard to grow, heseemed to have thrown off all that had been forced upon him-everything military and alien to himself- and had returned to hisformer 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 didnot complain, and often mentioned that he had not been flogged onceduring the whole of his army service. When he related anything itwas generally some old and evidently precious memory of his"Christian" life, as he called his peasant existence. The proverbs, ofwhich his talk was full, were for the most part not the coarse andindecent saws soldiers employ, but those folk sayings which takenwithout a context seem so insignificant, but when used appositelysuddenly acquire a significance of profound wisdom.

　　He would often say the exact opposite of what he had said on aprevious occasion, yet both would be right. He liked to talk and hetalked well, adorning his speech with terms of endearment and withfolk sayings which Pierre thought he invented himself, but the chiefcharm of his talk lay in the fact that the commonest events- sometimesjust such as Pierre had witnessed without taking notice of them-assumed in Karataev's a character of solemn fitness. He liked tohear 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 hearstories of real life. He would smile joyfully when listening to suchstories, now and then putting in a word or asking a question to makethe moral beauty of what he was told clear to himself. Karataev had noattachments, friendships, or love, as Pierre understood them, butloved and lived affectionately with everything life brought him incontact with, particularly with man- not any particular man, but thosewith whom he happened to be. He loved his dog, his comrades, theFrench, and Pierre who was his neighbor, but Pierre felt that in spiteof Karataev's affectionate tenderness for him (by which heunconsciously gave Pierre's spiritual life its due) he would nothave grieved for a moment at parting from him. And Pierre began tofeel in the same way toward Karataev.

　　To all the other prisoners Platon Karataev seemed a most ordinarysoldier. They called him "little falcon" or "Platosha," chaffed himgood-naturedly, and sent him on errands. But to Pierre he alwaysremained what he had seemed that first night: an unfathomable,rounded, eternal personification of the spirit of simplicity andtruth.

　　Platon Karataev knew nothing by heart except his prayers. When hebegan to speak he seemed not to know how he would conclude.

　　Sometimes Pierre, struck by the meaning of his words, would askhim to repeat them, but Platon could never recall what he had said amoment before, just as he never could repeat to Pierre the words ofhis favorite song: native and birch tree and my heart is sick occurredin it, but when spoken and not sung, no meaning could be got out ofit. He did not, and could not, understand the meaning of words apartfrom their context. Every word and action of his was the manifestationof an activity unknown to him, which was his life. But his life, as heregarded it, had no meaning as a separate thing. It had meaning onlyas part of a whole of which he was always conscious. His words andactions flowed from him as evenly, inevitably, and spontaneously asfragrance exhales from a flower. He could not understand the valueor significance of any word or deed taken separately.BK12|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　When Princess Mary heard from Nicholas that her brother was with theRostovs at Yaroslavl she at once prepared to go there, in spite of heraunt's efforts to dissuade her- and not merely to go herself but totake her nephew with her. Whether it were difficult or easy,possible or impossible, she did not ask and did not want to know: itwas her duty not only herself to be near her brother who was perhapsdying, but to do everything possible to take his son to him, and soshe prepared to set off. That she had not heard from Prince Andrewhimself, Princess Mary attributed to his being too weak to write or tohis considering the long journey too hard and too dangerous for herand his son.

　　In a few days Princess Mary was ready to start. Her equipages werethe huge family coach in which she had traveled to Voronezh, asemiopen trap, and a baggage cart. With her traveled MademoiselleBourienne, little Nicholas and his tutor, her old nurse, threemaids, Tikhon, and a young footman and courier her aunt had sent toaccompany her.

　　The usual route through Moscow could not be thought of, and theroundabout way Princess Mary was obliged to take through Lipetsk,Ryazan, Vladimir, and Shuya was very long and, as post horses were noteverywhere obtainable, very difficult, and near Ryazan where theFrench were said to have shown themselves was even dangerous.

　　During this difficult journey Mademoiselle Bourienne, Dessalles, andPrincess Mary's servants were astonished at her energy and firmness ofspirit. She went to bed later and rose earlier than any of them, andno difficulties daunted her. Thanks to her activity and energy,which infected her fellow travelers, they approached Yaroslavl bythe end of the second week.

　　The last days of her stay in Voronezh had been the happiest of herlife. Her love for Rostov no longer tormented or agitated her. Itfilled her whole soul, had become an integral part of herself, and sheno longer struggled against it. Latterly she had become convinced thatshe loved and was beloved, though she never said this definitely toherself in words. She had become convinced of it at her last interviewwith Nicholas, when he had come to tell her that her brother waswith the Rostovs. Not by a single word had Nicholas alluded to thefact that Prince Andrew's relations with Natasha might, if herecovered, be renewed, but Princess Mary saw by his face that heknew 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 toPrincess Mary that he was even glad that the family connection betweenthem allowed him to express his friendship more freely. She knewthat she loved for the first and only time in her life and felt thatshe was beloved, and was happy in regard to it.

　　But this happiness on one side of her spiritual nature did notprevent her feeling grief for her brother with full force; on thecontrary, that spiritual tranquility on the one side made it themore possible for her to give full play to her feeling for herbrother. That feeling was so strong at the moment of leavingVoronezh that those who saw her off, as they looked at her careworn,despairing face, felt sure she would fall ill on the journey. Butthe very difficulties and preoccupations of the journey, which shetook so actively in hand, saved her for a while from her grief andgave her strength.

　　As always happens when traveling, Princess Mary thought only ofthe journey itself, forgetting its object. But as she approachedYaroslavl the thought of what might await her there- not after manydays, but that very evening- again presented itself to her and heragitation increased to its utmost limit.

　　The courier who had been sent on in advance to find out where theRostovs were staying in Yaroslavl, and in what condition Prince Andrewwas, when he met the big coach just entering the town gates wasappalled by the terrible pallor of the princess' face that lookedout at him from the window.

　　"I have found out everything, your excellency: the Rostovs arestaying at the merchant Bronnikov's house, in the Square not farfrom here, right above the Volga," said the courier.

　　Princess Mary looked at him with frightened inquiry, notunderstanding 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 withan unnoticed glance at little seven-year-old Nicholas, who was sittingin front of her looking with pleasure at the town, she bowed herhead and did not raise it again till the heavy coach, rumbling,shaking and swaying, came to a stop. The carriage steps clattered asthey were let down.

　　The carriage door was opened. On the left there was water- a greatriver- 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 asit seemed to Princess Mary in an unpleasantly affected way. (Thiswas Sonya.) Princess Mary ran up the steps. "This way, this way!" saidthe girl, with the same artificial smile, and the princess foundherself in the hall facing an elderly woman of Oriental type, who camerapidly to meet her with a look of emotion. This was the countess. Sheembraced Princess Mary and kissed her.

　　"Mon enfant!" she muttered, "je vous aime et vous connais depuislongtemps."*

　　*"My child! I love you and have known you a long time."Despite her excitement, Princess Mary realized that this was thecountess and that it was necessary to say something to her. Hardlyknowing how she did it, she contrived to utter a few polite phrases inFrench in the same tone as those that had been addressed to her, andasked: "How is he?"

　　"The doctor says that he is not in danger," said the countess, butas she spoke she raised her eyes with a sigh, and her gesture conveyeda 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?" saidthe countess, turning to little Nicholas who was coming in withDessalles. "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 Sonyawas talking to Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess caressed theboy, and the old count came in and welcomed the princess. He hadchanged very much since Princess Mary had last seen him. Then he hadbeen a brisk, cheerful, self-assured old man; now he seemed a pitiful,bewildered person. While talking to Princess Mary he continuallylooked round as if asking everyone whether he was doing the rightthing. After the destruction of Moscow and of his property, thrown outof his accustomed groove he seemed to have lost the sense of his ownsignificance and to feel that there was no longer a place for him inlife.

　　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 himthey should be trying to entertain her and pretending to admire hernephew, the princess noticed all that was going on around her and feltthe necessity of submitting, for a time, to this new order of thingswhich she had entered. She knew it to be necessary, and though itwas hard for her she was not vexed with these people.

　　"This is my niece," said the count, introducing Sonya- "You don'tknow her, Princess?"

　　Princess Mary turned to Sonya and, trying to stifle the hostilefeeling that arose in her toward the girl, she kissed her. But shefelt oppressed by the fact that the mood of everyone around her was sofar from what was in her own heart.

　　"Where is he?" she asked again, addressing them all.

　　"He is downstairs. Natasha is with him," answered Sonya, flushing."We have sent to ask. I think you must be tired, Princess."

　　Tears of vexation showed themselves in Princess Mary's eyes. Sheturned away and was about to ask the countess again how to go tohim, when light, impetuous, and seemingly buoyant steps were heardat the door. The princess looked round and saw Natasha coming in,almost running- that Natasha whom she had liked so little at theirmeeting in Moscow long since.

　　But hardly had the princess looked at Natasha's face before sherealized that here was a real comrade in her grief, and consequently afriend. She ran to meet her, embraced her, and began to cry on hershoulder.

　　As soon as Natasha, sitting at the head of Prince Andrew's bed,heard of Princess Mary's arrival, she softly left his room andhastened to her with those swift steps that had sounded buoyant toPrincess Mary.

　　There was only one expression on her agitated face when she ran intothe drawing room- that of love- boundless love for him, for her, andfor all that was near to the man she loved; and of pity, suffering forothers, and passionate desire to give herself entirely to helpingthem. It was plain that at that moment there was in Natasha's heart nothought of herself or of her own relations with Prince Andrew.

　　Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, understood all this atthe first glance at Natasha's face, and wept on her shoulder withsorrowful pleasure.

　　"Come, come to him, Mary," said Natasha, leading her into theother room.

　　Princess Mary raised her head, dried her eyes, and turned toNatasha. She felt that from her she would be able to understand andlearn everything.

　　"How..." she began her question but stopped short.

　　She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in words.Natasha's face eyes would eyes would have to tell her all more clearlyand profoundly.

　　Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether tosay all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before those luminouseyes which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it wasimpossible not to tell the whole truth which she saw. And suddenly,Natasha's lips twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, andcovering 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 Natasha could say.

　　They sat a little while downstairs near his room till they hadleft 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.

　　Natasha told her that at first there had been danger from hisfeverish condition and the pain he suffered, but at Troitsa that hadpassed and the doctor had only been afraid of gangrene. That dangerhad also passed. When they reached Yaroslavl the wound had begun tofester (Natasha knew all about such things as festering) and thedoctor had said that the festering might take a normal course. Thenfever set in, but the doctor had said the fever was not very serious.

　　"But two days ago this suddenly happened," said Natasha,struggling with her sobs. "I don't know why, but you will see whathe is like."

　　"Is he weaker? Thinner?" asked the princess.

　　"No, it's not that, but worse. You will see. O, Mary, he is toogood, he cannot, cannot live, because..."BK12|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　When Natasha opened Prince Andrew's door with a familiar movementand let Princess Mary pass into the room before her, the princess feltthe 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 tolook at him without tears.

　　The princess understood what Natasha had meant by the words: "twodays ago this suddenly happened." She understood those words to meanthat he had suddenly softened and that this softening and gentlenesswere signs of approaching death. As she stepped to the door shealready saw in imagination Andrew's face as she remembered it inchildhood, a gentle, mild, sympathetic face which he had rarely shown,and which therefore affected her very strongly. She was sure hewould speak soft, tender words to her such as her father had utteredbefore his death, and that she would not be able to bear it andwould burst into sobs in his presence. Yet sooner or later it had tobe, and she went in. The sobs rose higher and higher in her throatas she more and more clearly distinguished his form and hershortsighted eyes tried to make out his features, and then she saw hisface 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 theother he stroked the delicate mustache he had grown, moving hisfingers slowly. His eyes gazed at them as they entered.

　　On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Princess Mary's pacesuddenly slackened, she felt her tears dry up and her sobs ceased. Shesuddenly felt guilty and grew timid on catching the expression ofhis 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 the deep gaze that seemed to look not outwards butinwards there was an almost hostile expression as he slowly regardedhis sister and Natasha.

　　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 avoice as calm and aloof as his look.

　　Had he screamed in agony, that scream would not have struck suchhorror 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 shewas saying.

　　"That, my dear, you must ask the doctor," he replied, and againmaking an evident effort to be affectionate, he said with his lipsonly (his words clearly did not correspond to his thoughts):

　　"Merci, chere amie, d'etre venue."*

　　*"Thank you for coming, my dear."

　　Princess Mary pressed his hand. The pressure made him wince justperceptibly. He was silent, and she did not know what to say. Shenow understood what had happened to him two days before. In his words,his tone, and especially in that calm, almost antagonistic lookcould be felt an estrangement from everything belonging to this world,terrible in one who is alive. Evidently only with an effort did heunderstand anything living; but it was obvious that he failed tounderstand, not because he lacked the power to do so but because heunderstood something else- something the living did not and couldnot understand- and which wholly occupied his mind.

　　"There, you see how strangely fate has brought us together," saidhe, breaking the silence and pointing to Natasha. "She looks afterme all the time."

　　Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how he could say sucha thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how could he saythat, before her whom he loved and who loved him? Had he expected tolive 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 topity her and how could he speak like that in her presence? The onlyexplanation was that he was indifferent, because something else,much more important, had been revealed to him.

　　The conversation was cold and disconnected and continually brokeoff.

　　"Mary came by way of Ryazan," said Natasha.

　　Prince Andrew did not notice that she called his sister Mary, andonly after calling her so in his presence did Natasha notice itherself.

　　"Really?" he asked.

　　"They told her that all Moscow has been burned down, and that..."

　　Natasha stopped. It was impossible to talk. It was plain that he wasmaking an effort to listen, but could not do so.

　　"Yes, they say it's burned," he said. "It's a great pity," and hegazed straight before him, absently stroking his mustache with hisfingers.

　　"And so you have met Count Nicholas, Mary?" Prince Andrew suddenlysaid, evidently wishing to speak pleasantly to them. "He wrote herethat he took a great liking to you," he went on simply and calmly,evidently unable to understand all the complex significance hiswords had for living people. "If you liked him too, it would be a goodthing for you to get married," he added rather more quickly, as ifpleased 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 Natasha.

　　Natasha, who felt her glance, did not look at her. All three wereagain silent.

　　"Andrew, would you like..." Princess Mary suddenly said in atrembling voice, "would you like to see little Nicholas? He isalways talking about you!"

　　Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and for the first time, butPrincess Mary, who knew his face so well, saw with horror that hedid not smile with pleasure or affection for his son, but withquiet, gentle irony because he thought she was trying what shebelieved 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 lookedat his father with frightened eyes, but did not cry, because no oneelse was crying. Prince Andrew kissed him and evidently did not knowwhat to say to him.

　　When Nicholas had been led away, Princess Mary again went up toher brother, kissed him, and unable to restrain her tears any longerbegan 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 thesame cold expression.

　　When Princess Mary began to cry, he understood that she was cryingat the thought that little Nicholas would be left without a father.With a great effort he tried to return to life and to see thingsfrom 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 Fatherfeedeth them," he said to himself and wished to say to PrincessMary; "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 ourfeelings, all those ideas that seem so important to us, areunnecessary. We cannot understand one another," and he remainedsilent.

　　Prince Andrew's little son was seven. He could scarcely read, andknew nothing. After that day he lived through many things, gainingknowledge, observation, and experience, but had he possessed all thefaculties he afterwards acquired, he could not have had a better ormore profound understanding of the meaning of the scene he hadwitnessed between his father, Mary, and Natasha, than he had then.He understood it completely, and, leaving the room without crying,went silently up to Natasha who had come out with him and looked shylyat her with his beautiful, thoughtful eyes, then his uplifted, rosyupper lip trembled and leaning his head against her he began to cry.

　　After that he avoided Dessalles and the countess who caressed himand either sat alone or came timidly to Princess Mary, or to Natashaof whom he seemed even fonder than of his aunt, and clung to themquietly and shyly.

　　When Princess Mary had left Prince Andrew she fully understoodwhat Natasha's face had told her. She did not speak any more toNatasha of hopes of saving his life. She took turns with her besidehis sofa, and did not cry any more, but prayed continually, turning insoul to that Eternal and Unfathomable, whose presence above thedying man was now so evident.BK12|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Not only did Prince Andrew know he would die, but he felt that hewas dying and was already half dead. He was conscious of analoofness from everything earthly and a strange and joyous lightnessof existence. Without haste or agitation he awaited what was coming.That inexorable, eternal, distant, and unknown the presence of whichhe had felt continually all his life- was now near to him and, bythe strange lightness he experienced, almost comprehensible andpalpable...

　　Formerly he had feared the end. He had twice experienced thatterribly tormenting fear of death- the end- but now he no longerunderstood that fear.

　　He had felt it for the first time when the shell spun like a topbefore him, and he looked at the fallow field, the bushes, and thesky, and knew that he was face to face with death. When he came tohimself after being wounded and the flower of eternal, unfettered lovehad instantly unfolded itself in his soul as if freed from the bondageof life that had restrained it, he no longer feared death and ceasedto think about it.

　　During the hours of solitude, suffering, and partial delirium hespent after he was wounded, the more deeply he penetrated into the newprinciple of eternal love revealed to him, the more he unconsciouslydetached himself from earthly life. To love everything and everybodyand always to sacrifice oneself for love meant not to love anyone, notto live this earthly life. And the more imbued he became with thatprinciple of love, the more he renounced life and the morecompletely he destroyed that dreadful barrier which- in the absence ofsuch love- stands between life and death. When during those first dayshe remembered that he would have to die, he said to himself: "Well,what of it? So much the better!"

　　But after the night in Mytishchi when, half delirious, he had seenher for whom he longed appear before him and, having pressed herhand to his lips, had shed gentle, happy tears, love for aparticular woman again crept unobserved into his heart and once morebound him to life. And joyful and agitating thoughts began to occupyhis mind. Recalling the moment at the ambulance station when he hadseen Kuragin, he could not now regain the feeling he then had, but wastormented by the question whether Kuragin was alive. And he darednot inquire.

　　His illness pursued its normal physical course, but what Natashareferred to when she said: "This suddenly happened," had occurredtwo days before Princess Mary arrived. It was the last spiritualstruggle between life and death, in which death gained the victory. Itwas the unexpected realization of the fact that he still valued lifeas presented to him in the form of his love for Natasha, 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. Sonya was sitting bythe table. He began to doze. Suddenly a feeling of happiness seizedhim.

　　"Ah, she has come!" thought he.

　　And so it was: in Sonya's place sat Natasha who had just come innoiselessly.

　　Since she had begun looking after him, he had always experiencedthis physical consciousness of her nearness. She was sitting in anarmchair placed sideways, screening the light of the candle fromhim, and was knitting a stocking. She had learned to knit stockingssince Prince Andrew had casually mentioned that no one nursed the sickso well as old nurses who knit stockings, and that there issomething soothing in the knitting of stockings. The needles clickedlightly in her slender, rapidly moving hands, and he could clearly seethe thoughtful profile of her drooping face. She moved, and the ballrolled off her knees. She started, glanced round at him, and screeningthe candle with her hand stooped carefully with a supple and exactmovement, picked up the ball, and regained her former position.

　　He looked at her without moving and saw that she wanted to draw adeep breath after stooping, but refrained from doing so and breathedcautiously.

　　At the Troitsa monastery they had spoken of the past, and he hadtold her that if he lived he would always thank God for his woundwhich had brought them together again, but after that they never spokeof the future.

　　"Can it or can it not be?" he now thought as he looked at her andlistened to the light click of the steel needles. "Can fate havebrought me to her so strangely only for me to die?... Is it possiblethat the truth of life has been revealed to me only to show me thatI have spent my life in falsity? I love her more than anything inthe world! But what am I to do if I love her?" he thought, and heinvoluntarily groaned, from a habit acquired during his sufferings.

　　On hearing that sound Natasha put down the stocking, leaned nearerto him, and suddenly, noticing his shining eyes, stepped lightly up tohim 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."

　　Natasha drew closer to him. Her face shone with rapturous joy.

　　"Natasha, 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 yoursoul, your whole soul- shall I live? What do you think?"

　　"I am sure of it, sure!" Natasha almost shouted, taking hold of bothhis hands with a passionate movement.

　　He remained silent awhile.

　　"How good it would be!" and taking her hand he kissed it.

　　Natasha felt happy and agitated, but at once remembered that thiswould not do and that he had to be quiet.

　　"But you have not slept," she said, repressing her joy. "Try tosleep... please!"

　　He pressed her hand and released it, and she went back to the candleand sat down again in her former position. Twice she turned and lookedat him, and her eyes met his beaming at her. She set herself a task onher stocking and resolved not to turn round till it was finished.

　　Soon he really shut his eyes and fell asleep. He did not sleeplong and suddenly awoke with a start and in a cold perspiration.

　　As he fell asleep he had still been thinking of the subject that nowalways occupied his mind- about life and death, and chiefly aboutdeath. He felt himself nearer to it.

　　"Love? What is love?" he thought.

　　"Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that Iunderstand, I understand only because I love. Everything is,everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by italone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shallreturn to the general and eternal source." These thoughts seemed tohim comforting. But they were only thoughts. Something was lackingin them, they were not clear, they were too one-sidedly personal andbrain-spun. And there was the former agitation and obscurity. Hefell asleep.

　　He dreamed that he was lying in the room he really was in, butthat he was quite well and unwounded. Many various, indifferent, andinsignificant people appeared before him. He talked to them anddiscussed something trivial. They were preparing to go away somewhere.Prince Andrew dimly realized that all this was trivial and that he hadmore important cares, but he continued to speak, surprising them byempty witticisms. Gradually, unnoticed, all these persons began todisappear and a single question, that of the closed door, supersededall else. He rose and went to the door to bolt and lock it. Everythingdepended 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 hewould not be in time to lock the door though he painfully strained allhis powers. He was seized by an agonizing fear. And that fear wasthe fear of death. It stood behind the door. But just when he wasclumsily creeping toward the door, that dreadful something on theother side was already pressing against it and forcing its way in.Something not human- death- was breaking in through that door, and hadto be kept out. He seized the door, making a final effort to hold itback- to lock it was no longer possible- but his efforts were weak andclumsy and the door, pushed from behind by that terror, opened andclosed again.

　　Once again it pushed from outside. His last superhuman effortswere vain and both halves of the door noiselessly opened. Itentered, and it was death, and Prince Andrew died.

　　But at the instant he died, Prince Andrew remembered that he wasasleep, and at the very instant he died, having made an effort, heawoke.

　　"Yes, it was death! I died- and woke up. Yes, death is anawakening!" And all at once it grew light in his soul and the veilthat had till then concealed the unknown was lifted from his spiritualvision. He felt as if powers till then confined within him had beenliberated, and that strange lightness did not again leave him.

　　When, waking in a cold perspiration, he moved on the divan,Natasha went up and asked him what was the matter. He did not answerand looked at her strangely, not understanding.

　　That was what had happened to him two days before Princess Mary'sarrival. From that day, as the doctor expressed it, the wastingfever assumed a malignant character, but what the doctor said didnot interest Natasha, she saw the terrible moral symptoms which to herwere more convincing.

　　From that day an awakening from life came to Prince Andrewtogether with his awakening from sleep. And compared to the durationof life it did not seem to him slower than an awakening from sleepcompared to the duration of a dream.

　　There was nothing terrible or violent in this comparatively slowawakening.

　　His last days and hours passed in an ordinary and simple way. BothPrincess Mary and Natasha, who did not leave him, felt this. Theydid not weep or shudder and during these last days they themselvesfelt that they were not attending on him (he was no longer there, hehad left them) but on what reminded them most closely of him- hisbody. Both felt this so strongly that the outward and terrible side ofdeath did not affect them and they did not feel it necessary to fomenttheir 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 theycould not express in words what they understood.

　　They both saw that he was sinking slowly and quietly, deeper anddeeper, away from them, and they both knew that this had to be soand that it was right.

　　He confessed, and received communion: everyone came to take leave ofhim. When they brought his son to him, he pressed his lips to theboy's and turned away, not because he felt it hard and sad (PrincessMary and Natasha understood that) but simply because he thought it wasall 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 therewas anything else he should do.

　　When the last convulsions of the body, which the spirit was leaving,occurred, Princess Mary and Natasha were present.

　　"Is it over?" said Princess Mary when his body had for a few minuteslain motionless, growing cold before them. Natasha went up, lookedat the dead eyes, and hastened to close them. She closed them butdid not kiss them, but clung to that which reminded her most nearly ofhim- 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 painfulperplexity. The countess and Sonya cried from pity for Natasha andbecause he was no more. The old count cried because he felt thatbefore long, he, too, must take the same terrible step.

　　Natasha and Princess Mary also wept now, but not because of theirown personal grief; they wept with a reverent and softening emotionwhich had taken possession of their souls at the consciousness ofthe simple and solemn mystery of death that had been accomplished intheir presence.

　　BOOK THIRTEEN: 1812

　　CHAPTER I

　　Man's mind cannot grasp the causes of events in theircompleteness, but the desire to find those causes is implanted inman's soul. And without considering the multiplicity and complexity ofthe conditions any one of which taken separately may seem to be thecause, he snatches at the first approximation to a cause that seems tohim intelligible and says: "This is the cause!" In historical events(where the actions of men are the subject of observation) the firstand most primitive approximation to present itself was the will of thegods and, after that, the will of those who stood in the mostprominent position- the heroes of history. But we need onlypenetrate to the essence of any historic event- which lies in theactivity of the general mass of men who take part in it- to beconvinced that the will of the historic hero does not control theactions of the mass but is itself continually controlled. It mayseem to be a matter of indifference whether we understand themeaning of historical events this way or that; yet there is the samedifference between a man who says that the people of the West moved onthe East because Napoleon wished it and a man who says that thishappened because it had to happen, as there is between those whodeclared that the earth was stationary and that the planets movedround it and those who admitted that they did not know what upheld theearth, but knew there were laws directing its movement and that of theother planets. There is, and can be, no cause of an historical eventexcept the one cause of all causes. But there are laws directingevents, and some of these laws are known to us while we areconscious of others we cannot comprehend. The discovery of theselaws is only possible when possible when we have quite abandoned theattempt to find the cause in the will of some one man, just as thediscovery of the laws of the motion of the planets was possible onlywhen men abandoned the conception of the fixity of the earth.

　　The historians consider that, next to the battle of Borodino and theoccupation of Moscow by the enemy and its destruction by fire, themost important episode of the war of 1812 was the movement of theRussian army from the Ryazana to the Kaluga road and to the Tarutinocamp- the so-called flank march across the Krasnaya Pakhra River. Theyascribe the glory of that achievement of genius to different men anddispute as to whom the honor is due. Even foreign historians,including the French, acknowledge the genius of the Russian commanderswhen they speak of that flank march. But it is hard to understandwhy military writers, and following them others, consider this flankmarch to be the profound conception of some one man who saved Russiaand destroyed Napoleon. In the first place it is hard to understandwhere the profundity and genius of this movement lay, for not muchmental effort was needed to see that the best position for an armywhen it is not being attacked is where there are most provisions;and even a dull boy of thirteen could have guessed that the bestposition for an army after its retreat from Moscow in 1812 was onthe Kaluga road. So it is impossible to understand by what reasoningthe historians reach the conclusion that this maneuver was aprofound one. And it is even more difficult to understand just whythey think that this maneuver was calculated to save Russia anddestroy the French; for this flank march, had it been preceded,accompanied, or followed by other circumstances, might have provedruinous to the Russians and salutary for the French. If the positionof the Russian army really began to improve from the time of thatmarch, 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 tothe Russian army, but might in other circumstances have led to itsdestruction. What would have happened had Moscow not burned down? IfMurat had not lost sight of the Russians? If Napoleon had not remainedinactive? If the Russian army at Krasnaya Pakhra had given battle asBennigsen and Barclay advised? What would have happened had the Frenchattacked the Russians while they were marching beyond the Pakhra? Whatwould have happened if on approaching Tarutino, Napoleon hadattacked the Russians with but a tenth of the energy he had shown whenhe attacked them at Smolensk? What would have happened had theFrench moved on Petersburg?... In any of these eventualities the flankmarch that brought salvation might have proved disastrous.

　　The third and most incomprehensible thing is that people studyinghistory deliberately avoid seeing that this flank march cannot beattributed to any one man, that no one ever foresaw it, and that inreality, like the retreat from Fili, it did not suggest itself toanyone in its entirety, but resulted- moment by moment, step bystep, event by event- from an endless number of most diversecircumstances and was only seen in its entirety when it had beenaccomplished and belonged to the past.

　　At the council at Fili the prevailing thought in the minds of theRussian commanders was the one naturally suggesting itself, namely,a direct retreat by the Nizhni road. In proof of this there is thefact that the majority of the council voted for such a retreat, andabove all there is the well-known conversation after the council,between the commander in chief and Lanskoy, who was in charge of thecommissariat department. Lanskoy informed the commander in chiefthat the army supplies were for the most part stored along the Okain the Tula and Ryazan provinces, and that if they retreated on Nizhnithe army would be separated from its supplies by the broad riverOka, which cannot be crossed early in winter. This was the firstindication of the necessity of deviating from what had previouslyseemed the most natural course- a direct retreat on Nizhni-Novgorod.The army turned more to the south, along the Ryazan road and nearer toits supplies. Subsequently the in activity of the French (who evenlost sight of the Russian army), concern for the safety of the arsenalat Tula, and especially the advantages of drawing nearer to itssupplies caused the army to turn still further south to the Tula road.Having crossed over, by a forced march, to the Tula road beyond thePakhra, the Russian commanders intended to remain at Podolsk and hadno thought of the Tarutino position; but innumerable circumstances andthe reappearance of French troops who had for a time lost touch withthe Russians, and projects of giving battle, and above all theabundance of provisions in Kaluga province, obliged our army to turnstill more to the south and to cross from the Tula to the Kalugaroad and go to Tarutino, which was between the roads along which thosesupplies lay. Just as it is impossible to say when it was decided toabandon Moscow, so it is impossible to say precisely when, or by whom,it was decided to move to Tarutino. Only when the army had gotthere, as the result of innumerable and varying forces, did peoplebegin to assure themselves that they had desired this movement andlong ago foreseen its result.BK13|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　The famous flank movement merely consisted in this: after theadvance of the French had ceased, the Russian army, which had beencontinually retreating straight back from the invaders, deviatedfrom that direct course and, not finding itself pursued, was naturallydrawn toward the district where supplies were abundant.

　　If instead of imagining to ourselves commanders of genius leadingthe Russian army, we picture that army without any leaders, it couldnot have done anything but make a return movement toward Moscow,describing an arc in the direction where most provisions were to befound and where the country was richest.

　　That movement from the Nizhni to the Ryazan, Tula, and Kalugaroads was so natural that even the Russian marauders moved in thatdirection, and demands were sent from Petersburg for Kutuzov to takehis army that way. At Tarutino Kutuzov received what was almost areprimand from the Emperor for having moved his army along theRyazan road, and the Emperor's letter indicated to him the veryposition he had already occupied near Kaluga.

　　Having rolled like a ball in the direction of the impetus given bythe whole campaign and by the battle of Borodino, the Russian army-when the strength of that impetus was exhausted and no fresh pushwas received- assumed the position natural to it.

　　Kutuzov's merit lay, not in any strategic maneuver of genius, asit is called, but in the fact that he alone understood thesignificance of what had happened. He alone then understood themeaning of the French army's inactivity, he alone continued toassert that the battle of Borodino had been a victory, he alone- whoas commander in chief might have been expected to be eager toattack- employed his whole strength to restrain the Russian armyfrom useless engagements.

　　The beast wounded at Borodino was lying where the fleeing hunter hadleft him; but whether he was still alive, whether he was strong andmerely lying low, the hunter did not know. Suddenly the beast washeard to moan.

　　The moan of that wounded beast (the French army) which betrayedits calamitous condition was the sending of Lauriston to Kutuzov'scamp with overtures for peace.

　　Napoleon, with his usual assurance that whatever entered his headwas right, wrote to Kutuzov the first words that occurred to him,though they were meaningless.

　　MONSIEUR LE PRINCE KOUTOUZOV: I am sending one of myadjutants-general to discuss several interesting questions with you. Ibeg your Highness to credit what he says to you, especially when heexpresses the sentiment of esteem and special regard I have longentertained for your person. This letter having no other object, Ipray God, monsieur le Prince Koutouzov, to keep you in His holy andgracious protection!

　　NAPOLEON

　　MOSCOW, OCTOBER 30, 1812

　　Kutuzov replied: "I should be cursed by posterity were I looked onas the initiator of a settlement of any sort. Such is the presentspirit of my nation." But he continued to exert all his powers torestrain his troops from attacking.

　　During the month that the French troops were pillaging in Moscow andthe Russian troops were quietly encamped at Tarutino, a change hadtaken place in the relative strength of the two armies- both in spiritand in number- as a result of which the superiority had passed tothe Russian side. Though the condition and numbers of the Frencharmy were unknown to the Russians, as soon as that change occurred theneed of attacking at once showed itself by countless signs. Thesesigns were: Lauriston's mission; the abundance of provisions atTarutino; the reports coming in from all sides of the inactivity anddisorder of the French; the flow of recruits to our regiments; thefine weather; the long rest the Russian soldiers had enjoyed, andthe impatience to do what they had been assembled for, which usuallyshows itself in an army that has been resting; curiosity as to whatthe French army, so long lost sight of, was doing; the boldness withwhich our outposts now scouted close up to the French stationed atTarutino; the news of easy successes gained by peasants andguerrilla troops over the French, the envy aroused by this; the desirefor revenge that lay in the heart of every Russian as long as theFrench were in Moscow, and (above all) a dim consciousness in everysoldier's mind that the relative strength of the armies had changedand that the advantage was now on our side. There was a substantialchange in the relative strength, and an advance had become inevitable.And at once, as a clock begins to strike and chime as soon as theminute hand has completed a full circle, this change was shown by anincreased activity, whirring, and chiming in the higher spheres.BK13|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　The Russian army was commanded by Kutuzov and his staff, and also bythe Emperor from Petersburg. Before the news of the abandonment ofMoscow had been received in Petersburg, a detailed plan of the wholecampaign had been drawn up and sent to Kutuzov for his guidance.Though this plan had been drawn up on the supposition that Moscowwas still in our hands, it was approved by the staff and accepted as abasis for action. Kutuzov only replied that movements arranged froma distance were always difficult to execute. So fresh instructionswere sent for the solution of difficulties that might beencountered, as well as fresh people who were to watch Kutuzov'sactions and report upon them.

　　Besides this, the whole staff of the Russian army was nowreorganized. The posts left vacant by Bagration, who had beenkilled, and by Barclay, who had gone away in dudgeon, had to befilled. Very serious consideration was given to the question whetherit would be better to put A in B's place and B in D's, or on thecontrary to put D in A's place, and so on- as if anything more thanA's or B's satisfaction depended on this.

　　As a result of the hostility between Kutuzov and Bennigsen, hisChief of Staff, the presence of confidential representatives of theEmperor, and these transfers, a more than usually complicated playof parties was going on among the staff of the army. A was underminingB, D was undermining C, and so on in all possible combinations andpermutations. In all these plottings the subject of intrigue wasgenerally the conduct of the war, which all these men believed theywere directing; but this affair of the war went on independently ofthem, as it had to go: that is, never in the way people devised, butflowing always from the essential attitude of the masses. Only inthe highest spheres did all these schemes, crossings, andinterminglings appear to be a true reflection of what had to happen.

　　Prince Michael Ilarionovich! (wrote the Emperor on the second ofOctober in a letter that reached Kutuzov after the battle at Tarutino)Since September 2 Moscow has been in the hands of the enemy. Your lastreports were written on the twentieth, and during all this time notonly has no action been taken against the enemy or for the relief ofthe ancient capital, but according to your last report you have evenretreated farther. Serpukhov is already occupied by an enemydetachment and Tula with its famous arsenal so indispensable to thearmy, is in danger. From General Wintzingerode's reports, I see thatan enemy corps of ten thousand men is moving on the Petersburg road.Another corps of several thousand men is moving on Dmitrov. A thirdhas advanced along the Vladimir road, and a fourth, ratherconsiderable detachment is stationed between Ruza and Mozhaysk.Napoleon himself was in Moscow as late as the twenty-fifth. In view ofall this information, when the enemy has scattered his forces in largedetachments, and with Napoleon and his Guards in Moscow, is itpossible that the enemy's forces confronting you are so considerableas not to allow of your taking the offensive? On the contrary, he isprobably pursuing you with detachments, or at most with an armycorps much weaker than the army entrusted to you. It would seemthat, availing yourself of these circumstances, you mightadvantageously attack a weaker one and annihilate him, or at leastoblige him to retreat, retaining in our hands an important part of theprovinces now occupied by the enemy, and thereby averting dangerfrom Tula and other towns in the interior. You will be responsibleif the enemy is able to direct a force of any size againstPetersburg to threaten this capital in which it has not beenpossible to retain many troops; for with the army entrusted to you,and acting with resolution and energy, you have ample means to avertthis fresh calamity. Remember that you have still to answer to ouroffended country for the loss of Moscow. You have experienced myreadiness to reward you. That readiness will not weaken in me, but Iand Russia have a right to expect from you all the zeal, firmness, andsuccess which your intellect, military talent, and the courage ofthe troops you command justify us in expecting.

　　But by the time this letter, which proved that the real relationof the forces had already made itself felt in Petersburg, wasdispatched, Kutuzov had found himself unable any longer to restrainthe army he commanded from attacking and a battle had taken place.

　　On the second of October a Cossack, Shapovalov, who was outscouting, killed one hare and wounded another. Following the woundedhare he made his way far into the forest and came upon the leftflank of Murat's army, encamped there without any precautions. TheCossack laughingly told his comrades how he had almost fallen into thehands of the French. A cornet, hearing the story, informed hiscommander.

　　The Cossack was sent for and questioned. The Cossack officers wishedto take advantage of this chance to capture some horses, but one ofthe superior officers, who was acquainted with the higher authorities,reported the incident to a general on the staff.  The state ofthings on the staff had of late been exceedingly strained. Ermolov hadbeen to see Bennigsen a few days previously and had entreated him touse his influence with the commander in chief to induce him to takethe offensive.

　　"If I did not know you I should think you did not want what youare asking for. I need only advise anything and his Highness is sureto do the opposite," replied Bennigsen.

　　The Cossack's report, confirmed by horse patrols who were sentout, was the final proof that events had matured. The tightly coiledspring was released, the clock began to whirr and the chimes toplay. Despite all his supposed power, his intellect, his experience,and his knowledge of men, Kutuzov- having taken into consideration theCossack's report, a note from Bennigsen who sent personal reports tothe Emperor, the wishes he supposed the Emperor to hold, and thefact that all the generals expressed the same wish- could no longercheck the inevitable movement, and gave the order to do what heregarded as useless and harmful- gave his approval, that is, to theaccomplished fact.BK13|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　Bennigsen's note and the Cossack's information that the left flankof the French was unguarded were merely final indications that itwas necessary to order an attack, and it was fixed for the fifth ofOctober.

　　On the morning of the fourth of October Kutuzov signed thedispositions. Toll read them to Ermolov, asking him to attend to thefurther arrangements.

　　"All right- all right. I haven't time just now," replied Ermolov,and left the hut.

　　The dispositions drawn up by Toll were very good. As in theAusterlitz dispositions, it was written- though not in German thistime:

　　"The First Column will march here and here," "the Second Column willmarch there and there," and so on; and on paper, all these columnsarrived 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 atthe appointed time.

　　When the necessary number of copies of the dispositions had beenprepared, an officer was summoned and sent to deliver them toErmolov to deal with. A young officer of the Horse Guards, Kutuzov'sorderly, pleased at the importance of the mission entrusted to him,went to Ermolov's quarters.

　　"Gone away," said Ermolov's orderly.

　　The officer of the Horse Guards went to a general with whomErmolov 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 anuisance it is!" thought the officer, and he rode round the wholecamp. One man said he had seen Ermolov ride past with some othergenerals, others said he must have returned home. The officer searchedtill six o'clock in the evening without even stopping to eat.Ermolov was nowhere to be found and no one knew where he was. Theofficer snatched a little food at a comrade's, and rode again to thevanguard to find Miloradovich. Miloradovich too was away, but herehe was told that he had gone to a ball at General Kikin's and thatErmolov was probably there too.

　　"But where is it?"

　　"Why, there, over at Echkino," said a Cossack officer, pointing to acountry house in the far distance.

　　"What, outside our line?"

　　"They've put two regiments as outposts, and they're having such aspree there, it's awful! Two bands and three sets of singers!"

　　The officer rode out beyond our lines to Echkino. While still at adistance he heard as he rode the merry sounds of a soldier's dancesong proceeding from the house.

　　"In the meadows... in the meadows!" he heard, accompanied bywhistling and the sound of a torban, drowned every now and then byshouts. These sounds made his spirits rise, but at the same time hewas afraid that he would be blamed for not having executed soonerthe important order entrusted to him. It was already past eighto'clock. He dismounted and went up into the porch of a large countryhouse which had remained intact between the Russian and French forces.In the refreshment room and the hall, footmen were bustling about withwine and viands. Groups of singers stood outside the windows. Theofficer was admitted and immediately saw all the chief generals of thearmy together, and among them Ermolov's big imposing figure. Theyall had their coats unbuttoned and were standing in a semicirclewith flushed and animated faces, laughing loudly. In the middle of theroom a short handsome general with a red face was dancing the trepakwith much spirit and agility.

　　"Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Nicholas Ivanych! Ha, ha, ha!"

　　The officer felt that by arriving with important orders at such amoment he was doubly to blame, and he would have preferred to wait;but one of the generals espied him and, hearing what he had comeabout, informed Ermolov.

　　Ermolov came forward with a frown on his face and, hearing whatthe 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 onthe staff that evening, to the officer of the Horse Guards,referring to Ermolov. "It was a trick. It was done on purpose to getKonovnitsyn into trouble. You'll see what a mess there'll betomorrow."BK13|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　Next day the decrepit Kutuzov, having given orders to be calledearly, said his prayers, dressed, and, with an unpleasantconsciousness of having to direct a battle he did not approve of,got into his caleche and drove from Letashovka (a village three anda half miles from Tarutino) to the place where the attacking columnswere to meet. He sat in the caleche, dozing and waking up by turns,and listening for any sound of firing on the right as an indicationthat the action had begun. But all was still quiet. A damp dull autumnmorning was just dawning. On approaching Tarutino Kutuzov noticedcavalrymen leading their horses to water across the road along whichhe was driving. Kutuzov looked at them searchingly, stopped hiscarriage, and inquired what regiment they belonged to. They belongedto a column that should have been far in front and in ambush longbefore then. "It may be a mistake," thought the old commander inchief. But a little further on he saw infantry regiments with theirarms piled and the soldiers, only partly dressed, eating their ryeporridge and carrying fuel. He sent for an officer. The officerreported that no order to advance had been received.

　　"How! Not rec..." Kutuzov began, but checked himself immediately andsent for a senior officer. Getting out of his caleche, he waitedwith drooping head and breathing heavily, pacing silently up and down.When Eykhen, the officer of the general staff whom he had summoned,appeared, Kutuzov went purple in the face, not because that officerwas to blame for the mistake, but because he was an object ofsufficient importance for him to vent his wrath on. Trembling andpanting the old man fell into that state of fury in which he sometimesused to roll on the ground, and he fell upon Eykhen, threatening himwith his hands, shouting and loading him with gross abuse. Anotherman, Captain Brozin, who happened to turn up and who was not at all toblame, suffered the same fate.

　　"What sort of another blackguard are you? I'll have you shot!Scoundrels!" yelled Kutuzov in a hoarse voice, waving his arms andreeling.

　　He was suffering physically. He, the commander in chief, a SereneHighness who everybody said possessed powers such as no man had everhad in Russia, to be placed in this position- made the laughingstockof the whole army! "I needn't have been in such a hurry to prayabout today, or have kept awake thinking everything over all night,"thought he to himself. "When I was a chit of an officer no one wouldhave dared to mock me so... and now!" He was in a state of physicalsuffering as if from corporal punishment, and could not avoidexpressing it by cries of anger and distress. But his strength soonbegan to fail him, and looking about him, conscious of having saidmuch that was amiss, he again got into his caleche and drove back insilence.

　　His wrath, once expended, did not return, and blinking feebly helistened to excuses and self-justifications (Ermolov did not come tosee him till the next day) and to the insistence of Bennigsen,Konovnitsyn, and Toll that the movement that had miscarried shouldbe executed next day. And once more Kutuzov had to consent.BK13|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　Next day the troops assembled in their appointed places in theevening and advanced during the night. It was an autumn night withdark purple clouds, but no rain. The ground was damp but not muddy,and the troops advanced noiselessly, only occasionally a jingling ofthe artillery could be faintly heard. The men were forbidden to talkout loud, to smoke their pipes, or to strike a light, and they triedto prevent their horses neighing. The secrecy of the undertakingheightened its charm and they marched gaily. Some columns,supposing. they had reached their destination, halted, piled arms, andsettled down on the cold ground, but the majority marched all nightand arrived at places where they evidently should not have been.

　　Only Count Orlov-Denisov with his Cossacks (the least importantdetachment of all) got to his appointed place at the right time.This detachment halted at the outskirts of a forest, on the pathleading from the village of Stromilova to Dmitrovsk.

　　Toward dawn, Count Orlov-Denisov, who had dozed off, was awakened bya deserter from the French army being brought to him. This was aPolish sergeant of Poniatowski's corps, who explained in Polish thathe had come over because he had been slighted in the service: thathe ought long ago to have been made an officer, that he was braverthan any of them, and so he had left them and wished to pay themout. He said that Murat was spending the night less than a mile fromwhere they were, and that if they would let him have a convoy of ahundred men he would capture him alive. Count Orlov-Denisovconsulted his fellow officers.

　　The offer was too tempting to be refused. Everyone volunteered to goand everybody advised making the attempt. After much disputing andarguing, Major-General Grekov with two Cossack regiments decided to gowith the Polish sergeant.

　　"Now, remember," said Count Orlov-Denisov to the sergeant atparting, "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 androde away with Grekov whose men had quickly assembled. Theydisappeared into the forest, and Count Orlov-Denisov, having seenGrekov off, returned, shivering from the freshness of the early dawnand excited by what he had undertaken on his own responsibility, andbegan looking at the enemy camp, now just visible in the deceptivelight of dawn and the dying campfires. Our columns ought to have begunto appear on an open declivity to his right. He looked in thatdirection, but though the columns would have been visible quite faroff, they were not to be seen. It seemed to the count that things werebeginning to stir in the French camp, and his keen-sighted adjutantconfirmed this.

　　"Oh, it is really too late," said Count Orlov, looking at the camp.

　　As often happens when someone we have trusted is no longer beforeour eyes, it suddenly seemed quite clear and obvious to him that thesergeant was an impostor, that he had lied, and that the whole Russianattack would be ruined by the absence of those two regiments, which hewould lead away heaven only knew where. How could one capture acommander 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 likeCount Orlov felt distrustful of the adventure when he looked at theenemy'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 Orlov with suddendetermination, looking at his watch. "It will be too late. It is quitelight."

　　And the adjutant galloped through the forest after Grekov. WhenGrekov returned, Count Orlov-Denisov, excited both by the abandonedattempt and by vainly awaiting the infantry columns that still did notappear, 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 andcrossed themselves.... "Forward, with God's aid!"

　　"Hurrah-ah-ah!" reverberated in the forest, and the Cossackcompanies, trailing their lances and advancing one after another as ifpoured out of a sack, dashed gaily across the brook toward the camp.

　　One desperate, frightened yell from the first French soldier who sawthe Cossacks, and all who were in the camp, undressed and only justwaking up, ran off in all directions, abandoning cannons, muskets, andhorses.

　　Had the Cossacks pursued the French, without heeding what was behindand around them, they would have captured Murat and everythingthere. That was what the officers desired. But it was impossible tomake the Cossacks budge when once they had got booty and prisoners.None of them listened to orders. Fifteen hundred prisoners andthirty-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, theprisoners and guns secured, the booty divided- not without someshouting and even a little themselves- and it was on this that theCossacks all busied themselves.

　　The French, not being farther pursued, began to recoverthemselves: they formed into detachments and began firing.Orlov-Denisov, still waiting for the other columns to arrive, advancedno further.

　　Meantime, according to the dispositions which said that "the FirstColumn will march" and so on, the infantry of the belated columns,commanded by Bennigsen and directed by Toll, had started in dueorder and, as always happens, had got somewhere, but not to theirappointed places. As always happens the men, starting cheerfully,began to halt; murmurs were heard, there was a sense of confusion, andfinally a backward movement. Adjutants and generals galloped about,shouted, grew angry, quarreled, said they had come quite wrong andwere late, gave vent to a little abuse, and at last gave it all up andwent forward, simply to get somewhere. "We shall get somewhere orother!" And they did indeed get somewhere, though not to their rightplaces; a few eventually even got to their right place, but too lateto be of any use and only in time to be fired at. Toll, who in thisbattle played the part of Weyrother at Austerlitz, gallopedassiduously from place to place, finding everything upside downeverywhere. Thus he stumbled on Bagovut's corps in a wood when itwas already broad daylight, though the corps should long before havejoined Orlov-Denisov. Excited and vexed by the failure and supposingthat someone must be responsible for it, Toll galloped up to thecommander of the corps and began upbraiding him severely, sayingthat he ought to be shot. General Bagovut, a fighting old soldier ofplacid temperament, being also upset by all the delay, confusion,and cross-purposes, fell into a rage to everybody's surprise and quitecontrary to his usual character and said disagreeable things to Toll.

　　"I prefer not to take lessons from anyone, but I can die with my menas well as anybody," he said, and advanced with a single division.

　　Coming out onto a field under the enemy's fire, this brave generalwent straight ahead, leading his men under fire, without consideringin his agitation whether going into action now, with a singledivision, would be of any use or no. Danger, cannon balls, and bulletswere just what he needed in his angry mood. One of the first bulletskilled him, and other bullets killed many of his men. And his divisionremained under fire for some time quite uselessly.BK13|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Meanwhile another column was to have attacked the French from thefront, but Kutuzov accompanied that column. He well knew thatnothing but confusion would come of this battle undertaken against hiswill, and as far as was in his power held the troops back. He didnot advance.

　　He rode silently on his small gray horse, indolently answeringsuggestions that they should attack.

　　"The word attack is always on your tongue, but you don't see that weare unable to execute complicated maneuvers," said he toMiloradovich who asked permission to advance.

　　"We couldn't take Murat prisoner this morning or get to the place intime, and nothing can be done now!" he replied to someone else.

　　When Kutuzov was informed that at the French rear- where accordingto the reports of the Cossacks there had previously been nobody- therewere now two battalions of Poles, he gave a sidelong glance at Ermolovwho was behind him and to whom he had not spoken since the previousday.

　　"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."

　　Ermolov screwed up his eyes and smiled faintly on hearing thesewords. He understood that for him the storm had blown over, and thatKutuzov would content himself with that hint.

　　"He's having a little fun at my expense," said Ermolov softly,nudging with his knee Raevski who was at his side.

　　Soon after this, Ermolov moved up to Kutuzov and respectfullyremarked:

　　"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 assee a little smoke."

　　Kutuzov did not reply, but when they reported to him that Murat'stroops were in retreat he ordered an advance, though at everyhundred paces he halted for three quarters of an hour.

　　The whole battle consisted in what Orlov-Denisov's Cossacks haddone: the rest of the army merely lost some hundreds of men uselessly.

　　In consequence of this battle Kutuzov received a diamond decoration,and Bennigsen some diamonds and a hundred thousand rubles, others alsoreceived pleasant recognitions corresponding to their variousgrades, and following the battle fresh changes were made in the staff.

　　"That's how everything is done with us, all topsy-turvy!" said theRussian officers and generals after the Tarutino battle, letting it beunderstood that some fool there is doing things all wrong but thatwe ourselves should not have done so, just as people speak today.But people who talk like that either do not know what they are talkingabout or deliberately deceive themselves. No battle- Tarutino,Borodino, or Austerlitz- takes place as those who planned itanticipated. That is an essential condition.

　　A countless number of free forces (for nowhere is man freer thanduring a battle, where it is a question of life and death) influencethe course taken by the fight, and that course never can be known inadvance and never coincides with the direction of any one force.

　　If many simultaneously and variously directed forces act on agiven body, the direction of its motion cannot coincide with any oneof those forces, but will always be a mean- what in mechanics isrepresented by the diagonal of a parallelogram of forces.

　　If in the descriptions given by historians, especially Frenchones, we find their wars and battles carried out in accordance withpreviously formed plans, the only conclusion to be drawn is that thosedescriptions are false.

　　The battle of Tarutino obviously did not attain the aim Toll hadin view- to lead the troops into action in the order prescribed by thedispositions; nor that which Count Orlov-Denisov may have had in view-to take Murat prisoner; nor the result of immediately destroying thewhole corps, which Bennigsen and others may have had in view; northe aim of the officer who wished to go into action to distinguishhimself; 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 andwhat all the Russians of that day desired- to drive the French outof Russia and destroy their army- it is quite clear that the battle ofTarutino, just because of its incongruities, was exactly what waswanted at that stage of the campaign. It would be difficult and evenimpossible to imagine any result more opportune than the actualoutcome of this battle. With a minimum of effort and insignificantlosses, despite the greatest confusion, the most important resultsof the whole campaign were attained: the transition from retreat toadvance, an exposure of the weakness of the French, and theadministration of that shock which Napoleon's army had only awaited tobegin its flight.BK13|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　Napoleon enters Moscow after the brilliant victory de la Moskowa;there can be no doubt about the victory for the battlefield remains inthe hands of the French. The Russians retreat and abandon theirancient capital. Moscow, abounding in provisions, arms, munitions, andincalculable wealth, is in Napoleon's hands. The Russian army, onlyhalf the strength of the French, does not make a single attempt toattack for a whole month. Napoleon's position is most brilliant. Hecan either fall on the Russian army with double its strength anddestroy it; negotiate an advantageous peace, or in case of a refusalmake a menacing move on Petersburg, or even, in the case of a reverse,return to Smolensk or Vilna; or remain in Moscow; in short, no specialgenius would seem to be required to retain the brilliant positionthe French held at that time. For that, only very simple and easysteps were necessary: not to allow the troops to loot, to preparewinter clothing- of which there was sufficient in Moscow for the wholearmy- and methodically to collect the provisions, of which(according to the French historians) there were enough in Moscow tosupply the whole army for six months. Yet Napoleon, that greatest ofall geniuses, who the historians declare had control of the army, tooknone of these steps.

　　He not merely did nothing of the kind, but on the contrary he usedhis power to select the most foolish and ruinous of all the coursesopen to him. Of all that Napoleon might have done: wintering inMoscow, advancing on Petersburg or on Nizhni-Novgorod, or retiringby a more northerly or more southerly route (say by the road Kutuzovafterwards took), nothing more stupid or disastrous can be imaginedthan what he actually did. He remained in Moscow till October, lettingthe troops plunder the city; then, hesitating whether to leave agarrison behind him, he quitted Moscow, approached Kutuzov withoutjoining battle, turned to the right and reached Malo-Yaroslavets,again without attempting to break through and take the road Kutuzovtook, but retiring instead to Mozhaysk along the devastated Smolenskroad. Nothing more stupid than that could have been devised, or moredisastrous for the army, as the sequel showed. Had Napoleon's aim beento destroy his army, the most skillful strategist could hardly havedevised any series of actions that would so completely haveaccomplished that purpose, independently of anything the Russianarmy might do.

　　Napoleon, the man of genius, did this! But to say that hedestroyed his army because he wished to, or because he was verystupid, would be as unjust as to say that he had brought his troops toMoscow because he wished to and because he was very clever and agenius.

　　In both cases his personal activity, having no more force than thepersonal activity of any soldier, merely coincided with the lawsthat guided the event.

　　The historians quite falsely represent Napoleon's faculties ashaving weakened in Moscow, and do so only because the results didnot justify his actions. He employed all his ability and strength todo the best he could for himself and his army, as he had donepreviously and as he did subsequently in 1813. His activity at thattime was no less astounding than it was in Egypt, in Italy, inAustria, and in Prussia. We do not know for certain in how far hisgenius was genuine in Egypt- where forty centuries looked down uponhis grandeur- for his great exploits there are all told us byFrenchmen. We cannot accurately estimate his genius in Austria orPrussia, for we have to draw our information from French or Germansources, and the incomprehensible surrender of whole corps withoutfighting and of fortresses without a siege must incline Germans torecognize his genius as the only explanation of the war carried onin Germany. But we, thank God, have no need to recognize his genius inorder to hide our shame. We have paid for the right to look at thematter plainly and simply, and we will not abandon that right.

　　His activity in Moscow was as amazing and as full of genius aselsewhere. Order after order order and plan after plan were issuedby him from the time he entered Moscow till the time he left it. Theabsence of citizens and of a deputation, and even the burning ofMoscow, did not disconcert him. He did not lose sight either of thewelfare of his army or of the doings of the enemy, or of the welfareof the people of Russia, or of the direction of affairs in Paris, orof diplomatic considerations concerning the terms of the anticipatedpeace.BK13|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　With regard to military matters, Napoleon immediately on his entryinto Moscow gave General Sabastiani strict orders to observe themovements of the Russian army, sent army corps out along the differentroads, and charged Murat to find Kutuzov. Then he gave carefuldirections about the fortification of the Kremlin, and drew up abrilliant plan for a future campaign over the whole map of Russia.

　　With regard to diplomatic questions, Napoleon summoned CaptainYakovlev, who had been robbed and was in rags and did not know howto get out of Moscow, minutely explained to him his whole policy andhis magnanimity, and having written a letter to the EmperorAlexander in which he considered it his duty to inform his Friendand Brother that Rostopchin had managed affairs badly in Moscow, hedispatched Yakovlev to Petersburg.

　　Having similarly explained his views and his magnanimity toTutolmin, he dispatched that old man also to Petersburg to negotiate.

　　With regard to legal matters, immediately after the fires he gaveorders to find and execute the incendiaries. And the scoundrelRostopchin was punished by an order to burn down his houses.

　　With regard to administrative matters, Moscow was granted aconstitution. A municipality was established and the followingannouncement issued:

　　INHABITANTS OF MOSCOW!

　　Your misfortunes are cruel, but His Majesty the Emperor and Kingdesires to arrest their course. Terrible examples have taught youhow he punishes disobedience and crime. Strict measures have beentaken to put an end to disorder and to re-establish public security. Apaternal administration, chosen from among yourselves, will formyour municipality or city government. It will take care of you, ofyour needs, and of your welfare. Its members will be distinguishedby a red ribbon worn across the shoulder, and the mayor of the citywill wear a white belt as well. But when not on duty they will onlywear a red ribbon round the left arm.

　　The city police is established on its former footing, and betterorder already prevails in consequence of its activity. Thegovernment has appointed two commissaries general, or chiefs ofpolice, and twenty commissaries or captains of wards have beenappointed to the different wards of the city. You will recognizethem by the white ribbon they will wear on the left arm. Severalchurches of different denominations are open, and divine service isperformed in them unhindered. Your fellow citizens are returning everyday to their homes. and orders have been given that they should findin them the help and protection due to their misfortunes. These arethe measures the government has adopted to re-establish order andrelieve youp condition. But to achieve this aim it is necessary thatyou should add your efforts and should, if possible, forget themisfortunes you have suffered, should entertain the hope of a lesscruel fate, should be certain that inevitable and ignominious deathawaits those who make any attempt on your persons or on what remainsof your property, and finally that you should not doubt that thesewill be safeguarded, since such is the will of the greatest and mostjust of monarchs. Soldiers and citizens, of whatever nation you maybe, re-establish public confidence, the source of the welfare of astate, live like brothers, render mutual aid and protection one toanother, unite to defeat the intentions of the evil-minded, obey themilitary and civil authorities, and your tears will soon cease toflow!

　　With regard to supplies for the army, Napoleon decreed that allthe troops in turn should enter Moscow a la maraude* to obtainprovisions for themselves, so that the army might have its futureprovided for.

　　*As looters.

　　With regard to religion, Napoleon ordered the priests to bebrought back and services to be again performed in the churches.

　　With regard to commerce and to provisioning the army, thefollowing was placarded everywhere:

　　PROCLAMATION!

　　You, peaceful inhabitants of Moscow, artisans and workmen whommisfortune has driven from the city, and you scattered tillers ofthe soil, still kept out in the fields by groundless fear, listen!Tranquillity is returning to this capital and order is beingrestored in it. Your fellow countrymen are emerging boldly fromtheir hiding places on finding that they are respected. Any violenceto them or to their property is promptly punished. His Majesty theEmperor and King protects them, and considers no one among you hisenemy except those who disobey his orders. He desires to end yourmisfortunes 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 findmeans of satisfying your needs. Craftsmen and industrious artisans,return to your work, your houses, your shops, where the protectionof guards awaits you! You shall receive proper pay for your work.And lastly you too, peasants, come from the forests where you arehiding in terror, return to your huts without fear, in fullassurance that you will find protection! Markets are established inthe city where peasants can bring their surplus supplies and theproducts of the soil. The government has taken the following stepsto ensure freedom of sale for them: (1) From today, peasants,husbandmen, and those living in the neighborhood of Moscow may withoutany danger bring their supplies of all kinds to two appointed markets,of which one is on the Mokhovaya Street and the other at the ProvisionMarket. (2) Such supplies will be bought from them at such prices asseller and buyer may agree on, and if a seller is unable to obtain afair price he will be free to take his goods back to his village andno one may hinder him under any pretense. (3) Sunday and Wednesdayof each week are appointed as the chief market days and to that enda sufficient number of troops will be stationed along the highroads onTuesdays and Saturdays at such distances from the town as to protectthe carts. (4) Similar measures will be taken that peasants with theircarts 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 andartisans, to whatever nation you belong, you are called on to carryout the paternal intentions of His Majesty the Emperor and King and toco-operate with him for the public welfare! Lay your respect andconfidence at his feet and do not delay to unite with us!

　　With the object of raising the spirits of the troops and of thepeople, reviews were constantly held and rewards distributed. TheEmperor rode through the streets to comfort the inhabitants, and,despite his preoccupation with state affairs, himself visited thetheaters 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 maMere to be inscribed on the charitable institutions, thereby combiningtender filial affection with the majestic benevolence of a monarch. Hevisited the Foundling Hospital and, allowing the orphans saved byhim to kiss his white hands, graciously conversed with Tutolmin. Then,as Thiers eloquently recounts, he ordered his soldiers to be paid inforged Russian money which he had prepared: "Raising the use ofthese means by an act worthy of himself and of the French army, he letrelief be distributed to those who had been burned out. But as foodwas too precious to be given to foreigners, who were for the most partenemies, Napoleon preferred to supply them with money with which topurchase food from outside, and had paper rubles distributed to them."

　　With reference to army discipline, orders were continually beingissued to inflict severe punishment for the nonperformance of militaryduties and to suppress robbery.BK13|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　But strange to say, all these measures, efforts, and plans- whichwere not at all worse than others issued in similar circumstances- didnot affect the essence of the matter but, like the hands of a clockdetached from the mechanism, swung about in an arbitrary and aimlessway without engaging the cogwheels.

　　With reference to the military side- the plan of campaign- that workof genius of which Thiers remarks that, "His genius never devisedanything more profound, more skillful, or more admirable," andenters into a polemic with M. Fain to prove that this work of geniusmust 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 oftouch with the facts of the case. The fortifying of the Kremlin, forwhich la Mosquee (as Napoleon termed the church of Basil theBeatified) was to have been razed to the ground, proved quite useless.The mining of the Kremlin only helped toward fulfilling Napoleon'swish that it should be blown up when he left Moscow- as a childwants the floor on which he has hurt himself to be beaten. The pursuitof the Russian army, about which Napoleon was so concerned, producedan unheard-of result. The French generals lost touch with theRussian army of sixty thousand men, and according to Thiers it wasonly eventually found, like a lost pin, by the skill- and apparentlythe genius- of Murat.

　　With reference to diplomacy, all Napoleon's arguments as to hismagnanimity and justice, both to Tutolmin and to Yakovlev (whose chiefconcern was to obtain a greatcoat and a conveyance), proved useless;Alexander did not receive these envoys and did not reply to theirembassage.

　　With regard to legal matters, after the execution of the supposedincendiaries the rest of Moscow burned down.

　　With regard to administrative matters, the establishment of amunicipality did not stop the robberies and was only of use to certainpeople who formed part of that municipality and under pretext ofpreserving order looted Moscow or saved their own property frombeing looted.

　　With regard to religion, as to which in Egypt matters had soeasily been settled by Napoleon's visit to a mosque, no results wereachieved. Two or three priests who were found in Moscow did try tocarry out Napoleon's wish, but one of them was slapped in the faceby a French soldier while conducting service, and a French officialreported of another that: "The priest whom I found and invited tosay Mass cleaned and locked up the church. That night the doors wereagain broken open, the padlocks smashed, the books mutilated, andother disorders perpetrated."

　　With reference to commerce, the proclamation to industriousworkmen and to peasants evoked no response. There were noindustrious workmen, and the peasants caught the commissaries whoventured too far out of town with the proclamation and killed them.

　　As to the theaters for the entertainment of the people and thetroops, these did not meet with success either. The theaters set up inthe Kremlin and in Posnyakov's house were closed again at once becausethe actors and actresses were robbed.

　　Even philanthropy did not have the desired effect. The genuine aswell as the false paper money which flooded Moscow lost its value. TheFrench, collecting booty, cared only for gold. Not only was thepaper money valueless which Napoleon so graciously distributed tothe unfortunate, but even silver lost its value in relation to gold.

　　But the most amazing example of the ineffectiveness of the ordersgiven by the authorities at that time was Napoleon's attempt to stopthe looting and re-establish discipline.

　　This is what the army authorities were reporting:

　　"Looting continues in the city despite the decrees against it. Orderis not yet restored and not a single merchant is carrying on tradein a lawful manner. The sutlers alone venture to trade, and theysell stolen goods."

　　"The neighborhood of my ward continues to be pillaged by soldiers ofthe 3rd Corps who, not satisfied with taking from the unfortunateinhabitants hiding in the cellars the little they have left, even havethe ferocity to wound them with their sabers, as I have repeatedlywitnessed."

　　"Nothing new, except that the soldiers are robbing and pillaging-October 9."

　　"Robbery and pillaging continue. There is a band of thieves in ourdistrict who ought to be arrested by a strong force- October 11."

　　"The Emperor is extremely displeased that despite the strictorders to stop pillage, parties of marauding Guards are continuallyseen returning to the Kremlin. Among the Old Guard disorder andpillage were renewed more violently than ever yesterday evening,last night, and today. The Emperor sees with regret that the pickedsoldiers appointed to guard his person, who should set an example ofdiscipline, carry disobedience to such a point that they break intothe cellars and stores containing army supplies. Others have disgracedthemselves to the extent of disobeying sentinels and officers, andhave abused and beaten them."

　　"The Grand Marshal of the palace," wrote the governor, "complainsbitterly that in spite of repeated orders, the soldiers continue tocommit nuisances in all the courtyards and even under the very windowsof the Emperor."

　　That army, like a herd of cattle run wild and trampling underfootthe provender which might have saved it from starvation, disintegratedand perished with each additional day it remained in Moscow. But itdid not go away.

　　It began to run away only when suddenly seized by a panic causedby the capture of transport trains on the Smolensk road, and by thebattle of Tarutino. The news of that battle of Tarutino,unexpectedly received by Napoleon at a review, evoked in him adesire to punish the Russians (Thiers says), and he issued the orderfor departure which the whole army was demanding.

　　Fleeing from Moscow the soldiers took with them everything theyhad stolen. Napoleon, too, carried away his own personal tresor, buton seeing the baggage trains that impeded the army, he was (Thierssays) horror-struck. And yet with his experience of war he did notorder all the superfluous vehicles to be burned, as he had done withthose of a certain marshal when approaching Moscow. He gazed at thecaleches and carriages in which soldiers were riding and remarked thatit was a very good thing, as those vehicles could be used to carryprovisions, the sick, and the wounded.

　　The plight of the whole army resembled that of a wounded animalwhich feels it is perishing and does not know what it is doing. Tostudy the skillful tactics and aims of Napoleon and his army fromthe time it entered Moscow till it was destroyed is like studyingthe dying leaps and shudders of a mortally wounded animal. Veryoften a wounded animal, hearing a rustle, rushes straight at thehunter'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 Tarutino frightened the beast, and itrushed forward onto the hunter's gun, reached him, turned back, andfinally- like any wild beast- ran back along the mostdisadvantageous and dangerous path, where the old scent was familiar.

　　During the whole of that period Napoleon, who seems to us to havebeen the leader of all these movements- as the figurehead of a shipmay seem to a savage to guide the vessel- acted like a child who,holding a couple of strings inside a carriage, thinks he is drivingit.BK13|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Early in the morning of the sixth of October Pierre went out ofthe shed, and on returning stopped by the door to play with a littleblue-gray dog, with a long body and short bandy legs, that jumpedabout him. This little dog lived in their shed, sleeping besideKarataev at night; it sometimes made excursions into the town butalways returned again. Probably it had never had an owner, and itstill belonged to nobody and had no name. The French called it Azor;the soldier who told stories called it Femgalka; Karataev and otherscalled 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 theblue-gray dog in the least. Its furry tail stood up firm and roundas a plume, its bandy legs served it so well that it would oftengracefully lift a hind leg and run very easily and quickly on threelegs, as if disdaining to use all four. Everything pleased it. Nowit would roll on its back, yelping with delight, now bask in the sunwith a thoughtful air of importance, and now frolic about playing witha chip of wood or a straw.

　　Pierre's attire by now consisted of a dirty torn shirt (the onlyremnant of his former clothing), a pair of soldier's trousers which byKarataev's advice he tied with string round the ankles for warmth, anda peasant coat and cap. Physically he had changed much during thistime. He no longer seemed stout, though he still had the appearance ofsolidity and strength hereditary in his family. A beard and mustachecovered the lower part of his face, and a tangle of hair, infestedwith lice, curled round his head like a cap. The look of his eyeswas resolute, calm, and animatedly alert, as never before. Theformer slackness which had shown itself even in his eyes was nowreplaced by an energetic readiness for action and resistance. His feetwere bare.

　　Pierre first looked down the field across which vehicles andhorsemen were passing that morning, then into the distance acrossthe river, then at the dog who was pretending to be in earnest aboutbiting him, and then at his bare feet which he placed with pleasure invarious positions, moving his dirty thick big toes. Every time helooked at his bare feet a smile of animated self-satisfactionflitted across his face. The sight of them reminded him of all hehad experienced and learned during these weeks and this recollectionwas pleasant to him.

　　For some days the weather had been calm and clear with slight frostsin the mornings- what is called an "old wives' summer."

　　In the sunshine the air was warm, and that warmth was particularlypleasant with the invigorating freshness of the morning frost still inthe air.

　　On everything- far and near- lay the magic crystal glitter seen onlyat that time autumn. The Sparrow Hills were visible in the distance,with the village, the church, and the large white house. The baretrees, the sand, the bricks and roofs of the houses, the greenchurch spire, and the corners of the white house in the distance,all stood out in the transparent air in most delicate outline and withunnatural clearness. Near by could be seen the familiar ruins of ahalf-burned mansion occupied by the French, with lilac bushes stillshowing dark green beside the fence. And even that ruined and befouledhouse- which in dull weather was repulsively ugly- seemed quietlybeautiful now, in the clear, motionless brilliance.

　　A French corporal, with coat unbuttoned in a homely way, askullcap on his head, and a short pipe in his mouth, came frombehind a corner of the shed and approached Pierre with a friendlywink.

　　"What sunshine, Monsieur Kiril!" (Their name for Pierre.) "Eh?Just like spring!"

　　And the corporal leaned against the door and offered Pierre hispipe, 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 thecorporal told him that nearly all the troops were starting and thereought to be an order about the prisoners that day. Sokolov, one of thesoldiers in the shed with Pierre, was dying, and Pierre told thecorporal that something should be done about him. The corporal repliedthat Pierre need not worry about that as they had an ambulance and apermanent hospital and arrangements would be made for the sick, andthat in general everything that could happen had been foreseen bythe authorities.

　　"Besides, Monsieur Kiril, you have only to say a word to thecaptain, you know. He is a man who never forgets anything. Speak tothe captain when he makes his round, he will do anything for you."

　　(The captain of whom the corporal spoke often had long chats withPierre and showed him all sorts of favors.)

　　"'You see, St. Thomas,' he said to me the other day. 'Monsieur Kirilis a man of education, who speaks French. He is a Russian seigneur whohas had misfortunes, but he is a man. He knows what's what.... If hewants anything and asks me, he won't get a refusal. When one hasstudied, you see, one likes education and well-bred people.' It is foryour sake I mention it, Monsieur Kiril. The other day if it had notbeen for you that affair would have ended ill."

　　And after chatting a while longer, the corporal went away. (Theaffair he had alluded to had happened a few days before- a fightbetween the prisoners and the French soldiers, in which Pierre hadsucceeded in pacifying his comrades.) Some of the prisoners who hadheard Pierre talking to the corporal immediately asked what theFrenchman had said. While Pierre was repeating what he had been toldabout the army leaving Moscow, a thin, sallow, tattered French soldiercame up to the door of the shed. Rapidly and timidly raising hisfingers to his forehead by way of greeting, he asked Pierre whetherthe soldier Platoche to whom he had given a shirt to sew was in thatshed.

　　A week before the French had had boot leather and linen issued tothem, which they had given out to the prisoners to make up intoboots and shirts for them.

　　"Ready, ready, dear fellow!" said Karataev, coming out with a neatlyfolded shirt.

　　Karataev, on account of the warm weather and for convenience atwork, was wearing only trousers and a tattered shirt as black as soot.His hair was bound round, workman fashion, with a wisp of lime-treebast, and his round face seemed rounder and pleasanter than ever.

　　"A promise is own brother to performance! I said Friday and hereit is, ready," said Platon, smiling and unfolding the shirt he hadsewn.

　　The Frenchman glanced around uneasily and then, as if overcoming hishesitation, rapidly threw off his uniform and put on the shirt. He hada long, greasy, flowered silk waistcoat next to his sallow, thinbare body, but no shirt. He was evidently afraid the prisoners lookingon would laugh at him, and thrust his head into the shirt hurriedly.None of the prisoners said a word.

　　"See, it fits well!" Platon kept repeating, pulling the shirtstraight.

　　The Frenchman, having pushed his head and hands through, withoutraising 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 propertools; and, as they say, one needs a tool even to kill a louse,"said Platon with one of his round smiles, obviously pleased with hiswork.

　　"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 Karataev,still admiring his handiwork. "You'll be nice and comfortable...."

　　"Thanks, thanks, old fellow.... But the bits left over?" said theFrenchman again and smiled. He took out an assignation ruble noteand gave it to Karataev. "But give me the pieces that are over."

　　Pierre saw that Platon did not want to understand what the Frenchmanwas saying, and he looked on without interfering. Karataev thanked theFrenchman for the money and went on admiring his own work. TheFrenchman insisted on having the pieces returned that were left overand asked Pierre to translate what he said.

　　"What does he want the bits for?" said Karataev. "They'd make fineleg bands for us. Well, never mind."

　　And Karataev, with a suddenly changed and saddened expression,took a small bundle of scraps from inside his shirt and gave it to theFrenchman without looking at him. "Oh dear!" muttered Karataev andwent away. The Frenchman looked at the linen, considered for a moment,then looked inquiringly at Pierre and, as if Pierre's look had toldhim something, suddenly blushed and shouted in a squeaky voice:

　　"Platoche! Eh, Platoche! Keep them yourself!" And handing back theodd bits he turned and went out.

　　"There, look at that," said Karataev, swaying his head. "People saidthey were not Christians, but they too have souls. It's what the oldfolk used to say: 'A sweating hand's an open hand, a dry hand'sclose.' He's naked, but yet he's given it back."

　　Karataev smiled thoughtfully and was silent awhile looking at thepieces.

　　"But they'll make grand leg bands, dear friend," he said, and wentback into the shed.BK13|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　Four weeks had passed since Pierre had been taken prisoner andthough the French had offered to move him from the men's to theofficers' shed, he had stayed in the shed where he was first put.

　　In burned and devastated Moscow Pierre experienced almost theextreme limits of privation a man can endure; but thanks to hisphysical strength and health, of which he had till then beenunconscious, and thanks especially to the fact that the privationscame so gradually that it was impossible to say when they began, heendured his position not only lightly but joyfully. And just at thistime he obtained the tranquillity and ease of mind he had formerlystriven in vain to reach. He had long sought in different ways thattranquillity of mind, that inner harmony which had so impressed him inthe soldiers at the battle of Borodino. He had sought it inphilanthropy, in Freemasonry, in the dissipations of town life, inwine, in heroic feats of self-sacrifice, and in romantic love forNatasha; he had sought it by reasoning- and all these quests andexperiments had failed him. And now without thinking about it he hadfound that peace and inner harmony only through the horror of death,through privation, and through what he recognized in Karataev.

　　Those dreadful moments he had lived through at the executions had asit were forever washed away from his imagination and memory theagitating thoughts and feelings that had formerly seemed so important.It did not now occur to him to think of Russia, or the war, orpolitics, or Napoleon. It was plain to him that all these thingswere no business of his, and that he was not called on to judgeconcerning them and therefore could not do so. "Russia and summerweather are not bound together," he thought, repeating words ofKarataev's which he found strangely consoling. His intention ofkilling Napoleon and his calculations of the cabalistic number ofthe beast of the Apocalypse now seemed to him meaningless and evenridiculous. His anger with his wife and anxiety that his name shouldnot be smirched now seemed not merely trivial but even amusing. Whatconcern was it of his that somewhere or other that woman was leadingthe life she preferred? What did it matter to anybody, andespecially to him, whether or not they found out that their prisoner'sname was Count Bezukhov?

　　He now often remembered his conversation with Prince Andrew andquite agreed with him, though he understood Prince Andrew's thoughtssomewhat differently. Prince Andrew had thought and said thathappiness could only be negative, but had said it with a shade ofbitterness and irony as though he was really saying that all desirefor positive happiness is implanted in us merely to torment us andnever be satisfied. But Pierre believed it without any mentalreservation. The absence of suffering, the satisfaction of one's needsand 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'shighest happiness. Here and now for the first time he fullyappreciated the enjoyment of eating when he wanted to eat, drinkingwhen he wanted to drink, sleeping when he wanted to sleep, of warmthwhen he was cold, of talking to a fellow man when he wished to talkand to hear a human voice. The satisfaction of one's needs- good food,cleanliness, and freedom- now that he was deprived of all this, seemedto Pierre to constitute perfect happiness; and the choice ofoccupation, that is, of his way of life- now that that was sorestricted- seemed to him such an easy matter that he forgot that asuperfluity of the comforts of life destroys all joy in satisfyingone's needs, while great freedom in the choice of occupation- suchfreedom as his wealth, his education, and his social position hadgiven him in his own life- is just what makes the choice of occupationinsolubly difficult and destroys the desire and possibility ofhaving 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 spokewith enthusiasm of that month of captivity, of those irrecoverable,strong, joyful sensations, and chiefly of the complete peace of mindand 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 stilldark at first, the hoarfrost on the dusty grass, the Sparrow Hills,and the wooded banks above the winding river vanishing in the purpledistance, when he felt the contact of the fresh air and heard thenoise of the crows flying from Moscow across the field, and whenafterwards light gleamed from the east and the sun's rim appearedsolemnly from behind a cloud, and the cupolas and crosses, thehoarfrost, the distance and the river, all began to sparkle in theglad light- Pierre felt a new joy and strength in life such as hehad never before known. And this not only stayed with him during thewhole of his imprisonment, but even grew in strength as thehardships of his position increased.

　　That feeling of alertness and of readiness for anything was stillfurther strengthened in him by the high opinion his fellow prisonersformed of him soon after his arrival at the shed. With his knowledgeof languages, the respect shown him by the French, his simplicity, hisreadiness to give anything asked of him (he received the allowanceof three rubles a week made to officers); with his strength, whichhe showed to the soldiers by pressing nails into the walls of the hut;his gentleness to his companions, and his capacity for sitting stilland thinking without doing anything (which seemed to themincomprehensible), he appeared to them a rather mysterious andsuperior being. The very qualities that had been a hindrance, if notactually harmful, to him in the world he had lived in- his strength,his disdain for the comforts of life, his absent-mindedness andsimplicity- here among these people gave him almost the status of ahero. And Pierre felt that their opinion placed responsibilitiesupon him.BK13|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　The French evacuation began on the night between the sixth andseventh of October: kitchens and sheds were dismantled, cartsloaded, and troops and baggage trains started.

　　At seven in the morning a French convoy in marching trim, wearingshakos and carrying muskets, knapsacks, and enormous sacks, stood infront of the sheds, and animated French talk mingled with cursessounded all along the lines.

　　In the shed everyone was ready, dressed, belted, shod, and onlyawaited the order to start. The sick soldier, Sokolov, pale and thinwith dark shadows round his eyes, alone sat in his place barefootand not dressed. His eyes, prominent from the emaciation of hisface, gazed inquiringly at his comrades who were paying no attentionto him, and he moaned regularly and quietly. It was evidently not somuch his sufferings that caused him to moan (he had dysentery) ashis fear and grief at being left alone.

　　Pierre, girt with a rope round his waist and wearing shoesKarataev had made for him from some leather a French soldier hadtorn off a tea chest and brought to have his boots mended with, wentup to the sick man and squatted down beside him.

　　"You know, Sokolov, they are not all going away! They have ahospital 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 manin a louder voice.

　　"I'll go and ask them again directly," said Pierre, rising and goingto the door of the shed.

　　Just as Pierre reached the door, the corporal who had offered hima pipe the day before came up to it with two soldiers. The corporaland soldiers were in marching kit with knapsacks and shakos that hadmetal straps, and these changed their familiar faces.

　　The corporal came, according to orders, to shut the door. Theprisoners 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 corporalhe knew or a stranger, so unlike himself did the corporal seem at thatmoment. Moreover, just as Pierre was speaking a sharp rattle ofdrums was suddenly heard from both sides. The corporal frowned atPierre's words and, uttering some meaningless oaths, slammed the door.The shed became semidark, and the sharp rattle of the drums on twosides drowned the sick man's groans.

　　"There it is!... It again!..." said Pierre to himself, and aninvoluntary shudder ran down his spine. In the corporal's changedface, in the sound of his voice, in the stirring and deafening noiseof the drums, he recognized that mysterious, callous force whichcompelled people against their will to kill their fellow men- thatforce the effect of which he had witnessed during the executions. Tofear or to try to escape that force, to address entreaties orexhortations to those who served as its tools, was useless. Pierreknew this now. One had to wait and endure. He did not again go tothe sick man, nor turn to look at him, but stood frowning by thedoor of the hut.

　　When that door was opened and the prisoners, crowding against oneanother like a flock of sheep, squeezed into the exit, Pierre pushedhis way forward and approached that very captain who as the corporalhad assured him was ready to do anything for him. The captain was alsoin marching kit, and on his cold face appeared that same it whichPierre had recognized in the corporal's words and in the roll of thedrums.

　　"Pass on, pass on!" the captain reiterated, frowning sternly, andlooking 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 recognizingPierre.

　　Pierre told him about the sick man.

　　"He'll manage to walk, devil take him!" said the captain. "Passon, 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 Pierreunderstood that this mysterious force completely controlled thesemen and that it was now useless to say any more.

　　The officer prisoners were separated from the soldiers and told tomarch in front. There were about thirty officers, with Pierre amongthem, and about three hundred men.

　　The officers, who had come from the other sheds, were allstrangers to Pierre and much better dressed than he. They looked athim and at his shoes mistrustfully, as at an alien. Not far from himwalked a fat major with a sallow, bloated, angry face, who was wearinga Kazan dressing grown tied round with a towel, and who evidentlyenjoyed the respect of his fellow prisoners. He kept one hand, inwhich he clasped his tobacco pouch, inside the bosom of his dressinggown and held the stem of his pipe firmly with the other. Pantingand puffing, the major grumbled and growled at everybody because hethought he was being pushed and that they were all hurrying whenthey had nowhere to hurry to and were all surprised at somethingwhen there was nothing to be surprised at. Another, a thin littleofficer, was speaking to everyone, conjecturing where they were nowbeing taken and how far they would get that day. An official in feltboots and wearing a commissariat uniform ran round from side to sideand gazed at the ruins of Moscow, loudly announcing his observationsas to what had been burned down and what this or that part of the citywas that they could see. A third officer, who by his accent was aPole, disputed with the commissariat officer, arguing that he wasmistaken in his identification of the different wards of Moscow.

　　"What are you disputing about?" said the major angrily. "What doesit matter whether it is St. Nicholas or St. Blasius? You see it'sburned 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 himwho was not pushing him at all.

　　"Oh, oh, oh! What have they done?" the prisoners on one side andanother were heard saying as they gazed on the charred ruins. "Allbeyond the river, and Zubova, and in the Kremlin.... Just look!There's not half of it left. Yes, I told you- the whole quarter beyondthe river, and so it is."

　　"Well, you know it's burned, so what's the use of talking?" said themajor.

　　As they passed near a church in the Khamovniki (one of the fewunburned quarters of Moscow) the whole mass of prisoners suddenlystarted to one side and exclamations of horror and disgust were heard.

　　"Ah, the villains! What heathens! Yes; dead, dead, so he is... Andsmeared with something!"

　　Pierre too drew near the church where the thing was that evokedthese exclamations, and dimly made out something leaning against thepalings surrounding the church. From the words of his comrades who sawbetter than he did, he found that this was the body of a man, setupright against the palings with its face smeared with soot.

　　"Go on! What the devil... Go on! Thirty thousand devils!..." theconvoy guards began cursing and the French soldiers, with freshvirulence, drove away with their swords the crowd of prisoners whowere gazing at the dead man.BK13|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　Through the cross streets of the Khamovniki quarter the prisonersmarched, followed only by their escort and the vehicles and wagonsbelonging to that escort, but when they reached the supply stores theycame among a huge and closely packed train of artillery mingled withprivate vehicles.

　　At the bridge they all halted, waiting for those in front to getacross. From the bridge they had a view of endless lines of movingbaggage trains before and behind them. To the right, where theKaluga road turns near Neskuchny, endless rows of troops and cartsstretched away into the distance. These were troops of Beauharnais'corps which had started before any of the others. Behind, along theriverside and across the Stone Bridge, were Ney's troops andtransport.

　　Davout's troops, in whose charge were the prisoners, were crossingthe Crimean bridge and some were already debouching into the Kalugaroad. But the baggage trains stretched out so that the last ofBeauharnais' train had not yet got out of Moscow and reached theKaluga road when the vanguard of Ney's army was already emergingfrom the Great Ordynka Street.

　　When they had crossed the Crimean bridge the prisoners moved a fewsteps forward, halted, and again moved on, and from all sides vehiclesand men crowded closer and closer together. They advanced the fewhundred paces that separated the bridge from the Kaluga road, takingmore than an hour to do so, and came out upon the square where thestreets of the Transmoskva ward and the Kaluga road converge, andthe prisoners jammed close together had to stand for some hours atthat crossway. From all sides, like the roar of the sea, were heardthe rattle of wheels, the tramp of feet, and incessant shouts of angerand abuse. Pierre stood pressed against the wall of a charred house,listening to that noise which mingled in his imagination with the rollof the drums.

　　To get a better view, several officer prisoners climbed onto thewall of the half-burned house against which Pierre was leaning.

　　"What crowds! Just look at the crowds!... They've loaded goodseven on the cannon! Look there, those are furs!" they exclaimed. "Justsee what the blackguards have looted.... There! See what that onehas behind in the cart.... Why, those are settings taken from someicons, by heaven!... Oh, the rascals!... See how that fellow hasloaded himself up, he can hardly walk! Good lord, they've even grabbedthose 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, weshan't get away before evening. Look, look there.... Why, that must beNapoleon's own. See what horses! And the monograms with a crown!It's like a portable house.... That fellow's dropped his sack anddoesn't see it. Fighting again... A woman with a baby, and notbad-looking either! Yes, I dare say, that's the way they'll let youpass... Just look, there's no end to it. Russian wenches, by heaven,so they are! In carriages- see how comfortably they've settledthemselves!"

　　Again, as at the church in Khamovniki, a wave of general curiositybore all the prisoners forward onto the road, and Pierre, thanks tohis stature, saw over the heads of the others what so attractedtheir curiosity. In three carriages involved among the munition carts,closely squeezed together, sat women with rouged faces, dressed inglaring colors, who were shouting something in shrill voices.

　　From the moment Pierre had recognized the appearance of themysterious force nothing had seemed to him strange or dreadful:neither the corpse smeared with soot for fun nor these womenhurrying away nor the burned ruins of Moscow. All that he nowwitnessed scarcely made an impression on him- as if his soul, makingready for a hard struggle, refused to receive impressions that mightweaken 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 someinvisible power. During the hour Pierre watched them they all cameflowing from the different streets with one and the same desire to geton quickly; they all jostled one another, began to grow angry and tofight, white teeth gleamed, brows frowned, ever the same words ofabuse flew from side to side, and all the faces bore the sameswaggeringly resolute and coldly cruel expression that had struckPierre that morning on the corporal's face when the drums werebeating.

　　It was not till nearly evening that the officer commanding theescort collected his men and with shouts and quarrels forced his wayin among the baggage trains, and the prisoners, hemmed in on allsides, emerged onto the Kaluga road.

　　They marched very quickly, without resting, and halted only when thesun began to set. The baggage carts drew up close together and the menbegan to prepare for their night's rest. They all appeared angry anddissatisfied. For a long time, oaths, angry shouts, and fighting couldbe heard from all sides. A carriage that followed the escort raninto one of the carts and knocked a hole in it with its pole.Several soldiers ran toward the cart from different sides: some beatthe carriage horses on their heads, turning them aside, othersfought among themselves, and Pierre saw that one German was badlywounded on the head by a sword.

　　It seemed that all these men, now that they had stopped amidfields in the chill dusk of the autumn evening, experienced one andthe same feeling of unpleasant awakening from the hurry andeagerness to push on that had seized them at the start. Once at astandstill they all seemed to understand that they did not yet knowwhere they were going, and that much that was painful and difficultawaited them on this journey.

　　During this halt the escort treated the prisoners even worse thanthey had done at the start. It was here that the prisoners for thefirst time received horseflesh for their meat ration.

　　From the officer down to the lowest soldier they showed whatseemed like personal spite against each of the prisoners, inunexpected contrast to their former friendly relations.

　　This spite increased still more when, on calling over the roll ofprisoners, it was found that in the bustle of leaving Moscow oneRussian soldier, who had pretended to suffer from colic, hadescaped. Pierre saw a Frenchman beat a Russian soldier cruelly forstraying too far from the road, and heard his friend the captainreprimand and threaten to court-martial a noncommissioned officer onaccount of the escape of the Russian. To the noncommissioned officer'sexcuse that the prisoner was ill and could not walk, the officerreplied that the order was to shoot those who lagged behind. Pierrefelt that that fatal force which had crushed him during theexecutions, but which be had not felt during his imprisonment, nowagain controlled his existence. It was terrible, but he felt that inproportion to the efforts of that fatal force to crush him, there grewand strengthened in his soul a power of life independent of it.

　　He ate his supper of buckwheat soup with horseflesh and chatted withhis comrades.

　　Neither Pierre nor any of the others spoke of what they had seenin Moscow, or of the roughness of their treatment by the French, or ofthe order to shoot them which had been announced to them. As if inreaction against the worsening of their position they were allparticularly animated and gay. They spoke of personal reminiscences,of amusing scenes they had witnessed during the campaign, andavoided all talk of their present situation.

　　The sun had set long since. Bright stars shone out here and there inthe sky. A red glow as of a conflagration spread above the horizonfrom the rising full moon, and that vast red ball swayed strangelyin the gray haze. It grew light. The evening was ending, but the nighthad not yet come. Pierre got up and left his new companions,crossing between the campfires to the other side of the road wherehe had been told the common soldier prisoners were stationed. Hewanted to talk to them. On the road he was stopped by a Frenchsentinel who ordered him back.

　　Pierre turned back, not to his companions by the campfire, but to anunharnessed cart where there was nobody. Tucking his legs under himand dropping his head he sat down on the cold ground by the wheel ofthe cart and remained motionless a long while sunk in thought.Suddenly he burst out into a fit of his broad, good-naturedlaughter, so loud that men from various sides turned with surpriseto see what this strange and evidently solitary laughter could mean.

　　"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed Pierre. And he said aloud to himself: "Thesoldier did not let me pass. They took me and shut me up. They hold mecaptive. What, me? Me? My immortal soul? Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!..." andhe laughed till tears started to his eyes.

　　A man got up and came to see what this queer big fellow was laughingat all by himself. Pierre stopped laughing, got up, went fartheraway from the inquisitive man, and looked around him.

　　The huge, endless bivouac that had previously resounded with thecrackling of campfires and the voices of many men had grown quiet, thered campfires were growing paler and dying down. High up in thelight 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, limitlessdistance lured one to itself. Pierre glanced up at the sky and thetwinkling stars in its faraway depths. "And all that is me, all thatis within me, and it is all I!" thought Pierre. "And they caught allthat and put it into a shed boarded up with planks!" He smiled, andwent and lay down to sleep beside his companions.BK13|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　In the early days of October another envoy came to Kutuzov with aletter from Napoleon proposing peace and falsely dated from Moscow,though Napoleon was already not far from Kutuzov on the old Kalugaroad. Kutuzov replied to this letter as he had done to the oneformerly brought by Lauriston, saying that there could be noquestion of peace.

　　Soon after that a report was received from Dorokhov's guerrilladetachment operating to the left of Tarutino that troops ofBroussier's division had been seen at Forminsk and that beingseparated from the rest of the French army they might easily bedestroyed. The soldiers and officers again demanded action. Generalson the staff, excited by the memory of the easy victory at Tarutino,urged Kutuzov to carry out Dorokhov's suggestion. Kutuzov did notconsider any offensive necessary. The result was a compromise whichwas inevitable: a small detachment was sent to Forminsk to attackBroussier.

　　By a strange coincidence, this task, which turned out to be a mostdifficult and important one, was entrusted to Dokhturov- that samemodest little Dokhturov whom no one had described to us as drawingup plans of battles, dashing about in front of regiments, showeringcrosses on batteries, and so on, and who was thought to be and wasspoken of as undecided and undiscerning- but whom we find commandingwherever the position was most difficult all through theRusso-French wars from Austerlitz to the year 1813. At Austerlitz heremained last at the Augezd dam, rallying the regiments, saving whatwas possible when all were flying and perishing and not a singlegeneral was left in the rear guard. Ill with fever he went to Smolenskwith twenty thousand men to defend the town against Napoleon's wholearmy. In Smolensk, at the Malakhov Gate, he had hardly dozed off ina paroxysm of fever before he was awakened by the bombardment of thetown- and Smolensk held out all day long. At the battle of Borodino,when Bagration was killed and nine tenths of the men of our left flankhad fallen and the full force of the French artillery fire wasdirected against it, the man sent there was this same irresolute andundiscerning Dokhturov- Kutuzov hastening to rectify a mistake hehad made by sending someone else there first. And the quiet littleDokhturov rode thither, and Borodino became the greatest glory ofthe Russian army. Many heroes have been described to us in verse andprose, but of Dokhturov scarcely a word has been said.

　　It was Dokhturov again whom they sent to Forminsk and from thereto Malo-Yaroslavets, the place where the last battle with the Frenchwas fought and where the obvious disintegration of the French armybegan; and we are told of many geniuses and heroes of that period ofthe campaign, but of Dokhturov nothing or very little is said and thatdubiously. And this silence about Dokhturov is the clearesttestimony to his merit.

　　It is natural for a man who does not understand the workings of amachine to imagine that a shaving that has fallen into it by chanceand is interfering with its action and tossing about in it is its mostimportant part. The man who does not understand the construction ofthe machine cannot conceive that the small connecting cogwheel whichrevolves 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 Dokhturov had gone halfway toForminsk and stopped at the village of Aristovo, preparingfaithfully to execute the orders he had received, the whole Frencharmy having, in its convulsive movement, reached Murat's positionapparently in order to give battle- suddenly without any reason turnedoff to the left onto the new Kaluga road and began to enterForminsk, where only Broussier had been till then. At that timeDokhturov had under his command, besides Dorokhov's detachment, thetwo small guerrilla detachments of Figner and Seslavin.

　　On the evening of October 11 Seslavin came to the Aristovoheadquarters with a French guardsman he had captured. The prisonersaid that the troops that had entered Forminsk that day were thevanguard of the whole army, that Napoleon was there and the whole armyhad left Moscow four days previously. That same evening a house serfwho had come from Borovsk said he had seen an immense army enteringthe town. Some Cossacks of Dokhturov's detachment reported havingsighted the French Guards marching along the road to Borovsk. From allthese reports it was evident that where they had expected to meet asingle division there was now the whole French army marching fromMoscow in an unexpected direction- along the Kaluga road. Dokhturovwas unwilling to undertake any action, as it was not clear to himnow what he ought to do. He had been ordered to attack Forminsk. Butonly Broussier had been there at that time and now the whole Frencharmy was there. Ermolov wished to act on his own judgment, butDokhturov insisted that he must have Kutuzov's instructions. So it wasdecided to send a dispatch to the staff.

　　For this purpose a capable officer, Bolkhovitinov, was chosen, whowas to explain the whole affair by word of mouth, besides delivering awritten report. Toward midnight Bolkhovitinov, having received thedispatch and verbal instructions, galloped off to the General Staffaccompanied by a Cossack with spare horses.BK13|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　It was a warm, dark, autumn night. It had been raining for fourdays. Having changed horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an hourand a half over a sticky, muddy road, Bolkhovitinov reached Litashevkaafter one o'clock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on whose wattlefence hung a signboard, GENERAL STAFF, and throwing down his reins, heentered a dark passage.

　　"The general on duty, quick! It's very important!" said he tosomeone who had risen and was sniffing in the dark passage.

　　"He has been very unwell since the evening and this is the thirdnight he has not slept," said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper."You should wake the captain first."

　　"But this is very important, from General Dokhturov," saidBolkhovitinov, entering the open door which he had found by feeling inthe 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 Dokhturov and from Alexey Petrovich. Napoleon is at Forminsk,"said Bolkhovitinov, unable to see in the dark who was speaking butguessing by the voice that it was not Konovnitsyn.

　　The man who had wakened yawned and stretched himself.

　　"I don't like waking him," he said, fumbling for something. "He isvery ill. Perhaps this is only a rumor."

　　"Here is the dispatch," said Bolkhovitinov. "My orders are to giveit at once to the general on duty."

　　"Wait a moment, I'll light a candle. You damned rascal, where do youalways hide it?" said the voice of the man who was stretching himself,to the orderly. (This was Shcherbinin, Konovnitsyn's adjutant.)"I've found it, I've found it!" he added.

　　The orderly was striking a light and Shcherbinin was fumbling forsomething on the candlestick.

　　"Oh, the nasty beasts!" said he with disgust.

　　By the light of the sparks Bolkhovitinov saw Shcherbinin'syouthful face as he held the candle, and the face of another man whowas still asleep. This was Konovnitsyn.

　　When the flame of the sulphur splinters kindled by the tinder burnedup, first blue and then red, Shcherbinin lit the tallow candle, fromthe candlestick of which the cockroaches that had been gnawing it wererunning away, and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovitinov wasbespattered all over with mud and had smeared his face by wiping itwith his sleeve.

　　"Who gave the report?" inquired Shcherbinin, taking the envelope.

　　"The news is reliable," said Bolkhovitinov. "Prisoners, Cossacks,and the scouts all say the same thing."

　　"There's nothing to be done, we'll have to wake him," saidShcherbinin, rising and going up to the man in the nightcap who laycovered by a greatcoat. "Peter Petrovich!" said he. (Konovnitsyn didnot stir.) "To the General Staff!" he said with a smile, knowingthat those words would be sure to arouse him.

　　And in fact the head in the nightcap was lifted at once. OnKonovnitsyn's handsome, resolute face with cheeks flushed by fever,there still remained for an instant a faraway dreamy expression remotefrom present affairs, but then he suddenly started and his faceassumed its habitual calm and firm appearance.

　　"Well, what is it? From whom?" he asked immediately but withouthurry, blinking at the light.

　　While listening to the officer's report Konovnitsyn broke the sealand read the dispatch. Hardly had he done so before he lowered hislegs in their woolen stockings to the earthen floor and beganputting on his boots. Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hairover his temples, and donned his cap.

　　"Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his Highness."

　　Konovnitsyn had understood at once that the news brought was ofgreat importance and that no time must be lost. He did not consider orask himself whether the news was good or bad. That did not interesthim. He regarded the whole business of the war not with hisintelligence or his reason but by something else. There was within hima deep unexpressed conviction that all would be well, but that onemust not trust to this and still less speak about it, but must onlyattend to one's own work. And he did his work, giving his wholestrength to the task.

　　Peter Petrovich Konovnitsyn, like Dokhturov, seems to have beenincluded merely for propriety's sake in the list of the so-calledheroes of 1812- the Barclays, Raevskis, Ermolovs, Platovs, andMiloradoviches. Like Dokhturov he had the reputation of being a man ofvery limited capacity and information, and like Dokhturov he nevermade plans of battle but was always found where the situation was mostdifficult. Since his appointment as general on duty he had alwaysslept with his door open, giving orders that every messenger should beallowed to wake him up. In battle he was always under fire, so thatKutuzov reproved him for it and feared to send him to the front, andlike Dokhturov he was one of those unnoticed cogwheels that, withoutclatter or noise, constitute the most essential part of the machine.

　　Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark night Konovnitsyn frowned-partly from an increased pain in his head and partly at the unpleasantthought that occurred to him, of how all that nest of influentialmen on the staff would be stirred up by this news, especiallyBennigsen, who ever since Tarutino had been at daggers drawn withKutuzov; and how they would make suggestions, quarrel, issue orders,and rescind them. And this premonition was disagreeable to himthough 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 hisquarters, until Konovnitsyn, who listened in weary silence, remindedhim that they must go to see his Highness.BK13|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　Kutuzov like all old people did not sleep much at night. He oftenfell asleep unexpectedly in the daytime, but at night, lying on hisbed without undressing, he generally remained awake thinking.

　　So he lay now on his bed, supporting his large, heavy, scarredhead on his plump hand, with his one eye open, meditating andpeering into the darkness.

　　Since Bennigsen, who corresponded with the Emperor and had moreinfluence than anyone else on the staff, had begun to avoid him,Kutuzov was more at ease as to the possibility of himself and histroops being obliged to take part in useless aggressive movements. Thelesson of the Tarutino battle and of the day before it, whichKutuzov remembered with pain, must, he thought, have some effect onothers too.

　　"They must understand that we can only lose by taking the offensive.Patience and time are my warriors, my champions," thought Kutuzov.He knew that an apple should not be plucked while it is green. It willfall of itself when ripe, but if picked unripe the apple is spoiled,the tree is harmed, and your teeth are set on edge. Like anexperienced sportsman he knew that the beast was wounded, andwounded as only the whole strength of Russia could have wounded it,but whether it was mortally wounded or not was still an undecidedquestion. Now by the fact of Lauriston and Barthelemi having beensent, and by the reports of the guerrillas, Kutuzov was almost surethat the wound was mortal. But he needed further proofs and it wasnecessary to wait.

　　"They want to run to see how they have wounded it. Wait and we shallsee! Continual maneuvers, continual advances!" thought he. "Whatfor? Only to distinguish themselves! As if fighting were fun. They arelike children from whom one can't get any sensible account of what hashappened because they all want to show how well they can fight. Butthat's not what is needed now.

　　"And what ingenious maneuvers they all propose to me! It seems tothem that when they have thought of two or three contingencies" (heremembered the general plan sent him from Petersburg) "they haveforeseen everything. But the contingencies are endless."

　　The undecided question as to whether the wound inflicted at Borodinowas mortal or not had hung over Kutuzov's head for a whole month. Onthe one hand the French had occupied Moscow. On the other Kutuzov feltassured with all his being that the terrible blow into which he andall the Russians had put their whole strength must have been mortal.But in any case proofs were needed; he had waited a whole month forthem and grew more impatient the longer he waited. Lying on his bedduring those sleepless nights he did just what he reproached thoseyounger generals for doing. He imagined all sorts of possiblecontingencies, just like the younger men, but with this difference,that he saw thousands of contingencies instead of two or three andbased nothing on them. The longer he thought the more contingenciespresented themselves. He imagined all sorts of movements of theNapoleonic army as a whole or in sections- against Petersburg, oragainst him, or to outflank him. He thought too of the possibility(which he feared most of all) that Napoleon might fight him with hisown weapon and remain in Moscow awaiting him. Kutuzov even imaginedthat Napoleon's army might turn back through Medyn and Yukhnov, butthe one thing he could not foresee was what happened- the insane,convulsive stampede of Napoleon's army during its first eleven daysafter leaving Moscow: a stampede which made possible what Kutuzovhad not yet even dared to think of- the complete extermination ofthe French. Dorokhov's report about Broussier's division, theguerrillas' reports of distress in Napoleon's army, rumors ofpreparations for leaving Moscow, all confirmed the supposition thatthe French army was beaten and preparing for flight. But these wereonly suppositions, which seemed important to the younger men but notto Kutuzov. With his sixty years' experience he knew what value toattach to rumors, knew how apt people who desire anything are to groupall news so that it appears to confirm what they desire, and he knewhow readily in such cases they omit all that makes for the contrary.And the more he desired it the less he allowed himself to believeit. This question absorbed all his mental powers. All else was tohim only life's customary routine. To such customary routinebelonged his conversations with the staff, the letters he wrote fromTarutino to Madame de Stael, the reading of novels, the distributionof awards, his correspondence with Petersburg, and so on. But thedestruction of the French, which he alone foresaw, was his heart's onedesire.

　　On the night of the eleventh of October he lay leaning on his armand thinking of that.

　　There was a stir in the next room and he heard the steps of Toll,Konovnitsyn, and Bolkhovitinov.

　　"Eh, who's there? Come in, come in! What news?" the field marshalcalled out to them.

　　While a footman was lighting a candle, Toll communicated thesubstance of the news.

　　"Who brought it?" asked Kutuzov with a look which, when the candlewas lit, struck Toll by its cold severity.

　　"There can be no doubt about it, your Highness."

　　"Call him in, call him here."

　　Kutuzov sat up with one leg hanging down from the bed and his bigpaunch resting against the other which was doubled under him. Hescrewed up his seeing eye to scrutinize the messenger morecarefully, as if wishing to read in his face what preoccupied hisown mind.

　　"Tell me, tell me, friend," said he to Bolkhovitinov in his low,aged voice, as he pulled together the shirt which gaped open on hischest, "come nearer- nearer. What news have you brought me? Eh? ThatNapoleon has left Moscow? Are you sure? Eh?"

　　Bolkhovitinov gave a detailed account from the beginning of all hehad been told to report.

　　"Speak quicker, quicker! Don't torture me!" Kutuzov interrupted him.

　　Bolkhovitinov told him everything and was then silent, awaitinginstructions. Toll was beginning to say something but Kutuzovchecked him. He tried to say something, but his face suddenly puckeredand wrinkled; he waved his arm at Toll and turned to the opposite sideof the room, to the corner darkened by the icons that hung there.

　　"O Lord, my Creator, Thou has heard our prayer..." said he in atremulous voice with folded hands. "Russia is saved. I thank Thee, OLord!" and he wept.BK13|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　From the time he received this news to the end of the campaign allKutuzov's activity was directed toward restraining his troops, byauthority, by guile, and by entreaty, from useless attacks, maneuvers,or encounters with the perishing enemy. Dokhturov went toMalo-Yaroslavets, but Kutuzov lingered with the main army and gaveorders for the evacuation of Kaluga- a retreat beyond which townseemed to him quite possible.

　　Everywhere Kutuzov retreated, but the enemy without waiting forhis retreat fled in the opposite direction.

　　Napoleon's historians describe to us his skilled maneuvers atTarutino and Malo-Yaroslavets, and make conjectures as to what wouldhave happened had Napoleon been in time to penetrate into the richsouthern provinces.

　　But not to speak of the fact that nothing prevented him fromadvancing into those southern provinces (for the Russian army didnot bar his way), the historians forget that nothing could havesaved his army, for then already it bore within itself the germs ofinevitable ruin. How could that army- which had found abundantsupplies in Moscow and had trampled them underfoot instead ofkeeping them, and on arriving at Smolensk had looted provisionsinstead of storing them- how could that army recuperate in Kalugaprovince, which was inhabited by Russians such as those who lived inMoscow, and where fire had the same property of consuming what was setablaze?

　　That army could not recover anywhere. Since the battle of Borodinoand 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 andall his soldiers fled- without knowing whither, each concerned only tomake his escape as quickly as possible from this position, of thehopelessness of which they were all more or less vaguely conscious.

　　So it came about that at the council at Malo-Yaroslavets, when thegenerals pretending to confer together expressed various opinions, allmouths were closed by the opinion uttered by the simple-minded soldierMouton who, speaking last, said what they all felt: that the one thingneedful was to get away as quickly as possible; and no one, not evenNapoleon, could say anything against that truth which they allrecognized.

　　But though they all realized that it was necessary to get away,there still remained a feeling of shame at admitting that they mustflee. An external shock was needed to overcome that shame, and thisshock came in due time. It was what the French called "le hourra del'Empereur."

　　The day after the council at Malo-Yaroslavets Napoleon rode outearly in the morning amid the lines of his army with his suite ofmarshals and an escort, on the pretext of inspecting the army andthe scene of the previous and of the impending battle. Some Cossackson the prowl for booty fell in with the Emperor and very nearlycaptured him. If the Cossacks did not capture Napoleon then, whatsaved him was the very thing that was destroying the French army,the booty on which the Cossacks fell. Here as at Tarutino they wentafter plunder, leaving the men. Disregarding Napoleon they rushedafter the plunder and Napoleon managed to escape.

　　When les enfants du Don might so easily have taken the Emperorhimself in the midst of his army, it was clear that there wasnothing for it but to fly as fast as possible along the nearest,familiar road. Napoleon with his forty-year-old stomach understoodthat hint, not feeling his former agility and boldness, and underthe influence of the fright the Cossacks had given him he at onceagreed with Mouton and issued orders- as the historians tell us- toretreat by the Smolensk road.

　　That Napoleon agreed with Mouton, and that the army retreated,does not prove that Napoleon caused it to retreat, but that the forceswhich influenced the whole army and directed it along the Mozhaysk(that is, the Smolensk) road acted simultaneously on him also.BK13|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　A man in motion always devises an aim for that motion. To be able togo a thousand miles he must imagine that something good awaits himat the end of those thousand miles. One must have the prospect of apromised land to have the strength to move.

　　The promised land for the French during their advance had beenMoscow, during their retreat it was their native land. But that nativeland was too far off, and for a man going a thousand miles it isabsolutely necessary to set aside his final goal and to say tohimself: "Today I shall get to a place twenty-five miles off where Ishall rest and spend the night," and during the first day's journeythat resting place eclipses his ultimate goal and attracts all hishopes and desires. And the impulses felt by a single person are alwaysmagnified in a crowd.

　　For the French retreating along the old Smolensk road, the finalgoal- their native land- was too remote, and their immediate goalwas Smolensk, toward which all their desires and hopes, enormouslyintensified in the mass, urged them on. It was not that they knew thatmuch food and fresh troops awaited them in Smolensk, nor that theywere told so (on the contrary their superior officers, and Napoleonhimself, knew that provisions were scarce there), but because thisalone could give them strength to move on and endure their presentprivations. So both those who knew and those who did not know deceivedthemselves, and pushed on to Smolensk as to a promised land.

　　Coming out onto the highroad the French fled with surprisingenergy and unheard-of rapidity toward the goal they had fixed on.Besides the common impulse which bound the whole crowd of Frenchinto one mass and supplied them with a certain energy, there wasanother cause binding them together- their great numbers. As withthe physical law of gravity, their enormous mass drew the individualhuman atoms to itself. In their hundreds of thousands they movedlike a whole nation.

　　Each of them desired nothing more than to give himself up as aprisoner to escape from all this horror and misery; but on the onehand the force of this common attraction to Smolensk, their goal, dreweach of them in the same direction; on the other hand an army corpscould not surrender to a company, and though the French availedthemselves of every convenient opportunity to detach themselves and tosurrender on the slightest decent pretext, such pretexts did notalways occur. Their very numbers and their crowded and swiftmovement deprived them of that possibility and rendered it not onlydifficult but impossible for the Russians to stop this movement, towhich the French were directing all their energies. Beyond a certainlimit no mechanical disruption of the body could hasten the process ofdecomposition.

　　A lump of snow cannot be melted instantaneously. There is acertain limit of time in less than which no amount of heat can meltthe snow. On the contrary the greater the heat the more solidified theremaining snow becomes.

　　Of the Russian commanders Kutuzov alone understood this. When theflight of the French army along the Smolensk road became well defined,what Konovnitsyn had foreseen on the night of the eleventh ofOctober began to occur. The superior officers all wanted todistinguish themselves, to cut off, to seize, to capture, and tooverthrow the French, and all clamored for action.

　　Kutuzov alone used all his power (and such power is very limitedin the case of any commander in chief) to prevent an attack.

　　He could not tell them what we say now: "Why fight, why block theroad, losing our own men and inhumanly slaughtering unfortunatewretches? What is the use of that, when a third of their army hasmelted away on the road from Moscow to Vyazma without any battle?" Butdrawing from his aged wisdom what they could understand, he toldthem of the golden bridge, and they laughed at and slandered him,flinging themselves on, rending and exulting over the dying beast.

　　Ermolov, Miloradovich, Platov, and others in proximity to the Frenchnear Vyazma could not resist their desire to cut off and break uptwo French corps, and by way of reporting their intention to Kutuzovthey sent him a blank sheet of paper in an envelope.

　　And try as Kutuzov might to restrain the troops, our men attacked,trying to bar the road. Infantry regiments, we are told, advanced tothe attack with music and with drums beating, and killed and lostthousands of men.

　　But they did not cut off or overthrow anybody and the French army,closing up more firmly at the danger, continued, while steadilymelting away, to pursue its fatal path to Smolensk.

　　BOOK FOURTEEN: 1812

　　CHAPTER I

　　The Battle of Borodino, with the occupation of Moscow thatfollowed it and the flight of the French without further conflicts, isone of the most instructive phenomena in history.

　　All historians agree that the external activity of states andnations in their conflicts with one another is expressed in wars,and that as a direct result of greater or less success in war thepolitical strength of states and nations increases or decreases.

　　Strange as may be the historical account of how some king oremperor, having quarreled with another, collects an army, fights hisenemy's army, gains a victory by killing three, five, or tenthousand men, and subjugates a kingdom and an entire nation of severalmillions, all the facts of history (as far as we know it) confirmthe truth of the statement that the greater or lesser success of onearmy against another is the cause, or at least an essentialindication, of an increase or decrease in the strength of thenation- even though it is unintelligible why the defeat of an army-a hundredth part of a nation- should oblige that whole nation tosubmit. An army gains a victory, and at once the rights of theconquering nation have increased to the detriment of the defeated.An army has suffered defeat, and at once a people loses its rightsin proportion to the severity of the reverse, and if its armysuffers a complete defeat the nation is quite subjugated.

　　So according to history it has been found from the most ancienttimes, and so it is to our own day. All Napoleon's wars serve toconfirm this rule. In proportion to the defeat of the Austrian armyAustria loses its rights, and the rights and the strength of Franceincrease. The victories of the French at Jena and Auerstadt destroythe independent existence of Prussia.

　　But then, in 1812, the French gain a victory near Moscow. Moscowis taken and after that, with no further battles, it is not Russiathat ceases to exist, but the French army of six hundred thousand, andthen Napoleonic France itself. To strain the facts to fit the rules ofhistory: to say that the field of battle at Borodino remained in thehands of the Russians, or that after Moscow there were other battlesthat destroyed Napoleon's army, is impossible.

　　After the French victory at Borodino there was no general engagementnor 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 ofChina, we might say that it was not an historic phenomenon (which isthe historians' usual expedient when anything does not fit theirstandards); if the matter concerned some brief conflict in whichonly a small number of troops took part, we might treat it as anexception; but this event occurred before our fathers' eyes, and forthem it was a question of the life or death of their fatherland, andit happened in the greatest of all known wars.

　　The period of the campaign of 1812 from the battle of Borodino tothe expulsion of the French proved that the winning of a battle doesnot produce a conquest and is not even an invariable indication ofconquest; it proved that the force which decides the fate of peopleslies not in the conquerors, nor even in armies and battles, but insomething else.

　　The French historians, describing the condition of the French armybefore it left Moscow, affirm that all was in order in the Grand Army,except the cavalry, the artillery, and the transport- there was noforage for the horses or the cattle. That was a misfortune no onecould remedy, for the peasants of the district burned their hay ratherthan let the French have it.

　　The victory gained did not bring the usual results because thepeasants Karp and Vlas (who after the French had evacuated Moscowdrove in their carts to pillage the town, and in general personallyfailed to manifest any heroic feelings), and the whole innumerablemultitude of such peasants, did not bring their hay to Moscow forthe high price offered them, but burned it instead.

　　Let us imagine two men who have come out to fight a duel withrapiers according to all the rules of the art of fencing. Thefencing has gone on for some time; suddenly one of the combatants,feeling himself wounded and understanding that the matter is no jokebut concerns his life, throws down his rapier, and seizing the firstcudgel that comes to hand begins to brandish it. Then let us imaginethat the combatant who so sensibly employed the best and simplestmeans to attain his end was at the same time influenced bytraditions of chivalry and, desiring to conceal the facts of the case,insisted that he had gained his victory with the rapier according toall the rules of art. One can imagine what confusion and obscuritywould result from such an account of the duel.

　　The fencer who demanded a contest according to the rules offencing was the French army; his opponent who threw away the rapierand snatched up the cudgel was the Russian people; those who try toexplain the matter according to the rules of fencing are thehistorians who have described the event.

　　After the burning of Smolensk a war began which did not follow anyprevious traditions of war. The burning of towns and villages, theretreats after battles, the blow dealt at Borodino and the renewedretreat, the burning of Moscow, the capture of marauders, theseizure of transports, and the guerrilla war were all departuresfrom the rules.

　　Napoleon felt this, and from the time he took up the correct fencingattitude in Moscow and instead of his opponent's rapier saw a cudgelraised above his head, he did not cease to complain to Kutuzov andto the Emperor Alexander that the war was being carried on contrary toall the rules- as if there were any rules for killing people. In spiteof the complaints of the French as to the nonobservance of therules, in spite of the fact that to some highly placed Russians itseemed rather disgraceful to fight with a cudgel and they wanted toassume a pose en quarte or en tierce according to all the rules, andto make an adroit thrust en prime, and so on- the cudgel of thepeople's war was lifted with all its menacing and majestic strength,and without consulting anyone's tastes or rules and regardless ofanything else, it rose and fell with stupid simplicity, butconsistently, and belabored the French till the whole invasion hadperished.

　　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 hiltof their rapier gracefully and politely, hand it to theirmagnanimous conqueror, but at the moment of trial, without asking whatrules others have adopted in similar cases, simply and easily pickup the first cudgel that comes to hand and strike with it till thefeeling of resentment and revenge in their soul yields to a feeling ofcontempt and compassion.BK14|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　One of the most obvious and advantageous departures from theso-called laws of war is the action of scattered groups against menpressed together in a mass. Such action always occurs in wars thattake on a national character. In such actions, instead of two crowdsopposing each other, the men disperse, attack singly, run away whenattacked by stronger forces, but again attack when opportunity offers.This was done by the guerrillas in Spain, by the mountain tribes inthe Caucasus, and by the Russians in 1812.

　　People have called this kind of war "guerrilla warfare" and assumethat by so calling it they have explained its meaning. But such awar does not fit in under any rule and is directly opposed to awell-known rule of tactics which is accepted as infallible. Thatrule says that an attacker should concentrate his forces in order tobe stronger than his opponent at the moment of conflict.

　　Guerrilla war (always successful, as history shows) directlyinfringes that rule.

　　This contradiction arises from the fact that military scienceassumes 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 inmechanics by reference to the mass only: stating that momenta areequal or unequal to each other simply because the masses involvedare 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 itsmass and some unknown x.

　　Military science, seeing in history innumerable instances of thefact that the size of any army does not coincide with its strength andthat small detachments defeat larger ones, obscurely admits theexistence of this unknown factor and tries to discover it- now in ageometric formation, now in the equipment employed, now, and mostusually, in the genius of the commanders. But the assignment ofthese various meanings to the factor does not yield results whichaccord with the historic facts.

　　Yet it is only necessary to abandon the false view (adopted togratify the "heroes") of the efficacy of the directions issued inwartime by commanders, in order to find this unknown quantity.

　　That unknown quantity is the spirit of the army, that is to say, thegreater or lesser readiness to fight and face danger felt by all themen composing an army, quite independently of whether they are, or arenot, fighting under the command of a genius, in two- or three-lineformation, with cudgels or with rifles that repeat thirty times aminute. Men who want to fight will always put themselves in the mostadvantageous conditions for fighting.

　　The spirit of an army is the factor which multiplied by the massgives the resulting force. To define and express the significance ofthis unknown factor- the spirit of an army- is a problem for science.

　　This problem is only solvable if we cease arbitrarily tosubstitute for the unknown x itself the conditions under which thatforce becomes apparent- such as the commands of the general, theequipment employed, and so on- mistaking these for the realsignificance of the factor, and if we recognize this unknownquantity in its entirety as being the greater or lesser desire tofight and to face danger. Only then, expressing known historic factsby 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 theothers, while themselves losing four, so that on the one side four andon the other fifteen were lost. Consequently the four were equal tothe fifteen, and therefore 4x = 15y. Consequently x/y = 15/4. Thisequation does not give us the value of the unknown factor but gives usa ratio between two unknowns. And by bringing variously selectedhistoric units (battles, campaigns, periods of war) into suchequations, a series of numbers could be obtained in which certain lawsshould exist and might be discovered.

　　The tactical rule that an army should act in masses whenattacking, and in smaller groups in retreat, unconsciously confirmsthe truth that the strength of an army depends on its spirit. Tolead men forward under fire more discipline (obtainable only bymovement in masses) is needed than is needed to resist attacks. Butthis rule which leaves out of account the spirit of the armycontinually proves incorrect and is in particularly strikingcontrast to the facts when some strong rise or fall in the spirit ofthe troops occurs, as in all national wars.

　　The French, retreating in 1812- though according to tactics theyshould have separated into detachments to defend themselves-congregated into a mass because the spirit of the army had so fallenthat only the mass held the army together. The Russians, on thecontrary, ought according to tactics to have attacked in mass, butin fact they split up into small units, because their spirit had sorisen that separate individuals, without orders, dealt blows at theFrench without needing any compulsion to induce them to exposethemselves to hardships and dangers.BK14|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　The so-called partisan war began with the entry of the French intoSmolensk.

　　Before partisan warfare had been officially recognized by thegovernment, thousands of enemy stragglers, marauders, and foragers hadbeen destroyed by the Cossacks and the peasants, who killed them offas instinctively as dogs worry a stray mad dog to death. DenisDavydov, with his Russian instinct, was the first to recognize thevalue of this terrible cudgel which regardless of the rules ofmilitary science destroyed the French, and to him belongs the creditfor taking the first step toward regularizing this method of warfare.

　　On August 24 Davydov's first partisan detachment was formed and thenothers were recognized. The further the campaign progressed the morenumerous these detachments became.

　　The irregulars destroyed the great army piecemeal. They gathered thefallen 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 Smolensk, there were hundreds ofsuch companies, of various sizes and characters. There were somethat adopted all the army methods and had infantry, artillery, staffs,and the comforts of life. Others consisted solely of Cossackcavalry. There were also small scratch groups of foot and horse, andgroups of peasants and landowners that remained unknown. A sacristancommanded one party which captured several hundred prisoners in thecourse of a month; and there was Vasilisa, the wife of a villageelder, who slew hundreds of the French.

　　The partisan warfare flamed up most fiercely in the latter days ofOctober. Its first period had passed: when the partisans themselves,amazed at their own boldness, feared every minute to be surrounded andcaptured by the French, and hid in the forests without unsaddling,hardly daring to dismount and always expecting to be pursued. By theend of October this kind of warfare had taken definite shape: it hadbecome clear to all what could be ventured against the French and whatcould not. Now only the commanders of detachments with staffs, andmoving according to rules at a distance from the French, stillregarded many things as impossible. The small bands that had startedtheir activities long before and had already observed the Frenchclosely considered things possible which the commanders of the bigdetachments did not dare to contemplate. The Cossacks and peasants whocrept in among the French now considered everything possible.

　　On October 22, Denisov (who was one of the irregulars) was withhis group at the height of the guerrilla enthusiasm. Since earlymorning he and his party had been on the move. All day long he hadbeen watching from the forest that skirted the highroad a large Frenchconvoy of cavalry baggage and Russian prisoners separated from therest of the army, which- as was learned from spies and prisoners-was moving under a strong escort to Smolensk. Besides Denisov andDolokhov (who also led a small party and moved in Denisov's vicinity),the commanders of some large divisions with staffs also knew of thisconvoy and, as Denisov expressed it, were sharpening their teeth forit. Two of the commanders of large parties- one a Pole and the other aGerman- sent invitations to Denisov almost simultaneously,requesting him to join up with their divisions to attack the convoy.

　　"No, bwother, I have gwown mustaches myself," said Denisov onreading these documents, and he wrote to the German that, despitehis heartfelt desire to serve under so valiant and renowned a general,he had to forgo that pleasure because he was already under the commandof the Polish general. To the Polish general he replied to the sameeffect, informing him that he was already under the command of theGerman.

　　Having arranged matters thus, Denisov and Dolokhov intended, withoutreporting matters to the higher command, to attack and seize thatconvoy with their own small forces. On October 22 it was moving fromthe village of Mikulino to that of Shamshevo. To the left of theroad between Mikulino and Shamshevo there were large forests,extending in some places up to the road itself though in others a mileor more back from it. Through these forests Denisov and his party rodeall day, sometimes keeping well back in them and sometimes coming tothe very edge, but never losing sight of the moving French. Thatmorning, Cossacks of Denisov's party had seized and carried off intothe forest two wagons loaded with cavalry saddles, which had stuckin the mud not far from Mikulino where the forest ran close to theroad. Since then, and until evening, the party had the movements ofthe French without attacking. It was necessary to let the French reachShamshevo quietly without alarming them and then, after joiningDolokhov who was to come that evening to a consultation at awatchman's hut in the forest less than a mile from Shamshevo, tosurprise the French at dawn, falling like an avalanche on theirheads from two sides, and rout and capture them all at one blow.

　　In their rear, more than a mile from Mikulino where the forestcame right up to the road, six Cossacks were posted to report if anyfresh columns of French should show themselves.

　　Beyond Shamshevo, Dolokhov was to observe the road in the sameway, to find out at what distance there were other French troops. Theyreckoned that the convoy had fifteen hundred men. Denisov had twohundred, and Dolokhov might have as many more, but the disparity ofnumbers did not deter Denisov. All that he now wanted to know was whattroops these were and to learn that he had to capture a "tongue"- thatis, a man from the enemy column. That morning's attack on the wagonshad been made so hastily that the Frenchmen with the wagons had allbeen killed; only a little drummer boy had been taken alive, and as hewas a straggler he could tell them nothing definite about the troopsin that column.

　　Denisov considered it dangerous to make a second attack for fearof putting the whole column on the alert, so he sent TikhonShcherbaty, a peasant of his party, to Shamshevo to try and seize atleast one of the French quartermasters who had been sent on inadvance.BK14|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　It was a warm rainy autumn day. The sky and the horizon were boththe color of muddy water. At times a sort of mist descended, andthen suddenly heavy slanting rain came down.

　　Denisov in a felt cloak and a sheepskin cap from which the rainran down was riding a thin thoroughbred horse with sunken sides.Like his horse, which turned its head and laid its ears back, heshrank from the driving rain and gazed anxiously before him. Histhin face with its short, thick black beard looked angry.

　　Beside Denisov rode an esaul,* Denisov's fellow worker, also in feltcloak and sheepskin cap, and riding a large sleek Don horse.

　　*A captain of Cossacks.

　　Esaul Lovayski the Third was a tall man as straight as an arrow,pale-faced, fair-haired, with narrow light eyes and with calmself-satisfaction in his face and bearing. Though it was impossible tosay in what the peculiarity of the horse and rider lay, yet at firstglance at the esaul and Denisov one saw that the latter was wet anduncomfortable and was a man mounted on a horse, while looking at theesaul one saw that he was as comfortable and as much at ease as alwaysand that he was not a man who had mounted a horse, but a man who wasone with his horse, a being consequently possessed of twofoldstrength.

　　A little ahead of them walked a peasant guide, wet to the skin andwearing a gray peasant coat and a white knitted cap.

　　A little behind, on a poor, small, lean Kirghiz mount with anenormous tail and mane and a bleeding mouth, rode a young officer in ablue French overcoat.

　　Beside him rode an hussar, with a boy in a tattered French uniformand blue cap behind him on the crupper of his horse. The boy held onto the hussar with cold, red hands, and raising his eyebrows gazedabout him with surprise. This was the French drummer boy captured thatmorning.

　　Behind them along the narrow, sodden, cutup forest road came hussarsin threes and fours, and then Cossacks: some in felt cloaks, some inFrench greatcoats, and some with horsecloths over their heads. Thehorses, being drenched by the rain, all looked black whetherchestnut 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 thefallen leaves that strewed the road. The men sat huddled up trying notto stir, so as to warm the water that had trickled to their bodies andnot admit the fresh cold water that was leaking in under theirseats, their knees, and at the back of their necks. In the midst ofthe outspread line of Cossacks two wagons, drawn by French horsesand by saddled Cossack horses that had been hitched on in front,rumbled over the tree stumps and branches and splashed through thewater that lay in the ruts.

　　Denisov's horse swerved aside to avoid a pool in the track andbumped his rider's knee against a tree.

　　"Oh, the devil!" exclaimed Denisov angrily, and showing his teeth hestruck his horse three times with his whip, splashing himself andhis comrades with mud.

　　Denisov was out of sorts both because of the rain and also fromhunger (none of them had eaten anything since morning), and yet morebecause he still had no news from Dolokhov and the man sent to capturea "tongue" had not returned.

　　"There'll hardly be another such chance to fall on a transport astoday. It's too risky to attack them by oneself, and if we put itoff till another day one of the big guerrilla detachments willsnatch the prey from under our noses," thought Denisov, continuallypeering forward, hoping to see a messenger from Dolokhov.

　　On coming to a path in the forest along which he could see far tothe right, Denisov stopped.

　　"There's someone coming," said he.

　　The esaul looked in the direction Denisov indicated.

　　"There are two, an officer and a Cossack. But it is notpresupposable that it is the lieutenant colonel himself," said theesaul, who was fond of using words the Cossacks did not know.

　　The approaching riders having descended a decline were no longervisible, but they reappeared a few minutes later. In front, at a wearygallop and using his leather whip, rode an officer, disheveled anddrenched, whose trousers had worked up to above his knees. Behind him,standing in the stirrups, trotted a Cossack. The officer, a very younglad with a broad rosy face and keen merry eyes, galloped up to Denisovand handed him a sodden envelope.

　　"From the general," said the officer. "Please excuse its not beingquite dry."

　　Denisov, 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 Denisov was reading thedispatch. "But Komarov and I"- he pointed to the Cossack- "wereprepared. We have each of us two pistols.... But what's this?" heasked, noticing the French drummer boy. "A prisoner? You've alreadybeen in action? May I speak to him?"

　　"Wostov! Petya!" exclaimed Denisov, having run through the dispatch."Why didn't you say who you were?" and turning with a smile he heldout his hand to the lad.

　　The officer was Petya Rostov.

　　All the way Petya had been preparing himself to behave withDenisov as befitted a grownup man and an officer- without hinting attheir previous acquaintance. But as soon as Denisov smiled at himPetya brightened up, blushed with pleasure, forgot the official mannerhe had been rehearsing, and began telling him how he had alreadybeen in a battle near Vyazma and how a certain hussar haddistinguished himself there.

　　"Well, I am glad to see you," Denisov interrupted him, and hisface again assumed its anxious expression.

　　"Michael Feoklitych," said he to the esaul, "this is again fwom thatGerman, you know. He"- he indicated Petya- "is serving under him."

　　And Denisov told the esaul that the dispatch just delivered was arepetition of the German general's demand that he should join forceswith him for an attack on the transport.

　　"If we don't take it tomowwow, he'll snatch it fwom under ournoses," he added.

　　While Denisov was talking to the esaul, Petya- abashed byDenisov's cold tone and supposing that it was due to the conditionof his trousers- furtively tried to pull them down under his greatcoatso that no one should notice it, while maintaining as martial an airas possible.

　　"Will there be any orders, your honor?" he asked Denisov, holdinghis hand at the salute and resuming the game of adjutant and generalfor which he had prepared himself, "or shall I remain with yourhonor?"

　　"Orders?" Denisov repeated thoughtfully. "But can you stay tilltomowwow?"

　　"Oh, please... May I stay with you?" cried Petya.

　　"But, just what did the genewal tell you? To weturn at once?"asked Denisov.

　　Petya blushed.

　　"He gave me no instructions. I think I could?" he returned,inquiringly.

　　"Well, all wight," said Denisov.

　　And turning to his men he directed a party to go on to the haltingplace arranged near the watchman's hut in the forest, and told theofficer on the Kirghiz horse (who performed the duties of an adjutant)to go and find out where Dolokhov was and whether he would come thatevening. Denisov himself intended going with the esaul and Petya tothe edge of the forest where it reached out to Shamshevo, to have alook at the part of the French bivouac they were to attack next day.

　　"Well, old fellow," said he to the peasant guide, "lead us toShamshevo."

　　Denisov, Petya, and the esaul, accompanied by some Cossacks andthe hussar who had the prisoner, rode to the left across a ravine tothe edge of the forest.BK14|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　The rain had stopped, and only the mist was falling and drops fromthe trees. Denisov, the esaul, and Petya rode silently, followingthe peasant in the knitted cap who, stepping lightly with outturnedtoes and moving noiselessly in his bast shoes over the roots and wetleaves, silently led them to the edge of the forest.

　　He ascended an incline, stopped, looked about him, and advanced towhere the screen of trees was less dense. On reaching a large oak treethat had not yet shed its leaves, he stopped and beckoned mysteriouslyto them with his hand.

　　Denisov and Petya rode up to him. From the spot where the peasantwas standing they could see the French. Immediately beyond the forest,on a downward slope, lay a field of spring rye. To the right, beyond asteep ravine, was a small village and a landowner's house with abroken 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 uphillfrom the bridge leading to the village, not more than five hundredyards away, crowds of men could be seen through the shimmering mist.Their un-Russian shouting at their horses which were straininguphill with the carts, and their calls to one another, could beclearly heard.

　　"Bwing the prisoner here," said Denisov in a low voice, not takinghis eyes off the French.

　　A Cossack dismounted, lifted the boy down, and took him toDenisov. Pointing to the French troops, Denisov asked him what theseand those of them were. The boy, thrusting his cold hands into hispockets and lifting his eyebrows, looked at Denisov in affright, butin spite of an evident desire to say all he knew gave confusedanswers, merely assenting to everything Denisov asked him. Denisovturned away from him frowning and addressed the esaul, conveying hisown conjectures to him.

　　Petya, rapidly turning his head, looked now at the drummer boy,now at Denisov, now at the esaul, and now at the French in the villageand along the road, trying not to miss anything of importance.

　　"Whether Dolokhov comes or not, we must seize it, eh?" saidDenisov 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," Denisov continued."They'll cweep up to the garden; you'll wide up fwom there with theCossacks"- he pointed to a spot in the forest beyond the village- "andI 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 soundedfrom the low ground by the pond, a puff of white smoke appeared,then another, and the sound of hundreds of seemingly merry Frenchvoices shouting together came up from the slope. For a momentDenisov and the esaul drew back. They were so near that they thoughtthey were the cause of the firing and shouting. But the firing andshouting did not relate to them. Down below, a man wearing somethingred was running through the marsh. The French were evidently firingand shouting at him.

　　"Why, that's our Tikhon," said the esaul.

　　"So it is! It is!"

　　"The wascal!" said Denisov.

　　"He'll get away!" said the esaul, screwing up his eyes.

　　The man whom they called Tikhon, having run to the stream, plungedin so that the water splashed in the air, and, having disappearedfor 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 Denisov with his former look of vexation. "Whathas he been doing all this time?"

　　"Who is he?" asked Petya.

　　"He's our plastun. I sent him to capture a 'tongue.'"

　　"Oh, yes," said Petya, nodding at the first words Denisov uttered asif he understood it all, though he really did not understandanything of it.

　　Tikhon Shcherbaty was one of the most indispensable men in theirband. He was a peasant from Pokrovsk, near the river Gzhat. WhenDenisov had come to Pokrovsk at the beginning of his operations andhad as usual summoned the village elder and asked him what he knewabout the French, the elder, as though shielding himself, had replied,as all village elders did, that he had neither seen nor heard anythingof them. But when Denisov explained that his purpose was to kill theFrench, and asked if no French had strayed that way, the elder repliedthat some "more-orderers" had really been at their village, but thatTikhon Shcherbaty was the only man who dealt with such matters.Denisov had Tikhon called and, having praised him for his activity,said a few words in the elder's presence about loyalty to the Tsar andthe country and the hatred of the French that all sons of thefatherland should cherish.

　　"We don't do the French any harm," said Tikhon, evidently frightenedby Denisov's words. "We only fooled about with the lads for fun, youknow! We killed a score or so of 'more-orderers,' but we did no harmelse..."

　　Next day when Denisov had left Pokrovsk, having quite forgottenabout this peasant, it was reported to him that Tikhon had attachedhimself to their party and asked to be allowed to remain with it.Denisov gave orders to let him do so.

　　Tikhon, who at first did rough work, laying campfires, fetchingwater, flaying dead horses, and so on, soon showed a great likingand aptitude for partisan warfare. At night he would go out forbooty and always brought back French clothing and weapons, and whentold to would bring in French captives also. Denisov then relieved himfrom drudgery and began taking him with him when he went out onexpeditions and had him enrolled among the Cossacks.

　　Tikhon did not like riding, and always went on foot, never laggingbehind the cavalry. He was armed with a musketoon (which he carriedrather as a joke), a pike and an ax, which latter he used as a wolfuses its teeth, with equal case picking fleas out of its fur orcrunching thick bones. Tikhon with equal accuracy would split logswith blows at arm's length, or holding the head of the ax would cutthin little pegs or carve spoons. In Denisov's party he held apeculiar and exceptional position. When anything particularlydifficult or nasty had to be done- to push a cart out of the mudwith one's shoulders, pull a horse out of a swamp by its tail, skinit, slink in among the French, or walk more than thirty miles in aday- everybody pointed laughingly at Tikhon.

　　"It won't hurt that devil- he's as strong as a horse!" they saidof him.

　　Once a Frenchman Tikhon was trying to capture fired a pistol athim and shot him in the fleshy part of the back. That wound (whichTikhon treated only with internal and external applications ofvodka) was the subject of the liveliest jokes by the whole detachment-jokes in which Tikhon readily joined.

　　"Hallo, mate! Never again? Gave you a twist?" the Cossacks wouldbanter him. And Tikhon, purposely writhing and making faces, pretendedto be angry and swore at the French with the funniest curses. The onlyeffect of this incident on Tikhon was that after being wounded heseldom brought in prisoners.

　　He was the bravest and most useful man in the party. No one foundmore opportunities for attacking, no one captured or killed moreFrenchmen, and consequently he was made the buffoon of all theCossacks and hussars and willingly accepted that role. Now he had beensent by Denisov overnight to Shamshevo to capture a "tongue." Butwhether because he had not been content to take only one Frenchmanor because he had slept through the night, he had crept by day intosome bushes right among the French and, as Denisov had witnessedfrom above, had been detected by them.BK14|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　After talking for some time with the esaul about next day'sattack, which now, seeing how near they were to the French, heseemed to have definitely decided on, Denisov turned his horse androde back.

　　"Now, my lad, we'll go and get dwy," he said to Petya.

　　As they approached the watchhouse Denisov stopped, peering intothe forest. Among the trees a man with long legs and long, swingingarms, wearing a short jacket, bast shoes, and a Kazan hat, wasapproaching with long, light steps. He had a musketoon over hisshoulder and an ax stuck in his girdle. When he espied Denisov hehastily threw something into the bushes, removed his sodden hat by itsfloppy brim, and approached his commander. It was Tikhon. His wrinkledand pockmarked face and narrow little eyes beamed withself-satisfied merriment. He lifted his head high and gazed at Denisovas if repressing a laugh.

　　"Well, where did you disappear to?" inquired Denisov.

　　"Where did I disappear to? I went to get Frenchmen," answered Tikhonboldly 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 Tikhon.

　　"Where is he?"

　　"You see, I took him first thing at dawn," Tikhon 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 goand fetch a likelier one."

　　"You see?... What a wogue- it's just as I thought," said Denisovto the esaul. "Why didn't you bwing that one?"

　　"What was the good of bringing him?" Tikhon interrupted hastilyand angrily- "that one wouldn't have done for you. As if I don'tknow what sort you want!"

　　"What a bwute you are!... Well?"

　　"I went for another one," Tikhon continued, "and I crept like thisthrough the wood and lay down." (He suddenly lay down on his stomachwith a supple movement to show how he had done it.) "One turned up andI grabbed him, like this." (He jumped up quickly and lightly.)"'Come along to the colonel,' I said. He starts yelling, andsuddenly there were four of them. They rushed at me with theirlittle swords. So I went for them with my ax, this way: 'What areyou up to?' says I. 'Christ be with you!'" shouted Tikhon, wavinghis arms with an angry scowl and throwing out his chest.

　　"Yes, we saw from the hill how you took to your heels through thepuddles!" said the esaul, screwing up his glittering eyes.

　　Petya badly wanted to laugh, but noticed that they all refrainedfrom laughing. He turned his eyes rapidly from Tikhon's face to theesaul's and Denisov's, unable to make out what it all meant.

　　"Don't play the fool!" said Denisov, coughing angrily. "Why didn'tyou bwing the first one?"

　　Tikhon 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 calledShcherbaty- the gap-toothed). Denisov smiled, and Petya burst into apeal of merry laughter in which Tikhon himself joined.

　　"Oh, but he was a regular good-for-nothing," said Tikhon. "Theclothes on him- poor stuff! How could I bring him? And so rude, yourhonor! Why, he says: 'I'm a general's son myself, I won't go!' hesays."

　　"You are a bwute!" said Denisov. "I wanted to question..."

　　"But I questioned him," said Tikhon. "He said he didn't know much.'There are a lot of us,' he says, 'but all poor stuff- only soldiersin name,' he says. 'Shout loud at them,' he says, 'and you'll takethem all,'" Tikhon concluded, looking cheerfully and resolutely intoDenisov's eyes.

　　"I'll give you a hundwed sharp lashes- that'll teach you to play thefool!" said Denisov severely.

　　"But why are you angry?" remonstrated Tikhon, "just as if I'dnever seen your Frenchmen! Only wait till it gets dark and I'llfetch you any of them you want- three if you like."

　　"Well, let's go," said Denisov, and rode all the way to thewatchhouse in silence and frowning angrily.

　　Tikhon followed behind and Petya heard the Cossacks laughing withhim and at him, about some pair of boots he had thrown into thebushes.

　　When the fit of laughter that had seized him at Tikhon's words andsmile had passed and Petya realized for a moment that this Tikhonhad killed a man, he felt uneasy. He looked round at the captivedrummer boy and felt a pang in his heart. But this uneasiness lastedonly a moment. He felt it necessary to hold his head higher, tobrace himself, and to question the esaul with an air of importanceabout tomorrow's undertaking, that he might not be unworthy of thecompany in which he found himself.

　　The officer who had been sent to inquire met Denisov on the way withthe news that Dolokhov was soon coming and that all was well with him.

　　Denisov at once cheered up and, calling Petya to him, said: "Well,tell me about yourself."BK14|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　Petya, having left his people after their departure from Moscow,joined his regiment and was soon taken as orderly by a generalcommanding a large guerrilla detachment. From the time he received hiscommission, and especially since he had joined the active army andtaken part in the battle of Vyazma, Petya had been in a constant stateof blissful excitement at being grown-up and in a perpetual ecstatichurry not to miss any chance to do something really heroic. He washighly delighted with what he saw and experienced in the army, butat the same time it always seemed to him that the really heroicexploits 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 wishto send somebody to Denisov's detachment, Petya begged so piteously tobe sent that the general could not refuse. But when dispatching him herecalled Petya's mad action at the battle of Vyazma, where insteadof riding by the road to the place to which he had been sent, he hadgalloped to the advanced line under the fire of the French and hadthere twice fired his pistol. So now the general explicitly forbadehis taking part in any action whatever of Denisov's. That was whyPetya had blushed and grown confused when Denisov asked him whether hecould stay. Before they had ridden to the outskirts of the forestPetya had considered he must carry out his instructions strictly andreturn at once. But when he saw the French and saw Tikhon andlearned that there would certainly be an attack that night, hedecided, with the rapidity with which young people change their views,that the general, whom he had greatly respected till then, was arubbishy German, that Denisov was a hero, the esaul a hero, and Tikhona hero too, and that it would be shameful for him to leave them at amoment of difficulty.

　　It was already growing dusk when Denisov, Petya, and the esaulrode up to the watchhouse. In the twilight saddled horses could beseen, and Cossacks and hussars who had rigged up rough shelters in theglade and were kindling glowing fires in a hollow of the forestwhere the French could not see the smoke. In the passage of thesmall watchhouse a Cossack with sleeves rolled up was chopping somemutton. In the room three officers of Denisov's band were converting adoor into a tabletop. Petya took off his wet clothes, gave them tobe dried, and at once began helping the officers to fix up thedinner table.

　　In ten minutes the table was ready and a napkin spread on it. On thetable were vodka, a flask of rum, white bread, roast mutton, and salt.

　　Sitting at table with the officers and tearing the fat savory muttonwith his hands, down which the grease trickled, Petya was in anecstatic childish state of love for all men, and consequently ofconfidence that others loved him in the same way.

　　"So then what do you think, Vasili Dmitrich?" said he to Denisov."It's all right my staying a day with you?" And not waiting for areply 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 thechief... I don't want a reward... But I want..."

　　Petya clenched his teeth and looked around, throwing back his headand flourishing his arms.

　　"Into the vewy chief..." Denisov repeated with a smile.

　　"Only, please let me command something, so that I may reallycommand..." Petya went on. "What would it be to you?... Oh, you want aknife?" he said, turning to an officer who wished to cut himself apiece of mutton.

　　And he handed him his clasp knife. The officer admired it.

　　"Please keep it. I have several like it," said Petya, blushing."Heavens! I was quite forgetting!" he suddenly cried. "I have someraisins, fine ones; you know, seedless ones. We have a new sutlerand he has such capital things. I bought ten pounds. I am used tosomething sweet. Would you like some?..." and Petya ran out into thepassage to his Cossack and brought back some bags which containedabout five pounds of raisins. "Have some, gentlemen, have some!"

　　"You want a coffeepot, don't you?" he asked the esaul. "I bought acapital one from our sutler! He has splendid things. And he's veryhonest, that's the chief thing. I'll be sure to send it to you. Orperhaps your flints are giving out, or are worn out- that happenssometimes, 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, Petya stopped andblushed.

　　He tried to remember whether he had not done anything else thatwas foolish. And running over the events of the day he rememberedthe 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 hisfeelings?" he thought. But having caught himself saying too much aboutthe flints, he was now afraid to speak out.

　　"I might ask," he thought, "but they'll say: 'He's a boy himself andso he pities the boy.' I'll show them tomorrow whether I'm a boy. Willit seem odd if I ask?" Petya thought. "Well, never mind!" andimmediately, blushing and looking anxiously at the officers to seeif they appeared ironical, he said:

　　"May I call in that boy who was taken prisoner and give himsomething to eat?... Perhaps..."

　　"Yes, he's a poor little fellow," said Denisov, who evidently sawnothing shameful in this reminder. "Call him in. His name is VincentBosse. Have him fetched."

　　"I'll call him," said Petya.

　　"Yes, yes, call him. A poor little fellow," Denisov repeated.

　　Petya was standing at the door when Denisov said this. He slipped inbetween the officers, came close to Denisov, and said:

　　"Let me kiss you, dear old fellow! Oh, how fine, how splendid!"

　　And having kissed Denisov he ran out of the hut.

　　"Bosse! Vincent!" Petya cried, stopping outside the door.

　　"Who do you want, sir?" asked a voice in the darkness.

　　Petya replied that he wanted the French lad who had been capturedthat day.

　　"Ah, Vesenny?" said a Cossack.

　　Vincent, the boy's name, had already been changed by the Cossacksinto Vesenny (vernal) and into Vesenya by the peasants and soldiers.In both these adaptations the reference to spring (vesna) matchedthe impression made by the young lad.

　　"He is warming himself there by the bonfire. Ho, Vesenya!Vesenya!- Vesenny!" laughing voices were heard calling to oneanother in the darkness.

　　"He's a smart lad," said an hussar standing near Petya. "We gave himsomething to eat a while ago. He was awfully hungry!"

　　The sound of bare feet splashing through the mud was heard in thedarkness, and the drummer boy came to the door.

　　"Ah, c'est vous!" said Petya. "Voulez-vous manger? N'ayez paspeur, 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 almostchildish voice, and he began scraping his dirty feet on the threshold.

　　*"Thank you, sir."

　　There were many things Petya wanted to say to the drummer boy, butdid not dare to. He stood irresolutely beside him in the passage. Thenin the darkness he took the boy's hand and pressed it.

　　"Come in, come in!" he repeated in a gentle whisper. "Oh, what can Ido for him?" he thought, and opening the door he let the boy pass infirst.

　　When the boy had entered the hut, Petya sat down at a distancefrom him, considering it beneath his dignity to pay attention tohim. But he fingered the money in his pocket and wondered whether itwould seem ridiculous to give some to the drummer boy.BK14|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　The arrival of Dolokhov diverted Petya's attention from thedrummer boy, to whom Denisov had had some mutton and vodka given,and whom he had had dressed in a Russian coat so that he might be keptwith their band and not sent away with the other prisoners. Petyahad heard in the army many stories of Dolokhov's extraordinary braveryand of his cruelty to the French, so from the moment he entered thehut Petya did not take his eyes from him, but braced himself up moreand more and held his head high, that he might not be unworthy even ofsuch company.

　　Dolokhov's appearance amazed Petya by its simplicity.

　　Denisov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, had an icon of Nicholasthe Wonder-Worker on his breast, and his way of speaking andeverything he did indicated his unusual position. But Dolokhov, who inMoscow had worn a Persian costume, had now the appearance of a mostcorrect officer of the Guards. He was clean-shaven and wore aGuardsman's padded coat with an Order of St. George at hisbuttonhole and a plain forage cap set straight on his head. He tookoff his wet felt cloak in a corner of the room, and without greetinganyone went up to Denisov and began questioning him about the matterin hand. Denisov told him of the designs the large detachments hadon the transport, of the message Petya had brought, and his ownreplies to both generals. Then he told him all he knew of the Frenchdetachment.

　　"That's so. But we must know what troops they are and theirnumbers," said Dolokhov. "It will be necessary to go there. We can'tstart the affair without knowing for certain how many there are. Ilike to work accurately. Here now- wouldn't one of these gentlemenlike to ride over to the French camp with me? I have brought a spareuniform."

　　"I, I... I'll go with you!" cried Petya.

　　"There's no need for you to go at all," said Denisov, addressingDolokhov, "and as for him, I won't let him go on any account."

　　"I like that!" exclaimed Petya. "Why shouldn't I go?"

　　"Because it's useless."

　　"Well, you must excuse me, because... because... I shall go, andthat's all. You'll take me, won't you?" he said, turning to Dolokhov.

　　"Why not?" Dolokhov answered absently, scrutinizing the face ofthe French drummer boy. "Have you had that youngster with you long?"he asked Denisov.

　　"He was taken today but he knows nothing. I'm keeping him with me."

　　"Yes, and where do you put the others?" inquired Dolokhov.

　　"Where? I send them away and take a weceipt for them," shoutedDenisov, suddenly flushing. "And I say boldly that I have not a singleman's life on my conscience. Would it be difficult for you to sendthirty 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 countof sixteen," said Dolokhov with cold irony, "but it's time for youto drop it."

　　"Why, I've not said anything! I only say that I'll certainly go withyou," said Petya shyly.

　　"But for you and me, old fellow, it's time to drop these amenities,"continued Dolokhov, as if he found particular pleasure in speakingof this subject which irritated Denisov. "Now, why have you keptthis lad?" he went on, swaying his head. "Because you are sorry forhim! Don't we know those 'receipts' of yours? You send a hundred menaway, and thirty get there. The rest either starve or get killed. Soisn'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 notwish to take it on my conscience. You say they'll die. All wight. Onlynot by my fault!"

　　Dolokhov began laughing.

　　"Who has told them not to capture me these twenty times over? But ifthey did catch me they'd string me up to an aspen tree, and with allyour chivalry just the same." He paused. "However, we must get towork. Tell the Cossack to fetch my kit. I have two French uniformsin it. Well, are you coming with me?" he asked Petya.

　　"I? Yes, yes, certainly!" cried Petya, blushing almost to tearsand glancing at Denisov.

　　While Dolokhov had been disputing with Denisov what should be donewith prisoners, Petya had once more felt awkward and restless; butagain he had no time to grasp fully what they were talking about."If grown-up, distinguished men think so, it must be necessary andright," thought he. "But above all Denisov must not dare to imaginethat I'll obey him and that he can order me about. I will certainly goto the French camp with Dolokhov. If he can, so can I!"

　　And to all Denisov's persuasions, Petya replied that he too wasaccustomed to do everything accurately and not just anyhow, and thathe never considered personal danger.

　　"For you'll admit that if we don't know for sure how many of themthere are... hundreds of lives may depend on it, while there areonly 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..."BK14|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　Having put on French greatcoats and shakos, Petya and Dolokhovrode to the clearing from which Denisov had reconnoitered the Frenchcamp, and emerging from the forest in pitch darkness they descendedinto the hollow. On reaching the bottom, Dolokhov told the Cossacksaccompanying him to await him there and rode on at a quick trotalong the road to the bridge. Petya, his heart in his mouth withexcitement, 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 Dolokhov in a hurried whisper, and atthat very moment they heard through the darkness the challenge: "Quivive?"* and the click of a musket.

　　*"Who goes there?"

　　The blood rushed to Petya's face and he grasped his pistol.

　　"Lanciers du 6-me,"* replied Dolokhov, neither hastening norslackening his horse's pace.

　　*"Lancers of the 6th Regiment."

　　The black figure of a sentinel stood on the bridge.

　　"Mot d'ordre."*

　　*"Password."

　　Dolokhov reined in his horse and advanced at a walk.

　　"Dites donc, le colonel Gerard est ici?"* he asked.

　　*"Tell me, is Colonel Gerard here?"

　　"Mot d'ordre," repeated the sentinel, barring the way and notreplying.

　　"Quand un officier fait sa ronde, les sentinelles ne demandent pasle mot d'ordre..." cried Dolokhov suddenly flaring up and ridingstraight at the sentinel. "Je vous demande si le colonel est ici."*

　　*"When an officer is making his round, sentinels don't ask him forthe password.... I am asking you if the colonel is here."

　　And without waiting for an answer from the sentinel, who had steppedaside, Dolokhov rode up the incline at a walk.

　　Noticing the black outline of a man crossing the road, Dolokhovstopped him and inquired where the commander and officers were. Theman, a soldier with a sack over his shoulder, stopped, came close upto Dolokhov's horse, touched it with his hand, and explained simplyand in a friendly way that the commander and the officers werehigher up the hill to the right in the courtyard of the farm, as hecalled the landowner's house.

　　Having ridden up the road, on both sides of which French talkcould be heard around the campfires, Dolokhov turned into thecourtyard of the landowner's house. Having ridden in, he dismountedand approached a big blazing campfire, around which sat several mentalking noisily. Something was boiling in a small cauldron at the edgeof the fire and a soldier in a peaked cap and blue overcoat, lit up bythe 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 wassitting 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 ofDolokhov's and Petya's steps as they advanced to the fire leadingtheir horses.

　　"Bonjour, messieurs!"* said Dolokhov 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 upto Dolokhov.

　　"Is that you, Clement?" he asked. "Where the devil...? But, noticinghis mistake, he broke off short and, with a frown, greeted Dolokhov asa stranger, asking what he could do for him.

　　Dolokhov said that he and his companion were trying to overtaketheir regiment, and addressing the company in general asked whetherthey knew anything of the 6th Regiment. None of them knew anything,and Petya thought the officers were beginning to look at him andDolokhov with hostility and suspicion. For some seconds all weresilent.

　　"If you were counting on the evening soup, you have come toolate," said a voice from behind the fire with a repressed laugh.

　　Dolokhov replied that they were not hungry and must push onfarther that night.

　　He handed the horses over to the soldier who was stirring the potand squatted down on his heels by the fire beside the officer with thelong neck. That officer did not take his eyes from Dolokhov andagain asked to what regiment he belonged. Dolokhov, as if he had notheard the question, did not reply, but lighting a short French pipewhich he took from his pocket began asking the officer in how farthe road before them was safe from Cossacks.

　　"Those brigands are everywhere," replied an officer from behindthe fire.

　　Dolokhov remarked that the Cossacks were a danger only to stragglerssuch as his companion and himself, "but probably they would not dareto attack large detachments?" he added inquiringly. No one replied.

　　"Well, now he'll come away," Petya thought every moment as hestood by the campfire listening to the talk.

　　But Dolokhov restarted the conversation which had dropped andbegan putting direct questions as to how many men there were in thebattalion, how many battalions, and how many prisoners. Asking aboutthe Russian prisoners with that detachment, Dolokhov said:

　　"A horrid business dragging these corpses about with one! It wouldbe better to shoot such rabble," and burst into loud laughter, sostrange that Petya thought the French would immediately detect theirdisguise, and involuntarily took a step back from the campfire.

　　No one replied a word to Dolokhov's laughter, and a French officerwhom they could not see (he lay wrapped in a greatcoat) rose andwhispered something to a companion. Dolokhov got up and called tothe soldier who was holding their horses.

　　"Will they bring our horses or not?" thought Petya, instinctivelydrawing nearer to Dolokhov.

　　The horses were brought.

　　"Good evening, gentlemen," said Dolokhov.

　　Petya wished to say "Good night" but could not utter a word. Theofficers were whispering together. Dolokhov was a long time mountinghis horse which would not stand still, then he rode out of the yard ata footpace. Petya rode beside him, longing to look round to seewhether or no the French were running after them, but not daring to.

　　Coming out onto the road Dolokhov did not ride back across theopen country, but through the village. At one spot he stopped andlistened. "Do you hear?" he asked. Petya recognized the sound ofRussian voices and saw the dark figures of Russian prisoners roundtheir campfires. When they had descended to the bridge Petya andDolokhov rode past the sentinel, who without saying a word pacedmorosely up and down it, then they descended into the hollow where theCossacks awaited them.

　　"Well now, good-by. Tell Denisov, 'at the first shot atdaybreak,'" said Dolokhov and was about to ride away, but Petya seizedhold of him.

　　"Really!" he cried, "you are such a hero! Oh, how fine, howsplendid! How I love you!"

　　"All right, all right!" said Dolokhov. But Petya did not let go ofhim and Dolokhov saw through the gloom that Petya was bending towardhim and wanted to kiss him. Dolokhov kissed him, laughed, turned hishorse, and vanished into the darkness.BK14|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Having returned to the watchman's hut, Petya found Denisov in thepassage. He was awaiting Petya'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 Petya's rapturous account. "But, devil take you, Ihaven't slept because of you! Well, thank God. Now lie down. We canstill get a nap before morning."

　　"But... no," said Petya, "I don't want to sleep yet. Besides Iknow myself, if I fall asleep it's finished. And then I am used to notsleeping before a battle."

　　He sat awhile in the hut joyfully recalling the details of hisexpedition and vividly picturing to himself what would happen nextday.

　　Then, noticing that Denisov was asleep, he rose and went out ofdoors.

　　It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but drops werestill falling from the trees. Near the watchman's hut the black shapesof the Cossacks' shanties and of horses tethered together could beseen. Behind the hut the dark shapes of the two wagons with theirhorses beside them were discernible, and in the hollow the dyingcampfire gleamed red. Not all the Cossacks and hussars were asleep;here and there, amid the sounds of falling drops and the munching ofthe horses near by, could be heard low voices which seemed to bewhispering.

　　Petya came out, peered into the darkness, and went up to the wagons.Someone was snoring under them, and around them stood saddled horsesmunching their oats. In the dark Petya recognized his own horse, whichhe called "Karabakh" though it was of Ukranian breed, and went up toit.

　　"Well, Karabakh! 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 awagon.

　　"No, ah... Likhachev- isn't that your name? Do you know I haveonly just come back! We've been into the French camp."

　　And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account not only of his ridebut also of his object, and why he considered it better to risk hislife than to act "just anyhow."

　　"Well, you should get some sleep now," said the Cossack.

　　"No, I am used to this," said Petya. "I say, aren't the flints inyour pistols worn out? I brought some with me. Don't you want any? Youcan have some."

　　The Cossack bent forward from under the wagon to get a closer lookat Petya.

　　"Because I am accustomed to doing everything accurately," saidPetya. "Some fellows do things just anyhow, without preparation, andthen 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 sharpenmy saber for me? It's got bl..." (Petya feared to tell a lie, andthe saber never had been sharpened.) "Can you do it?"

　　"Of course I can."

　　Likhachev got up, rummaged in his pack, and soon Petya heard thewarlike sound of steel on whetstone. He climbed onto the wagon and saton its edge. The Cossack was sharpening the saber under the wagon.

　　"I say! Are the lads asleep?" asked Petya.

　　"Some are, and some aren't- like us."

　　"Well, and that boy?"

　　"Vesenny? Oh, he's thrown himself down there in the passage. Fastasleep after his fright. He was that glad!"

　　After that Petya remained silent for a long time, listening to thesounds. He heard footsteps in the darkness and a black figureappeared.

　　"What are you sharpening?" asked a man coming up to the wagon.

　　"Why, this gentleman's saber."

　　"That's right," said the man, whom Petya 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.

　　Petya ought to have known that he was in a forest with Denisov'sguerrilla band, less than a mile from the road, sitting on a wagoncaptured from the French beside which horses were tethered, that underit Likhachev was sitting sharpening a saber for him, that the big darkblotch to the right was the watchman's hut, and the red blotch belowto the left was the dying embers of a campfire, that the man who hadcome for the cup was an hussar who wanted a drink; but he neither knewnor waited to know anything of all this. He was in a fairy kingdomwhere nothing resembled reality. The big dark blotch might really bethe watchman's hut or it might be a cavern leading to the verydepths of the earth. Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might bethe eye of an enormous monster. Perhaps he was really sitting on awagon, but it might very well be that he was not sitting on a wagonbut on a terribly high tower from which, if he fell, he would haveto fall for a whole day or a whole month, or go on falling and neverreach the bottom. Perhaps it was just the Cossack, Likhachev, whowas 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 backinto the hollow, but perhaps he had simply vanished- disappearedaltogether and dissolved into nothingness.

　　Nothing Petya could have seen now would have surprised him. He wasin a fairy kingdom where everything was possible.

　　He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like theearth. It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds wereswiftly sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it looked as ifthe clouds were passing, and a clear black sky appeared. Sometimesit seemed as if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes the sky seemedto be rising high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so lowthat one could touch it with one's hand.

　　Petya's eyes began to close and he swayed a little.

　　The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was heard. The horses neighedand jostled one another. Someone snored.

　　"Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg..." hissed the saber against thewhetstone, and suddenly Petya heard an harmonious orchestra playingsome unknown, sweetly solemn hymn. Petya was as musical as Natasha andmore so than Nicholas, but had never learned music or thought aboutit, and so the melody that unexpectedly came to his mind seemed to himparticularly fresh and attractive. The music became more and moreaudible. The melody grew and passed from one instrument to another.And what was played was a fugue- though Petya had not the leastconception of what a fugue is. Each instrument- now resembling aviolin and now a horn, but better and clearer than violin or horn-played its own part, and before it had finished the melody merged withanother instrument that began almost the same air, and then with athird and a fourth; and they all blended into one and again becameseparate and again blended, now into solemn church music, now intosomething dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant.

　　"Oh- why, that was in a dream!" Petya said to himself, as he lurchedforward. "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 againall mingled into the same sweet and solemn hymn. "Oh, this isdelightful! As much as I like and as I like!" said Petya to himself.He tried to conduct that enormous orchestra.

　　"Now softly, softly die away!" and the sounds obeyed him. "Nowfuller, more joyful. Still more and more joyful!" And from anunknown depth rose increasingly triumphant sounds. "Now voices joinin!" ordered Petya. And at first from afar he heard men's voices andthen women's. The voices grew in harmonious triumphant strength, andPetya listened to their surpassing beauty in awe and joy.

　　With a solemn triumphal march there mingled a song, the drip fromthe trees, and the hissing of the saber, "Ozheg-zheg-zheg..." andagain the horses jostled one another and neighed, not disturbing thechoir but joining in it.

　　Petya did not know how long this lasted: he enjoyed himself allthe time, wondered at his enjoyment and regretted that there was noone to share it. He was awakened by Likhachev's kindly voice.

　　"It's ready, your honor; you can split a Frenchman in half with it!"

　　Petya woke up.

　　"It's getting light, it's really getting light!" he exclaimed.

　　The horses that had previously been invisible could now be seen totheir very tails, and a watery light showed itself through the barebranches. Petya shook himself, jumped up, took a ruble from his pocketand gave it to Likhachev; then he flourished the saber, tested it, andsheathed it. The Cossacks were untying their horses and tighteningtheir saddle girths.

　　"And here's the commander," said Likhachev.

　　Denisov came out of the watchman's hut and, having called Petya,gave orders to get ready.BK14|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　The men rapidly picked out their horses in the semidarkness,tightened their saddle girths, and formed companies. Denisov stoodby the watchman's hut giving final orders. The infantry of thedetachment passed along the road and quickly disappeared amid thetrees in the mist of early dawn, hundreds of feet splashing throughthe mud. The esaul gave some orders to his men. Petya held his horseby the bridle, impatiently awaiting the order to mount. His face,having been bathed in cold water, was all aglow, and his eyes wereparticularly brilliant. Cold shivers ran down his spine and hiswhole body pulsed rhythmically.

　　"Well, is ev'wything weady?" asked Denisov. "Bwing the horses."

　　The horses were brought. Denisov was angry with the Cossackbecause the saddle girths were too slack, reproved him, and mounted.Petya put his foot in the stirrup. His horse by habit made as if tonip his leg, but Petya leaped quickly into the saddle unconscious ofhis own weight and, turning to look at the hussars starting in thedarkness behind him, rode up to Denisov.

　　"Vasili Dmitrich, entrust me with some commission! Please... forGod's sake...!" said he.

　　Denisov seemed to have forgotten Petya's very existence. He turnedto glance at him.

　　"I ask one thing of you," he said sternly, "to obey me and not shoveyourself forward anywhere."

　　He did not say another word to Petya but rode in silence all theway. When they had come to the edge of the forest it was noticeablygrowing light over the field. Denisov talked in whispers with theesaul and the Cossacks rode past Petya and Denisov. When they hadall ridden by, Denisov touched his horse and rode down the hill.Slipping onto their haunches and sliding, the horses descended withtheir riders into the ravine. Petya rode beside Denisov, the pulsationof his body constantly increasing. It was getting lighter and lighter,but the mist still hid distant objects. Having reached the valley,Denisov 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 thetramp of horses galloping forward was heard, shouts came fromvarious sides, and then more shots.

　　At the first sound of trampling hoofs and shouting, Petya lashed hishorse and loosening his rein galloped forward, not heeding Denisov whoshouted at him. It seemed to Petya that at the moment the shot wasfired it suddenly became as bright as noon. He galloped to the bridge.Cossacks were galloping along the road in front of him. On thebridge he collided with a Cossack who had fallen behind, but hegalloped on. In front of him soldiers, probably Frenchmen, wererunning from right to left across the road. One of them fell in themud under his horse's feet.

　　Cossacks were crowding about a hut, busy with something. From themidst of that crowd terrible screams arose. Petya galloped up, and thefirst 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 Petya, and giving rein to hisexcited horse he galloped forward along the village street.

　　He could hear shooting ahead of him. Cossacks, hussars, and raggedRussian prisoners, who had come running from both sides of the road,were shouting something loudly and incoherently. A gallant-lookingFrenchman, in a blue overcoat, capless, and with a frowning redface, had been defending himself against the hussars. When Petyagalloped up the Frenchman had already fallen. "Too late again!"flashed through Petya's mind and he galloped on to the place fromwhich the rapid firing could be heard. The shots came from the yard ofthe landowner's house he had visited the night before with Dolokhov.The French were making a stand there behind a wattle fence in a gardenthickly overgrown with bushes and were firing at the Cossacks whocrowded at the gateway. Through the smoke, as he approached thegate, Petya saw Dolokhov, whose face was of a pale-greenish tint,shouting to his men. "Go round! Wait for the infantry!" he exclaimedas Petya rode up to him.

　　"Wait?... Hurrah-ah-ah!" shouted Petya, and without pausing a momentgalloped to the place whence came the sounds of firing and where thesmoke was thickest.

　　A volley was heard, and some bullets whistled past, while othersplashed against something. The Cossacks and Dolokhov galloped afterPetya into the gateway of the courtyard. In the dense wavering smokesome of the French threw down their arms and ran out of the bushesto meet the Cossacks, while others ran down the hill toward thepond. Petya was galloping along the courtyard, but instead ofholding the reins he waved both his arms about rapidly andstrangely, slipping farther and farther to one side in his saddle. Hishorse, having galloped up to a campfire that was smoldering in themorning light, stopped suddenly, and Petya fell heavily on to thewet ground. The Cossacks saw that his arms and legs jerked rapidlythough his head was quite motionless. A bullet had pierced his skull.

　　After speaking to the senior French officer, who came out of thehouse with a white handkerchief tied to his sword and announced thatthey surrendered, Dolokhov dismounted and went up to Petya, who laymotionless with outstretched arms.

　　"Done for!" he said with a frown, and went to the gate to meetDenisov who was riding toward him.

　　"Killed?" cried Denisov, recognizing from a distance theunmistakably lifeless attitude- very familiar to him- in which Petya'sbody was lying.

　　"Done for!" repeated Dolokhov as if the utterance of these wordsafforded him pleasure, and he went quickly up to the prisoners, whowere surrounded by Cossacks who had hurried up. "We won't takethem!" he called out to Denisov.

　　Denisov did not reply; he rode up to Petya, dismounted, and withtrembling 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 Petya's words. And the Cossacks looked round in surpriseat the sound, like the yelp of a dog, with which Denisov turnedaway, walked to the wattle fence, and seized hold of it.

　　Among the Russian prisoners rescued by Denisov and Dolokhov wasPierre Bezukhov.BK14|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　During the whole of their march from Moscow no fresh orders had beenissued by the French authorities concerning the party of prisonersamong whom was Pierre. On the twenty-second of October that partywas no longer with the same troops and baggage trains with which ithad left Moscow. Half the wagons laden with hardtack that had traveledthe first stages with them had been captured by Cossacks, the otherhalf had gone on ahead. Not one of those dismounted cavalrymen who hadmarched in front of the prisoners was left; they had alldisappeared. The artillery the prisoners had seen in front of themduring the first days was now replaced by Marshal Junot's enormousbaggage train, convoyed by Westphalians. Behind the prisoners came acavalry baggage train.

　　From Vyazma onwards the French army, which had till then moved inthree columns, went on as a single group. The symptoms of disorderthat Pierre had noticed at their first halting place after leavingMoscow had now reached the utmost limit.

　　The road along which they moved was bordered on both sides by deadhorses; ragged men who had fallen behind from various regimentscontinually changed about, now joining the moving column, now againlagging behind it.

　　Several times during the march false alarms had been given and thesoldiers of the escort had raised their muskets, fired, and runheadlong, crushing one another, but had afterwards reassembled andabused each other for their causeless panic.

　　These three groups traveling together- the cavalry stores, theconvoy of prisoners, and Junot's baggage train- still constituted aseparate and united whole, though each of the groups was rapidlymelting away.

　　Of the artillery baggage train which had consisted of a hundredand twenty wagons, not more than sixty now remained; the rest had beencaptured or left behind. Some of Junot's wagons also had been capturedor abandoned. Three wagons had been raided and robbed by stragglersfrom Davout's corps. From the talk of the Germans Pierre learnedthat a larger guard had been allotted to that baggage train than tothe prisoners, and that one of their comrades, a German soldier, hadbeen shot by the marshal's own order because a silver spoonbelonging to the marshal had been found in his possession.

　　The group of prisoners had melted away most of all. Of the threehundred and thirty men who had set out from Moscow fewer than ahundred now remained. The prisoners were more burdensome to the escortthan even the cavalry saddles or Junot's baggage. They understood thatthe saddles and Junot's spoon might be of some use, but that coldand hungry soldiers should have to stand and guard equally cold andhungry Russians who froze and lagged behind on the road (in which casethe order was to shoot them) was not merely incomprehensible butrevolting. And the escort, as if afraid, in the grievous conditionthey themselves were in, of giving way to the pity they felt for theprisoners and so rendering their own plight still worse, treatedthem with particular moroseness and severity.

　　At Dorogobuzh while the soldiers of the convoy, after locking theprisoners 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 officerprisoners should be kept separate from the rest, had long since beenabandoned. All who could walk went together, and after the third stagePierre had rejoined Karataev and the gray-blue bandy-legged dog thathad chosen Karataev for its master.

　　On the third day after leaving Moscow Karataev again fell ill withthe fever he had suffered from in the hospital in Moscow, and as hegrew gradually weaker Pierre kept away from him. Pierre did not knowwhy, but since Karataev had begun to grow weaker it had cost him aneffort to go near him. When he did so and heard the subdued moaningwith which Karataev generally lay down at the halting places, and whenhe smelled the odor emanating from him which was now stronger thanbefore, Pierre moved farther away and did not think about him.

　　While imprisoned in the shed Pierre had learned not with hisintellect but with his whole being, by life itself, that man iscreated for happiness, that happiness is within him, in thesatisfaction of simple human needs, and that all unhappiness arisesnot from privation but from superfluity. And now during these lastthree weeks of the march he had learned still another new, consolatorytruth- that nothing in this world is terrible. He had learned thatas there is no condition in which man can be happy and entirelyfree, so there is no condition in which he need be unhappy and lackfreedom. He learned that suffering and freedom have their limits andthat those limits are very near together; that the person in a bedof roses with one crumpled petal suffered as keenly as he now,sleeping on the bare damp earth with one side growing chilled whilethe other was warming; and that when he had put on tight dancing shoeshe had suffered just as he did now when he walked with bare feetthat were covered with sores- his footgear having long since fallen topieces. He discovered that when he had married his wife- of his ownfree will as it had seemed to him- he had been no more free than nowwhen they locked him up at night in a stable. Of all that he himselfsubsequently termed his sufferings, but which at the time hescarcely felt, the worst was the state of his bare, raw, andscab-covered feet. (The horseflesh was appetizing and nourishing,the saltpeter flavor of the gunpowder they used instead of salt waseven pleasant; there was no great cold, it was always warm walkingin the daytime, and at night there were the campfires; the lice thatdevoured him warmed his body.) The one thing that was at first hard tobear was his feet.

　　After the second day's march Pierre, having examined his feet by thecampfire, thought it would be impossible to walk on them; but wheneverybody got up he went along, limping, and, when he had warmed up,walked without feeling the pain, though at night his feet were moreterrible 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 thesaving power he has of transferring his attention from one thing toanother, which is like the safety valve of a boiler that allowssuperfluous steam to blow off when the pressure exceeds a certainlimit.

　　He did not see and did not hear how they shot the prisoners wholagged behind, though more than a hundred perished in that way. He didnot think of Karataev who grew weaker every day and evidently wouldsoon have to share that fate. Still less did Pierre think abouthimself. The harder his position became and the more terrible thefuture, the more independent of that position in which he foundhimself were the joyful and comforting thoughts, memories, andimaginings that came to him.BK14|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　At midday on the twenty-second of October Pierre was going uphillalong the muddy, slippery road, looking at his feet and at theroughness of the way. Occasionally he glanced at the familiar crowdaround him and then again at his feet. The former and the latterwere alike familiar and his own. The blue-gray bandy legged dog ranmerrily along the side of the road, sometimes in proof of itsagility and self-satisfaction lifting one hind leg and hopping alongon three, and then again going on all four and rushing to bark atthe crows that sat on the carrion. The dog was merrier and sleekerthan it had been in Moscow. All around lay the flesh of differentanimals- from men to horses- in various stages of decomposition; andas the wolves were kept off by the passing men the dog could eat allit wanted.

　　It had been raining since morning and had seemed as if at any momentit might cease and the sky clear, but after a short break it beganraining harder than before. The saturated road no longer absorbedthe water, which ran along the ruts in streams.

　　Pierre walked along, looking from side to side, counting his stepsin threes, and reckoning them off on his fingers. Mentallyaddressing the rain, he repeated: "Now then, now then, go on! Peltharder!"

　　It seemed to him that he was thinking of nothing, but far down anddeep within him his soul was occupied with something important andcomforting. This something was a most subtle spiritual deductionfrom a conversation with Karataev the day before.

　　At their yesterday's halting place, feeling chilly by a dyingcampfire, Pierre had got up and gone to the next one, which wasburning better. There Platon Karataev was sitting covered up- head andall- with his greatcoat as if it were a vestment, telling the soldiersin his effective and pleasant though now feeble voice a story Pierreknew. It was already past midnight, the hour when Karataev was usuallyfree of his fever and particularly lively. When Pierre reached thefire and heard Platon's voice enfeebled by illness, and saw hispathetic face brightly lit up by the blaze, he felt a painful prick athis heart. His feeling of pity for this man frightened him and hewished to go away, but there was no other fire, and Pierre sat down,trying not to look at Platon.

　　"Well, how are you?" he asked.

　　"How am I? If we grumble at sickness, God won't grant us death,"replied Platon, and at once resumed the story he had begun.

　　"And so, brother," he continued, with a smile on his paleemaciated face and a particularly happy light in his eyes, " yousee, brother..."

　　Pierre had long been familiar with that story. Karataev had toldit to him alone some half-dozen times and always with a speciallyjoyful emotion. But well as he knew it, Pierre now listened to thattale as to something new, and the quiet rapture Karataev evidentlyfelt as he told it communicated itself also to Pierre. The story wasof an old merchant who lived a good and God-fearing life with hisfamily, and who went once to the Nizhni fair with a companion- arich merchant.

　　Having put up at an inn they both went to sleep, and next morninghis companion was found robbed and with his throat cut. A bloodstainedknife was found under the old merchant's pillow. He was tried,knouted, and his nostrils having been torn off, "all in due form" asKarataev put it, he was sent to hard labor in Siberia.

　　"And so, brother" (it was at this point that Pierre came up), "tenyears or more passed by. The old man was living as a convict,submitting as he should and doing no wrong. Only he prayed to Godfor death. Well, one night the convicts were gathered just as weare, with the old man among them. And they began telling what each wassuffering for, and how they had sinned against God. One told how hehad taken a life, another had taken two, a third had set a house onfire, while another had simply been a vagrant and had done nothing. Sothey asked the old man: 'What are you being punished for, Daddy?'- 'I,my dear brothers,' said he, 'am being punished for my own and othermen's sins. But I have not killed anyone or taken anything that wasnot mine, but have only helped my poorer brothers. I was a merchant,my dear brothers, and had much property. 'And he went on to tellthem all about it in due order. 'I don't grieve for myself,' hesays, 'God, it seems, has chastened me. Only I am sorry for my oldwife and the children,' and the old man began to weep. Now it happenedthat in the group was the very man who had killed the othermerchant. 'Where did it happen, Daddy?' he said. 'When, and in whatmonth?' He asked all about it and his heart began to ache. So he comesup to the old man like this, and falls down at his feet! 'You areperishing because of me, Daddy,' he says. 'It's quite true, lads, thatthis 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 youwere asleep. Forgive me, Daddy,' he says, 'for Christ's sake!'"

　　Karataev paused, smiling joyously as he gazed into the fire, andhe drew the logs together.

　　"And the old man said, 'God will forgive you, we are all sinnersin His sight. I suffer for my own sins,' and he wept bitter tears.Well, and what do you think, dear friends?" Karataev continued, hisface brightening more and more with a rapturous smile as if what henow had to tell contained the chief charm and the whole meaning of hisstory: "What do you think, dear fellows? That murderer confessed tothe authorities. 'I have taken six lives,' he says (he was a greatsinner), 'but what I am most sorry for is this old man. Don't lethim suffer because of me.' So he confessed and it was all written downand the papers sent off in due form. The place was a long way off, andwhile they were judging, what with one thing and another, filling inthe papers all in due form- the authorities I mean- time passed. Theaffair reached the Tsar. After a while the Tsar's decree came: toset the merchant free and give him a compensation that had beenawarded. 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? Apaper has come from the Tsar!' so they began looking for him," hereKarataev's lower jaw trembled, "but God had already forgiven him- hewas dead! That's how it was, dear fellows!" Karataev concluded and satfor a long time silent, gazing before him with a smile.

　　And Pierre's soul was dimly but joyfully filled not by the storyitself but by its mysterious significance: by the rapturous joy thatlit up Karataev's face as he told it, and the mystic significance ofthat joy.BK14|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　"A vos places!"* suddenly cried a voice.

　　*"To your places."

　　A pleasant feeling of excitement and an expectation of somethingjoyful and solemn was aroused among the soldiers of the convoy and theprisoners. From all sides came shouts of command, and from the leftcame smartly dressed cavalrymen on good horses, passing theprisoners at a trot. The expression on all faces showed the tensionpeople feel at the approach of those in authority. The prisonersthronged together and were pushed off the road. The convoy formed up.

　　"The Emperor! The Emperor! The Marshal! The Duke!" and hardly hadthe sleek cavalry passed, before a carriage drawn by six gray horsesrattled by. Pierre caught a glimpse of a man in a three-cornered hatwith a tranquil look on his handsome, plump, white face. It was one ofthe marshals. His eye fell on Pierre's large and striking figure,and in the expression with which he frowned and looked away Pierrethought he detected sympathy and a desire to conceal that sympathy.

　　The general in charge of the stores galloped after the carriage witha red and frightened face, whipping up his skinny horse. Severalofficers formed a group and some soldiers crowded round them. Theirfaces 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 ina crowd, and Pierre saw Karataev whom he had not yet seen thatmorning. He sat in his short overcoat leaning against a birch tree. Onhis face, besides the look of joyful emotion it had worn yesterdaywhile telling the tale of the merchant who suffered innocently,there was now an expression of quiet solemnity.

　　Karataev looked at Pierre with his kindly round eyes now filled withtears, evidently wishing him to come near that he might saysomething 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.Karataev was still sitting at the side of the road under the birchtree and two Frenchmen were talking over his head. Pierre did not lookround again but went limping up the hill.

　　From behind, where Karataev had been sitting, came the sound of ashot. Pierre heard it plainly, but at that moment he remembered thathe had not yet finished reckoning up how many stages still remained toSmolensk- a calculation he had begun before the marshal went by. Andhe again started reckoning. Two French soldiers ran past Pierre, oneof whom carried a lowered and smoking gun. They both looked pale,and in the expression on their faces- one of them glanced timidly atPierre- there was something resembling what he had seen on the face ofthe young soldier at the execution. Pierre looked at the soldier andremembered that, two days before, that man had burned his shirtwhile drying it at the fire and how they had laughed at him.

　　Behind him, where Karataev had been sitting, the dog began tohowl. "What a stupid beast! Why is it howling?" thought Pierre.

　　His comrades, the prisoner soldiers walking beside him, avoidedlooking back at the place where the shot had been fired and the dogwas howling, just as Pierre did, but there was a set look on all theirfaces.BK14|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　The stores, the prisoners, and the marshal's baggage train stoppedat the village of Shamshevo. The men crowded together round thecampfires. Pierre went up to the fire, ate some roast horseflesh,lay down with his back to the fire, and immediately fell asleep. Heagain slept as he had done at Mozhaysk after the battle of Borodino.

　　Again real events mingled with dreams and again someone, he oranother, gave expression to his thoughts, and even to the samethoughts that had been expressed in his dream at Mozhaysk.

　　"Life is everything. Life is God. Everything changes and moves andthat movement is God. And while there is life there is joy inconsciousness of the divine. To love life is to love God. Harder andmore blessed than all else is to love this life in one's sufferings,in innocent sufferings."

　　"Karataev!" came to Pierre's mind.

　　And suddenly he saw vividly before him a long-forgotten, kindlyold man who had given him geography lessons in Switzerland. "Wait abit," said the old man, and showed Pierre a globe. This globe wasalive- a vibrating ball without fixed dimensions. Its whole surfaceconsisted of drops closely pressed together, and all these drops movedand changed places, sometimes several of them merging into one,sometimes one dividing into many. Each drop tried to spread out andoccupy as much space as possible, but others striving to do the samecompressed 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 notknow it before?"

　　"God is in the midst, and each drop tries to expand so as to reflectHim to the greatest extent. And it grows, merges, disappears fromthe surface, sinks to the depths, and again emerges. There now,Karataev 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 aRussian soldier away was squatting by the fire, engaged in roastinga piece of meat stuck on a ramrod. His sleeves were rolled up andhis sinewy, hairy, red hands with their short fingers deftly turnedthe ramrod. His brown morose face with frowning brows was clearlyvisible by the glow of the charcoal.

　　"It's all the same to him," he muttered, turning quickly to asoldier who stood behind him. "Brigand! Get away!"

　　And twisting the ramrod he looked gloomily at Pierre, who turnedaway and gazed into the darkness. A prisoner, the Russian soldierthe Frenchman had pushed away, was sitting near the fire pattingsomething with his hand. Looking more closely Pierre recognized theblue-gray dog, sitting beside the soldier, wagging its tail.

　　"Ah, he's come?" said Pierre. "And Plat-" he began, but did notfinish.

　　Suddenly and simultaneously a crowd of memories awoke in hisfancy- of the look Platon had given him as he sat under the tree, ofthe shot heard from that spot, of the dog's howl, of the guiltyfaces of the two Frenchmen as they ran past him, of the lowered andsmoking gun, and of Karataev's absence at this halt- and he was on thepoint of realizing that Karataev had been killed, but just at thatinstant, he knew not why, the recollection came to his mind of asummer evening he had spent with a beautiful Polish lady on theveranda of his house in Kiev. And without linking up the events of theday or drawing a conclusion from them, Pierre closed his eyes,seeing a vision of the country in summertime mingled with memoriesof bathing and of the liquid, vibrating globe, and he sank intowater so that it closed over his head.

　　Before sunrise he was awakened by shouts and loud and rapidfiring. French soldiers were running past him.

　　"The Cossacks!" one of them shouted, and a moment later a crowd ofRussians 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 offeredthem clothes, another boots, and a third bread. Pierre sobbed as hesat among them and could not utter a word. He hugged the first soldierwho approached him, and kissed him, weeping.

　　Dolokhov stood at the gate of the ruined house, letting a crowd ofdisarmed Frenchmen pass by. The French, excited by all that hadhappened, were talking loudly among themselves, but as they passedDolokhov who gently switched his boots with his whip and watchedthem with cold glassy eyes that boded no good, they became silent.On the opposite side stood Dolokhov's Cossack, counting theprisoners and marking off each hundred with a chalk line on the gate.

　　"How many?" Dolokhov asked the Cossack.

　　"The second hundred," replied the Cossack.

　　"Filez, filez!"* Dolokhov kept saying, having adopted thisexpression from the French, and when his eyes met those of theprisoners they flashed with a cruel light.

　　*"Get along, get along!"

　　Denisov, bareheaded and with a gloomy face, walked behind someCossacks who were carrying the body of Petya Rostov to a hole that hadbeen dug in the garden.BK14|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　After the twenty-eighth of October when the frosts began, the flightof the French assumed a still more tragic character, with menfreezing, or roasting themselves to death at the campfires, whilecarriages 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 theFrench army went on essentially as before.

　　From Moscow to Vyazma the French army of seventy-three thousandmen not reckoning the Guards (who did nothing during the whole war butpillage) was reduced to thirty-six thousand, though not more than fivethousand had fallen in battle. From this beginning the succeedingterms of the progression could be determined mathematically. TheFrench army melted away and perished at the same rate from Moscow toVyazma, from Vyazma to Smolensk, from Smolensk to the Berezina, andfrom the Berezina to Vilna- independently of the greater or lesserintensity of the cold, the pursuit, the barring of the way, or anyother particular conditions. Beyond Vyazma the French army insteadof moving in three columns huddled together into one mass, and so wenton to the end. Berthier wrote to his Emperor (we know how farcommanding officers allow themselves to diverge from the truth indescribing the condition of an army) and this is what he said:

　　I deem it my duty to report to Your Majesty the condition of thevarious corps I have had occasion to observe during different stagesof the last two or three days' march. They are almost disbanded.Scarcely a quarter of the soldiers remain with the standards oftheir regiments, the others go off by themselves in differentdirections hoping to find food and escape discipline. In generalthey regard Smolensk as the place where they hope to recover. Duringthe last few days many of the men have been seen to throw away theircartridges and their arms. In such a state of affairs, whatever yourultimate plans may be, the interest of Your Majesty's servicedemands that the army should be rallied at Smolensk and should firstof all be freed from ineffectives, such as dismounted cavalry,unnecessary baggage, and artillery material that is no longer inproportion to the present forces. The soldiers, who are worn outwith hunger and fatigue, need these supplies as well as a few days'rest. Many have died last days on the road or at the bivouacs. Thisstate of things is continually becoming worse and makes one fearthat unless a prompt remedy is applied the troops will no longer beunder control in case of an engagement.

　　November 9: twenty miles from Smolensk.

　　After staggering into Smolensk which seemed to them a promised land,the French, searching for food, killed one another, sacked their ownstores, 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 anyorders to him. But still he and those about him retained their oldhabits: wrote commands, letters, reports, and orders of the day;called one another sire, mon cousin, prince d'Eckmuhl, roi deNaples, 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, orCousins, they all felt that they were miserable wretches who haddone much evil for which they had now to pay. And though theypretended to be concerned about the army, each was thinking only ofhimself and of how to get away quickly and save himself.BK14|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　The movements of the Russian and French armies during the campaignfrom Moscow back to the Niemen were like those in a game of Russianblindman's bluff, in which two players are blindfolded and one of themoccasionally rings a little bell to inform the catcher of hiswhereabouts. First he rings his bell fearlessly, but when he gets intoa tight place he runs away as quietly as he can, and often thinking toescape runs straight into his opponent's arms.

　　At first while they were still moving along the Kaluga road,Napoleon's armies made their presence known, but later when theyreached the Smolensk road they ran holding the clapper of their belltight- and often thinking they were escaping ran right into theRussians.

　　Owing to the rapidity of the French flight and the Russian pursuitand the consequent exhaustion of the horses, the chief means ofapproximately ascertaining the enemy's position- by cavalryscouting- was not available. Besides, as a result of the frequentand rapid change of position by each army, even what information wasobtained could not be delivered in time. If news was received oneday that the enemy had been in a certain position the day before, bythe third day when something could have been done, that army wasalready two days' march farther on and in quite another position.

　　One army fled and the other pursued. Beyond Smolensk there wereseveral different roads available for the French, and one would havethought that during their stay of four days they might have learnedwhere the enemy was, might have arranged some more advantageous planand undertaken something new. But after a four days' halt the mob,with no maneuvers or plans, again began running along the beatentrack, neither to the right nor to the left but along the old- theworst- road, through Krasnoe and Orsha.

　　Expecting the enemy from behind and not in front, the Frenchseparated in their flight and spread out over a distance oftwenty-four hours. In front of them all fled the Emperor, then thekings, then the dukes. The Russian army, expecting Napoleon to takethe road to the right beyond the Dnieper- which was the onlyreasonable thing for him to do- themselves turned to the right andcame out onto the highroad at Krasnoe. And here as in a game ofblindman's buff the French ran into our vanguard. Seeing their enemyunexpectedly the French fell into confusion and stopped short from thesudden fright, but then they resumed their flight, abandoning theircomrades who were farther behind. Then for three days separateportions of the French army- first Murat's (the vice-king's), thenDavout's, and then Ney's- ran, as it were, the gauntlet of the Russianarmy. They abandoned one another, abandoned all their heavy baggage,their artillery, and half their men, and fled, getting past theRussians by night by making semicircles to the right.

　　Ney, who came last, had been busying himself blowing up the walls ofSmolensk which were in nobody's way, because despite the unfortunateplight of the French or because of it, they wished to punish the flooragainst which they had hurt themselves. Ney, who had had a corps often thousand men, reached Napoleon at Orsha with only one thousand menleft, having abandoned all the rest and all his cannon, and havingcrossed the Dnieper at night by stealth at a wooded spot.

　　From Orsha they fled farther along the road to Vilna, stillplaying at blindman's buff with the pursuing army. At the Berezinathey again became disorganized, many were drowned and manysurrendered, but those who got across the river fled farther. Theirsupreme chief donned a fur coat and, having seated himself in asleigh, galloped on alone, abandoning his companions. The others whocould do so drove away too, leaving those who could not to surrenderor die.BK14|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　This campaign consisted in a flight of the French during whichthey did all they could to destroy themselves. From the time theyturned onto the Kaluga road to the day their leader fled from thearmy, none of the movements of the crowd had any sense. So one mighthave thought that regarding this period of the campaign thehistorians, who attributed the actions of the mass to the will ofone man, would have found it impossible to make the story of theretreat fit their theory. But no! Mountains of books have been writtenby the historians about this campaign, and everywhere are describedNapoleon's arrangements, the maneuvers, and his profound plans whichguided the army, as well as the military genius shown by his marshals.

　　The retreat from Malo-Yaroslavets when he had a free road into awell-supplied district and the parallel road was open to him alongwhich Kutuzov afterwards pursued him- this unnecessary retreat along adevastated road- is explained to us as being due to profoundconsiderations. Similarly profound considerations are given for hisretreat from Smolensk to Orsha. Then his heroism at Krasnoe isdescribed, where he is reported to have been prepared to accept battleand take personal command, and to have walked about with a birch stickand said:

　　"J'ai assez fait l'empereur; il est temps de faire le general,"* butnevertheless immediately ran away again, abandoning to its fate thescattered fragments of the army he left behind.

　　*"I have acted the Emperor long enough; it is time to act thegeneral."

　　Then we are told of the greatness of soul of the marshals,especially of Ney- a greatness of soul consisting in this: that hemade his way by night around through the forest and across the Dnieperand escaped to Orsha, abandoning standards, artillery, and nine tenthsof his men.

　　And lastly, the final departure of the great Emperor from his heroicarmy is presented to us by the historians as something great andcharacteristic of genius. Even that final running away, described inordinary language as the lowest depth of baseness which every child istaught to be ashamed of- even that act finds justification in thehistorians' language.

　　When it is impossible to stretch the very elastic threads ofhistorical ratiocination any farther, when actions are clearlycontrary to all that humanity calls right or even just, the historiansproduce a saving conception of "greatness." "Greatness," it seems,excludes the standards of right and wrong. For the "great" man nothingis wrong, there is no atrocity for which a "great" man can be blamed.

　　"C'est grand!"* say the historians, and there no longer existseither good or evil but only "grand" and "not grand." Grand is good,not grand is bad. Grand is the characteristic, in their conception, ofsome special animals called "heroes." And Napoleon, escaping home in awarm fur coat and leaving to perish those who were not merely hiscomrades but were (in his opinion) men he had brought there, feels quec'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'ya qu'un pas,"* said he. And the whole world for fifty years has beenrepeating: "Sublime! Grand! Napoleon le Grand!" Du sublime au ridiculeil 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 notcommensurable with the standard of right and wrong is merely toadmit one's own nothingness and immeasurable meanness.

　　For us with the standard of good and evil given us by Christ, nohuman actions are incommensurable. And there is no greatness wheresimplicity, goodness, and truth are absent.BK14|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　What Russian, reading the account of the last part of the campaignof 1812, has not experienced an uncomfortable feeling of regret,dissatisfaction, and perplexity? Who has not asked himself how it isthat the French were not all captured or destroyed when our threearmies surrounded them in superior numbers, when the disorderedFrench, hungry and freezing, surrendered in crowds, and when (as thehistorians 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 thanthe French had given battle at Borodino, did not achieve its purposewhen it had surrounded the French on three sides and when its aimwas to capture them? Can the French be so enormously superior to usthat when we had surrounded them with superior forces we could notbeat them? How could that happen?

　　History (or what is called by that name) replying to these questionssays that this occurred because Kutuzov and Tormasov and Chichagov,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 wereguilty of not carrying out a prearranged plan were they not triedand punished? But even if we admitted that Kutuzov, Chichagov, andothers were the cause of the Russian failures, it is stillincomprehensible why, the position of the Russian army being what itwas at Krasnoe and at the Berezina (in both cases we had superiorforces), the French army with its marshals, kings, and Emperor was notcaptured, if that was what the Russians aimed at.

　　The explanation of this strange fact given by Russian militaryhistorians (to the effect that Kutuzov hindered an attack) isunfounded, for we know that he could not restrain the troops fromattacking at Vyazma and Tarutino.

　　Why was the Russian army- which with inferior forces had withstoodthe enemy in full strength at Borodino- defeated at Krasnoe and theBerezina by the disorganized crowds of the French when it wasnumerically superior?

　　If the aim of the Russians consisted in cutting off and capturingNapoleon and his marshals- and that aim was not merely frustratedbut all attempts to attain it were most shamefully baffled- thenthis last period of the campaign is quite rightly considered by theFrench to be a series of victories, and quite wrongly consideredvictorious by Russian historians.

　　The Russian military historians in so far as they submit to claimsof logic must admit that conclusion, and in spite of their lyricalrhapsodies about valor, devotion, and so forth, must reluctantly admitthat the French retreat from Moscow was a series of victories forNapoleon and defeats for Kutuzov.

　　But putting national vanity entirely aside one feels that such aconclusion involves a contradiction, since the series of Frenchvictories brought the French complete destruction, while the series ofRussian defeats led to the total destruction of their enemy and theliberation of their country.

　　The source of this contradiction lies in the fact that thehistorians studying the events from the letters of the sovereignsand the generals, from memoirs, reports, projects, and so forth,have attributed to this last period of the war of 1812 an aim thatnever existed, namely that of cutting off and capturing Napoleonwith his marshals and his army.

　　There never was or could have been such an aim, for it would havebeen senseless and its attainment quite impossible.

　　It would have been senseless, first because Napoleon'sdisorganized army was flying from Russia with all possible speed, thatis to say, was doing just what every Russian desired. So what wasthe use of performing various operations on the French who wererunning away as fast as they possibly could?

　　Secondly, it would have been senseless to block the passage of menwhose whole energy was directed to flight.

　　Thirdly, it would have been senseless to sacrifice one's owntroops in order to destroy the French army, which without externalinterference was destroying itself at such a rate that, though itspath was not blocked, it could not carry across the frontier more thanit actually did in December, namely a hundredth part of the originalarmy.

　　Fourthly, it would have been senseless to wish to take captive theEmperor, kings, and dukes- whose capture would have been in thehighest degree embarrassing for the Russians, as the most adroitdiplomatists of the time (Joseph de Maistre and others) recognized.Still more senseless would have been the wish to capture army corps ofthe French, when our own army had melted away to half beforereaching Krasnoe and a whole division would have been needed to convoythe corps of prisoners, and when our men were not always gettingfull rations and the prisoners already taken were perishing of hunger.

　　All the profound plans about cutting off and capturing Napoleonand his army were like the plan of a market gardener who, when drivingout of his garden a cow that had trampled down the beds he hadplanted, should run to the gate and hit the cow on the head. Theonly thing to be said in excuse of that gardener would be that hewas very angry. But not even that could be said for those who drewup this project, for it was not they who had suffered from thetrampled beds.

　　But besides the fact that cutting off Napoleon with his army wouldhave been senseless, it was impossible.

　　It was impossible first because- as experience shows that athree-mile movement of columns on a battlefield never coincides withthe plans- the probability of Chichagov, Kutuzov, and Wittgensteineffecting a junction on time at an appointed place was so remote as tobe tantamount to impossibility, as in fact thought Kutuzov, who whenhe received the plan remarked that diversions planned over greatdistances do not yield the desired results.

　　Secondly it was impossible, because to paralyze the momentum withwhich Napoleon's army was retiring, incomparably greater forces thanthe 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 isalways plenty of room to avoid capture and there is the night whennothing can be seen, as the military scientists might convincethemselves by the example of Krasnoe and of the Berezina. It is onlypossible to capture prisoners if they agree to be captured, just as itis only possible to catch a swallow if it settles on one's hand. Mencan only be taken prisoners if they surrender according to the rulesof strategy and tactics, as the Germans did. But the French troopsquite rightly did not consider that this suited them, since death byhunger and cold awaited them in flight or captivity alike.

　　Fourthly and chiefly it was impossible, because never since theworld began has a war been fought under such conditions as thosethat obtained in 1812, and the Russian army in its pursuit of theFrench strained its strength to the utmost and could not have donemore without destroying itself.

　　During the movement of the Russian army from Tarutino to Krasnoeit lost fifty thousand sick or stragglers, that is a number equal tothe population of a large provincial town. Half the men fell out ofthe army without a battle.

　　And it is of this period of the campaign- when the army lacked bootsand sheepskin coats, was short of provisions and without vodka, andwas camping out at night for months in the snow with fifteen degreesof frost, when there were only seven or eight hours of daylight andthe rest was night in which the influence of discipline cannot bemaintained, when men were taken into that region of death wherediscipline fails, not for a few hours only as in a battle, but formonths, where they were every moment fighting death from hunger andcold, when half the army perished in a single month- it is of thisperiod of the campaign that the historians tell us how Miloradovichshould have made a flank march to such and such a place, Tormasov toanother place, and Chichagov should have crossed (more thanknee-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 shouldhave been done to attain an end worthy of the nation, and they are notto blame because other Russians, sitting in warm rooms, proposedthat they should do what was impossible.

　　All that strange contradiction now difficult to understand betweenthe facts and the historical accounts only arises because thehistorians dealing with the matter have written the history of thebeautiful words and sentiments of various generals, and not thehistory of the events.

　　To them the words of Miloradovich seem very interesting, and so dotheir surmises and the rewards this or that general received; butthe question of those fifty thousand men who were left in hospitalsand in graves does not even interest them, for it does not come withinthe range of their investigation.

　　Yet one need only discard the study of the reports and general plansand consider the movement of those hundreds of thousands of men whotook a direct part in the events, and all the questions that seemedinsoluble easily and simply receive an immediate and certain solution.

　　The aim of cutting off Napoleon and his army never existed except inthe imaginations of a dozen people. It could not exist because itwas 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 Frenchran away, and so it was only necessary not to stop their flight.Secondly it was attained by the guerrilla warfare which was destroyingthe French, and thirdly by the fact that a large Russian army wasfollowing the French, ready to use its strength in case their movementstopped.

　　The Russian army had to act like a whip to a running animal. And theexperienced driver knew it was better to hold the whip raised as amenace 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 itis a beloved and intimate human being that is dying, besides thishorror at the extinction of life there is a severance, a spiritualwound, which like a physical wound is sometimes fatal and sometimesheals, but always aches and shrinks at any external irritating touch.

　　After Prince Andrew's death Natasha and Princess Mary alike feltthis. Drooping in spirit and closing their eyes before the menacingcloud of death that overhung them, they dared not look life in theface. They carefully guarded their open wounds from any rough andpainful contact. Everything: a carriage passing rapidly in the street,a summons to dinner, the maid's inquiry what dress to prepare, orworse still any word of insincere or feeble sympathy, seemed aninsult, painfully irritated the wound, interrupting that necessaryquiet in which they both tried to listen to the stern and dreadfulchoir that still resounded in their imagination, and hindered theirgazing into those mysterious limitless vistas that for an instanthad opened out before them.

　　Only when alone together were they free from such outrage andpain. They spoke little even to one another, and when they did itwas of very unimportant matters.

　　Both avoided any allusion to the future. To admit the possibility ofa future seemed to them to insult his memory. Still more carefully didthey avoid anything relating to him who was dead. It seemed to themthat what they had lived through and experienced could not beexpressed in words, and that any reference to the details of hislife infringed the majesty and sacredness of the mystery that had beenaccomplished before their eyes.

　　Continued abstention from speech, and constant avoidance ofeverything that might lead up to the subject- this halting on allsides at the boundary of what they might not mention- brought beforetheir minds with still greater purity and clearness what they wereboth feeling.

　　But pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and completejoy. Princess Mary, in her position as absolute and independentarbiter of her own fate and guardian and instructor of her nephew, wasthe first to be called back to life from that realm of sorrow in whichshe had dwelt for the first fortnight. She received letters from herrelations to which she had to reply; the room in which little Nicholashad been put was damp and he began to cough; Alpatych came toYaroslavl with reports on the state of their affairs and with adviceand suggestions that they should return to Moscow to the house onthe Vozdvizhenka Street, which had remained uninjured and neededonly slight repairs. Life did not stand still and it was necessaryto live. Hard as it was for Princess Mary to emerge from the realmof secluded contemplation in which she had lived till then, andsorry and almost ashamed as she felt to leave Natasha alone, yet thecares of life demanded her attention and she involuntarily yieldedto them. She went through the accounts with Alpatych, conferred withDessalles about her nephew, and gave orders and made preparationsfor the journey to Moscow.

　　Natasha remained alone and, from the time Princess Mary began makingpreparations for departure, held aloof from her too.

　　Princess Mary asked the countess to let Natasha go with her toMoscow, and both parents gladly accepted this offer, for they sawtheir daughter losing strength every day and thought that a changeof scene and the advice of Moscow doctors would be good for her.

　　"I am not going anywhere," Natasha replied when this was proposed toher. "Do please just leave me alone!" And she ran out of the room,with difficulty refraining from tears of vexation and irritationrather than of sorrow.

　　After she felt herself deserted by Princes Mary and alone in hergrief, Natasha spent most of the time in her room by herself,sitting huddled up feet and all in the corner of the sofa, tearing andtwisting something with her slender nervous fingers and gazingintently and fixedly at whatever her eyes chanced to fall on. Thissolitude exhausted and tormented her but she was in absolute need ofit. As soon as anyone entered she got up quickly, changed her positionand expression, and picked up a book or some sewing, evidently waitingimpatiently for the intruder to go.

　　She felt all the time as if she might at any moment penetrate thaton which- with a terrible questioning too great for her strength-her spiritual gaze was fixed.

　　One day toward the end of December Natasha, pale and thin, dressedin a black woolen gown, her plaited hair negligently twisted into aknot, was crouched feet and all in the corner of her sofa, nervouslycrumpling and smoothing out the end of her sash while she looked ata corner of the door.

　　She was gazing in the direction in which he had gone- to the otherside of life. And that other side of life, of which she had neverbefore thought and which had formerly seemed to her so far away andimprobable, was now nearer and more akin and more comprehensiblethan this side of life, where everything was either emptiness anddesolation or suffering and indignity.

　　She was gazing where she knew him to be; but she could not imaginehim otherwise than as he had been here. She now saw him again as hehad been at Mytishchi, at Troitsa, and at Yaroslavl.

　　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, leaninghis head on his thin pale hand. His chest is dreadfully hollow and hisshoulders raised. His lips are firmly closed, his eyes glitter, anda wrinkle comes and goes on his pale forehead. One of his legstwitches just perceptibly, but rapidly. Natasha knows that he isstruggling with terrible pain. "What is that pain like? Why does hehave that pain? What does he feel? How does it hurt him?" thoughtNatasha. He noticed her watching him, raised his eyes, and began tospeak seriously:

　　"One thing would be terrible," said he: "to bind oneself foreverto a suffering man. It would be continual torture." And he lookedsearchingly at her. Natasha as usual answered before she had time tothink what she would say. She said: "This can't go on- it won't. Youwill get well- quite well."

　　She now saw him from the commencement of that scene and relived whatshe had then felt. She recalled his long sad and severe look atthose words and understood the meaning of the rebuke and despair inthat protracted gaze.

　　"I agreed," Natasha now said to herself, "that it would bedreadful if he always continued to suffer. I said it then only becauseit would have been dreadful for him, but he understood it differently.He thought it would be dreadful for me. He then still wished to liveand feared death. And I said it so awkwardly and stupidly! I did notsay what I meant. I thought quite differently. Had I said what Ithought, I should have said: even if he had to go on dying, to diecontinually before my eyes, I should have been happy compared withwhat 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 bepossible to put it right." And now he again seemed to be saying thesame words to her, only in her imagination Natasha this time gavehim 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 hetook her hand and pressed it as he had pressed it that terribleevening four days before his death. And in her imagination she saidother tender and loving words which she might have said then butonly spoke now: "I love thee!... thee! I love, love..." she said,convulsively pressing her hands and setting her teeth with a desperateeffort...

　　She was overcome by sweet sorrow and tears were already rising inher eyes; then she suddenly asked herself to whom she was saying this.Again everything was shrouded in hard, dry perplexity, and againwith a strained frown she peered toward the world where he was. Andnow, now it seemed to her she was penetrating the mystery.... But atthe instant when it seemed that the incomprehensible was revealingitself to her a loud rattle of the door handle struck painfully on herears. Dunyasha, her maid, entered the room quickly and abruptly with afrightened 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 Ilynich... a letter," shefinished with a sob.BK15|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　Besides a feeling of aloofness from everybody Natasha was feelinga special estrangement from the members of her own family. All ofthem- her father, mother, and Sonya- were so near to her, so familiar,so commonplace, that all their words and feelings seemed an insultto the world in which she had been living of late, and she felt notmerely indifferent to them but regarded them with hostility. She heardDunyasha's words about Peter Ilynich and a misfortune, but did notgrasp them.

　　"What misfortune? What misfortune can happen to them? They just livetheir own old, quiet, and commonplace life," thought Natasha.

　　As she entered the ballroom her father was hurriedly coming out ofher mother's room. His face was puckered up and wet with tears. He hadevidently run out of that room to give vent to the sobs that werechoking him. When he saw Natasha he waved his arms despairingly andburst into convulsively painful sobs that distorted his soft roundface.

　　"Pe... Petya... Go, go, she... is calling..." and weeping like achild and quickly shuffling on his feeble legs to a chair, he almostfell into it, covering his face with his hands.

　　Suddenly an electric shock seemed to run through Natasha's wholebeing. Terrible anguish struck her heart, she felt a dreadful acheas if something was being torn inside her and she were dying. Butthe pain was immediately followed by a feeling of release from theoppressive constraint that had prevented her taking part in life.The sight of her father, the terribly wild cries of her mother thatshe heard through the door, made her immediately forget herself andher own grief.

　　She ran to her father, but he feebly waved his arm, pointing toher mother's door. Princess Mary, pale and with quivering chin, cameout from that room and taking Natasha by the arm said something toher. Natasha neither saw nor heard her. She went in with rapidsteps, pausing at the door for an instant as if struggling withherself, and then ran to her mother.

　　The countess was lying in an armchair in a strange and awkwardposition, stretching out and beating her head against the wall.Sonya and the maids were holding her arms.

　　"Natasha! Natasha!..." cried the countess. "It's not true... it'snot true... He's lying... Natasha!" she shrieked, pushing those aroundher away. "Go away, all of you; it's not true! Killed!... ha, ha,ha!... It's not true!"

　　Natasha put one knee on the armchair, stooped over her mother,embraced her, and with unexpected strength raised her, turned her facetoward herself, and clung to her.

　　"Mummy!... darling!... I am here, my dearest Mummy," she kept onwhispering, 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 hermother's dress.

　　"My dearest darling... Mummy, my precious!..." she whisperedincessantly, kissing her head, her hands, her face, and feeling herown irrepressible and streaming tears tickling her nose and cheeks.

　　The countess pressed her daughter's hand, closed her eyes, andbecame quiet for a moment. Suddenly she sat up with unaccustomedswiftness, glanced vacantly around her, and seeing Natasha began topress her daughter's head with all her strength. Then she turnedtoward her daughter's face which was wincing with pain and gazedlong at it.

　　"Natasha, you love me?" she said in a soft trustful whisper."Natasha, you would not deceive me? You'll tell me the whole truth?"

　　Natasha looked at her with eyes full of tears and in her lookthere was nothing but love and an entreaty for forgiveness.

　　"My darling Mummy!" she repeated, straining all the power of herlove to find some way of taking on herself the excess of grief thatcrushed her mother.

　　And again in a futile struggle with reality her mother, refusingto believe that she could live when her beloved boy was killed inthe bloom of life, escaped from reality into a world of delirium.

　　Natasha did not remember how that day passed nor that night, nor thenext day and night. She did not sleep and did not leave her mother.Her persevering and patient love seemed completely to surround thecountess every moment, not explaining or consoling, but recallingher to life.

　　During the third night the countess kept very quiet for a fewminutes, and Natasha rested her head on the arm of her chair andclosed her eyes, but opened them again on hearing the bedsteadcreak. The countess was sitting up in bed and speaking softly.

　　"How glad I am you have come. You are tired. Won't you have sometea?" Natasha went up to her. "You have improved in looks and grownmore manly," continued the countess, taking her daughter's hand.

　　"Mamma! What are you saying..."

　　"Natasha, he is no more, no more!"

　　And embracing her daughter, the countess began to weep for the firsttime.BK15|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　Princess Mary postponed her departure. Sonya and the count triedto replace Natasha but could not. They saw that she alone was ableto restrain her mother from unreasoning despair. For three weeksNatasha remained constantly at her mother's side, sleeping on a loungechair in her room, making her eat and drink, and talking to herincessantly because the mere sound of her tender, caressing tonessoothed her mother.

　　The mother's wounded spirit could not could not heal. Petya'sdeath had torn from her half her life. When the news of Petya'sdeath had come she had been a fresh and vigorous woman of fifty, but amonth later she left her room a listless old woman taking nointerest in life. But the same blow that almost killed the countess,this second blow, restored Natasha to life.

　　A spiritual wound produced by a rending of the spiritual body islike a physical wound and, strange as it may seem, just as a deepwound may heal and its edges join, physical and spiritual wounds alikecan yet heal completely only as the result of a vital force fromwithin.

　　Natasha's wound healed in that way. She thought her life wasended, but her love for her mother unexpectedly showed her that theessence of life- love- was still active within her. Love awoke andso did life.

　　Prince Andrew's last days had bound Princess Mary and Natashatogether; this new sorrow brought them still closer to one another.Princess Mary put off her departure, and for three weeks lookedafter Natasha as if she had been a sick child. The last weeks passedin her mother's bedroom had strained Natasha's physical strength.

　　One afternoon noticing Natasha shivering with fever, Princess Marytook her to her own room and made her lie down on the bed. Natasha laydown, but when Princess Mary had drawn the blinds and was going awayshe 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.

　　Natasha lay on the bed and in the semidarkness of the room scannedPrincess Mary's face.

　　"Is she like him?" thought Natasha. "Yes, like and yet not like. Butshe 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 mindlike? 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 loveyou! Let us be quite, quite friends."

　　And Natasha, embracing her, began kissing her face and hands, makingPrincess Mary feel shy but happy by this demonstration of herfeelings.

　　From that day a tender and passionate friendship such as exists onlybetween women was established between Princess Mary and Natasha.They were continually kissing and saying tender things to oneanother and spent most of their time together. When one went out theother became restless and hastened to rejoin her. Together they feltmore in harmony with one another than either of them felt with herselfwhen alone. A feeling stronger than friendship sprang up between them;an exclusive feeling of life being possible only in each other'spresence.

　　Sometimes they were silent for hours; sometimes after they werealready in bed they would begin talking and go on till morning. Theyspoke most of what was long past. Princess Mary spoke of herchildhood, of her mother, her father, and her daydreams; andNatasha, who with a passive lack of understanding had formerlyturned away from that life of devotion, submission, and the poetryof Christian self-sacrifice, now feeling herself bound to PrincessMary by affection, learned to love her past too and to understand aside of life previously incomprehensible to her. She did not thinkof applying submission and self-abnegation to her own life, for shewas accustomed to seek other joys, but she understood and loved inanother those previously incomprehensible virtues. For PrincessMary, listening to Natasha's tales of childhood and early youth, therealso opened out a new and hitherto uncomprehended side of life: beliefin life and its enjoyment.

　　Just as before, they never mentioned him so as not to lower (as theythought) their exalted feelings by words; but this silence about himhad the effect of making them gradually begin to forget him withoutbeing conscious of it.

　　Natasha had grown thin and pale and physically so weak that they alltalked about her health, and this pleased her. But sometimes she wassuddenly overcome by fear not only of death but of sickness, weakness,and loss of good looks, and involuntarily she examined her bare armcarefully, surprised at its thinness, and in the morning noticed herdrawn and, as it seemed to her, piteous face in her glass. It seemedto 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, andthen, testing her strength, ran upstairs again, observing the result.

　　Another time when she called Dunyasha her voice trembled, so shecalled again- though she could hear Dunyasha coming- called her in thedeep chest tones in which she had been wont to sing, sing, andlistened attentively to herself.

　　She did not know and would not have believed it, but beneath thelayer of slime that covered her soul and seemed to her impenetrable,delicate young shoots of grass were already sprouting, which takingroot would so cover with their living verdure the grief that weighedher down that it would soon no longer be seen or noticed. The woundhad begun to heal from within.

　　At the end of January Princess Mary left for Moscow, and the countinsisted on Natasha's going with her to consult the doctors.BK15|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　After the encounter at Vyazma, where Kutuzov had been unable to holdback his troops in their anxiety to overwhelm and cut off the enemyand so on, the farther movement of the fleeing French, and of theRussians who pursued them, continued as far as Krasnoe without abattle. The flight was so rapid that the Russian army pursuing theFrench could not keep up with them; cavalry and artillery horses brokedown, and the information received of the movements of the Frenchwas never reliable.

　　The men in the Russian army were so worn out by this continuousmarching at the rate of twenty-seven miles a day that they could notgo any faster.

　　To realize the degree of exhaustion of the Russian army it is onlynecessary to grasp clearly the meaning of the fact that, while notlosing more than five thousand killed and wounded after Tarutino andless than a hundred prisoners, the Russian army which left thatplace a hundred thousand strong reached Krasnoe with only fiftythousand.

　　The rapidity of the Russian pursuit was just as destructive to ourarmy as the flight of the French was to theirs. The only differencewas that the Russian army moved voluntarily, with no such threat ofdestruction as hung over the French, and that the sick Frenchmenwere left behind in enemy hands while the sick Russians left behindwere among their own people. The chief cause of the wastage ofNapoleon's army was the rapidity of its movement, and a convincingproof of this is the corresponding decrease of the Russian army.

　　Kutuzov as far as was in his power, instead of trying to check themovement of the French as was desired in Petersburg and by the Russianarmy generals, directed his whole activity here, as he had done atTarutino and Vyazma, to hastening it on while easing the movement ofour army.

　　But besides this, since the exhaustion and enormous diminution ofthe army caused by the rapidity of the advance had become evident,another reason for slackening the pace and delaying presented itselfto Kutuzov. The aim of the Russian army was to pursue the French.The road the French would take was unknown, and so the closer ourtroops trod on their heels the greater distance they had to cover.Only by following at some distance could one cut across the zigzagpath of the French. All the artful maneuvers suggested by our generalsmeant fresh movements of the army and a lengthening of its marches,whereas the only reasonable aim was to shorten those marches. Tothat end Kutuzov's activity was directed during the whole campaignfrom Moscow to Vilna- not casually or intermittently but soconsistently that he never once deviated from it.

　　Kutuzov felt and knew- not by reasoning or science but with thewhole of his Russian being- what every Russian soldier felt: thatthe French were beaten, that the enemy was flying and must be drivenout; but at the same time he like the soldiers realized all thehardship of this march, the rapidity of which was unparalleled forsuch a time of the year.

　　But to the generals, especially the foreign ones in the Russianarmy, 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 tofight and conquer somebody. Kutuzov merely shrugged his shoulders whenone after another they presented projects of maneuvers to be made withthose soldiers- ill-shod, insufficiently clad, and half starved- whowithin a month and without fighting a battle had dwindled to halftheir number, and who at the best if the flight continued would haveto go a greater distance than they had already traversed, beforethey reached the frontier.

　　This longing to distinguish themselves, to maneuver, to overthrow,and to cut off showed itself particularly whenever the Russiansstumbled on the French army.

　　So it was at Krasnoe, where they expected to find one of the threeFrench columns and stumbled instead on Napoleon himself with sixteenthousand men. Despite all Kutuzov's efforts to avoid that ruinousencounter and to preserve his troops, the massacre of the broken mobof French soldiers by worn-out Russians continued at Krasnoe for threedays.

　　Toll wrote a disposition: "The first column will march to so andso," etc. And as usual nothing happened in accord with thedisposition. Prince Eugene of Wurttemberg fired from a hill over theFrench crowds that were running past, and demanded reinforcementswhich did not arrive. The French, avoiding the Russians, dispersed andhid themselves in the forest by night, making their way round asbest they could, and continued their flight.

　　Miloradovich, who said he did not want to know anything about thecommissariat affairs of his detachment, and could never be foundwhen he was wanted- that chevalier sans peur et sans reproche* as hestyled himself- who was fond of parleys with the French, sent envoysdemanding their surrender, wasted time, and did not do what he wasordered to do.

　　*Knight without fear and without reproach.

　　"I give you that column, lads," he said, riding up to the troops andpointing out the French to the cavalry.

　　And the cavalry, with spurs and sabers urging on horses that couldscarcely move, trotted with much effort to the column presented tothem- that is to say, to a crowd of Frenchmen stark with cold,frost-bitten, and starving- and the column that had been presentedto them threw down its arms and surrendered as it had long beenanxious to do.

　　At Krasnoe they took twenty-six thousand prisoners, severalhundred cannon, and a stick called a "marshal's staff," and disputedas to who had distinguished himself and were pleased with theirachievement- though they much regretted not having taken Napoleon,or at least a marshal or a hero of some sort, and reproached oneanother and especially Kutuzov for having failed to do so.

　　These men, carried away by their passions, were but blind tools ofthe most melancholy law of necessity, but considered themselves heroesand imagined that they were accomplishing a most noble and honorabledeed. They blamed Kutuzov and said that from the very beginning of thecampaign he had prevented their vanquishing Napoleon, that hethought nothing but satisfying his passions and would not advance fromthe Linen Factories because he was comfortable there, that atKrasnoe he checked the advance because on learning that Napoleon wasthere he had quite lost his head, and that it was probable that he hadan understanding with Napoleon and had been bribed by him, and soon, and so on.

　　Not only did his contempories, carried away by their passions,talk in this way, but posterity and history have acclaimed Napoleon asgrand, while Kutuzov 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.BK15|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　In 1812 and 1813 Kutuzov was openly accused of blundering. TheEmperor was dissatisfied with him. And in a history recently writtenby order of the Highest Authorities it is said that Kutuzov was acunning court liar, frightened of the name of Napoleon, and that byhis blunders at Krasnoe and the Berezina he deprived the Russianarmy of the glory of complete victory over the French.*

　　*History of the year 1812. The character of Kutuzov andreflections on the unsatisfactory results of the battles at Krasnoe,by Bogdanovich.

　　Such is the fate not of great men (grands hommes) whom the Russianmind does not acknowledge, but of those rare and always solitaryindividuals who, discerning the will of Providence, submit theirpersonal will to it. The hatred and contempt of the crowd punishsuch 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 inexile, showed human dignity- Napoleon is the object of adulation andenthusiasm; he is grand. But Kutuzov- the man who from the beginningto the end of his activity in 1812, never once swerving by word ordeed from Borodino to Vilna, presented an example exceptional inhistory of self-sacrifice and a present conciousness of the futureimportance of what was happening- Kutuzov seems to them somethingindefinite and pitiful, and when speaking of him and of the year1812 they always seem a little ashamed.

　　And yet it is difficult to imagine an historical character whoseactivity was so unswervingly directed to a single aim; and it would bedifficult to imagine any aim more worthy or more consonant with thewill of the whole people. Still more difficult would it be to findan instance in history of the aim of an historical personage beingso completely accomplished as that to which all Kutuzov's efforts weredirected in 1812.

　　Kutuzov never talked of "forty centuries looking down from thePyramids," of the sacrifices he offered for the fatherland, or of whathe intended to accomplish or had accomplished; in general he saidnothing about himself, adopted no prose, always appeared to be thesimplest and most ordinary of men, and said the simplest and mostordinary things. He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame deStael, read novels, liked the society of pretty women, jested withgenerals, officers, and soldiers, and never contradicted those whotried to prove anything to him. When Count Rostopchin at the Yauzabridge galloped up to Kutuzov with personal reproaches for havingcaused the destruction of Moscow, and said: "How was it you promisednot to abandon Moscow without a battle?" Kutuzov replied: "And I shallnot abandon Moscow without a battle," though Moscow was then alreadyabandoned. When Arakcheev, coming to him from the Emperor, said thatErmolov ought to be appointed chief of the artillery, Kutuzov replied:"Yes, I was just saying so myself," though a moment before he had saidquite the contrary. What did it matter to him- who then alone amid asenseless crowd understood the whole tremendous significance of whatwas happening- what did it matter to him whether Rostopchin attributedthe calamities of Moscow to him or to himself? Still less could itmatter to him who was appointed chief of the artillery.

　　Not merely in these cases but continually did that old man- who byexperience of life had reached the conviction that thoughts and thewords serving as their expression are not what move people- usequite meaningless words that happened to enter his head.

　　But that man, so heedless of his words, did not once during thewhole time of his activity utter one word inconsistent with the singleaim toward which he moved throughout the whole war. Obviously in spiteof himself, in very diverse circumstances, he repeatedly expressed hisreal thoughts with the bitter conviction that he would not beunderstood. Beginning with the battle of Borodino, from which time hisdisagreement with those about him began, he alone said that the battleof Borodino was a victory, and repeated this both verbally and inhis dispatches and reports up to the time of his death. He alonesaid that the loss of Moscow is not the loss of Russia. In reply toLauriston's proposal of peace, he said: There can be no peace, forsuch is the people's will. He alone during the retreat of the Frenchsaid that all our maneuvers are useless, everything is beingaccomplished of itself better than we could desire; that the enemymust be offered "a golden bridge"; that neither the Tarutino, theVyazma, nor the Krasnoe battles were necessary; that we must keep someforce to reach the frontier with, and that he would not sacrifice asingle Russian for ten Frenchmen.

　　And this courtier, as he is described to us, who lies to Arakcheevto please the Emperor, he alone- incurring thereby the Emperor'sdispleasure- said in Vilna that to carry the war beyond the frontieris useless and harmful.

　　Nor do words alone prove that only he understood the meaning ofthe events. His actions- without the smallest deviation- were alldirected to one and the same threefold end: (1) to brace all hisstrength for conflict with the French, (2) to defeat them, and (3)to drive them out of Russia, minimizing as far as possible thesufferings of our people and of our army.

　　This procrastinator Kutuzov, whose motto was "Patience and Time,"this enemy of decisive action, gave battle at Borodino, investingthe preparations for it with unparalleled solemnity. This Kutuzovwho before the battle of Austerlitz began said that it would belost, he alone, in contradiction to everyone else, declared till hisdeath that Borodino was a victory, despite the assurance of generalsthat the battle was lost and despite the fact that for an army to haveto retire after winning a battle was unprecedented. He alone duringthe whole retreat insisted that battles, which were useless then,should not be fought, and that a new war should not be begun nor thefrontiers of Russia crossed.

　　It is easy now to understand the significance of these events- ifonly we abstain from attributing to the activity of the mass aims thatexisted only in the heads of a dozen individuals- for the events andresults now lie before us.

　　But how did that old man, alone, in opposition to the generalopinion, so truly discern the importance of the people's view of theevents that in all his activity he was never once untrue to it?

　　The source of that extraordinary power of penetrating the meaning ofthe events then occuring lay in the national feeling which hepossessed in full purity and strength.

　　Only the recognition of the fact that he possessed this feelingcaused 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 inthe national war. And only that feeling placed him on that highesthuman pedestal from which he, the commander in chief, devoted allhis powers not to slaying and destroying men but to saving and showingpity on them.

　　That simple, modest, and therefore truly great, figure could notbe cast in the false mold of a European hero- the supposed ruler ofmen- that history has invented.

　　To a lackey no man can be great, for a lackey has his own conceptionof greatness.BK15|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　The fifth of November was the first day of what is called the battleof Krasnoe. Toward evening- after much disputing and many mistakesmade by generals who did not go to their proper places, and afteradjutants had been sent about with counterorders- when it had becomeplain that the enemy was everywhere in flight and that there could andwould be no battle, Kutuzov left Krasnoe and went to Dobroe whitherhis headquarters had that day been transferred.

　　The day was clear and frosty. Kutuzov rode to Dobroe on his plumplittle white horse, followed by an enormous suite of discontentedgenerals who whispered among themselves behind his back. All along theroad groups of French prisoners captured that day (there were seventhousand of them) were crowding to warm themselves at campfires.Near Dobroe an immense crowd of tattered prisoners, buzzing withtalk and wrapped and bandaged in anything they had been able to gethold of, were standing in the road beside a long row of unharnessedFrench guns. At the approach of the commander in chief the buzz oftalk ceased and all eyes were fixed on Kutuzov who, wearing a whitecap with a red band and a padded overcoat that bulged on his roundshoulders, moved slowly along the road on his white horse. One ofthe generals was reporting to him where the guns and prisoners hadbeen captured.

　　Kutuzov seemed preoccupied and did not listen to what the generalwas saying. He screwed up his eyes with a dissatisfied look as hegazed attentively and fixedly at these prisoners, who presented aspecially wretched appearance. Most of them were disfigured byfrost-bitten noses and cheeks, and nearly all had red, swollen andfestering 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 ofraw flesh with their hands. There was something horrible and bestialin the fleeting glance they threw at the riders and in themalevolent expression with which, after a glance at Kutuzov, thesoldier with the sores immediately turned away and went on with whathe was doing.

　　Kutuzov looked long and intently at these two soldiers. Hepuckered his face, screwed up his eyes, and pensively swayed his head.At another spot he noticed a Russian soldier laughingly patting aFrenchman on the shoulder, saying something to him in a friendlymanner, and Kutuzov with the same expression on his face againswayed his head.

　　"What were you saying?" he asked the general, who continuing hisreport directed the commander in chief's attention to some standardscaptured from the French and standing in front of the Preobrazhenskregiment.

　　"Ah, the standards!" said Kutuzov, evidently detaching himselfwith difficulty from the thoughts that preoccupied him.

　　He looked about him absently. Thousands of eyes were looking athim from all sides awaiting a word from him.

　　He stopped in front of the Preobrazhensk regiment, sighed deeply,and closed his eyes. One of his suite beckoned to the soldierscarrying the standards to advance and surround the commander inchief with them. Kutuzov was silent for a few seconds and then,submitting with evident reluctance to the duty imposed by hisposition, raised his head and began to speak. A throng of officerssurrounded him. He looked attentively around at the circle ofofficers, recognizing several of them.

　　"I thank you all!" he said, addressing the soldiers and then againthe officers. In the stillness around him his slowly uttered wordswere distinctly heard. "I thank you all for your hard and faithfulservice. The victory is complete and Russia will not forget you! Honorto you forever."

　　He paused and looked around.

　　"Lower its head, lower it!" he said to a soldier who hadaccidentally lowered the French eagle he was holding before thePreobrazhensk standards. "Lower, lower, that's it. Hurrah lads!" headded, addressing the men with a rapid movement of his chin.

　　"Hur-r-rah!" roared thousands of voices.

　　While the soldiers were shouting Kutuzov leaned forward in hissaddle and bowed his head, and his eye lit up with a mild andapparently ironic gleam.

　　"You see, brothers..." said he when the shouts had ceased... and allat once his voice and the expression of his face changed. It was nolonger the commander in chief speaking but an ordinary old man whowanted to tell his comrades something very important.

　　There was a stir among the throng of officers and in the ranks ofthe soldiers, who moved that they might hear better what he wasgoing to say.

　　"You see, brothers, I know it's hard for you, but it can't behelped! Bear up; it won't be for long now! We'll see our visitorsoff and then we'll rest. The Tsar won't forget your service. It ishard for you, but still you are at home while they- you see whatthey have come to," said he, pointing to the prisoners. "Worse offthan our poorest beggars. While they were strong we didn't spareourselves, 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 gazefixed upon him he read sympathy with what he had said. His face grewbrighter and brighter with an old man's mild smile, which drew thecorners of his lips and eyes into a cluster of wrinkles. He ceasedspeaking and bowed his head as if in perplexity.

　　"But after all who asked them here? Serves them right, the bloodybastards!" he cried, suddenly lifting his head.

　　And flourishing his whip he rode off at a gallop for the firsttime during the whole campaign, and left the broken ranks of thesoldiers laughing joyfully and shouting "Hurrah!"

　　Kutuzov's words were hardly understood by the troops. No one couldhave repeated the field marshal's address, begun solemnly and thenchanging into an old man's simplehearted talk; but the heartysincerity of that speech, the feeling of majestic triumph combinedwith pity for the foe and consciousness of the justice of our cause,exactly expressed by that old man's good-natured expletives, was notmerely understood but lay in the soul of every soldier and foundexpression in their joyous and long-sustained shouts. Afterwardswhen one of the generals addressed Kutuzov asking whether he wishedhis caleche to be sent for, Kutuzov in answering unexpectedly gave asob, being evidently greatly moved.BK15|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　When the troops reached their night's halting place on the eighth ofNovember, the last day of the Krasnoe battles, it was alreadygrowing dusk. All day it had been calm and frosty with occasionallightly falling snow and toward evening it began to clear. Through thefalling snow a purple-black and starry sky showed itself and the frostgrew keener.

　　An infantry regiment which had left Tarutino three thousand strongbut now numbered only nine hundred was one of the first to arrive thatnight at its halting place- a village on the highroad. Thequartermasters who met the regiment announced that all the huts werefull 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 thevillage and stacked its arms in front of the last huts.

　　Like some huge many-limbed animal, the regiment began to prepare itslair and its food. One part of it dispersed and waded knee-deepthrough the snow into a birch forest to the right of the village,and immediately the sound of axes and swords, the crashing ofbranches, and merry voices could be heard from there. Anothersection amid the regimental wagons and horses which were standing in agroup was busy getting out caldrons and rye biscuit, and feeding thehorses. A third section scattered through the village arrangingquarters for the staff officers, carrying out the French corpsesthat were in the huts, and dragging away boards, dry wood, andthatch from the roofs, for the campfires, or wattle fences to servefor shelter.

　　Some fifteen men with merry shouts were shaking down the high wattlewall of a shed, the roof of which had already been removed.

　　"Now then, all together- shove!" cried the voices, and the hugesurface of the wall, sprinkled with snow and creaking with frost,was seen swaying in the gloom of the night. The lower stakes crackedmore and more and at last the wall fell, and with it the men who hadbeen pushing it. Loud, coarse laughter and joyous shouts ensued.

　　"Now then, catch hold in twos! Hand up the lever! That's it... Whereare you shoving to?"

　　"Now, all together! But wait a moment, boys... With a song!"

　　All stood silent, and a soft, pleasant velvety voice began tosing. At the end of the third verse as the last note died away, twentyvoices roared out at once: "Oo-oo-oo-oo! That's it. All together!Heave away, boys!..." but despite their united efforts the wattlehardly moved, and in the silence that followed the heavy breathingof 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 intothe village joined the haulers, and the wattle wall, which was aboutthirty-five feet long an seven feet high, moved forward along thevillage street, swaying, pressing upon and cutting the shoulders ofthe 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 asergeant major who came upon the men who were hauling their burden."There are gentry here; the general himself is in that hut, and youfoul-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 andwiped his face, which had been scratched till it bled by his fallingagainst the wattle.

　　"There, how that devil hits out! He's made my face all bloody," saidhe in a frightened whisper when the sergeant major had passed on.

　　"Don't you like it?" said a laughing voice, and moderating theirtones the men moved forward.

　　When they were out of the village they began talking again as loudas before, interlarding their talk with the same aimless expletives.

　　In the hut which the men had passed, the chief officers had gatheredand were in animated talk over their tea about the events of the dayand the maneuvers suggested for tomorrow. It was proposed to make aflank march to the left, cut off the Vice-King (Murat) and capturehim.

　　By the time the soldiers had dragged the wattle fence to its placethe campfires were blazing on all sides ready for cooking, the woodcrackled, the snow was melting, and black shadows of soldiersflitted to and fro all over the occupied space where the snow had beentrodden down.

　　Axes and choppers were plied all around. Everything was done withoutany orders being given. Stores of wood were brought for the night,shelters were rigged up for the officers, caldrons were beingboiled, and muskets and accouterments put in order.

　　The wattle wall the men had brought was set up in a semicircle bythe Eighth Company as a shelter from the north, propped up by musketrests, and a campfire was built before it. They beat the tattoo,called the roll, had supper, and settled down round the fires forthe night- some repairing their footgear, some smoking pipes, and somestripping themselves naked to steam the lice out of their shirts.BK15|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　One would have thought that under the almost incredibly wretchedconditions the Russian soldiers were in at that time- lacking warmboots and sheepskin coats, without a roof over their heads, in thesnow with eighteen degrees of frost, and without even full rations(the commissariat did not always keep up with the troops)- theywould have presented a very sad and depressing spectacle.

　　On the contrary, the army had never under the best materialconditions presented a more cheerful and animated aspect. This wasbecause all who began to grow depressed or who lost strength weresifted out of the army day by day. All the physically or morallyweak had long since been left behind and only the flower of thearmy- physically and mentally- remained.

　　More men collected behind the wattle fence of the Eighth Companythan anywhere else. Two sergeants major were sitting with them andtheir campfire blazed brighter than others. For leave to sit bytheir wattle they demanded contributions of fuel.

　　"Eh, Makeev! What has become of you, you son of a bitch? Are youlost or have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some more wood!" shouted ared-haired and red-faced man, screwing up his eyes and blinkingbecause 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 beingrobust he ordered about those weaker than himself. The soldier theycalled "Jackdaw," a thin little fellow with a sharp nose, roseobediently and was about to go but at that instant there came into thelight of the fire the slender, handsome figure of a young soldiercarrying a load of wood.

　　"Bring it here- that's fine!"

　　They split up the wood, pressed it down on the fire, blew at it withtheir mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their greatcoats,making the flames hiss and crackle. The men drew nearer and littheir pipes. The handsome young soldier who had brought the wood,setting his arms akimbo, began stamping his cold feet rapidly anddeftly on the spot where he stood.

　　"Mother! The dew is cold but clear.... It's well that I'm amusketeer..." 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 afellow you are for dancing!"

　　The dancer stopped, pulled off the loose piece of leather, and threwit on the fire.

　　"Right enough, friend," said he, and, having sat down, took out ofhis knapsack a scrap of blue French cloth, and wrapped it round hisfoot. "It's the steam that spoils them," he added, stretching outhis feet toward the fire.

　　"They'll soon be issuing us new ones. They say that when we'vefinished hammering them, we're to receive double kits!"

　　"And that son of a bitch Petrov has lagged behind after all, itseems," 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 canhe walk?"

　　"Eh? Don't talk nonsense!" said a sergeant major.

　　"Do you want to be doing the same?" said an old soldier, turningreproachfully to the man who had spoken of frozen feet.

　　"Well, you know," said the sharp-nosed man they called Jackdaw ina squeaky and unsteady voice, raising himself at the other side of thefire, "a plump man gets thin, but for a thin one it's death. Takeme, now! I've got no strength left," he added, with suddenresolution turning to the sergeant major. "Tell them to send me tohospital; 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 isthat not one of them had what you might call real boots on," said asoldier, starting a new theme. "They were no more than make-believes."

　　"The Cossacks have taken their boots. They were clearing the hut forthe colonel and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, boys,"put in the dancer. "As they turned them over one seemed still aliveand, would you believe it, he jabbered something in their lingo."

　　"But they're a clean folk, lads," the first man went on; "he waswhite- as white as birchbark- and some of them are such finefellows, 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 witha puzzled smile. "I asked him whose subject he was, and he jabbered inhis own way. A queer lot!"

　　"But it's strange, friends," continued the man who had wondered attheir whiteness, "the peasants at Mozhaysk were saying that whenthey began burying the dead- where the battle was you know- well,those dead had been lying there for nearly a month, and says thepeasant, 'they lie as white as paper, clean, and not as much smellas 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. Ifit 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,' hesays, 'we tie our faces up with kerchiefs and turn our heads away aswe drag them off: we can hardly do it. But theirs,' he says, 'arewhite 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 togobble the same food as the gentry."

　　No one contradicted him.

　　"That peasant near Mozhaysk where the battle was said the men wereall called up from ten villages around and they carted for twenty daysand still didn't finish carting the dead away. And as for thewolves, he says..."

　　"That was a real battle," said an old soldier. "It's the only oneworth remembering; but since that... it's only been tormenting folk."

　　"And do you know, Daddy, the day before yesterday we ran at themand, my word, they didn't let us get near before they just threwdown their muskets and went on their knees. 'Pardon!' they say. That'sonly one case. They say Platov took 'Poleon himself twice. But hedidn't know the right charm. He catches him and catches him- nogood! He turns into a bird in his hands and flies away. And there's noway of killing him either."

　　"You're a first-class liar, Kiselev, 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 theground with an aspen stake to fix him down. What a lot of men he'sruined!"

　　"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 tosleep.

　　"Look at the stars. It's wonderful how they shine! You would thinkthe women had spread out their linen," said one of the men, gazingwith 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'ssprawling!"

　　In the silence that ensued, the snoring of those who had fallenasleep could be heard. Others turned over and warmed themselves, nowand again exchanging a few words. From a campfire a hundred pacesoff came a sound of general, merry laughter.

　　"Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth Company!" said one of thesoldiers, 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 haveturned up. One's quite frozen and the other's an awful swaggerer. He'ssinging songs...."

　　"Oh, I'll go across and have a look...."

　　And several of the men went over to the Fifth Company.BK15|CH9

　　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 theforest, 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 intothe bright firelight stepped two strangely clad human figures clingingto one another.

　　These were two Frenchmen who had been hiding in the forest. Theycame up to the fire, hoarsely uttering something in a language oursoldiers did not understand. One was taller than the other; he wore anofficer's hat and seemed quite exhausted. On approaching the fire hehad been going to sit down, but fell. The other, a short sturdysoldier with a shawl tied round his head, was stronger. He raisedhis companion and said something, pointing to his mouth. Thesoldiers surrounded the Frenchmen, spread a greatcoat on the groundfor the sick man, and brought some buckwheat porridge and vodka forboth of them.

　　The exhausted French officer was Ramballe and the man with hishead wrapped in the shawl was Morel, his orderly.

　　When Morel had drunk some vodka and finished his bowl of porridge hesuddenly became unnaturally merry and chattered incessantly to thesoldiers, who could not understand him. Ramballe refused food andresting his head on his elbow lay silent beside the campfire,looking at the Russian soldiers with red and vacant eyes. Occasionallyhe emitted a long-drawn groan and then again became silent. Morel,pointing to his shoulders, tried to impress on the soldiers the factthat Ramballe was an officer and ought to be warmed. A Russian officerwho had come up to the fire sent to ask his colonel whether he wouldnot take a French officer into his hut to warm him, and when themessenger returned and said that the colonel wished the officer tobe 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 heldhim up.

　　"You won't do it again, eh?" said one of the soldiers, winking andturning 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 twosoldiers, and carried him to the hut. Ramballe put his arms aroundtheir 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 shoulderof 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 roundhis head over his cap. He was evidently tipsy, and was singing aFrench song in a hoarse broken voice, with an arm thrown round thenearest soldier. The soldiers simply held their sides as theywatched him.

　　"Now then, now then, teach us how it goes! I'll soon pick it up. Howis it?" said the man- a singer and a wag- whom Morel was embracing.

　　"Vive Henri Quatre! Vive ce roi valiant!" sang Morel, winking. "Cediable a 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 allsides.

　　Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too.

　　"Well, go on, go on!"

　　"Qui eut le triple talent,

　　De boire, de battre,

　　Et d'etre 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, Zaletaev!"

　　"Ke..." Zaletaev, brought out with effort: "ke-e-e-e," he drawled,laboriously pursing his lips, "le-trip-ta-la-de-bu-de-ba, ede-tra-va-ga-la " he sang.

　　"Fine! Just like the Frenchie! Oh, ho ho! Do you want some more toeat?"

　　"Give him some porridge: it takes a long time to get filled up afterstarving."

　　They gave him some more porridge and Morel with a laugh set towork on his third bowl. All the young soldiers smiled gaily as theywatched him. The older men, who thought it undignified to amusethemselves with such nonsense, continued to lie at the opposite sideof the fire, but one would occasionally raise himself on an elbowand glance at Morel with a smile.

　　"They are men too," said one of them as he wrapped himself up in hiscoat. "Even wormwood grows on its own root."

　　"O Lord, O Lord! How starry it is! Tremendous! That means a hardfrost...."

　　They all grew silent. The stars, as if knowing that no one waslooking at them, began to disport themselves in the dark sky: nowflaring up, now vanishing, now trembling, they were busy whisperingsomething gladsome and mysterious to one another.BK15|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　The French army melted away at the uniform rate of a mathematicalprogression; and that crossing of the Berezina about which so much hasbeen written was only one intermediate stage in its destruction, andnot at all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so much has beenand still is written about the Berezina, on the French side this isonly because at the broken bridge across that river the calamitiestheir army had been previously enduring were suddenly concentratedat one moment into a tragic spectacle that remained in every memory,and on the Russian side merely because in Petersburg- far from theseat of war- a plan (again one of Pfuel's) had been devised to catchNapoleon in a strategic trap at the Berezina River. Everyone assuredhimself that all would happen according to plan, and thereforeinsisted that it was just the crossing of the Berezina thatdestroyed the French army. In reality the results of the crossing weremuch less disastrous to the French- in guns and men lost- than Krasnoehad been, as the figures show.

　　The sole importance of the crossing of the Berezina lies in the factthat it plainly and indubitably proved the fallacy of all the plansfor cutting off the enemy's retreat and the soundness of the onlypossible line of action- the one Kutuzov and the general mass of thearmy demanded- namely, simply to follow the enemy up. The French crowdfled at a continually increasing speed and all its energy was directedto reaching its goal. It fled like a wounded animal and it wasimpossible to block its path. This was shown not so much by thearrangements it made for crossing as by what took place at thebridges. When the bridges broke down, unarmed soldiers, people fromMoscow and women with children who were with the French transport,all- carried on by vis inertiae- pressed forward into boats and intothe ice-covered water and did not, surrender.

　　That impulse was reasonable. The condition of fugitives and ofpursuers was equally bad. As long as they remained with their ownpeople each might hope for help from his fellows and the definiteplace he held among them. But those who surrendered, while remainingin the same pitiful plight, would be on a lower level to claim a sharein the necessities of life. The French did not need to be informedof the fact that half the prisoners- with whom the Russians did notknow what to do- perished of cold and hunger despite their captors'desire to save them; they felt that it could not be otherwise. Themost compassionate Russian commanders, those favorable to theFrench- and even the Frenchmen in the Russian service- could donothing for the prisoners. The French perished from the conditionsto which the Russian army was itself exposed. It was impossible totake bread and clothes from our hungry and indispensable soldiers togive to the French who, though not harmful, or hated, or guilty,were simply unnecessary. Some Russians even did that, but they wereexceptions.

　　Certain destruction lay behind the French but in front there washope. Their ships had been burned, there was no salvation save incollective flight, and on that the whole strength of the French wasconcentrated.

　　The farther they fled the more wretched became the plight of theremnant, especially after the Berezina, on which (in consequence ofthe Petersburg plan) special hopes had been placed by the Russians,and the keener grew the passions of the Russian commanders, blamed oneanother and Kutuzov most of all. Anticipation that the failure ofthe Petersburg Berezina plan would be attributed to Kutuzov led todissatisfaction, contempt, and ridicule, more and more stronglyexpressed. The ridicule and contempt were of course expressed in arespectful form, making it impossible for him to ask wherein he was toblame. They did not talk seriously to him; when reporting to him orasking for his sanction they appeared to be fulfilling a regrettableformality, but they winked behind his back and tried to mislead him atevery turn.

　　Because they could not understand him all these people assumedthat it was useless to talk to the old man; that he would nevergrasp the profundity of their plans, that he would answer with hisphrases (which they thought were mere phrases) about a "goldenbridge," about the impossibility of crossing the frontier with a crowdof tatterdemalions, and so forth. They had heard all that before.And all he said- that it was necessary to await provisions, or thatthe men had no boots- was so simple, while what they proposed was socomplicated and clever, that it was evident that he was old and stupidand that they, though not in power, were commanders of genius.

　　After the junction with the army of the brilliant admiral andPetersburg hero Wittgenstein, this mood and the gossip of the staffreached their maximum. Kutuzov saw this and merely sighed and shruggedhis shoulders. Only once, after the affair of the Berezina, did he getangry and write to Bennigsen (who reported separately to theEmperor) the following letter:

　　"On account of your spells of ill health, will your excellencyplease be so good as to set off for Kaluga on receipt of this, andthere await further commands and appointments from His ImperialMajesty."

　　But after Bennigsen's departure, the Grand Duke TsarevichConstantine Pavlovich joined the army. He had taken part in thebeginning of the campaign but had subsequently been removed from thearmy by Kutuzov. Now having come to the army, he informed Kutuzov ofthe Emperor's displeasure at the poor success of our forces and theslowness of their advance. The Emperor intended to join the armypersonally in a few days' time.

　　The old man, experienced in court as well as in military affairs-this same Kutuzov who in August had been chosen commander in chiefagainst the sovereign's wishes and who had removed the Grand Dukeand heir- apparent from the army- who on his own authority andcontrary to the Emperor's will had decided on the abandonment ofMoscow, now realized at once that his day was over, that his partwas played, and that the power he was supposed to hold was no longerhis. 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 hadplayed his part was ended and felt that his mission wasaccomplished; and at the same time he began to be conscious of thephysical weariness of his aged body and of the necessity of physicalrest.

　　On the twenty-ninth of November Kutuzov entered Vilna- his "dearVilna" as he called it. Twice during his career Kutuzov had beengovernor of Vilna. In that wealthy town, which had not been injured,he found old friends and associations, besides the comforts of life ofwhich he had so long been deprived. And he suddenly turned from thecares of army and state and, as far as the passions that seethedaround him allowed, immersed himself in the quiet life to which he hadformerly been accustomed, as if all that was taking place and all thathad still to be done in the realm of history did not concern him atall.

　　Chichagov, one of the most zealous "cutters-off" and"breakers-up," who had first wanted to effect a diversion in Greeceand then in Warsaw but never wished to go where he was sent:Chichagov, noted for the boldness with which he spoke to theEmperor, and who considered Kutuzov to be under an obligation to himbecause when he was sent to make peace with Turkey in 1811independently of Kutuzov, and found that peace had already beenconcluded, he admitted to the Emperor that the merit of securingthat peace was really Kutuzov's; this Chichagov was the first tomeet Kutuzov at the castle where the latter was to stay. In undressnaval uniform, with a dirk, and holding his cap under his arm, hehanded Kutuzov a garrison report and the keys of the town. Thecontemptuously respectful attitude of the younger men to the old manin his dotage was expressed in the highest degree by the behavior ofChichagov, who knew of the accusations that were being directedagainst Kutuzov.

　　When speaking to Chichagov, Kutuzov incidentally mentioned thatthe vehicles packed with china that had been captured from him atBorisov had been recovered and would be restored to him.

　　"You mean to imply that I have nothing to eat out of.... On thecontrary, I can supply you with everything even if you want to givedinner parties," warmly replied Chichagov, who tried by every wordhe spoke to prove his own rectitude and therefore imagined Kutuzovto be animated by the same desire.

　　Kutuzov, shrugging his shoulders, replied with his subtlepenetrating smile: "I meant merely to say what I said."

　　Contrary to the Emperor's wish Kutuzov detained the greater partof the army at Vilna. Those about him said that he becameextraordinarily slack and physically feeble during his stay in thattown. He attended to army affairs reluctantly, left everything tohis generals, and while awaiting the Emperor's arrival led adissipated life.

　　Having left Petersburg on the seventh of December with his suite-Count Tolstoy, Prince Volkonski, Arakcheev, and others- the Emperorreached Vilna on the eleventh, and in his traveling sleigh drovestraight to the castle. In spite of the severe frost some hundredgenerals and staff officers in full parade uniform stood in front ofthe castle, as well as a guard of honor of the Semenov regiment.

　　A courier who galloped to the castle in advance, in a troyka withthree foam-flecked horses, shouted "Coming!" and Konovnitsyn rushedinto the vestibule to inform Kutuzov, who was waiting in the hallporter's little lodge.

　　A minute later the old man's large stout figure in full-dressuniform, his chest covered with orders and a scarf drawn round hisstomach, waddled out into the porch. He put on his hat with itspeaks to the sides and, holding his gloves in his hand and walkingwith 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 troykafuriously up, and then all eyes were turned on an approaching sleighin which the figures of the Emperor and Volkonski could already bedescried.

　　From the habit of fifty years all this had a physically agitatingeffect on the old general. He carefully and hastily felt himself allover, readjusted his hat, and pulling himself together drew himself upand, at the very moment when the Emperor, having alighted from thesleigh, lifted his eyes to him, handed him the report and beganspeaking in his smooth, ingratiating voice.

　　The Emperor with a rapid glance scanned Kutuzov from head to foot,frowned for an instant, but immediately mastering himself went up tothe 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 Kutuzov and he gave a sob.

　　The Emperor greeted the officers and the Semenov guard, and againpressing the old man's hand went with him into the castle.

　　When alone with the field marshal the Emperor expressed hisdissatisfaction at the slowness of the pursuit and at the mistakesmade at Krasnoe and the Berezina, and informed him of his intentionsfor a future campaign abroad. Kutuzov made no rejoinder or remark. Thesame submissive, expressionless look with which he had listened to theEmperor's commands on the field of Austerlitz seven years beforesettled on his face now.

　　When Kutuzov came out of the study and with lowered head wascrossing the ballroom with his heavy waddling gait, he was arrested bysomeone's voice saying:

　　"Your Serene Highness!"

　　Kutuzov raised his head and looked for a long while into the eyes ofCount Tolstoy, who stood before him holding a silver salver on whichlay a small object. Kutuzov seemed not to understand what was expectedof him.

　　Suddenly he seemed to remember; a scarcely perceptible smile flashedacross his puffy face, and bowing low and respectfully he took theobject that lay on the salver. It was the Order of St. George of theFirst Class.BK15|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Next day the field marshal gave a dinner and ball which theEmperor honored by his presence. Kutuzov had received the Order of St.George of the First Class and the Emperor showed him the highesthonors, but everyone knew of the imperial dissatisfaction with him.The proprieties were observed and the Emperor was the first to setthat example, but everybody understood that the old man wasblameworthy and good-for-nothing. When Kutuzov, conforming to a customof Catherine's day, ordered the standards that had been captured to belowered at the Emperor's feet on his entering the ballroom, theEmperor made a wry face and muttered something in which some peoplecaught the words, "the old comedian."

　　The Emperor's displeasure with Kutuzov was specially increased atVilna by the fact that Kutuzov evidently could not or would notunderstand the importance of the coming campaign.

　　When on the following morning the Emperor said to the officersassembled about him: "You have not only saved Russia, you have savedEurope!" they all understood that the war was not ended.

　　Kutuzov alone would not see this and openly expressed his opinionthat no fresh war could improve the position or add to the glory ofRussia, but could only spoil and lower the glorious position thatRussia had gained. He tried to prove to the Emperor theimpossibility of levying fresh troops, spoke of the hardshipsalready endured by the people, of the possibility of failure and soforth.

　　This being the field marshal's frame of mind he was naturallyregarded as merely a hindrance and obstacle to the impending war.

　　To avoid unpleasant encounters with the old man, the naturalmethod was to do what had been done with him at Austerlitz and withBarclay at the beginning of the Russian campaign- to transfer theauthority to the Emperor himself, thus cutting the ground from underthe commander in chief's feet without upsetting the old man byinforming him of the change.

　　With this object his staff was gradually reconstructed and itsreal strength removed and transferred to the Emperor. Toll,Konovnitsyn, and Ermolov received fresh appointments. Everyone spokeloudly 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 toanother. And in fact his health was poor.

　　So naturally, simply, and gradually- just as he had come from Turkeyto the Treasury in Petersburg to recruit the militia, and then tothe army when he was needed there- now when his part was played out,Kutuzov's place was taken by a new and necessary performer.

　　The war 1812, besides its national significance dear to everyRussian heart, was now to assume another, a European, significance.

　　The movement of peoples from west to east was to be succeeded by amovement of peoples from east to west, and for this fresh waranother leader was necessary, having qualities and views differingfrom Kutuzov's and animated by different motives.

　　Alexander I was as necessary for the movement of the peoples fromeast to west and for the refixing of national frontiers as Kutuzov hadbeen for the salvation and glory of Russia.

　　Kutuzov did not understand what Europe, the balance of power, orNapoleon meant. He could not understand it. For the representativeof the Russian people, after the enemy had been destroyed and Russiahad been liberated and raised to the summit of her glory, there wasnothing left to do as a Russian. Nothing remained for therepresentative of the national war but to die, and Kutuzov died.BK15|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　As generally happens, Pierre did not feel the full effects of thephysical privation and strain he had suffered as prisoner untilafter they were over. After his liberation he reached Orel, and on thethird day there, when preparing to go to Kiev, he fell ill and waslaid up for three months. He had what the doctors termed "biliousfever." 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 thathappened to him from the time of his rescue till his illness. Heremembered only the dull gray weather now rainy and now snowy,internal physical distress, and pains in his feet and side. Heremembered a general impression of the misfortunes and sufferings ofpeople and of being worried by the curiosity of officers andgenerals who questioned him, he also remembered his difficulty inprocuring a conveyance and horses, and above all he remembered hisincapacity to think and feel all that time. On the day of his rescuehe had seen the body of Petya Rostov. That same day he had learnedthat Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of Borodino for morethan a month had recently died in the Rostovs' house at Yaroslavl, andDenisov who told him this news also mentioned Helene's death,supposing that Pierre had heard of it long before. All this at thetime seemed merely strange to Pierre: he felt he could not grasp itssignificance. Just then he was only anxious to get away as quicklyas possible from places where people were killing one another, to somepeaceful refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think overall the strange new facts he had learned; but on reaching Orel heimmediately fell ill. When he came to himself after his illness he sawin attendance on him two of his servants, Terenty and Vaska, who hadcome from Moscow; and also his cousin the eldest princess, who hadbeen living on his estate at Elets and hearing of his rescue andillness had come to look after him.

　　It was only gradually during his convalescence that Pierre lostthe impressions he had become accustomed to during the last few monthsand got used to the idea that no one would oblige him to go anywheretomorrow, that no one would deprive him of his warm bed, and that hewould be sure to get his dinner, tea, and supper. But for a longtime in his dreams he still saw himself in the conditions ofcaptivity. In the same way little by little he came to understandthe news he had been told after his rescue, about the death ofPrince Andrew, the death of his wife, and the destruction of theFrench.

　　A joyous feeling of freedom- that complete inalienable freedomnatural to man which he had first experienced at the first haltoutside Moscow- filled Pierre's soul during his convalescence. Hewas surprised to find that this inner freedom, which was independentof external conditions, now had as it were an additional setting ofexternal liberty. He was alone in a strange town, withoutacquaintances. No one demanded anything of him or sent him anywhere.He had all he wanted: the thought of his wife which had been acontinual torment to him was no longer there, since she was no more.

　　"Oh, how good! How splendid!" said he to himself when a cleanly laidtable was moved up to him with savory beef tea, or when he lay downfor the night on a soft clean bed, or when he remembered that theFrench had gone and that his wife was no more. "Oh, how good, howsplendid!"

　　And by old habit he asked himself the question: "Well, and whatthen? What am I going to do?" And he immediately gave himself theanswer: "Well, I shall live. Ah, how splendid!"

　　The very question that had formerly tormented him, the thing hehad continually sought to find- the aim of life- no longer existed forhim now. That search for the aim of life had not merely disappearedtemporarily- he felt that it no longer existed for him and could notpresent itself again. And this very absence of an aim gave him thecomplete, joyous sense of freedom which constituted his happiness atthis time.

　　He could not see an aim, for he now had faith- not faith in any kindof rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an ever-living,ever-manifest God. Formerly he had sought Him in aims he sethimself. That search for an aim had been simply a search for God,and suddenly in his captivity he had learned not by words or reasoningbut by direct feeling what his nurse had told him long ago: that Godis here and everywhere. In his captivity he had learned that inKarataev God was greater, more infinite and unfathomable than in theArchitect of the Universe recognized by the Freemasons. He felt like aman who after straining his eyes to see into the far distance findswhat he sought at his very feet. All his life he had looked over theheads of the men around him, when he should have merely looked infront of him without straining his eyes.

　　In the past he had never been able to find that great inscrutableinfinite something. He had only felt that it must exist somewhereand had looked for it. In everything near and comprehensible he hadonly what was limited, petty, commonplace, and senseless. He hadequipped himself with a mental telescope and looked into remote space,where petty worldliness hiding itself in misty distance had seemedto him great and infinite merely because it was not clearly seen.And such had European life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy, andphilanthropy seemed to him. But even then, at moments of weakness ashe had accounted them, his mind had penetrated to those distancesand he had there seen the same pettiness, worldliness, andsenselessness. Now, however, he had learned to see the great, eternal,and infinite in everything, and therefore- to see it and enjoy itscontemplation- he naturally threw away the telescope through whichhe had till now gazed over men's heads, and gladly regarded theever-changing, eternally great, unfathomable, and infinite life aroundhim. And the closer he looked the more tranquil and happy he became.That dreadful question, "What for?" which had formerly destroyed allhis mental edifices, no longer existed for him. To that question,"What for?" a simple answer was now always ready in his soul: "Becausethere is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls froma man's head."BK15|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　In external ways Pierre had hardly changed at all. In appearancehe was just what he used to be. As before he was absent-minded andseemed occupied not with what was before his eyes but with somethingspecial of his own. The difference between his former and present selfwas that formerly when he did not grasp what lay before him or wassaid to him, he had puckered his forehead painfully as if vainlyseeking to distinguish something at a distance. At present he stillforgot what was said to him and still did not see what was beforehis eyes, but he now looked with a scarcely perceptible andseemingly ironic smile at what was before him and listened to what wassaid, though evidently seeing and hearing something quite different.Formerly he had appeared to be a kindhearted but unhappy man, and sopeople had been inclined to avoid him. Now a smile at the joy oflife always played round his lips, and sympathy for others, shone inhis eyes with a questioning look as to whether they were ascontented as he was, and people felt pleased by his presence.

　　Previously he had talked a great deal, grew excited when hetalked, and seldom listened; now he was seldom carried away inconversation and knew how to listen so that people readily told himtheir most intimate secrets.

　　The princess, who had never liked Pierre and had been particularlyhostile to him since she had felt herself under obligations to himafter the old count's death, now after staying a short time in Orel-where she had come intending to show Pierre that in spite of hisingratitude she considered it her duty to nurse him- felt to hersurprise and vexation that she had become fond of him. Pierre didnot in any way seek her approval, he merely studied her with interest.Formerly she had felt that he regarded her with indifference andirony, and so had shrunk into herself as she did with others and hadshown him only the combative side of her nature; but now he seemedto be trying to understand the most intimate places of her heart, and,mistrustfully at first but afterwards gratefully, she let him seethe hidden, kindly sides of her character.

　　The most cunning man could not have crept into her confidence moresuccessfully, evoking memories of the best times of her youth andshowing sympathy with them. Yet Pierre's cunning consisted simply infinding 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 influenceof bad people but of people such as myself," thought she.

　　His servants too- Terenty and Vaska- in their own way noticed thechange that had taken place in Pierre. They considered that he hadbecome much "simpler." Terenty, when he had helped him undress andwished him good night, often lingered with his master's boots in hishands and clothes over his arm, to see whether he would not start atalk. And Pierre, noticing that Terenty wanted a chat, generallykept him there.

　　"Well, tell me... now, how did you get food?" he would ask.

　　And Terenty would begin talking of the destruction of Moscow, and ofthe old count, and would stand for a long time holding the clothes andtalking, or sometimes listening to Pierre's stories, and then would goout into the hall with a pleasant sense of intimacy with his masterand affection for him.

　　The doctor who attended Pierre and visited him every day, thoughhe considered it his duty as a doctor to pose as a man whose everymoment was of value to suffering humanity, would sit for hours withPierre telling him his favorite anecdotes and his observations onthe characters of his patients in general, and especially of theladies.

　　"It's a pleasure to talk to a man like that; he is not like ourprovincials," he would say.

　　There were several prisoners from the French army in Orel, and thedoctor brought one of them, a young Italian, to see Pierre.

　　This officer began visiting Pierre, and the princess used to makefun of the tenderness the Italian expressed for him.

　　The Italian seemed happy only when he could come to see Pierre, talkwith him, tell him about his past, his life at home, and his love, andpour out to him his indignation against the French and especiallyagainst Napoleon.

　　"If all Russians are in the least like you, it is sacrilege to fightsuch a nation," he said to Pierre. "You, who have suffered so from theFrench, do not even feel animosity toward them."

　　Pierre had evoked the passionate affection of the Italian merelyby evoking the best side of his nature and taking a pleasure in sodoing.

　　During the last days of Pierre's stay in Orel his old Masonicacquaintance Count Willarski, who had introduced him to the lodge in1807, came to see him. Willarski was married to a Russian heiresswho had a large estate in Orel province, and he occupied a temporarypost in the commissariat department in that town.

　　Hearing that Bezukhov was in Orel, Willarski, though they hadnever been intimate, came to him with the professions of friendshipand intimacy that people who meet in a desert generally express forone another. Willarski felt dull in Orel and was pleased to meet a manof his own circle and, as he supposed, of similar interests.

　　But to his surprise Willarski soon noticed that Pierre had laggedmuch 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 hadbeen formerly to be with Pierre, and came to see him every day. ToPierre as he looked at and listened to Willarski, it seemed strange tothink that he had been like that himself but a short time before.

　　Willarski was a married man with a family, busy with his familyaffairs, his wife's affairs, and his official duties. He regardedall these occupations as hindrances to life, and considered thatthey were all contemptible because their aim was the welfare ofhimself and his family. Military, administrative, political, andMasonic 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, withthe princess, with the doctor, and with all the people he now met,which gained for him the general good will. This was hisacknowledgment of the impossibility of changing a man's convictions bywords, and his recognition of the possibility of everyone thinking,feeling, and seeing things each from his own point of view. Thislegitimate peculiarity of each individual which used to excite andirritate Pierre now became a basis of the sympathy he felt for, andthe interest he took in, other people. The difference, and sometimescomplete contradiction, between men's opinions and their lives, andbetween one man and another, pleased him and drew from him an amusedand gentle smile.

　　In practical matters Pierre unexpectedly felt within himself acenter of gravity he had previously lacked. Formerly all pecuniaryquestions, especially requests for money to which, as an extremelywealthy man, he was very exposed, produced in him a state ofhopeless agitation and perplexity. "To give or not to give?" he hadasked himself. "I have it and he needs it. But someone else needs itstill 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 thesesurmises and had given to all who asked as long as he had anythingto give. Formerly he had been in a similar state of perplexity withregard to every question concerning his property, when one personadvised one thing and another something else.

　　Now to his surprise he found that he no longer felt either doubtor perplexity about these questions. There was now within him ajudge who by some rule unknown to him decided what should or shouldnot be done.

　　He was as indifferent as heretofore to money matters, but now hefelt certain of what ought and what ought not to be done. The firsttime he had recourse to his new judge was when a French prisoner, acolonel, came to him and, after talking a great deal about hisexploits, concluded by making what amounted to a demand that Pierreshould give him four thousand francs to send to his wife and children.Pierre refused without the least difficulty or effort, and wasafterwards surprised how simple and easy had been what used toappear so insurmountably difficult. At the same time that he refusedthe colonel's demand he made up his mind that he must have recourse toartifice when leaving Orel, to induce the Italian officer to acceptsome money of which he was evidently in need. A further proof toPierre of his own more settled outlook on practical matters wasfurnished by his decision with regard to his wife's debts and to therebuilding of his houses in and near Moscow.

　　His head steward came to him at Orel and Pierre reckoned up with himhis diminished income. The burning of Moscow had cost him, accordingto the head steward's calculation, about two million rubles.

　　To console Pierre for these losses the head steward gave him anestimate showing that despite these losses his income would not bediminished but would even be increased if he refused to pay his wife'sdebts which he was under no obligation to meet, and did not rebuildhis Moscow house and the country house on his Moscow estate, which hadcost 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 muchricher."

　　But in January Savelich came from Moscow and gave him an accountof the state of things there, and spoke of the estimate an architecthad made of the cost of rebuilding the town and country houses,speaking of this as of a settled matter. About the same time hereceived letters from Prince Vasili and other Petersburg acquaintancesspeaking of his wife's debts. And Pierre decided that the steward'sproposals which had so pleased him were wrong and that he must go toPetersburg and settle his wife's affairs and must rebuild in Moscow.Why this was necessary he did not know, but he knew for certain thatit was necessary. His income would be reduced by three fourths, but hefelt it must be done.

　　Willarski was going to Moscow and they agreed to travel together.

　　During the whole time of his convalescence in Orel Pierre hadexperienced a feeling of joy, freedom, and life; but when during hisjourney he found himself in the open world and saw hundreds of newfaces, that feeling was intensified. Throughout his journey he feltlike a schoolboy on holiday. Everyone- the stagecoach driver, thepost-house overseers, the peasants on the roads and in the villages-had a new significance for him. The presence and remarks ofWillarski who continually deplored the ignorance and poverty of Russiaand its backwardness compared with Europe only heightened Pierre'spleasure. Where Willarski saw deadness Pierre saw an extraordinarystrength and vitality- the strength which in that vast space amidthe snows maintained the life of this original, peculiar, and uniquepeople. He did not contradict Willarski and even seemed to agreewith him- an apparent agreement being the simplest way to avoiddiscussions that could lead to nothing- and he smiled joyfully as helistened to him.BK15|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　It would be difficult to explain why and whither ants whose heap hasbeen destroyed are hurrying: some from the heap dragging bits ofrubbish, larvae, and corpses, others back to the heap, or why theyjostle, overtake one another, and fight, and it would be equallydifficult to explain what caused the Russians after the departure ofthe French to throng to the place that had formerly been Moscow. Butwhen we watch the ants round their ruined heap, the tenacity,energy, and immense number of the delving insects prove that despitethe destruction of the heap, something indestructible, which thoughintangible is the real strength of the colony, still exists; andsimilarly, though in Moscow in the month of October there was nogovernment no churches, shrines, riches, or houses- it was still theMoscow it had been in August. All was destroyed, except somethingintangible yet powerful and indestructible.

　　The motives of those who thronged from all sides to Moscow afterit had been cleared of the enemy were most diverse and personal, andat first for the most part savage and brutal. One motive only they allhad in common: a desire to get to the place that had been calledMoscow, to apply their activities there.

　　Within a week Moscow already had fifteen thousand inhabitants, ina fortnight twenty-five thousand, and so on. By the autumn of 1813 thenumber, ever increasing and increasing, exceeded what it had been in1812.

　　The first Russians to enter Moscow were the Cossacks ofWintzingerode's detachment, peasants from the adjacent villages, andresidents who had fled from Moscow and had been hiding in itsvicinity. The Russians who entered Moscow, finding it plundered,plundered it in their turn. They continued what the French hadbegun. Trains of peasant carts came to Moscow to carry off to thevillages what had been abandoned in the ruined houses and the streets.The Cossacks carried off what they could to their camps, and thehouseholders seized all they could find in other houses and moved itto their own, pretending that it was their property.

　　But the first plunderers were followed by a second and a thirdcontingent, and with increasing numbers plundering became more andmore difficult and assumed more definite forms.

　　The French found Moscow abandoned but with all the organizationsof regular life, with diverse branches of commerce andcraftsmanship, with luxury, and governmental and religiousinstitutions. These forms were lifeless but still existed. Therewere bazaars, shops, warehouses, market stalls, granaries- for themost part still stocked with goods- and there were factories andworkshops, palaces and wealthy houses filled with luxuries, hospitals,prisons, government offices, churches, and cathedrals. The longerthe French remained the more these forms of town life perished,until finally all was merged into one confused, lifeless scene ofplunder.

　　The more the plundering by the French continued, the more both thewealth of Moscow and the strength of its plunderers was destroyed. Butplundering by the Russians, with which the reoccupation of the citybegan, had an opposite effect: the longer it continued and the greaterthe number of people taking part in it the more rapidly was the wealthof the city and its regular life restored.

　　Besides the plunderers, very various people, some drawn bycuriosity, some by official duties, some by self-interest- houseowners, clergy, officials of all kinds, tradesmen, artisans, andpeasants- streamed into Moscow as blood flows to the heart.

　　Within a week the peasants who came with empty carts to carry offplunder were stopped by the authorities and made to cart the corpsesout of the town. Other peasants, having heard of their comrades'discomfiture, came to town bringing rye, oats, and hay, and beatdown one another's prices to below what they had been in formerdays. Gangs of carpenters hoping for high pay arrived in Moscowevery 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. Theclergy resumed the services in many churches that had not been burned.Donors contributed Church property that had been stolen. Governmentclerks set up their baize-covered tables and their pigeonholes ofdocuments in small rooms. The higher authorities and the policeorganized the distribution of goods left behind by the French. Theowners of houses in which much property had been left, brought therefrom other houses, complained of the injustice of taking everything tothe Faceted Palace in the Kremlin; others insisted that as theFrench had gathered things from different houses into this or thathouse, it would be unfair to allow its owner to keep all that wasfound there. They abused the police and bribed them, made outestimates at ten times their value for government stores that hadperished in the fire, and demanded relief. And Count Rostopchinwrote proclamations.BK15|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　At the end of January Pierre went to Moscow and stayed in an annexof his house which had not been burned. He called on CountRostopchin and on some acquaintances who were back in Moscow, and heintended to leave for Petersburg two days later. Everybody wascelebrating the victory, everything was bubbling with life in theruined but reviving city. Everyone was pleased to see Pierre, everyonewished to meet him, and everyone questioned him about what he hadseen. Pierre felt particularly well disposed toward them all, butwas now instinctively on his guard for fear of binding himself inany way. To all questions put to him- whether important or quitetrifling- such as: Where would he live? Was he going to rebuild?When was he going to Petersburg and would he mind taking a parcelfor someone?- he replied: "Yes, perhaps," or, "I think so," and so on.

　　He had heard that the Rostovs were at Kostroma but the thought ofNatasha seldom occurred to him. If it did it was only as a pleasantmemory of the distant past. He felt himself not only free fromsocial 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 Drubetskoysthat Princess Mary was in Moscow. The death, sufferings, and last daysof Prince Andrew had often occupied Pierre's thoughts and now recurredto him with fresh vividness. Having heard at dinner that Princess Marywas in Moscow and living in her house- which had not been burned- inVozdvizhenka Street, he drove that same evening to see her.

　　On his way to the house Pierre kept thinking of Prince Andrew, oftheir friendship, of his various meetings with him, and especiallyof the last one at Borodino.

　　"Is it possible that he died in the bitter frame of mind he was thenin? Is it possible that the meaning of life was not disclosed to himbefore he died?" thought Pierre. He recalled Karataev and his deathand involuntarily began to compare these two men, so different, andyet so similar in that they had both lived and both died and in thelove he felt for both of them.

　　Pierre drove up to the house of the old prince in a most seriousmood. The house had escaped the fire; it showed signs of damage butits general aspect was unchanged. The old footman, who met Pierre witha stern face as if wishing to make the visitor feel that the absenceof the old prince had not disturbed the order of things in thehouse, informed him that the princess had gone to her ownapartments, 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 broughtword from the princess that she would be very glad to see Pierre if hewould 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 heranother person dressed in black. Pierre remembered that the princessalways had lady companions, but who they were and what they werelike he never knew or remembered. "This must be one of hercompanions," 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 herhand, "so this is how we meet again. He of spoke of you even at thevery last," she went on, turning her eyes from Pierre to her companionwith a shyness that surprised him for an instant.

　　"I was so glad to hear of your safety. It was the first piece ofgood news we had received for a long time."

　　Again the princess glanced round at her companion with even moreuneasiness in her manner and was about to add something, but Pierreinterrupted her.

　　"Just imagine- I knew nothing about him!" said he. "I thought he hadbeen killed. All I know I heard at second hand from others. I onlyknow that he fell in with the Rostovs.... What a strange coincidence!"

　　Pierre spoke rapidly and with animation. He glanced once at thecompanion's face, saw her attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and,as often happens when one is talking, felt somehow that this companionin the black dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who wouldnot hinder his conversing freely with Princess Mary.

　　But when he mentioned the Rostovs, Princess Mary's face expressedstill greater embarrassment. She again glanced rapidly from Pierre'sface 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 withits black eyes and peculiar mouth, and something near to him, longforgotten and more than sweet, looked at him from those attentiveeyes.

　　"But no, it can't be!" he thought. "This stern, thin, pale face thatlooks so much older! It cannot be she. It merely reminds me of her."But at that moment Princess Mary said, "Natasha!" And with difficulty,effort, and stress, like the opening of a door grown rusty on itshinges, a smile appeared on the face with the attentive eyes, and fromthat opening door came a breath of fragrance which suffused Pierrewith a happiness he had long forgotten and of which he had not evenbeen thinking- especially at that moment. It suffused him, seized him,and enveloped him completely. When she smiled doubt was no longerpossible, it was Natasha and he loved her.

　　At that moment Pierre involuntarily betrayed to her, to PrincessMary, and above all to himself, a secret of which he himself hadbeen unaware. He flushed joyfully yet with painful distress. Hetried to hide his agitation. But the more he tried to hide it the moreclearly- clearer than any words could have done- did he betray tohimself, to her, and to Princess Mary that he loved her.

　　"No, it's only the unexpectedness of it," thought Pierre. But assoon as he tried to continue the conversation he had begun withPrincess Mary he again glanced at Natasha, and a still-deeper flushsuffused his face and a still-stronger agitation of mingled joy andfear seized his soul. He became confused in his speech and stoppedin the middle of what he was saying.

　　Pierre had failed to notice Natasha because he did not at all expectto see her there, but he had failed to recognize her because thechange in her since he last saw her was immense. She had grown thinand pale, but that was not what made her unrecognizable; she wasunrecognizable at the moment he entered because on that face whoseeyes 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 leastshadow of a smile: only her eyes were kindly attentive and sadlyinterrogative.

　　Pierre's confusion was not reflected by any confusion on Natasha'spart, but only by the pleasure that just perceptibly lit up herwhole face.BK15|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　"She has come to stay with me," said Princess Mary. "The count andcountess will be here in a few days. The countess is in a dreadfulstate; but it was necessary for Natasha herself to see a doctor.They insisted on her coming with me."

　　"Yes, is there a family free from sorrow now?" said Pierre,addressing Natasha. "You know it happened the very day we wererescued. I saw him. What a delightful boy he was!"

　　Natasha looked at him, and by way of answer to his words her eyeswidened 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?" Natasha asked, looking attentively into Pierre'seyes.

　　"How can you ask why?" said Princess Mary. "The thought alone ofwhat awaits..."

　　Natasha without waiting for Princess Mary to finish again lookedinquiringly at Pierre.

　　"And because," Pierre continued, "only one who believes that thereis a God ruling us can bear a loss such as hers and... yours."

　　Natasha had already opened her mouth to speak but suddenlystopped. Pierre hurriedly turned away from her and again addressedPrincess Mary, asking about his friend's last days.

　　Pierre's confusion had now almost vanished, but at the same timehe felt that his freedom had also completely gone. He felt thatthere was now a judge of his every word and action whose judgmentmattered more to him than that of all the rest of the world. As hespoke now he was considering what impression his words would make onNatasha. He did not purposely say things to please her, but whateverhe was saying he regarded from her standpoint.

　　Princess Mary- reluctantly as is usual in such cases- begantelling of the condition in which she had found Prince Andrew. ButPierre's face quivering with emotion, his questions and his eagerrestless expression, gradually compelled her to go into detailswhich she feared to recall for her own sake.

　　"Yes, yes, and so...? " Pierre kept saying as he leaned toward herwith his whole body and eagerly listened to her story. "Yes, yes... sohe grew tranquil and softened? With all his soul he had alwayssought one thing- to be perfectly good- so he could not be afraid ofdeath. The faults he had- if he had any- were not of his making. So hedid soften?... What a happy thing that he saw you again," he added,suddenly turning to Natasha and looking at her with eyes full oftears.

　　Natasha's face twitched. She frowned and lowered her eyes for amoment. She hesitated for an instant whether to speak or not.

　　"Yes, that was happiness," she then said in her quiet voice with itsdeep chest notes. "For me it certainly was happiness." She paused."And he... he... he said he was wishing for it at the very moment Ientered the room...."

　　Natasha's voice broke. She blushed, pressed her clasped hands on herknees, and then controlling herself with an evident effort liftedher head and began to speak rapidly.

　　"We knew nothing of it when we started from Moscow. I did not dareto ask about him. Then suddenly Sonya told me he was traveling withus. I had no idea and could not imagine what state he was in, all Iwanted was to see him and be with him," she said, trembling, andbreathing quickly.

　　And not letting them interrupt her she went on to tell what shehad never yet mentioned to anyone- all she had lived through duringthose three weeks of their journey and life at Yaroslavl.

　　Pierre listened to her with lips parted and eyes fixed upon her fullof tears. As he listened he did not think of Prince Andrew, nor ofdeath, nor of what she was telling. He listened to her and felt onlypity for her, for what she was suffering now while she was speaking.

　　Princess Mary, frowning in her effort to hold back her tears, satbeside Natasha, and heard for the first time the story of those lastdays of her brother's and Natasha's love.

　　Evidently Natasha needed to tell that painful yet joyful tale.

　　She spoke, mingling most trifling details with the intimatesecrets 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 littleNicholas might come in to say good night.

　　"Well, that's all- everything," said Natasha.

　　She got up quickly just as Nicholas entered, almost ran to thedoor which was hidden by curtains, struck her head against it, andrushed from the room with a moan either of pain or sorrow.

　　Pierre gazed at the door through which she had disappeared and didnot understand why he suddenly felt all alone in the world.

　　Princess Mary roused him from his abstraction by drawing hisattention to her nephew who had entered the room.

　　At that moment of emotional tenderness young Nicholas' face, whichresembled his father's, affected Pierre so much that when he hadkissed the boy he got up quickly, took out his handkerchief, andwent to the window. He wished to take leave of Princess Mary, butshe would not let him go.

　　"No, Natasha and I sometimes don't go to sleep till after two, soplease don't go. I will order supper. Go downstairs, we will comeimmediately."

　　Before Pierre left the room Princess Mary told him: "This is thefirst time she has talked of him like that."BK15|CH17

　　CHAPTER XVII

　　Pierre was shown into the large, brightly lit dining room; a fewminutes later he heard footsteps and Princess Mary entered withNatasha. Natasha was calm, though a severe and grave expression hadagain settled on her face. They all three of them now experienced thatfeeling of awkwardness which usually follows after a serious andheartfelt talk. It is impossible to go back to the sameconversation, to talk of trifles is awkward, and yet the desire tospeak is there and silence seems like affectation. They wentsilently to table. The footmen drew back the chairs and pushed them upagain. Pierre unfolded his cold table napkin and, resolving to breakthe silence, looked at Natasha and at Princess Mary. They hadevidently both formed the same resolution; the eyes of both shone withsatisfaction and a confession that besides sorrow life also has joy.

　　"Do you take vodka, Count?" asked Princess Mary, and those wordssuddenly banished the shadows of the past. "Now tell us aboutyourself," said she. "One hears such improbable wonders about you."

　　"Yes," replied Pierre with the smile of mild irony now habitual tohim. "They even tell me wonders I myself never dreamed of! MaryAbramovna invited me to her house and kept telling me what hadhappened, or ought to have happened, to me. Stepan Stepanych alsoinstructed me how I ought to tell of my experiences. In general I havenoticed that it is very easy to be an interesting man (I am aninteresting man now); people invite me out and tell me all aboutmyself."

　　Natasha smiled and was on the point of speaking.

　　"We have been told," Princess Mary interrupted her, "that you losttwo 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 hiswife's debts and to rebuild his houses, Pierre still maintained thathe had become three times as rich as before.

　　"What I have certainly gained is freedom," he began seriously, butdid not continue, noticing that this theme was too egotistic.

　　"And are you building?"

　　"Yes. Savelich says I must!"

　　"Tell me, you did not know of the countess' death when you decidedto remain in Moscow?" asked Princess Mary and immediately blushed,noticing that her question, following his mention of freedom, ascribedto his words a meaning he had perhaps not intended.

　　"No," answered Pierre, evidently not considering awkward the meaningPrincess Mary had given to his words. "I heard of it in Orel and youcannot imagine how it shocked me. We were not an exemplary couple," headded quickly, glancing at Natasha and noticing on her facecuriosity as to how he would speak of his wife, "but her death shockedme terribly. When two people quarrel they are always both in fault,and one's own guilt suddenly becomes terribly serious when the otheris no longer alive. And then such a death... without friends andwithout consolation! I am very, very sorry for her," he concluded, andwas pleased to notice a look of glad approval on Natasha's face.

　　"Yes, and so you are once more an eligible bachelor," saidPrincess Mary.

　　Pierre suddenly flushed crimson and for a long time tried not tolook at Natasha. When he ventured to glance her way again her face wascold, stern, and he fancied even contemptuous.

　　"And did you really see and speak to Napoleon, as we have beentold?" said Princess Mary.

　　Pierre laughed.

　　"No, not once! Everybody seems to imagine that being takenprisoner means being Napoleon's guest. Not only did I never see himbut I heard nothing about him- I was in much lower company!"

　　Supper was over, and Pierre who at first declined to speak about hiscaptivity was gradually led on to do so.

　　"But it's true that you remained in Moscow to kill Napoleon?"Natasha asked with a slight smile. "I guessed it then when we met atthe Sukharev tower, do you remember?"

　　Pierre admitted that it was true, and from that was gradually led byPrincess Mary's questions and especially by Natasha's into giving adetailed account of his adventures.

　　At first he spoke with the amused and mild irony now customarywith him toward everybody and especially toward himself, but when hecame to describe the horrors and sufferings he had witnessed he wasunconsciously carried away and began speaking with the suppressedemotion of a man re-experiencing in recollection strong impressions hehas lived through.

　　Princess Mary with a gentle smile looked now at Pierre and now atNatasha. In the whole narrative she saw only Pierre and hisgoodness. Natasha, leaning on her elbow, the expression of her faceconstantly changing with the narrative, watched Pierre with anattention that never wandered- evidently herself experiencing all thathe described. Not only her look, but her exclamations and the briefquestions she put, showed Pierre that she understood just what hewished to convey. It was clear that she understood not only what hesaid but also what he wished to, but could not, express in words.The account Pierre gave of the incident with the child and the womanfor protecting whom he was arrested was this: "It was an awfulsight- children abandoned, some in the flames... One was snatchedout before my eyes... and there were women who had their thingssnatched off and their earrings torn out..." he flushed and grewconfused. "Then a patrol arrived and all the men- all those who werenot looting, that is- were arrested, and I among them."

　　"I am sure you're not telling us everything; I am sure you didsomething..." said Natasha and pausing added, "something fine?"

　　Pierre continued. When he spoke of the execution he wanted to passover the horrible details, but Natasha insisted that he should notomit anything.

　　Pierre began to tell about Karataev, but paused. By this time he hadrisen from the table and was pacing the room, Natasha following himwith 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 Natasha. "Where is he?"

　　"They killed him almost before my eyes."

　　And Pierre, his voice trembling continually, went on to tell ofthe last days of their retreat, of Karataev'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 thathe was telling it all to Natasha he experienced that pleasure whicha man has when women listen to him- not clever women who whenlistening either try to remember what they hear to enrich theirminds and when opportunity offers to retell it, or who wish to adoptit to some thought of their own and promptly contribute their ownclever comments prepared in their little mental workshop- but thepleasure given by real women gifted with a capacity to select andabsorb the very best a man shows of himself. Natasha without knowingit was all attention: she did not lose a word, no single quiver inPierre's voice, no look, no twitch of a muscle in his face, nor asingle gesture. She caught the unfinished word in its flight andtook it straight into her open heart, divining the secret meaning ofall Pierre's mental travail.

　　Princess Mary understood his story and sympathized with him, but shenow saw something else that absorbed all her attention. She saw thepossibility of love and happiness between Natasha and Pierre, andthe first thought of this filled her heart with gladness.

　　It was three o'clock in the morning. The footmen came in with sadand stern faces to change the candles, but no one noticed them.

　　Pierre finished his story. Natasha continued to look at him intentlywith bright, attentive, and animated eyes, as if trying tounderstand something more which he had perhaps left untold. Pierrein shamefaced and happy confusion glanced occasionally at her, andtried to think what to say next to introduce a fresh subject. PrincessMary was silent. It occurred to none of them that it was three o'clockand 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 youwere 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 islost, but it is only then that what is new and good begins. Whilethere is life there is happiness. There is much, much before us. I saythis to you," he added, turning to Natasha.

　　"Yes, yes," she said, answering something quite different. "I tooshould wish nothing but to relive it all from the beginning."

　　Pierre looked intently at her.

　　"Yes, and nothing more." said Natasha.

　　"It's not true, not true!" cried Pierre. "I am not to blame forbeing alive and wishing to live- nor you either."

　　Suddenly Natasha bent her head, covered her face with her hands, andbegan to cry.

　　"What is it, Natasha?" said Princess Mary.

　　"Nothing, nothing." She smiled at Pierre through her tears. "Goodnight! It is time for bed."

　　Pierre rose and took his leave.

　　Princess Mary and Natasha met as usual in the bedroom. They talkedof what Pierre had told them. Princess Mary did not express heropinion of Pierre nor did Natasha speak of him.

　　"Well, good night, Mary!" said Natasha. "Do you know, I am oftenafraid that by not speaking of him" (she meant Prince Andrew) "forfear of not doing justice to our feelings, we forget him."

　　Princess Mary sighed deeply and thereby acknowledged the justiceof Natasha'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 hardand painful, but good, very good!" said Natasha. "I am sure hereally loved him. That is why I told him... Was it all right?" sheadded, suddenly blushing.

　　"To tell Pierre? Oh, yes. What a splendid man he is!" saidPrincess Mary.

　　"Do you know, Mary..." Natasha suddenly said with a mischievoussmile such as Princess Mary had not seen on her face for a longtime, "he has somehow grown so clean, smooth, and fresh- as if hehad just come out of a Russian bath; do you understand? Out of a moralbath. 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 asif 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 whenthey are quite different. That must be true. Really he is quite unlikehim- in everything."

　　"Yes, but he's wonderful."

　　"Well, good night," said Natasha.

　　And the same mischievous smile lingered for a long time on herface as if it had been forgotten there.BK15|CH18

　　CHAPTER XVIII

　　It was a long time before Pierre could fall asleep that night. Hepaced up and down his room, now turning his thoughts on a difficultproblem and frowning, now suddenly shrugging his shoulders andwincing, and now smiling happily.

　　He was thinking of Prince Andrew, of Natasha, and of their love,at one moment jealous of her past, then reproaching himself for thatfeeling. It was already six in the morning and he still paced up anddown 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 undressinghe got into bed, happy and agitated but free from hesitation orindecision.

　　"Strange and impossible as such happiness seems, I must doeverything that she and I may be man and wife," he told himself.

　　A few days previously Pierre had decided to go to Petersburg onthe Friday. When he awoke on the Thursday, Savelich came to ask himabout packing for the journey.

　　"What, to Petersburg? What is Petersburg? Who is there inPetersburg?" he asked involuntarily, though only to himself. "Oh, yes,long ago before this happened I did for some reason mean to go toPetersburg," he reflected. "Why? But perhaps I shall go. What a goodfellow he is and how attentive, and how he remembers everything," hethought, looking at Savelich's old face, "and what a pleasant smile hehas!"

　　"Well, Savelich, do you still not wish to accept your freedom?"Pierre asked him.

　　"What's the good of freedom to me, your excellency? We lived underthe late count- the kingdom of heaven be his!- and we have lived underyou too, without ever being wronged."

　　"And your children?"

　　"The children will live just the same. With such masters one canlive."

　　"But what about my heirs?" said Pierre. "Supposing I suddenlymarry... it might happen," he added with an involuntary smile.

　　"If I may take the liberty, your excellency, it would be a goodthing."

　　"How easy he thinks it," thought Pierre. "He doesn't know howterrible it is and how dangerous. Too soon or too late... it isterrible!"

　　"So what are your orders? Are you starting tomorrow?" askedSavelich.

　　"No, I'll put it off for a bit. I'll tell you later. You mustforgive the trouble I have put you to," said Pierre, and seeingSavelich smile, he thought: "But how strange it is that he shouldnot know that now there is no Petersburg for me, and that that must besettled first of all! But probably he knows it well enough and is onlypretending. 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 hadbeen to see Princess Mary the day before and had there met- "Whom doyou think? Natasha Rostova!"

　　The princess seemed to see nothing more extraordinary in that thanif he had seen Anna Semenovna.

　　"Do you know her?" asked Pierre.

　　"I have seen the princess," she replied. "I heard that they werearranging a match for her with young Rostov. It would be a very goodthing for the Rostovs, they are said to be utterly ruined."

　　"No; I mean do you know Natasha Rostova?"

　　"I heard about that affair of hers at the time. It was a greatpity."

　　"No, she either doesn't understand or is pretending," thoughtPierre. "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 thatthey should trouble about these things now when it can no longer be ofinterest to them. And all for me!"

　　On the same day the Chief of Police came to Pierre, inviting himto send a representative to the Faceted Palace to recover thingsthat were to be returned to their owners that day.

　　"And this man too," thought Pierre, looking into the face of theChief of Police. "What a fine, good-looking officer and how kind.Fancy bothering about such trifies now! And they actually say he isnot honest and takes bribes. What nonsense! Besides, why shouldn'the take bribes? That's the way he was brought up, and everybody doesit. But what a kind, pleasant face and how he smiles as he looks atme."

　　Pierre went to Princess Mary's to dinner.

　　As he drove through the streets past the houses that had been burneddown, he was surprised by the beauty of those ruins. Thepicturesqueness of the chimney stacks and tumble-down walls of theburned-out quarters of the town, stretching out and concealing oneanother, reminded him of the Rhine and the Colosseum. The cabmen hemet and their passengers, the carpenters cutting the timber for newhouses with axes, the women hawkers, and the shopkeepers, all lookedat him with cheerful beaming eyes that seemed to say: "Ah, there heis! Let's see what will come of it!"

　　At the entrance to Princess Mary's house Pierre felt doubtfulwhether he had really been there the night before and really seenNatasha and talked to her. "Perhaps I imagined it; perhaps I shallgo in and find no one there." But he had hardly entered the roombefore he felt her presence with his whole being by the loss of hissense of freedom. She was in the same black dress with soft foldsand her hair was done the same way as the day before, yet she wasquite different. Had she been like this when he entered the day beforehe 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 PrinceAndrew's fiancee. A bright questioning light shone in her eyes, and onher 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 housewith her.

　　Next day he came early, dined, and stayed the whole evening.Though Princess Mary and Natasha were evidently glad to see theirvisitor and though all Pierre's interest was now centered in thathouse, by the evening they had talked over everything and theconversation passed from one trivial topic to another and repeatedlybroke off. He stayed so long that Princess Mary and Natashaexchanged glances, evidently wondering when he would go. Pierrenoticed this but could not go. He felt uneasy and embarrassed, but saton because he simply could not get up and take his leave.

　　Princess Mary, foreseeing no end to this, rose first, andcomplaining 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 toneand as though offended. "Yes... no... to Petersburg? Tomorrow- but Iwon't say good-by yet. I will call round in case you have anycommissions for me," said he, standing before Princess Mary andturning red, but not taking his departure.

　　Natasha gave him her hand and went out. Princess Mary on the otherhand instead of going away sank into an armchair, and looked sternlyand intently at him with her deep, radiant eyes. The weariness she hadplainly shown before had now quite passed off. With a deep andlong-drawn sigh she seemed to be prepared for a lengthy talk.

　　When Natasha left the room Pierre's confusion and awkwardnessimmediately vanished and were replaced by eager excitement. He quicklymoved an armchair toward Princess Mary.

　　"Yes, I wanted to tell you," said he, answering her look as if shehad 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 ofher, I know it's impossible to speak of it now. But I want to be abrother 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 andcoherence. "I don't know when I began to love her, but I have lovedher and her alone all my life, and I love her so that I cannot imaginelife without her. I cannot propose to her at present, but thethought that perhaps she might someday be my wife and that I may bemissing that possibility... that possibility... is terrible. Tellme, can I hope? Tell me what I am to do, dear princess!" he addedafter 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 loveat present..."

　　Princess Mary stopped. She was going to say that to speak of lovewas impossible, but she stopped because she had seen by the suddenchange in Natasha two days before that she would not only not behurt if Pierre spoke of his love, but that it was the very thing shewished 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 correctedherself.

　　Before her words were out, Pierre had sprung up and with afrightened 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 herparents, and leave it to me. I will tell her when I can. I wish itto happen and my heart tells me it will."

　　"No, it cannot be! How happy I am! But it can't be.... How happy Iam! No, it can't be!" Pierre kept saying as he kissed PrincessMary'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 againtomorrow?"

　　Next day Pierre came to say good-by. Natasha was less animatedthan she had been the day before; but that day as he looked at herPierre sometimes felt as if he was vanishing and that neither he norshe existed any longer, that nothing existed but happiness. "Is itpossible? 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 couldnot help holding it a little longer in his own.

　　"Is it possible that this hand, that face, those eyes, all thistreasure of feminine charm so strange to me now, is it possible thatit will one day be mine forever, as familiar to me as I am tomyself?... No, that's impossible!..."

　　"Good-by, Count," she said aloud. "I shall look forward very much toyour return," she added in a whisper.

　　And these simple words, her look, and the expression on her facewhich accompanied them, formed for two months the subject ofinexhaustible memories, interpretations, and happy meditations forPierre. "'I shall look forward very much to your return....' Yes, yes,how did she say it? Yes, 'I shall look forward very much to yourreturn.' Oh, how happy I am! What is happening to me? How happy I am!"said Pierre to himself.BK15|CH19

　　CHAPTER XIX

　　There was nothing in Pierre's soul now at all like what had troubledit during his courtship of Helene.

　　He did not repeat to himself with a sickening feeling of shame thewords he had spoken, or say: "Oh, why did I not say that?" and,"Whatever made me say 'Je vous aime'?" On the contrary, he nowrepeated in imagination every word that he or Natasha had spoken andpictured every detail of her face and smile, and did not wish todiminish or add anything, but only to repeat it again and again. Therewas now not a shadow of doubt in his mind as to whether what he hadundertaken was right or wrong. Only one terrible doubt sometimescrossed his mind: "Wasn't it all a dream? Isn't Princess Marymistaken? Am I not too conceited and self-confident? I believe allthis- and suddenly Princess Mary will tell her, and she will be sureto smile and say: 'How strange! He must be deluding himself. Doesn'the know that he is a man, just a man, while I...? I am somethingaltogether different and higher.'"

　　That was the only doubt often troubling Pierre. He did not nowmake any plans. The happiness before him appeared so inconceivablethat 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 himselfincapable, possessed him. The whole meaning of life- not for him alonebut for the whole world- seemed to him centered in his love and thepossibility of being loved by her. At times everybody seemed to him tobe occupied with one thing only- his future happiness. Sometimes itseemed to him that other people were all as pleased as he washimself and merely tried to hide that pleasure by pretending to bebusy with other interests. In every word and gesture he sawallusions to his happiness. He often surprised those he met by hissignificantly happy looks and smiles which seemed to express asecret understanding between him and them. And when he realized thatpeople might not be aware of his happiness, he pitied them with hiswhole heart and felt a desire somehow to explain to them that all thatoccupied 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 theassumption that everybody's welfare depended on this or that issueof events, he would listen with a mild and pitying smile andsurprise people by his strange comments. But at this time he saweverybody- both those who, as he imagined, understood the real meaningof life (that is, what he was feeling) and those unfortunates whoevidently did not understand it- in the bright light of the emotionthat shone within himself, and at once without any effort saw ineveryone he met everything that was good and worthy of being loved.

　　When dealing with the affairs and papers of his dead wife, hermemory aroused in him no feeling but pity that she had not known thebliss he now knew. Prince Vasili, who having obtained a new post andsome fresh decorations was particularly proud at this time, seemedto 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 remainedtrue for him always. He not only did not renounce them subsequently,but when he was in doubt or inwardly at variance, he referred to theviews he had held at this time of his madness and they always provedcorrect.

　　"I may have appeared strange and queer then," he thought, "but I wasnot so mad as I seemed. On the contrary I was then wiser and hadmore insight than at any other time, and understood all that isworth understanding in life, because... because I was happy."

　　Pierre's insanity consisted in not waiting, as he used to do, todiscover personal attributes which he termed "good qualities" inpeople before loving them; his heart was now overflowing with love,and by loving people without cause he discovered indubitable causesfor loving them.BK15|CH20

　　CHAPTER XX

　　After Pierre's departure that first evening, when Natasha had saidto Princess Mary with a gaily mocking smile: "He looks just, yes, justas if he had come out of a Russian bath- in a short coat and withhis hair cropped," something hidden and unknown to herself, butirrepressible, awoke in Natasha'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 tothe surface and demanded satisfaction. From that evening she seemed tohave forgotten all that had happened to her. She no longercomplained of her position, did not say a word about the past, andno longer feared to make happy plans for the future. She spokelittle of Pierre, but when Princess Mary mentioned him along-extinguished light once more kindled in her eyes and her lipscurved with a strange smile.

　　The change that took place in Natasha at first surprised PrincessMary; but when she understood its meaning it grieved her. "Can shehave loved my brother so little as to be able to forget him sosoon?" she thought when she reflected on the change. But when shewas with Natasha she was not vexed with her and did not reproachher. The reawakened power of life that had seized Natasha was soevidently irrepressible and unexpected by her that in her presencePrincess Mary felt that she had no right to reproach her even in herheart.

　　Natasha gave herself up so fully and frankly to this new feelingthat 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 talkwith Pierre, Natasha met her on the threshold.

　　"He has spoken? Yes? He has spoken?" she repeated.

　　And a joyful yet pathetic expression which seemed to beg forgivenessfor her joy settled on Natasha's face.

　　"I wanted to listen at the door, but I knew you would tell me."

　　Understandable and touching as the look with which Natasha gazedat her seemed to Princess Mary, and sorry as she was to see heragitation, these words pained her for a moment. She remembered herbrother 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 Natasha all thatPierre had said. On hearing that he was going to Petersburg Natashawas astounded.

　　"To Petersburg!" she repeated as if unable to understand.

　　But noticing the grieved expression on Princess Mary's face sheguessed the reason of that sadness and suddenly began to cry.

　　"Mary," said she, "tell me what I should do! I am afraid of beingbad. Whatever you tell me, I will do. Tell me...."

　　"You love him?"

　　"Yes," whispered Natasha.

　　"Then why are you crying? I am happy for your sake," said PrincessMary, who because of those tears quite forgave Natasha's joy.

　　"It won't be just yet- someday. Think what fun it will be when Iam his wife and you marry Nicholas!"

　　"Natasha, I have asked you not to speak of that. Let us talk aboutyou."

　　They were silent awhile.

　　"But why go to Petersburg?" Natasha suddenly asked, and hastilyreplied to her own question. "But no, no, he must... Yes, Mary, Hemust...."

　　FIRST EPILOGUE: 1813 - 20

　　CHAPTER I

　　Seven years had passed. The storm-tossed sea of European history hadsubsided within its shores and seemed to have become calm. But themysterious forces that move humanity (mysterious because the laws oftheir motion are unknown to us) continued to operate.

　　Though the surface of the sea of history seemed motionless, themovement of humanity went on as unceasingly as the flow of time.Various groups of people formed and dissolved, the coming formationand dissolution of kingdoms and displacement of peoples was incourse of preparation.

　　The sea of history was not driven spasmodically from shore toshore as previously. It was seething in its depths. Historic figureswere not borne by the waves from one shore to another as before.They now seemed to rotate on one spot. The historical figures at thehead of armies, who formerly reflected the movement of the masses byordering wars, campaigns, and battles, now reflected the restlessmovement by political and diplomatic combinations, laws, and treaties.

　　The historians call this activity of the historical figures "thereaction."

　　In dealing with this period they sternly condemn the historicalpersonages who, in their opinion, caused what they describe as thereaction. All the well-known people of that period, from Alexander andNapoleon to Madame de Stael, Photius, Schelling, Fichte,Chateaubriand, and the rest, pass before their stern judgment seat andare acquitted or condemned according to whether they conduced toprogress or to reaction.

　　According to their accounts a reaction took place at that time inRussia also, and the chief culprit was Alexander I, the same man whoaccording to them was the chief cause of the liberal movement at thecommencement of his reign, being the savior of Russia.

　　There is no one in Russian literature now, from schoolboy essayistto learned historian, who does not throw his little stone at Alexanderfor 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 hedid well and in that case badly. He behaved admirably at the beginningof his reign and during 1812, but acted badly by giving a constitutionto Poland, forming the Holy Alliance, entrusting power to Arakcheev,favoring Golitsyn and mysticism, and afterwards Shishkov andPhotius. He also acted badly by concerning himself with the activearmy and disbanding the Semenov regiment."

　　It would take a dozen pages to enumerate all the reproaches thehistorians address to him, based on their knowledge of what is goodfor humanity.

　　What do these reproaches mean?

　　Do not the very actions for which the historians praise AlexanderI (the liberal attempts at the beginning of his reign, his strugglewith Napoleon, the firmness he displayed in 1812 and the campaign of1813) flow from the same sources- the circumstances of his birth,education, and life- that made his personality what it was and fromwhich the actions for which they blame him (the Holy Alliance, therestoration of Poland, and the reaction of 1820 and later) alsoflowed?

　　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 theblinding light of history focused upon him; a character exposed tothose strongest of all influences: the intrigues, flattery, andself-deception inseparable from power; a character who at every momentof his life felt a responsibility for all that was happening inEurope; and not a fictitious but a live character who like every manhad 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 sameconception of the welfare of humanity fifty years ago as a present-dayprofessor who from his youth upwards has been occupied withlearning: that is, with books and lectures and with taking notesfrom them.

　　But even if we assume that fifty years ago Alexander I wasmistaken in his view of what was good for the people, we mustinevitably assume that the historian who judges Alexander will alsoafter the lapse of some time turn out to be mistaken in his view ofwhat is good for humanity. This assumption is all the more natural andinevitable because, watching the movement of history, we see thatevery year and with each new writer, opinion as to what is good formankind changes; so that what once seemed good, ten years laterseems bad, and vice versa. And what is more, we find at one and thesame time quite contradictory views as to what is bad and what is goodin history: some people regard giving a constitution to Poland andforming the Holy Alliance as praiseworthy in Alexander, while othersregard it as blameworthy.

　　The activity of Alexander or of Napoleon cannot be called usefulor harmful, for it is impossible to say for what it was useful orharmful. If that activity displeases somebody, this is only because itdoes not agree with his limited understanding of what is good. Whetherthe preservation of my father's house in Moscow, or the glory of theRussian arms, or the prosperity of the Petersburg and otheruniversities, or the freedom of Poland or the greatness of Russia,or the balance of power in Europe, or a certain kind of Europeanculture called "progress" appear to me to be good or bad, I must admitthat besides these things the action of every historic character hasother more general purposes inaccessible to me.

　　But let us assume that what is called science can harmonize allcontradictions and possesses an unchanging standard of good and bad bywhich to try historic characters and events; let us say that Alexandercould have done everything differently; let us say that withguidance from those who blame him and who profess to know the ultimateaim of the movement of humanity, he might have arranged mattersaccording to the program his present accusers would have given him- ofnationality, freedom, equality, and progress (these, I think, coverthe ground). Let us assume that this program was possible and had thenbeen formulated, and that Alexander had acted on it. What would thenhave become of the activity of all those who opposed the tendency thatthen prevailed in the government- an activity that in the opinion ofthe historians was good and beneficent? Their activity would nothave existed: there would have been no life, there would have beennothing.

　　If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, thepossibility of life is destroyed.EP1|CH2

　　CHAPTER II

　　If we assume as the historians do that great men lead humanity tothe attainment of certain ends- the greatness of Russia or ofFrance, the balance of power in Europe, the diffusion of the ideasof the Revolution general progress or anything else- then it isimpossible to explain the facts of history without introducing theconceptions of chance and genius.

　　If the aim of the European wars at the beginning of the nineteenthcentury had been the aggrandizement of Russia, that aim might havebeen accomplished without all the preceding wars and without theinvasion. If the aim wag the aggrandizement of France, that might havebeen attained without the Revolution and without the Empire. If theaim was the dissemination of ideas, the printing press could haveaccomplished that much better than warfare. If the aim was theprogress of civilization, it is easy to see that there are otherways of diffusing civilization more expedient than by thedestruction 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; geniusutilized it," says history.

　　But what is chance? What is genius?

　　The words chance and genius do not denote any really existingthing and therefore cannot be defined. Those words only denote acertain stage of understanding of phenomena. I do not know why acertain event occurs; I think that I cannot know it; so I do not tryto know it and I talk about chance. I see a force producing effectsbeyond the scope of ordinary human agencies; I do not understand whythis occurs and I talk of genius.

　　To a herd of rams, the ram the herdsman drives each evening into aspecial enclosure to feed and that becomes twice as fat as theothers must seem to be a genius. And it must appear an astonishingconjunction of genius with a whole series of extraordinary chancesthat this ram, who instead of getting into the general fold everyevening goes into a special enclosure where there are oats- thatthis very ram, swelling with fat, is killed for meat.

　　But the rams need only cease to suppose that all that happens tothem happens solely for the attainment of their sheepish aims; theyneed only admit that what happens to them may also have purposesbeyond their ken, and they will at once perceive a unity and coherencein what happened to the ram that was fattened. Even if they do notknow for what purpose they are fattened, they will at least knowthat all that happened to the ram did not happen accidentally, andwill no longer need the conceptions of chance or genius.

　　Only by renouncing our claim to discern a purpose immediatelyintelligible to us, and admitting the ultimate purpose to be beyondour ken, may we discern the sequence of experiences in the lives ofhistoric characters and perceive the cause of the effect theyproduce (incommensurable with ordinary human capabilities), and thenthe words chance and genius become superfluous.

　　We need only confess that we do not know the purpose of the Europeanconvulsions 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 theeast and from the east to the west form the essence and purpose ofthese events, and not only shall we have no need to see exceptionalability and genius in Napoleon and Alexander, but we shall be unableto consider them to be anything but like other men, and we shall notbe obliged to have recourse to chance for an explanation of thosesmall events which made these people what they were, but it will beclear that all those small events were inevitable.

　　By discarding a claim to knowledge of the ultimate purpose, we shallclearly perceive that just as one cannot imagine a blossom or seed forany single plant better suited to it than those it produces, so itis impossible to imagine any two people more completely adapted downto the smallest detail for the purpose they had to fulfill, thanNapoleon and Alexander with all their antecedents.EP1|CH3

　　CHAPTER III

　　The fundamental and essential significance of the European events ofthe beginning of the nineteenth century lies in the movement of themass of the European peoples from west to east and afterwards fromeast to west. The commencement of that movement was the movementfrom west to east. For the peoples of the west to be able to maketheir warlike movement to Moscow it was necessary: (1) that theyshould form themselves into a military group of a size able toendure 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 heada man who could justify to himself and to them the deceptions,robberies, and murders which would have to be committed during thatmovement.

　　And beginning with the French Revolution the old inadequatelylarge group was destroyed, as well as the old habits and traditions,and step by step a group was formed of larger dimensions with newcustoms and traditions, and a man was produced who would stand atthe head of the coming movement and bear the responsibility for allthat had to be done.

　　A man without convictions, without habits, without traditions,without a name, and not even a Frenchman, emerges- by what seem thestrangest chances- from among all the seething French parties, andwithout joining any one of them is borne forward to a prominentposition.

　　The ignorance of his colleagues, the weakness and insignificanceof his opponents, the frankness of his falsehoods, and the dazzlingand self-confident limitations of this man raise him to the head ofthe army. The brilliant qualities of the soldiers of the army sentto Italy, his opponents' reluctance to fight, and his own childishaudacity and self-confidence secure him military fame. Innumerableso called chances accompany him everywhere. The disfavor into which hefalls with the rulers of France turns to his advantage. His attemptsto avoid his predestined path are unsuccessful: he is not receivedinto the Russian service, and the appointment he seeks in Turkey comesto nothing. During the war in Italy he is several times on the vergeof destruction and each time is saved in an unexpected manner. Owingto various diplomatic considerations the Russian armies- just thosewhich might have destroyed his prestige- do not appear upon thescene till he is no longer there.

　　On his return from Italy he finds the government in Paris in aprocess of dissolution in which all those who are in it are inevitablywiped out and destroyed. And by chance an escape from this dangerousposition presents itself in the form of an aimless and senselessexpedition to Africa. Again so-called chance accompanies him.Impregnable Malta surrenders without a shot; his most reckless schemesare crowned with success. The enemy's fleet, which subsequently didnot let a single boat pass, allows his entire army to elude it. InAfrica a whole series of outrages are committed against the almostunarmed inhabitants. And the men who commit these crimes, especiallytheir 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 inconsidering nothing wrong that one does but in priding oneself onevery crime one commits, ascribing to it an incomprehensiblesupernatural significance- that ideal, destined to guide this manand his associates, had scope for its development in Africa.Whatever he does succeeds. The plague does not touch him. Thecruelty of murdering prisoners is not imputed to him as a fault. Hischildishly rash, uncalled-for, and ignoble departure from Africa,leaving his comrades in distress, is set down to his credit, and againthe enemy's fleet twice lets him slip past. When, intoxicated by thecrimes he has committed so successfully, he reaches Paris, thedissolution of the republican government, which a year earlier mighthave ruined him, has reached its extreme limit, and his presence therenow as a newcomer free from party entanglements can only serve toexalt him- and though he himself has no plan, he is quite ready forhis new role.

　　He had no plan, he was afraid of everything, but the partiessnatched at him and demanded his participation.

　　He alone- with his ideal of glory and grandeur developed in Italyand Egypt, his insane self-adulation, his boldness in crime andfrankness in lying- he alone could justify what had to be done.

　　He is needed for the place that awaits him, and so almost apart fromhis will and despite his indecision, his lack of a plan, and all hismistakes, he is drawn into a conspiracy that aims at seizing power andthe conspiracy is crowned with success.

　　He is pushed into a meeting of the legislature. In alarm he wishesto flee, considering himself lost. He pretends to fall into a swoonand says senseless things that should have ruined him. But the onceproud and shrewd rulers of France, feeling that their part is playedout, are even more bewildered than he, and do not say the words theyshould have said to destroy him and retain their power.

　　Chance, millions of chances, give him power, and all men as if byagreement co-operate to confirm that power. Chance forms thecharacters of the rulers of France, who submit to him; chance formsthe character of Paul I of Russia who recognizes his government;chance contrives a plot against him which not only fails to harm himbut confirms his power. Chance puts the Duc d'Enghien in his hands andunexpectedly causes him to kill him- thereby convincing the mob moreforcibly than in any other way that he had the right, since he had themight. Chance contrives that though he directs all his efforts toprepare an expedition against England (which would inevitably haveruined him) he never carries out that intention, but unexpectedlyfalls upon Mack and the Austrians, who surrender without a battle.Chance and genius give him the victory at Austerlitz; and by chanceall men, not only the French but all Europe- except England which doesnot take part in the events about to happen- despite their formerhorror and detestation of his crimes, now recognize his authority, thetitle he has given himself, and his ideal of grandeur and glory, whichseems 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 ofpeople that had formed in France unites into one group with thepeoples of Central Europe. The strength of the justification of theman who stands at the head of the movement grows with the increasedsize of the group. During the ten-year preparatory period this man hadformed relations with all the crowned heads of Europe. The discreditedrulers of the world can oppose no reasonable ideal to the insensateNapoleonic ideal of glory and grandeur. One after another theyhasten to display their insignificance before him. The King of Prussiasends his wife to seek the great man's mercy; the Emperor of Austriaconsiders it a favor that this man receives a daughter the Caesarsinto his bed; the Pope, the guardian of all that the nations holdsacred, utilizes religion for the aggrandizement of the great man.It is not Napoleon who prepares himself for the accomplishment ofhis role, so much as all those round him who prepare him to take onhimself the whole responsibility for what is happening and has tohappen. There is no step, no crime or petty fraud he commits, which inthe mouths of those around him is not at once represented as a greatdeed. The most suitable fete the Germans can devise for him is acelebration of Jena and Auerstadt. Not only is he great, but so arehis ancestors, his brothers, his stepsons, and his brothers-in-law.Everything is done to deprive him of the remains of his reason andto prepare him for his terrible part. And when he is ready so tooare the forces.

　　The invasion pushes eastward and reaches its final goal- Moscow.That city is taken; the Russian army suffers heavier losses than theopposing armies had suffered in the former war from Austerlitz toWagram. But suddenly instead of those chances and that genius whichhitherto had so consistently led him by an uninterrupted series ofsuccesses to the predestined goal, an innumerable sequence ofinverse chances occur- from the cold in his head at Borodino to thesparks which set Moscow on fire, and the frosts- and instead ofgenius, stupidity and immeasurable baseness become evident.

　　The invaders flee, turn back, flee again, and all the chances arenow not for Napoleon but always against him.

　　A countermovement is then accomplished from east to west with aremarkable resemblance to the preceding movement from west to east.Attempted drives from east to west- similar to the contrarymovements of 1805, 1807, and 1809- precede the great westwardmovement; there is the same coalescence into a group of enormousdimensions; the same adhesion of the people of Central Europe to themovement; the same hesitation midway, and the same increasing rapidityas the goal is approached.

　　Paris, the ultimate goal, is reached. The Napoleonic governmentand army are destroyed. Napoleon himself is no longer of anyaccount; all his actions are evidently pitiful and mean, but againan inexplicable chance occurs. The allies detest Napoleon whom theyregard as the cause of their sufferings. Deprived of power andauthority, his crimes and his craft exposed, he should have appearedto them what he appeared ten years previously and one year later- anoutlawed brigand. But by some strange chance no one perceives this.His part is not yet ended. The man who ten years before and a yearlater was considered an outlawed brigand is sent to an island twodays' sail from France, which for some reason is presented to him ashis dominion, and guards are given to him and millions of money arepaid him.EP1|CH4

　　CHAPTER IV

　　The flood of nations begins to subside into its normal channels. Thewaves of the great movement abate, and on the calm surface eddiesare formed in which float the diplomatists, who imagine that they havecaused the floods to abate.

　　But the smooth sea again suddenly becomes disturbed. Thediplomatists think that their disagreements are the cause of thisfresh pressure of natural forces; they anticipate war between theirsovereigns; the position seems to them insoluble. But the wave theyfeel to be rising does not come from the quarter they expect. It risesagain from the same point as before- Paris. The last backwash of themovement from the west occurs: a backwash which serves to solve theapparently insuperable diplomatic difficulties and ends the militarymovement of that period of history.

　　The man who had devastated France returns to France alone, withoutany conspiracy and without soldiers. Any guard might arrest him, butby strange chance no one does so and all rapturously greet the manthey 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 role is played. The actor is bidden to disrobe and wash offhis powder and paint: he will not be wanted any more.

　　And some years pass during which he plays a pitiful comedy tohimself in solitude on his island, justifying his actions by intriguesand lies when the justification is no longer needed, and displaying tothe whole world what it was that people had mistaken for strength aslong as an unseen hand directed his actions.

　　The manager having brought the drama to a close and stripped theactor shows him to us.

　　"See what you believed in! This is he! Do you now see that it wasnot he but I who moved you?"

　　But dazed by the force of the movement, it was long before peopleunderstood this.

　　Still greater coherence and inevitability is seen in the life ofAlexander I, the man who stood at the head of the countermovement fromeast to west.

　　What was needed for him who, overshadowing others, stood at the headof that movement from east to west?

　　What was needed was a sense of justice and a sympathy withEuropean affairs, but a remote sympathy not dulled by petty interests;a moral superiority over those sovereigns of the day who co-operatedwith him; a mild and attractive personality; and a personalgrievance against Napoleon. And all this was found in Alexander I; allthis had been prepared by innumerable so-called chances in his life:his education, his early liberalism, the advisers who surroundedhim, 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 presenteditself he appeared in his place at the given moment and, uniting thenations of Europe, led them to the goal.

　　The goal is reached. After the final war of 1815 Alexander possessesall possible power. How does he use it?

　　Alexander I- the pacifier of Europe, the man who from his earlyyears had striven only for his people's welfare, the originator of theliberal innovations in his fatherland- now that he seemed to possessthe utmost power and therefore to have the possibility of bringingabout the welfare of his peoples- at the time when Napoleon in exilewas drawing up childish and mendacious plans of how he would have mademankind happy had he retained power- Alexander I, having fulfilled hismission and feeling the hand of God upon him, suddenly recognizesthe insignificance of that supposed power, turns away from it, andgives it into the hands of contemptible men whom he despises, sayingonly:

　　"Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy Name!... I too am a man likethe rest of you. Let me live like a man and think of my soul and ofGod."

　　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 tocomprehend, so each individual has within himself his own aims and yethas them to serve a general purpose incomprehensible to man.

　　A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. And the child isafraid of bees and declares that bees exist to sting people. A poetadmires the bee sucking from the chalice of a flower and says itexists to suck the fragrance of flowers. A beekeeper, seeing the beecollect pollen from flowers and carry it to the hive, says that itexists to gather honey. Another beekeeper who has studied the lifeof the hive more closely says that the bee gathers pollen dust to feedthe young bees and rear a queen, and that it exists to perpetuateits race. A botanist notices that the bee flying with the pollen ofa male flower to a pistil fertilizes the latter, and sees in thisthe purpose of the bee's existence. Another, observing the migrationof plants, notices that the bee helps in this work, and may say thatin this lies the purpose of the bee. But the ultimate purpose of thebee is not exhausted by the first, the second, or any of the processesthe human mind can discern. The higher the human intellect rises inthe discovery of these purposes, the more obvious it becomes, that theultimate purpose is beyond our comprehension.

　　All that is accessible to man is the relation of the life of the beeto other manifestations of life. And so it is with the purpose ofhistoric characters and nations.EP1|CH5

　　CHAPTER V

　　Natasha's wedding to Bezukhov, which took place in 1813, was thelast happy event in the family of the old Rostovs. Count Ilya Rostovdied that same year and, as always happens, after the father's deaththe family group broke up.

　　The events of the previous year: the burning of Moscow and theflight from it, the death of Prince Andrew, Natasha's despair, Petya'sdeath, and the old countess' grief fell blow after blow on the oldcount's head. He seemed to be unable to understand the meaning ofall these events, and bowed his old head in a spiritual sense as ifexpecting and inviting further blows which would finish him. He seemednow frightened and distraught and now unnaturally animated andenterprising.

　　The arrangements for Natasha's marriage occupied him for a while. Heordered dinners and suppers and obviously tried to appear cheerful,but his cheerfulness was not infectious as it used to be: on thecontrary it evoked the compassion of those who knew and liked him.

　　When Pierre and his wife had left, he grew very quiet and began tocomplain of depression. A few days later he fell ill and took to hisbed. He realized from the first that he would not get up again,despite the doctor's encouragement. The countess passed a fortnight inan armchair by his pillow without undressing. Every time she gavehim his medicine he sobbed and silently kissed her hand. On his lastday, sobbing, he asked her and his absent son to forgive him forhaving dissipated their property- that being the chief fault ofwhich he was conscious. After receiving communion and unction hequietly died; and next day a throng of acquaintances who came to paytheir last respects to the deceased filled the house rented by theRostovs. All these acquaintances, who had so often dined and danced athis house and had so often laughed at him, now said, with a commonfeeling of self-reproach and emotion, as if justifying themselves:"Well, whatever he may have been he was a most worthy man. You don'tmeet such men nowadays.... And which of us has not weaknesses of hisown?"

　　It was just when the count's affairs had become so involved thatit was impossible to say what would happen if he lived another yearthat he unexpectedly died.

　　Nicholas was with the Russian army in Paris when the news of hisfather's death reached him. He at once resigned his commission, andwithout waiting for it to be accepted took leave of absence and wentto Moscow. The state of the count's affairs became quite obvious amonth after his death, surprising everyone by the immense total ofsmall debts the existence of which no one had suspected. The debtsamounted 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, whichhe held sacred, and therefore would not hear of refusing andaccepted the inheritance together with the obligation to pay thedebts.

　　The creditors who had so long been silent, restrained by a vague butpowerful influence exerted on them while he lived by the count'scareless good nature, all proceeded to enforce their claims at once.As always happens in such cases rivalry sprang up as to which shouldget paid first, and those who like Mitenka held promissory notes giventhem as presents now became the most exacting of the creditors.Nicholas was allowed no respite and no peace, and those who had seemedto pity the old man- the cause of their losses (if they werelosses)- now remorselessly pursued the young heir who hadvoluntarily undertaken the debts and was obviously not guilty ofcontracting them.

　　Not one of the plans Nicholas tried succeeded; the estate was soldby auction for half its value, and half the debts still remainedunpaid. Nicholas accepted thirty thousand rubles offered him by hisbrother-in-law Bezukhov to pay off debts he regarded as genuinelydue for value received. And to avoid being imprisoned for theremainder, as the creditors threatened, he re-entered the governmentservice.

　　He could not rejoin the army where he would have been made colonelat the next vacancy, for his mother now clung to him as her one holdon life; and so despite his reluctant to remain in Moscow among peoplewho had known him before, and despite his abhorrence of the civilservice, he accepted a post in Moscow in that service, doffed theuniform of which he was so fond, and moved with his mother and Sonyato a small house on the Sivtsev Vrazhek.

　　Natasha and Pierre were living in Petersburg at the time and hadno clear idea of Nicholas' circumstances. Having borrowed money fromhis brother-in-law, Nicholas tried to hide his wretched condition fromhim. His position was the more difficult because with his salary oftwelve hundred rubles he had not only to keep himself, his mother, andSonya, but had to shield his mother from knowledge of their poverty.The countess could not conceive of life without the luxuriousconditions she had been used to from childhood and, unable torealize how hard it was for her son, kept demanding now a carriage(which they did not keep) to send for a friend, now some expensivearticle of food for herself, or wine for her son, or money to buy apresent as a surprise for Natasha or Sonya, or for Nicholas himself.

　　Sonya kept house, attended on her aunt, read to her, put up with herwhims and secret ill-will, and helped Nicholas to conceal theirpoverty from the old countess. Nicholas felt himself irredeemablyindebted to Sonya for all she was doing for his mother and greatlyadmired her patience and devotion, but tried to keep aloof from her.

　　He seemed in his heart to reproach her for being too perfect, andbecause there was nothing to reproach her with. She had all thatpeople 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 hadtaken her at her word when she wrote giving him his freedom and nowbehaved as if all that had passed between them had been long forgottenand could never in any case be renewed.

　　Nicholas' position became worse and worse. The idea of puttingsomething aside out of his salary proved a dream. Not only did henot save anything, but to comply with his mother's demands he evenincurred some small debts. He could see no way out of thissituation. The idea of marrying some rich woman, which was suggestedto him by his female relations, was repugnant to him. The other wayout- his mother's death- never entered his head. He wished for nothingand hoped for nothing, and deep in his heart experienced a gloomyand stern satisfaction in an uncomplaining endurance of hisposition. He tried to avoid his old acquaintances with theircommiseration and offensive offers of assistance; he avoided alldistraction and recreation, and even at home did nothing but playcards with his mother, pace silently up and down the room, and smokeone pipe after another. He seemed carefully to cherish withinhimself the gloomy mood which alone enabled him to endure hisposition.EP1|CH6

　　CHAPTER VI

　　At the beginning of winter Princess Mary came to Moscow. Fromreports current in town she learned how the Rostovs were situated, andhow "the son has sacrificed himself for his mother," as people weresaying.

　　"I never expected anything else of him," said Princess Mary toherself, feeling a joyous sense of her love for him. Remembering herfriendly relations with all the Rostovs which had made her almost amember of the family, she thought it her duty to go to see them. Butremembering her relations with Nicholas in Voronezh she was shyabout doing so. Making a great effort she did however go to call onthem a few weeks after her arrival in Moscow.

　　Nicholas was the first to meet her, as the countess' room could onlybe reached through his. But instead of being greeted with pleasureas she had expected, at his first glance at her his face assumed acold, stiff, proud expression she had not seen on it before. Heinquired about her health, led the way to his mother, and having satthere for five minutes left the room.

　　When the princess came out of the countess' room Nicholas met heragain, and with marked solemnity and stiffness accompanied her tothe anteroom. To her remarks about his mother's health he made noreply. "What's that to you? Leave me in peace," his looks seemed tosay.

　　"Why does she come prowling here? What does she want? I can't bearthese ladies and all these civilities!" said he aloud in Sonya'spresence, evidently unable to repress his vexation, after theprincess' carriage had disappeared.

　　"Oh, Nicholas, how can you talk like that?" cried Sonya, hardly ableto 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 princessany more. But after her visit the old countess spoke of her severaltimes 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-humoredwhen she began to talk about her.

　　Nicholas tried to keep silence when his mother spoke of theprincess, 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 seeingsomebody, 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 understandyou, my dear. One day you are dull, and the next you refuse to seeanyone."

　　"But I never said I was dull."

　　"Why, you said yourself you don't want even to see her. She is avery admirable young woman and you always liked her, but nowsuddenly you have got some notion or other in your head. You hideeverything from me."

　　"Not at all, Mamma."

　　"If I were asking you to do something disagreeable now- but I onlyask you to return a call. One would think mere politeness requiredit.... Well, I have asked you, and now I won't interfere any moresince 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 apatience, trying to divert his mother's attention to another topic.

　　The same conversation was repeated next day and the day after, andthe day after that.

　　After her visit to the Rostovs and her unexpectedly chilly receptionby Nicholas, Princess Mary confessed to herself that she had beenright in not wishing to be the first to call.

　　"I expected nothing else," she told herself, calling her pride toher aid. "I have nothing to do with him and I only wanted to see theold lady, who was always kind to me and to whom I am under manyobligations."

　　But she could not pacify herself with these reflections; a feelingakin to remorse troubled her when she thought of her visit. Though shehad firmly resolved not to call on the Rostovs again and to forget thewhole matter, she felt herself all the time in an awkward position.And when she asked herself what distressed her, she had to admitthat it was her relation to Rostov. His cold, polite manner did notexpress his feeling for her (she knew that) but it concealedsomething, and until she could discover what that something was, shefelt that she could not be at ease.

　　One day in midwinter when sitting in the schoolroom attending to hernephew's lessons, she was informed that Rostov had called. With a firmresolution not to betray herself and not show her agitation, shesent for Mademoiselle Bourienne and went with her to the drawing room.

　　Her first glance at Nicholas' face told her that he had only come tofulfill the demands of politeness, and she firmly resolved to maintainthe tone in which he addressed her.

　　They spoke of the countess' health, of their mutual friends, ofthe latest war news, and when the ten minutes required by proprietyhad elapsed after which a visitor may rise, Nicholas got up to saygood-by.

　　With Mademoiselle Bourienne's help the princess had maintained theconversation very well, but at the very last moment, just when herose, she was so tired of talking of what did not interest her, andher mind was so full of the question why she alone was granted solittle happiness in life, that in a fit of absent-mindedness she satstill, her luminous eyes gazing fixedly before her, not noticingthat he had risen.

　　Nicholas glanced at her and, wishing to appear not to notice herabstraction, made some remark to Mademoiselle Bourienne and then againlooked at the princess. She still sat motionless with a look ofsuffering on her gentle face. He suddenly felt sorry for her and wasvaguely conscious that he might be the cause of the sadness her faceexpressed. He wished to help her and say something pleasant, but couldthink 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 goingalready, Count? Well then, good-by! Oh, but the cushion for thecountess!"

　　"Wait a moment, I'll fetch it," said Mademoiselle Bourienne, and sheleft 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'tseem long ago since we first met at Bogucharovo, but how much waterhas 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 nobringing it back."

　　Princess Mary gazed intently into his eyes with her own luminousones as he said this. She seemed to be trying to fathom the hiddenmeaning 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 alwaysrecall it with satisfaction, because the self-sacrifice that fillsit now..."

　　"I cannot accept your praise," he interrupted her hurriedly. "On thecontrary I continually reproach myself.... But this is not at all aninteresting or cheerful subject."

　　His face again resumed its former stiff and cold expression. But theprincess 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 hadcome so near to you... and to all your family that I thought you wouldnot consider my sympathy misplaced, but I was mistaken," andsuddenly 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 thewhy. "Thank you, Princess," he added softly. "Sometimes it is hard."

　　"So that's why! That's why!" a voice whispered in Princess Mary'ssoul. "No, it was not only that gay, kind, and frank look, not onlythat 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 understoodthe cause of his coldness.

　　"But why, Count, why?" she almost cried, unconsciously moving closerto him. "Why? Tell me. You must tell me!"

　　He was silent.

　　"I don't understand your why, Count," she continued, "but it'shard for me... I confess it. For some reason you wish to deprive me ofour former friendship. And that hurts me." There were tears in hereyes and in her voice. "I have had so little happiness in life thatevery loss is hard for me to bear.... Excuse me, good-by!" andsuddenly 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 oneanother's eyes- and what had seemed impossible and remote suddenlybecame possible, inevitable, and very near.EP1|CH7

　　CHAPTER VII

　　In the winter of 1813 Nicholas married Princess Mary and moved toBald Hills with his wife, his mother, and Sonya.

　　Within four years he had paid off all his remaining debts withoutselling any of his wife's property, and having received a smallinheritance on the death of a cousin he paid his debt to Pierre aswell.

　　In another three years, by 1820, he had so managed his affairsthat he was able to buy a small estate adjoining Bald Hills and wasnegotiating to buy back Otradnoe- that being his pet dream.

　　Having started farming from necessity, he soon grew so devoted to itthat it became his favorite and almost his sole occupation. Nicholaswas a plain farmer: he did not like innovations, especially theEnglish ones then coming into vogue. He laughed at theoreticaltreatises on estate management, disliked factories, the raising ofexpensive products, and the buying of expensive seed corn, and did notmake a hobby of any particular part of the work on his estate. Healways had before his mind's eye the estate as a whole and not anyparticular part of it. The chief thing in his eyes was not thenitrogen in the soil, nor the oxygen in the air, nor manures, norspecial 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 itsdifferent branches, it was the serf who especially attracted hisattention. The peasant seemed to him not merely a tool, but also ajudge 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 realitylearning from them their methods, their manner of speech, and theirjudgment of what was good and bad. Only when he had understood thepeasants' tastes and aspirations, had learned to talk theirlanguage, to grasp the hidden meaning of their words, and felt akin tothem did he begin boldly to manage his serfs, that is, to performtoward them the duties demanded of him. And Nicholas' managementproduced very brilliant results.

　　Guided by some gift of insight, on taking up the management of theestates he at once unerringly appointed as bailiff, village elder, anddelegate, the very men the serfs would themselves have chosen had theyhad the right to choose, and these posts never changed hands. Beforeanalyzing the properties of manure, before entering into the debit andcredit (as he ironically called it), he found out how many cattlethe peasants had and increased the number by all possible means. Hekept the peasant families together in the largest groups possible, notallowing the family groups to divide into separate households. Hewas hard alike on the lazy, the depraved, and the weak, and tried toget them expelled from the commune.

　　He was as careful of the sowing and reaping of the peasants' hay andcorn as of his own, and few landowners had their crops sown andharvested so early and so well, or got so good a return, as didNicholas.

　　He disliked having anything to do with the domestic serfs- the"drones" as he called them- and everyone said he spoiled them by hislaxity. When a decision had to be taken regarding a domestic serf,especially if one had to be punished, he always felt undecided andconsulted everybody in the house; but when it was possible to have adomestic serf conscripted instead of a land worker he did so withoutthe least hesitation. He never felt any hesitation in dealing with thepeasants. He knew that his every decision would be approved by themall with very few exceptions.

　　He did not allow himself either to be hard on or punish a man, or tomake things easy for or reward anyone, merely because he felt inclinedto do so. He could not have said by what standard he judged what heshould or should not do, but the standard was quite firm anddefinite in his own mind.

　　Often, speaking with vexation of some failure or irregularity, hewould say: "What can one do with our Russian peasants?" and imaginedthat he could not bear them.

　　Yet he loved "our Russian peasants" and their way of life with hiswhole soul, and for that very reason had understood and assimilatedthe one way and manner of farming which produced good results.

　　Countess Mary was jealous of this passion of her husband's andregretted that she could not share it; but she could not understandthe joys and vexations he derived from that world, to her so remoteand alien. She could not understand why he was so particularlyanimated and happy when, after getting up at daybreak and spending thewhole morning in the fields or on the threshing floor, he returnedfrom the sowing or mowing or reaping to have tea with her. She did notunderstand why he spoke with such admiration and delight of thefarming of the thrifty and well-to-do peasant Matthew Ermishin, whowith his family had carted corn all night; or of the fact that his(Nicholas') sheaves were already stacked before anyone else had hisharvest in. She did not understand why he stepped out from thewindow to the veranda and smiled under his mustache and winked sojoyfully, when warm steady rain began to fall on the dry and thirstyshoots of the young oats, or why when the wind carried away athreatening cloud during the hay harvest he would return from thebarn, flushed, sunburned, and perspiring, with a smell of wormwood andgentian in his hair and, gleefully rubbing his hands, would say:"Well, one more day and my grain and the peasants' will all be undercover."

　　Still less did she understand why he, kindhearted and always readyto anticipate her wishes, should become almost desperate when shebrought him a petition from some peasant men or women who had appealedto her to be excused some work; why he, that kind Nicholas, shouldobstinately refuse her, angrily asking her not to interfere in whatwas not her business. She felt he had a world apart, which he lovedpassionately and which had laws she had not fathomed.

　　Sometimes when, trying to understand him, she spoke of the good workhe was doing for his serfs, he would be vexed and reply: "Not in theleast; 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'sneighbor! What I want is that our children should not have to gobegging. 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 allabout it!" said he, clenching his vigorous fist. "And fairness, ofcourse," he added, "for if the peasant is naked and hungry and hasonly one miserable horse, he can do no good either for himself orfor me."

　　And all Nicholas did was fruitful- probably just because herefused to allow himself to think that he was doing good to others forvirtue's sake. His means increased rapidly; serfs from neighboringestates came to beg him to buy them, and long after his death thememory of his administration was devoutly preserved among the serfs."He was a master... the peasants' affairs first and then his own. Ofcourse he was not to be trifled with either- in a word, he was areal master!"EP1|CH8

　　CHAPTER VIII

　　One matter connected with his management sometimes worried Nicholas,and that was his quick temper together with his old hussar habit ofmaking free use of his fists. At first he saw nothing reprehensible inthis, but in the second year of his marriage his view of that formof punishment suddenly changed.

　　Once in summer he had sent for the village elder from Bogucharovo, aman who had succeeded to the post when Dron died and who was accusedof dishonesty and various irregularities. Nicholas went out into theporch to question him, and immediately after the elder had given a fewreplies the sound of cries and blows were heard. On returning to lunchNicholas went up to his wife, who sat with her head bent low overher embroidery frame, and as usual began to tell her what he hadbeen doing that morning. Among other things he spoke of theBogucharovo elder. Countess Mary turned red and then pale, butcontinued to sit with head bowed and lips compressed and gave herhusband no reply.

　　"Such an insolent scoundrel!" he cried, growing hot again at themere recollection of him. "If he had told me he was drunk and didnot see... But what is the matter with you, Mary?" he suddenly asked.

　　Countess Mary raised her head and tried to speak, but hastily lookeddown again and her lips puckered.

　　"Why, whatever is the matter, my dearest?"

　　The looks of the plain Countess Mary always improved when she was intears. She never cried from pain or vexation, but always from sorrowor pity, and when she wept her radiant eyes acquired an irresistiblecharm.

　　The moment Nicholas took her hand she could no longer restrainherself 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, andpaced up and down the room. He understood what she was weepingabout, but could not in his heart at once agree with her that whathe had regarded from childhood as quite an everyday event was wrong."Is it just sentimentality, old wives' tales, or is she right?" heasked himself. Before he had solved that point he glanced again at herface filled with love and pain, and he suddenly realized that shewas right and that he had long been sinning against himself.

　　"Mary," he said softly, going up to her, "it will never happenagain; I give you my word. Never," he repeated in a trembling voicelike a boy asking for forgiveness.

　　The tears flowed faster still from the countess' eyes. She tookhis hand and kissed it.

　　"Nicholas, when when did you break your cameo?" she asked tochange the subject, looking at his finger on which he wore a ring witha cameo of Laocoon'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 occuragain, and let this always be a reminder to me," and he pointed to thebroken ring.

　　After that, when in discussions with his village elders orstewards the blood rushed to his face and his fists began to clench,Nicholas would turn the broken ring on his finger and would drop hiseyes before the man who was making him angry. But he did forgethimself once or twice within a twelvemonth, and then he would go andconfess to his wife, and would again promise that this should reallybe 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 enoughto control yourself," she would reply sadly, trying to comfort herhusband.

　　Among the gentry of the province Nicholas was respected but notliked. 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 withthe work on his farm. In autumn he gave himself up to hunting with thesame business like seriousness- leaving home for a month, or even two,with his hunt. In winter he visited his other villages or spent histime reading. The books he read were chiefly historical, and onthese he spent a certain sum every year. He was collecting, as hesaid, a serious library, and he made it a rule to read through all thebooks he bought. He would sit in his study with a grave air,reading- a task he first imposed upon himself as a duty, but whichafterwards became a habit affording him a special kind of pleasure anda consciousness of being occupied with serious matters. In winter,except for business excursions, he spent most of his time at homemaking himself one with his family and entering into all the detailsof his children's relations with their mother. The harmony between himand his wife grew closer and closer and he daily discovered freshspiritual treasures in her.

　　From the time of his marriage Sonya had lived in his house. Beforethat, Nicholas had told his wife all that had passed between himselfand Sonya, blaming himself and commending her. He had asked PrincessMary to be gentle and kind to his cousin. She thoroughly realizedthe wrong he had done Sonya, felt herself to blame toward her, andimagined that her wealth had influenced Nicholas' choice. She couldnot find fault with Sonya 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 Natasha about Sonya and abouther own injustice toward her.

　　"You know," said Natasha, "you have read the Gospels a great deal-there is a passage in them that just fits Sonya."

　　"What?" asked Countess Mary, surprised.

　　"'To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath notshall be taken away.' You remember? She is one that hath not; why, Idon't know. Perhaps she lacks egotism, I don't know, but from her istaken away, and everything has been taken away. Sometimes I amdreadfully sorry for her. Formerly I very much wanted Nicholas tomarry her, but I always had a sort of presentiment that it would notcome off. She is a sterile flower, you know- like some strawberryblossoms. Sometimes I am sorry for her, and sometimes I think shedoesn't feel it as you or I would."

　　Though Countess Mary told Natasha that those words in the Gospelmust be understood differently, yet looking at Sonya she agreed withNatasha's explanation. It really seemed that Sonya did not feel herposition trying, and had grown quite reconciled to her lot as asterile flower. She seemed to be fond not so much of individuals as ofthe family as a whole. Like a cat, she had attached herself not to thepeople but to the home. She waited on the old countess, petted andspoiled the children, was always ready to render the small servicesfor which she had a gift, and all this was unconsciously accepted fromher with insufficient gratitude.

　　The country seat at Bald Hills had been rebuilt, though not on thesame scale as under the old prince.

　　The buildings, begun under straitened circumstances, were morethan simple. The immense house on the old stone foundations was ofwood, plastered only inside. It had bare deal floors and was furnishedwith very simple hard sofas, armchairs, tables, and chairs made bytheir own serf carpenters out of their own birchwood. The house wasspacious and had rooms for the house serfs and apartments forvisitors. Whole families of the Rostovs' and Bolkonskis' relationssometimes came to Bald Hills with sixteen horses and dozens ofservants and stayed for months. Besides that, four times a year, onthe name days and birthdays of the hosts, as many as a hundredvisitors would gather there for a day or two. The rest of the yearlife pursued its unbroken routine with its ordinary occupations, andits breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and suppers, provided out of theproduce of the estate.EP1|CH9

　　CHAPTER IX

　　It was the eve of St. Nicholas, the fifth of December, 1820. Natashahad been staying at her brother's with her husband and childrensince early autumn. Pierre had gone to Petersburg on business of hisown for three weeks as he said, but had remained there nearly sevenweeks and was expected back every minute.

　　Besides the Bezukhov family, Nicholas' old friend the retiredGeneral Vasili Dmitrich Denisov was staying with the Rostovs thisfifth of December.

　　On the sixth, which was his name day when the house would be full ofvisitors, Nicholas knew he would have to exchange his Tartar tunic fora tail coat, and put on narrow boots with pointed toes, and drive tothe new church he had built, and then receive visitors who wouldcome to congratulate him, offer them refreshments, and talk aboutthe elections of the nobility; but he considered himself entitled tospend the eve of that day in his usual way. He examined thebailiff's accounts of the village in Ryazan which belonged to hiswife's nephew, wrote two business letters, and walked over to thegranaries, cattle yards and stables before dinner. Having takenprecautions against the general drunkenness to be expected on themorrow 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 atthe long table laid for twenty persons, at which the whole householdhad assembled. At that table were his mother, his mother's old ladycompanion Belova, his wife, their three children with theirgoverness and tutor, his wife's nephew with his tutor, Sonya, Denisov,Natasha, her three children, their governess, and old MichaelIvanovich, the late prince's architect, who was living on inretirement at Bald Hills.

　　Countess Mary sat at the other end of the table. When her husbandtook his place she concluded, from the rapid manner in which aftertaking up his table napkin he pushed back the tumbler and wineglassstanding before him, that he was out of humor, as was sometimes thecase when he came in to dinner straight from the farm- especiallybefore the soup. Countess Mary well knew that mood of his, and whenshe herself was in a good frame of mind quietly waited till he had hadhis soup and then began to talk to him and make him admit that therewas no cause for his ill-humor. But today she quite forgot that andwas hurt that he should be angry with her without any reason, andshe felt unhappy. She asked him where he had been. He replied. Sheagain inquired whether everything was going well on the farm. Herunnatural tone made him wince unpleasantly and he replied hastily.

　　"Then I'm not mistaken," thought Countess Mary. "Why is he crosswith me?" She concluded from his tone that he was vexed with her andwished to end the conversation. She knew her remarks soundedunnatural, but could not refrain from asking some more questions.

　　Thanks to Denisov the conversation at table soon became generaland lively, and she did not talk to her husband. When they left thetable and went as usual to thank the old countess, Countess Maryheld out her hand and kissed her husband, and asked him why he wasangry with her.

　　"You always have such strange fancies! I didn't even think ofbeing angry," he replied.

　　But the word always seemed to her to imply: "Yes, I am angry but Iwon't tell you why."

　　Nicholas and his wife lived together so happily that even Sonyaand the old countess, who felt jealous and would have liked them todisagree, could find nothing to reproach them with; but even theyhad their moments of antagonism. Occasionally, and it was alwaysjust after they had been happiest together, they suddenly had afeeling of estrangement and hostility, which occurred mostfrequently during Countess Mary's pregnancies, and this was such atime.

　　"Well, messieurs et mesdames," said Nicholas loudly and withapparent cheerfulness (it seemed to Countess Mary that he did it onpurpose 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 roomand lay down on the sofa.

　　"That's always the way," thought Countess Mary. "He talks toeveryone except me. I see... I see that I am repulsive to him,especially when I am in this condition." She looked down at herexpanded figure and in the glass at her pale, sallow, emaciated facein which her eyes now looked larger than ever.

　　And everything annoyed her- Denisov's shouting and laughter,Natasha's talk, and especially a quick glance Sonya gave her.

　　Sonya was always the first excuse Countess Mary found for feelingirritated.

　　Having sat awhile with her visitors without understanding anythingof what they were saying, she softly left the room and went to thenursery.

　　The children were playing at "going to Moscow" in a carriage made ofchairs and invited her to go with them. She sat down and played withthem a little, but the thought of her husband and his unreasonablecrossness worried her. She got up and, walking on tiptoe withdifficulty, went to the small sitting room.

　　"Perhaps he is not asleep; I'll have an explanation with him," shesaid to herself. Little Andrew, her eldest boy, imitating hismother, followed her on tiptoe. She not notice him.

　　"Mary, dear, I think he is asleep- he was so tired," said Sonya,meeting her in the large sitting room (it seemed to Countess Mary thatshe crossed her path everywhere). "Andrew may wake him."

　　Countess Mary looked round, saw little Andrew following her, feltthat Sonya was right, and for that very reason flushed and withevident difficulty refrained from saying something harsh. She madeno reply, but to avoid obeying Sonya beckoned to Andrew to followher quietly and went to the door. Sonya went away by another door.From the room in which Nicholas was sleeping came the sound of hiseven breathing, every slightest tone of which was familiar to hiswife. As she listened to it she saw before her his smooth handsomeforehead, his mustache, and his whole face, as she had so often seenit in the stillness of the night when he slept. Nicholas suddenlymoved and cleared his throat. And at that moment little Andrew shoutedfrom outside the door: "Papa! Mamma's standing here!" Countess Maryturned pale with fright and made signs to the boy. He grew silent, andquiet ensued for a moment, terrible to Countess Mary. She knew howNicholas disliked being waked. Then through the door she heardNicholas clearing his throat again and stirring, and his voice saidcrossly:

　　"I can't get a moment's peace.... Mary, is that you? Why did youbring 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 thedoor and took the boy back to the nursery. Five minutes later littleblack-eyed three-year-old Natasha, her father's pet, having learnedfrom her brother that Papa was asleep and Mamma was in the sittingroom, ran to her father unobserved by her mother. The dark-eyed littlegirl boldly opened the creaking door, went up to the sofa withenergetic steps of her sturdy little legs, and having examined theposition of her father, who was asleep with his back to her, rose ontiptoe and kissed the hand which lay under his head. Nicholas turnedwith a tender smile on his face.

　　"Natasha, Natasha!" came Countess Mary's frightened whisper from thedoor. "Papa wants to sleep."

　　"No, Mamma, he doesn't want to sleep," said little Natasha withconviction. "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 justlooked in."

　　Holding his little girl with one arm, Nicholas glanced at his wifeand, seeing her guilty expression, put his other arm around her andkissed her hair.

　　"May I kiss Mamma?" he asked Natasha.

　　Natasha smiled bashfully.

　　"Again!" she commanded, pointing with a peremptory gesture to thespot where Nicholas had placed the kiss.

　　"I don't know why you think I am cross," said Nicholas, replyingto the question he knew was in his wife's mind.

　　"You have no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you arelike that. It always seems to me... "

　　"Mary, don't talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" hesaid 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 lovethat makes us see beauty. It is only Malvinas and women of that kindwho are loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I don't loveher, but... I don't know how to put it. Without you, or when somethingcomes between us like this, I seem lost and can't do anything. Nowdo 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 angrywith me?"

　　"Awfully angry!" he said, smiling and getting up. And smoothinghis 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 hadmade it up.

　　He did not ask if she was ready to listen to him. He did not care. Athought had occurred to him and so it belonged to her also. And hetold her of his intention to persuade Pierre to stay with them tillspring.

　　Countess Mary listened till he had finished, made some remark, andin her turn began thinking aloud. Her thoughts were about thechildren.

　　"You can see the woman in her already," she said in French, pointingto little Natasha. "You reproach us women with being illogical. Hereis our logic. I say: 'Papa wants to sleep!' but she says, 'No, he'slaughing.' And she was right," said Countess Mary with a happy smile.

　　"Yes, yes." And Nicholas, taking his little daughter in his stronghand, lifted her high, placed her on his shoulder, held her by thelegs, and paced the room with her. There was an expression of carefreehappiness 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 footstepsin 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 Maryand left the room.

　　In her absence Nicholas allowed himself to give his littledaughter a gallop round the room. Out of breath, he took thelaughing child quickly from his shoulder and pressed her to his heart.His capers reminded him of dancing, and looking at the child's roundhappy little face he thought of what she would be like when he wasan old man, taking her into society and dancing the mazurka with heras his old father had danced Daniel Cooper with his daughter.

　　"It is he, it is he, Nicholas!" said Countess Mary, re-enteringthe room a few minutes later. "Now our Natasha has come to life. Youshould have seen her ecstasy, and how he caught it for having stayedaway so long. Well, come along now, quick, quick! It's time you twowere parted," she added, looking smilingly at the little girl whoclung 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 timeshe sighed, and her deep eyes expressed a quiet sadness as thoughshe felt, through her happiness, that there is another sort ofhappiness unattainable in this life and of which she involuntarilythought at that instant.EP1|CH10

　　CHAPTER X

　　Natasha had married in the early spring of 1813, and in 1820 alreadyhad three daughters besides a son for whom she had longed and whom shewas now nursing. She had grown stouter and broader, so that it wasdifficult to recognize in this robust, motherly woman the slim, livelyNatasha of former days. Her features were more defined and had a calm,soft, and serene expression. In her face there was none of theever-glowing animation that had formerly burned there andconstituted its charm. Now her face and body were of all that one saw,and her soul was not visible at all. All that struck the eye was astrong, handsome, and fertile woman. The old fire very rarelykindled in her face now. That happened only when, as was the case thatday, her husband returned home, or a sick child was convalescent, orwhen she and Countess Mary spoke of Prince Andrew (she never mentionedhim to her husband, who she imagined was jealous of Prince Andrew'smemory), or on the rare occasions when something happened to induceher to sing, a practice she had quite abandoned since her marriage. Atthe rare moments when the old fire did kindle in her handsome, fullydeveloped body she was even more attractive than in former days.

　　Since their marriage Natasha and her husband had lived in Moscow, inPetersburg, on their estate near Moscow, or with her mother, that isto say, in Nicholas' house. The young Countess Bezukhova was not oftenseen in society, and those who met her there were not pleased with herand found her neither attractive nor amiable. Not that Natasha likedsolitude- she did not know whether she liked it or not, she eventhought that she did not- but with her pregnancies, herconfinements, the nursing of her children, and sharing every moment ofher husband's life, she had demands on her time which could besatisfied only by renouncing society. All who had known Natasha beforeher marriage wondered at the change in her as at somethingextraordinary. Only the old countess with her maternal instinct hadrealized that all Natasha's outbursts had been due to her need ofchildren and a husband- as she herself had once exclaimed atOtradnoe not so much in fun as in earnest- and her mother was nowsurprised at the surprise expressed by those who had neverunderstood Natasha, and she kept saying that she had always known thatNatasha would make an exemplary wife and mother.

　　"Only she lets her love of her husband and children overflow allbounds," said the countess, "so that it even becomes absurd."

　　Natasha did not follow the golden rule advocated by clever folk,especially by the French, which says that a girl should not letherself go when she marries, should not neglect her accomplishments,should be even more careful of her appearance than when she wasunmarried, and should fascinate her husband as much as she didbefore he became her husband. Natasha on the contrary had at onceabandoned all her witchery, of which her singing had been an unusuallypowerful part. She gave it up just because it was so powerfullyseductive. She took no pains with her manners or with of speech, orwith her toilet, or to show herself to her husband in her mostbecoming attitudes, or to avoid inconveniencing him by being tooexacting. She acted in contradiction to all those rules. She felt thatthe allurements instinct had formerly taught her to use would now bemerely ridiculous in the eyes of her husband, to whom she had from thefirst moment given herself up entirely- that is, with her wholesoul, leaving no corner of it hidden from him. She felt that her unitywith her husband was not maintained by the poetic feelings that hadattracted him to her, but by something else- indefinite but firm asthe bond between her own body and soul.

　　To fluff out her curls, put on fashionable dresses, and singromantic songs to fascinate her husband would have seemed as strangeas to adorn herself to attract herself. To adorn herself for othersmight perhaps have been agreeable- she did not know- but she had notime at all for it. The chief reason for devoting no time either tosinging, to dress, or to choosing her words was that she really had notime to spare for these things.

　　We know that man has the faculty of becoming completely absorbedin a subject however trivial it may be, and that there is no subjectso trivial that it will not grow to infinite proportions if one'sentire attention is devoted to it.

　　The subject which wholly engrossed Natasha's attention was herfamily: that is, her husband whom she had to keep so that he shouldbelong entirely to her and to the home, and the children whom shehad to bear, bring into the world, nurse, and bring up.

　　And the deeper she penetrated, not with her mind only but with herwhole soul, her whole being, into the subject that absorbed her, thelarger did that subject grow and the weaker and more inadequate didher powers appear, so that she concentrated them wholly on that onething and yet was unable to accomplish all that she considerednecessary.

　　There were then as now conversations and discussions about women'srights, the relations of husband and wife and their freedom andrights, though these themes were not yet termed questions as theyare now; but these topics were not merely uninteresting to Natasha,she positively did not understand them.

　　These questions, then as now, existed only for those who see nothingin marriage but the pleasure married people get from one another, thatis, only the beginnings of marriage and not its whole significance,which lies in the family.

　　Discussions and questions of that kind, which are like thequestion 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 ofa dinner is the nourishment it affords; and the purpose of marriage isthe family.

　　If the purpose of dinner is to nourish the body, a man who eatstwo dinners at once may perhaps get more enjoyment but will not attainhis purpose, for his stomach will not digest the two dinners.

　　If the purpose of marriage is the family, the person who wishes tohave many wives or husbands may perhaps obtain much pleasure, but inthat case will not have a family.

　　If the purpose of food is nourishment and the purpose of marriage isthe family, the whole question resolves itself into not eating morethan one can digest, and not having more wives or husbands than areneeded for the family- that is, one wife or one husband. Natashaneeded 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 asall the powers of her soul were intent on serving that husband andfamily, she could not imagine and saw no interest in imagining howit would be if things were different.

　　Natasha did not care for society in general, but prized the more thesociety of her relatives- Countess Mary, and her brother, hermother, and Sonya. She valued the company of those to whom she couldcome striding disheveled from the nursery in her dressing gown, andwith joyful face show a yellow instead of a green stain on baby'snapkin, and from whom she could hear reassuring words to the effectthat baby was much better.

　　To such an extent had Natasha let herself go that the way shedressed and did her hair, her ill-chosen words, and her jealousy-she was jealous of Sonya, of the governess, and of every woman, prettyor plain- were habitual subjects of jest to those about her. Thegeneral opinion was that Pierre was under his wife's thumb, whichwas really true. From the very first days of their married lifeNatasha had announced her demands. Pierre was greatly surprised by hiswife's view, to him a perfectly novel one, that every moment of hislife belonged to her and to the family. His wife's demandsastonished him, but they also flattered him, and he submitted to them.

　　Pierre's subjection consisted in the fact that he not only dared notflirt 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 awhim, and did not dare absent himself for any length of time, excepton business- in which his wife included his intellectual pursuits,which she did not in the least understand but to which sheattributed great importance. To make up for this, at home Pierre hadthe right to regulate his life and that of the whole family exactly ashe chose. At home Natasha placed herself in the position of a slave toher husband, and the whole household went on tiptoe when he wasoccupied- that is, was reading or writing in his study. Pierre had butto show a partiality for anything to get just what he liked donealways. He had only to express a wish and Natasha would jump up andrun to fulfill it.

　　The entire household was governed according to Pierre's supposedorders, that is, by his wishes which Natasha tried to guess. Their wayof life and place of residence, their acquaintances and ties,Natasha's occupations, the children's upbringing, were all selectednot merely with regard to Pierre's expressed wishes, but to whatNatasha from the thoughts he expressed in conversation supposed hiswishes to be. And she deduced the essentials of his wishes quitecorrectly, and having once arrived at them clung to themtenaciously. When Pierre himself wanted to change his mind she wouldfight him with his own weapons.

　　Thus in a time of trouble ever memorable to him after the birth oftheir first child who was delicate, when they had to change the wetnurse three times and Natasha fell ill from despair, Pierre one daytold her of Rousseau's view, with which he quite agreed, that tohave a wet nurse is unnatural and harmful. When her next baby wasborn, despite the opposition of her mother, the doctors, and even ofher husband himself- who were all vigorously opposed to her nursingher baby herself, a thing then unheard of and considered injurious-she insisted on having her own way, and after that nursed all herbabies herself.

　　It very often happened that in a moment of irritation husband andwife would have a dispute, but long afterwards Pierre to hissurprise and delight would find in his wife's ideas and actions thevery thought against which she had argued, but divested ofeverything superfluous that in the excitement of the dispute he hadadded when expressing his opinion.

　　After seven years of marriage Pierre had the joyous and firmconsciousness that he was not a bad man, and he felt this because hesaw himself reflected in his wife. He felt the good and bad withinhimself inextricably mingled and overlapping. But only what was reallygood in him was reflected in his wife, all that was not quite good wasrejected. And this was not the result of logical reasoning but was adirect and mysterious reflection.EP1|CH11

　　CHAPTER XI

　　Two months previously when Pierre was already staying with theRostovs he had received a letter from Prince Theodore, asking him tocome to Petersburg to confer on some important questions that werebeing discussed there by a society of which Pierre was one of theprincipal founders.

　　On reading that letter (she always read her husband's letters)Natasha herself suggested that he should go to Petersburg, thoughshe would feel his absence very acutely. She attributed immenseimportance to all her husband's intellectual and abstract intereststhough she did not understand them, and she always dreaded being ahindrance to him in such matters. To Pierre's timid look of inquiryafter reading the letter she replied by asking him to go, but to fix adefinite date for his return. He was given four weeks' leave ofabsence.

　　Ever since that leave of absence had expired, more than afortnight before, Natasha had been in a constant state of alarm,depression, and irritability.

　　Denisov, now a general on the retired list and much dissatisfiedwith the present state of affairs, had arrived during thatfortnight. He looked at Natasha with sorrow and surprise as at a badlikeness of a person once dear. A dull, dejected look, random replies,and talk about the nursery was all he saw and heard from his formerenchantress.

　　Natasha was sad and irritable all that time, especially when hermother, her brother, Sonya, or Countess Mary in their efforts toconsole her tried to excuse Pierre and suggested reasons for his delayin returning.

　　"It's all nonsense, all rubbish- those discussions which lead tonothing and all those idiotic societies!" Natasha declared of the veryaffairs in the immense importance of which she firmly believed.

　　And she would go to the nursery to nurse Petya, her only boy. No oneelse could tell her anything so comforting or so reasonable as thislittle three-month-old creature when he lay at her breast and shewas conscious of the movement of his lips and the snuffling of hislittle 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 amhe..." and that was unanswerable. It was more than true.

　　During that fortnight of anxiety Natasha resorted to the baby forcomfort so often, and fussed over him so much, that she overfed himand he fell ill. She was terrified by his illness, and yet that wasjust what she needed. While attending to him she bore the anxietyabout her husband more easily.

　　She was nursing her boy when the sound of Pierre's sleigh washeard at the front door, and the old nurse- knowing how to pleaseher mistress- entered the room inaudibly but hurriedly and with abeaming face.

　　"Has he come?" Natasha asked quickly in a whisper, afraid to movelest she should rouse the dozing baby.

　　"He's come, ma'am," whispered the nurse.

　　The blood rushed to Natasha's face and her feet involuntarily moved,but she could not jump up and run out. The baby again opened hiseyes and looked at her. "You're here?" he seemed to be saying, andagain lazily smacked his lips.

　　Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natasha 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 forhaving in her joy left the child too soon, and she glanced round.The nurse with raised elbows was lifting the infant over the rail ofhis cot.

　　"Go, ma'am! Don't worry, go!" she whispered, smiling, with thekind of familiarity that grows up between a nurse and her mistress.

　　Natasha ran with light footsteps to the anteroom.

　　Denisov, who had come out of the study into the dancing room withhis pipe, now for the first time recognized the old Natasha. A floodof brilliant, joyful light poured from her transfigured face.

　　"He's come!" she exclaimed as she ran past, and Denisov felt that hetoo was delighted that Pierre, whom he did not much care for, hadreturned.

　　On reaching the vestibule Natasha saw a tall figure in a fur coatunwinding his scarf. "It's he! It's really he! He has come!" shesaid to herself, and rushing at him embraced him, pressed his headto her breast, and then pushed him back and gazed at his ruddy,happy face, covered with hoarfrost. "Yes, it is he, happy andcontented..."

　　Then all at once she remembered the tortures of suspense she hadexperienced for the last fortnight, and the joy that had lit up herface vanished; she frowned and overwhelmed Pierre with a torrent ofreproaches and angry words.

　　"Yes, it's all very well for you. You are pleased, you've had a goodtime.... But what about me? You might at least have shownconsideration for the children. I am nursing and my milk wasspoiled.... Petya was at death's door. But you were enjoying yourself.Yes, enjoying..."

　　Pierre knew he was not to blame, for he could not have comesooner; he knew this outburst was unseemly and would blow over in aminute 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 apiteous, frightened face and bent down.

　　"I could not, on my honor. But how is Petya?"

　　"All right now. Come along! I wonder you're not ashamed! If only youcould 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 wentto their rooms.

　　When Nicholas and his wife came to look for Pierre he was in thenursery holding his baby son, who was again awake, on his huge rightpalm and dandling him. A blissful bright smile was fixed on the baby'sbroad face with its toothless open mouth. The storm was long sinceover and there was bright, joyous sunshine on Natasha's face as shegazed tenderly at her husband and child.

　　"And have you talked everything well over with Prince Theodore?" sheasked.

　　"Yes, capitally."

　　"You see, he holds it up." (She meant the baby's head.) "But howhe did frighten me... You've seen the princess? Is it true she's inlove with that..."

　　"Yes, just fancy..."

　　At that moment Nicholas and Countess Mary came in. Pierre with thebaby on his hand stooped, kissed them, and replied to their inquiries.But in spite of much that was interesting and had to be discussed, thebaby with the little cap on its unsteady head evidently absorbed allhis attention.

　　"How sweet!" said Countess Mary, looking at and playing with thebaby. "Now, Nicholas," she added, turning to her husband, "I can'tunderstand how it is you don't see the charm of these deliciousmarvels."

　　"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 Natasha. "He says hishand is just made for a baby's seat. Just look!"

　　"Only not for this..." Pierre suddenly exclaimed with a laugh, andshifting the baby he gave him to the nurse.EP1|CH12

　　CHAPTER XII

　　As in every large household, there were at Bald Hills severalperfectly distinct worlds which merged into one harmonious whole,though each retained its own peculiarities and made concessions to theothers. Every event, joyful or sad, that took place in that housewas important to all these worlds, but each had its own specialreasons to rejoice or grieve over that occurrence independently of theothers.

　　For instance, Pierre's return was a joyful and important event andthey all felt it to be so.

　　The servants- the most reliable judges of their masters because theyjudge not by their conversation or expressions of feeling but by theiracts and way of life- were glad of Pierre's return because they knewthat when he was there Count Nicholas would cease going every dayattend to the estate, and would would be in better spirits and temper,and also because they would all receive handsome presents for theholidays.

　　The children and their governesses were glad of Pierre's returnbecause no one else drew them into the social life of the household ashe did. He alone could play on the clavichord that ecossaise (his onlypiece) 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 delightedbecause Uncle Pierre as he called him was the object of hisrapturous and passionate affection. No one had instilled into him thislove for Pierre whom he saw only occasionally. Countess Mary who hadbrought him up had done her utmost to make him love her husband as sheloved him, and little Nicholas did love his uncle, but loved himwith just a shade of contempt. Pierre, however, he adored. He didnot want to be an hussar or a Knight of St. George like his uncleNicholas; he wanted to be learned, wise, and kind like Pierre. InPierre's presence his face always shone with pleasure and he flushedand was breathless when Pierre spoke to him. He did not miss asingle word he uttered, and would afterwards, with Dessalles or byhimself, recall and reconsider the meaning of everything Pierre hadsaid. Pierre's past life and his unhappiness prior to 1812 (of whichyoung Nicholas had formed a vague poetic picture from some words hehad overheard), his adventures in Moscow, his captivity, PlatonKarataev (of whom he had heard from Pierre), his love for Natasha(of whom the lad was also particularly fond), and especiallyPierre's friendship with the father whom Nicholas could notremember- all this made Pierre in his eyes a hero and a saint.

　　From broken remarks about Natasha and his father, from the emotionwith which Pierre spoke of that dead father, and from the careful,reverent tenderness with which Natasha spoke of him, the boy, whowas only just beginning to guess what love is, derived the notion thathis father had loved Natasha and when dying had left her to hisfriend. But the father whom the boy did not remember appeared to him adivinity who could not be pictured, and of whom he never thoughtwithout a swelling heart and tears of sadness and rapture. So theboy also was happy that Pierre had arrived.

　　The guests welcomed Pierre because he always helped to enliven andunite any company he was in.

　　The grown-up members of the family, not to mention his wife, werepleased to have back a friend whose presence made life run moresmoothly and peacefully.

　　The old ladies were pleased with the presents he brought them, andespecially that Natasha would now be herself again.

　　Pierre felt the different outlooks of these various worlds andmade haste to satisfy all their expectations.

　　Though the most absent-minded and forgetful of men, Pierre, with theaid of a list his wife drew up, had now bought everything, notforgetting his mother- and brother-in-law's commissions, nor the dressmaterial for a present to Belova, nor toys for his wife's nephews.In the early days of his marriage it had seemed strange to him thathis wife should expect him not to forget to procure all the thingshe undertook to buy, and he had been taken aback by her seriousannoyance when on his first trip he forgot everything. But in timehe grew used to this demand. Knowing that Natasha asked nothing forherself, and gave him commissions for others only when he himselfhad offered to undertake them, he now found an unexpected andchildlike pleasure in this purchase of presents for everyone in thehouse, and never forgot anything. If he now incurred Natasha's censureit was only for buying too many and too expensive things. To her otherdefects (as most people thought them, but which to Pierre werequalities) of untidiness and neglect of herself, she now addedstinginess.

　　From the time that Pierre began life as a family man on a footingentailing heavy expenditure, he had noticed to his surprise that hespent only half as much as before, and that his affairs- which hadbeen 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 expensiveluxury, the kind of life that can be changed at any moment, was nolonger his nor did he wish for it. He felt that his way of life hadnow been settled once for all till death and that to change it was notin 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 stufflike a shopman.

　　Natasha, who was sitting opposite to him with her eldest daughter onher lap, turned her sparkling eyes swiftly from her husband to thethings he showed her.

　　"That's for Belova? Excellent!" She felt the quality of thematerial. "It was a ruble an arshin, I suppose?"

　　Pierre told her the price.

　　"Too dear!" Natasha remarked. "How pleased the children will beand Mamma too! Only you need not have bought me this," she added,unable to suppress a smile as she gazed admiringly at a gold combset with pearls, of a kind then just coming into fashion.

　　"Adele tempted me: she kept on telling me to buy it," returnedPierre.

　　"When am I to wear it?" and Natasha stuck it in her coil of hair."When I take little Masha into society? Perhaps they will befashionable again by then. Well, let's go now."

　　And collecting the presents they went first to the nursery andthen to the old countess' rooms.

　　The countess was sitting with her companion Belova, playinggrand-patience as usual, when Pierre and Natasha came into the drawingroom with parcels under their arms.

　　The countess was now over sixty, was quite gray, and wore a cap witha frill that surrounded her face. Her face had shriveled, her upperlip 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 leftwithout aim or object for her existence. She ate, drank, slept, orkept awake, but did not live. Life gave her no new impressions. Shewanted nothing from life but tranquillity, and that tranquillityonly death could give her. But until death came she had to go onliving, that is, to use her vital forces. A peculiarity one sees invery young children and very old people was particularly evident inher. Her life had no external aims- only a need to exercise hervarious 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 aliver. She did these things not under any external impulse as peoplein the full vigor of life do, when behind the purpose for which theystrive that of exercising their functions remains unnoticed. Shetalked only because she physically needed to exercise her tongue andlungs. She cried as a child does, because her nose had to becleared, and so on. What for people in their full vigor is an aimwas for her evidently merely a pretext.

　　Thus in the morning- especially if she had eaten anything rich theday before- she felt a need of being angry and would choose as thehandiest pretext Belova's deafness.

　　She would begin to say something to her in a low tone from the otherend of the room.

　　"It seems a little warmer today, my dear," she would murmur.

　　And when Belova replied: "Oh yes, they've come," she would mutterangrily: "O Lord! How stupid and deaf she is!"

　　Another pretext would be her snuff, which would seem too dry ortoo damp or not rubbed fine enough. After these fits of irritabilityher face would grow yellow, and her maids knew by infalliblesymptoms when Belova would again be deaf, the snuff damp, and thecountess' face yellow. Just as she needed to work off her spleen soshe had sometimes to exercise her still-existing faculty ofthinking- and the pretext for that was a game of patience. When sheneeded to cry, the deceased count would be the pretext. When shewanted to be agitated, Nicholas and his health would be the pretext,and when she felt a need to speak spitefully, the pretext would beCountess Mary. When her vocal organs needed exercise, which wasusually toward seven o'clock when she had had an after-dinner restin a darkened room, the pretext would be the retelling of the samestories over and over again to the same audience.

　　The old lady's condition was understood by the whole householdthough no one ever spoke of it, and they all made every possibleeffort to satisfy her needs. Only by a rare glance exchanged with asad smile between Nicholas, Pierre, Natasha, and Countess Mary was thecommon understanding of her condition expressed.

　　But those glances expressed something more: they said that she hadplayed her part in life, that what they now saw was not her wholeself, that we must all become like her, and that they were glad toyield to her, to restrain themselves for this once precious beingformerly as full of life as themselves, but now so much to bepitied. "Memento mori," said these glances.

　　Only the really heartless, the stupid ones of that household, andthe little children failed to understand this and avoided her.EP1|CH13

　　CHAPTER XIII

　　When Pierre and his wife entered the drawing room the countess wasin one of her customary states in which she needed the mental exertionof playing patience, and so- though by force of habit she greetedhim with the words she always used when Pierre or her son returnedafter an absence: "High time, my dear, high time! We were all weary ofwaiting for you. Well, thank God!" and received her presents withanother 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 evidentthat she was not pleased by Pierre's arrival at that moment when itdiverted her attention from the unfinished game.

　　She finished her game of patience and only then examined thepresents. They consisted of a box for cards, of splendidworkmanship, a bright-blue Sevres tea cup with shepherdessesdepicted on it and with a lid, and a gold snuffbox with the count'sportrait on the lid which Pierre had had done by a miniaturist inPetersburg. The countess had long wished for such a box, but as shedid not want to cry just then she glanced indifferently at theportrait and gave her attention chiefly to the box for cards.

　　"Thank you, my dear, you have cheered me up," said she as she alwaysdid. "But best of all you have brought yourself back- for I neversaw anything like it, you ought to give your wife a scolding! What arewe 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 Timofeevna," she added to hercompanion, "see what a box for cards my son has brought us!"

　　Belova admired the presents and was delighted with her dressmaterial.

　　Though Pierre, Natasha, Nicholas, Countess Mary, and Denisov hadmuch to talk about that they could not discuss before the oldcountess- not that anything was hidden from her, but because she haddropped so far behindhand in many things that had they begun toconverse in her presence they would have had to answer inopportunequestions 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 wouldagain be unable to remember- yet they sat at tea round the samovarin the drawing room from habit, and Pierre answered the countess'questions as to whether Prince Vasili had aged and whether CountessMary Alexeevna had sent greetings and still thought of them, and othermatters that interested no one and to which she herself wasindifferent.

　　Conversation of this kind, interesting to no one yet unavoidable,continued all through teatime. All the grown-up members of thefamily were assembled near the round tea table at which Sonya presidedbeside the samovar. The children with their tutors and governesses hadhad tea and their voices were audible from the next room. At tea allsat in their accustomed places: Nicholas beside the stove at a smalltable where his tea was handed to him; Milka, the old gray borzoibitch (daughter of the first Milka), with a quite gray face andlarge black eyes that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on thearmchair beside him; Denisov, whose curly hair, mustache, and whiskershad turned half gray, sat beside countess Mary with his general'stunic unbuttoned; Pierre sat between his wife and the old countess. Hespoke of what he knew might interest the old lady and that she couldunderstand. He told her of external social events and of the peoplewho had formed the circle of her contemporaries and had once been areal, living, and distinct group, but who were now for the most partscattered about the world and like herself were garnering the lastears of the harvests they had sown in earlier years. But to the oldcountess those contemporaries of hers seemed to be the only seriousand real society. Natasha saw by Pierre's animation that his visit hadbeen interesting and that he had much to tell them but dare not say itbefore the old countess. Denisov, not being a member of the family,did not understand Pierre's caution and being, as a malcontent, muchinterested in what was occurring in Petersburg, kept urging Pierreto tell them about what had happened in the Semenovsk regiment, thenabout Arakcheev, and then about the Bible Society. Once or twicePierre was carried away and began to speak of these things, butNicholas and Natasha always brought him back to the health of PrinceIvan and Countess Mary Alexeevna.

　　"Well, and all this idiocy- Gossner and Tatawinova?" Denisovasked. "Is that weally still going on?"

　　"Going on?" Pierre exclaimed. "Why more than ever! The Bible Societyis the whole government now!"

　　"What is that, mon cher ami?" asked the countess, who hadfinished her tea and evidently needed a pretext for being angryafter her meal. "What are you saying about the government? I don'tunderstand."

　　"Well, you know, Maman," Nicholas interposed, knowing how totranslate things into his mother's language, "Prince AlexanderGolitsyn has founded a society and in consequence has great influence,they say."

　　"Arakcheev and Golitsyn," incautiously remarked Pierre, "are now thewhole government! And what a government! They see treason everywhereand are afraid of everything."

　　"Well, and how is Prince Alexander to blame? He is a mostestimable man. I used to meet him at Mary Antonovna's," said thecountess in an offended tone; and still more offended that they allremained silent, she went on: "Nowadays everyone finds fault. A GospelSociety! Well, and what harm is there in that?" and she rose(everybody else got up too) and with a severe expression sailed backto her table in the sitting room.

　　The melancholy silence that followed was broken by the sounds of thechildren's voices and laughter from the next room. Evidently somejolly excitement was going on there.

　　"Finished, finished!" little Natasha's gleeful yell rose abovethem all.

　　Pierre exchanged glances with Countess Mary and Nicholas (Natasha henever lost sight of) and smiled happily.

　　"That's delightful music!" said he.

　　"It means that Anna Makarovna has finished her stocking," saidCountess Mary.

　　"Oh, I'll go and see," said Pierre, jumping up. "You know," headded, 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 wasdriving here today, the nearer I got to the house the more anxious Igrew. As I entered the anteroom I heard Andrusha's peals of laughterand that meant that all was well."

　　"I know! I know that feeling," said Nicholas. "But I mustn't gothere- those stockings are to be a surprise for me."

　　Pierre went to the children, and the shouting and laughter grewstill louder.

　　"Come, Anna Makarovna," Pierre's voice was heard saying, "comehere 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 voicesfilled the room. "Two, two!" they shouted.

　　This meant two stockings, which by a secret process known only toherself Anna Makarovna used to knit at the same time on the sameneedles, and which, when they were ready, she always triumphantlydrew, one out of the other, in the children's presence.EP1|CH14

　　CHAPTER XIV

　　Soon after this the children came in to say good night. Theykissed everyone, the tutors and governesses made their bows, andthey went out. Only young Nicholas and his tutor remained. Dessalleswhispered to the boy to come downstairs.

　　"No, Monsieur Dessalles, I will ask my aunt to let me stay," repliedNicholas Bolkonski 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 Maryglanced 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. Goodnight!" said Pierre, giving his hand to the Swiss tutor, and he turnedto young Nicholas with a smile. "You and I haven't seen anything ofone another yet... How like he is growing, Mary!" he added, addressingCountess Mary.

　　"Like my father?" asked the boy, flushing crimson and looking upat Pierre with bright, ecstatic eyes.

　　Pierre nodded, and went on with what he had been saying when thechildren had interrupted. Countess Mary sat down doing woolwork;Natasha did not take her eyes off her husband. Nicholas and Denisovrose, asked for their pipes, smoked, went to fetch more tea fromSonya- who sat weary but resolute at the samovar- and questionedPierre. The curly-headed, delicate boy sat with shining eyes unnoticedin a corner, starting every now and then and muttering something tohimself, and evidently experiencing a new and powerful emotion as heturned his curly head, with his thin neck exposed by his turn-downcollar, toward the place where Pierre sat.

　　The conversation turned on the contemporary gossip about those inpower, in which most people see the chief interest of home politics.Denisov, dissatisfied with the government on account of his owndisappointments in the service, heard with pleasure of the things donein Petersburg which seemed to him stupid, and made forcible andsharp comments on what Pierre told them.

　　"One used to have to be a German- now one must dance with Tatawinovaand Madame Kwudener, and wead Ecka'tshausen and the bwethwen. Oh, theyshould let that fine fellow Bonaparte lose- he'd knock all thisnonsense out of them! Fancy giving the command of the Semenov wegimentto a fellow like that Schwa'tz!" he cried.

　　Nicholas, though free from Denisov's readiness to find fault witheverything, also thought that discussion of the government was avery serious and weighty matter, and the fact that A had beenappointed Minister of This and B Governor General of That, and thatthe Emperor had said so-and-so and this minister so-and-so, seemedto him very important. And so he thought it necessary to take aninterest in these things and to question Pierre. The questions putby these two kept the conversation from changing its ordinarycharacter of gossip about the higher government circles.

　　But Natasha, knowing all her husband's ways and ideas, saw that hehad long been wishing but had been unable to divert the conversationto another channel and express his own deeply felt idea for the sakeof which he had gone to Petersburg to consult with his new friendPrince Theodore, and she helped him by asking how his affairs withPrince Theodore had gone.

　　"What was it about?" asked Nicholas.

　　"Always the same thing," said Pierre, looking round at hislisteners. "Everybody sees that things are going so badly that theycannot be allowed to go on so and that it is the duty of all decentmen 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.

　　Natasha, who had long expected to be fetched to nurse her baby,now heard the nurse calling her and went to the nursery. Countess Maryfollowed her. The men went into the study and little NicholasBolkonski followed them unnoticed by his uncle and sat down at thewriting table in a shady corner by the window.

　　"Well, what would you do?" asked Denisov.

　　"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 inPetersburg is this: the Emperor does not look into anything. He hasabandoned himself altogether to this mysticism" (Pierre could nottolerate mysticism in anyone now). "He seeks only for peace, andonly these people sans foi ni loi* can give it him- people whorecklessly hack at and strangle everything- Magnitski, Arakcheev,and tutti quanti.... You will agree that if you did not look afteryour estates yourself but only wanted a quiet life, the harsher yoursteward was the more readily your object might be attained," he saidto 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, inthe army nothing but flogging, drilling, and Military Settlements; thepeople are tortured, enlightenment is suppressed. All that is youngand 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 havealways said since governments began). "I told them just one thing inPetersburg."

　　"Told whom?"

　　"Well, you know whom," said Pierre, with a meaning glance from underhis brows. "Prince Theodore and all those. To encourage culture andphilanthropy is all very well of course. The aim is excellent but inthe present circumstances something else is needed."

　　At that moment Nicholas noticed the presence of his nephew. His facedarkened and he went up to the boy.

　　"Why are you here?"

　　"Why? Let him be," said Pierre, taking Nicholas by the arm andcontinuing. "That is not enough, I told them. Something else isneeded. When you stand expecting the overstrained string to snap atany moment, when everyone is expecting the inevitable catastrophe,as many as possible must join hands as closely as they can towithstand the general calamity. Everything that is young and strong isbeing enticed away and depraved. One is lured by women, another byhonors, 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 widenthe scope of our society, let the mot d'ordre be not virtue alonebut independence and action as well!"

　　Nicholas, who had left his nephew, irritably pushed up anarmchair, sat down in it, and listened to Pierre, coughingdiscontentedly and frowning more and more.

　　"But action with what aim?" he cried. "And what position will youadopt toward the government?"

　　"Why, the position of assistants. The society need not be secretif the government allows it. Not merely is it not hostile togovernment, but it is a society of true conservatives- a society ofgentlemen in the full meaning of that word. It is only to prevent somePugachev or other from killing my children and yours, and Arakcheevfrom sending me off to some Military Settlement. We join hands onlyfor the public welfare and the general safety."

　　"Yes, but it's a secret society and therefore a hostile andharmful one which can only cause harm."

　　"Why? Did the Tugendbund which saved Europe" (they did not thenventure to suggest that Russia had saved Europe) "do any harm? TheTugendbund is an alliance of virtue: it is love, mutual help... itis what Christ preached on the Cross."

　　Natasha, who had come in during the conversation, looked joyfully ather husband. It was not what he was saying that pleased her- thatdid not even interest her, for it seemed to her that was all extremelysimple and that she had known it a long time (it seemed so to herbecause she knew that it sprang from Pierre's whole soul), but itwas 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 andmore rapturous joy. Every word of Pierre's burned into his heart,and with a nervous movement of his fingers he unconsciously brokethe sealing wax and quill pens his hands came upon on his uncle'stable.

　　"It is not at all what you suppose; but that is what the GermanTugendbund was, and what I am proposing."

　　"No, my fwiend! The Tugendbund is all vewy well for the sausageeaters, but I don't understand it and can't even pwonounce it,"interposed Denisov in a loud and resolute voice. "I agwee thatevewything here is wotten and howwible, but the Tugendbund I don'tunderstand. 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, Natasha began to laugh, but Nicholas knitted hisbrows still more and began proving to Pierre that there was noprospect of any great change and that all the danger he spoke ofexisted only in his imagination. Pierre maintained the contrary, andas his mental faculties were greater and more resourceful, Nicholasfelt himself cornered. This made him still angrier, for he was fullyconvinced, not by reasoning but by something within him strongerthan reason, of the justice of his opinion.

　　"I will tell you this," he said, rising and trying with nervouslytwitching fingers to prop up his pipe in a corner, but finallyabandoning the attempt. "I can't prove it to you. You say thateverything here is rotten and that an overthrow is coming: I don't seeit. But you also say that our oath of allegiance is a conditionalmatter, and to that I reply: 'You are my best friend, as you know, butif you formed a secret society and began working against thegovernment- be it what it may- I know it is my duty to obey thegovernment. And if Arakcheev ordered me to lead a squadron against youand 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. Natasha was the first tospeak, defending her husband and attacking her brother. Her defensewas weak and inapt but she attained her object. The conversation wasresumed, and no longer in the unpleasantly hostile tone of Nicholas'last remark.

　　When they all got up to go in to supper, little Nicholas Bolkonskiwent up to Pierre, pale and with shining, radiant eyes.

　　"Uncle Pierre, you... no... If Papa were alive... would he agreewith you?" he asked.

　　And Pierre suddenly realized what a special, independent, complex,and powerful process of thought and feeling must have been going on inthis boy during that conversation, and remembering all he had saidhe regretted that the lad should have heard him. He had, however, togive 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 whathe had done to the things on the table. He flushed and went up toNicholas.

　　"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 turnedaway from the boy.

　　"You ought not to have been here at all," he said.EP1|CH15

　　CHAPTER XV

　　The conversation at supper was not about politics or societies,but turned on the subject Nicholas liked best- recollections of1812. Denisov started these and Pierre was particularly agreeableand amusing about them. The family separated on the most friendlyterms.

　　After supper Nicholas, having undressed in his study and giveninstructions to the steward who had been waiting for him, went tothe bedroom in his dressing gown, where he found his wife still at hertable, writing.

　　"What are you writing, Mary?" Nicholas asked.

　　Countess Mary blushed. She was afraid that what she was writingwould not be understood or approved by her husband.

　　She had wanted to conceal what she was writing from him, but atthe same time was glad he had surprised her at it and that she wouldnow have to tell him.

　　"A diary, Nicholas," she replied, handing him a blue exercise bookfilled with her firm, bold writing.

　　"A diary?" Nicholas repeated with a shade of irony, and he took upthe book.

　　It was in French.

　　December 4. Today when Andrusha (her eldest boy) woke up he didnot wish to dress and Mademoiselle Louise sent for me. He wasnaughty and obstinate. I tried threats, but he only grew angrier. ThenI took the matter in hand: I left him alone and began with nurse'shelp to get the other children up, telling him that I did not lovehim. For a long time he was silent, as if astonished, then he jumpedout of bed, ran to me in his shirt, and sobbed so that I could notcalm him for a long time. It was plain that what troubled him most wasthat he had grieved me. Afterwards in the evening when I gave himhis ticket, he again began crying piteously and kissing me. One can doanything with him by tenderness.

　　"What is a 'ticket'?" Nicholas inquired.

　　"I have begun giving the elder ones marks every evening, showing howthey have behaved."

　　Nicholas looked into the radiant eyes that were gazing at him, andcontinued to turn over the pages and read. In the diary was set downeverything in the children's lives that seemed noteworthy to theirmother as showing their characters or suggesting general reflectionson educational methods. They were for the most part quiteinsignificant trifles, but did not seem so to the mother or to thefather either, now that he read this diary about his children forthe first time.

　　Under the date "5" was entered:

　　Mitya was naughty at table. Papa said he was to have no pudding.He had none, but looked so unhappily and greedily at the otherswhile they were eating! I think that punishment by deprivingchildren of sweets only develops their greediness. Must tellNicholas this.

　　Nicholas put down the book and looked at his wife. The radianteyes gazed at him questioningly: would he approve or disapprove of herdiary? There could be no doubt not only of his approval but also ofhis admiration for his wife.

　　Perhaps it need not be done so pedantically, thought Nicholas, oreven done at all, but this untiring, continual spiritual effort ofwhich the sole aim was the children's moral welfare delighted him. HadNicholas been able to analyze his feelings he would have found thathis steady, tender, and proud love of his wife rested on his feelingof wonder at her spirituality and at the lofty moral world, almostbeyond his reach, in which she had her being.

　　He was proud of her intelligence and goodness, recognized his owninsignificance beside her in the spiritual world, and rejoiced all themore that she with such a soul not only belonged to him but was partof himself.

　　"I quite, quite approve, my dearest!" said he with a significantlook, 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 lostmy temper. But he is impossible: such a child! I don't know what wouldbecome of him if Natasha didn't keep him in hand.... Have you any ideawhy he went to Petersburg? They have formed..."

　　"Yes, I know," said Countess Mary. "Natasha told me."

　　"Well, then, you know," Nicholas went on, growing hot at the mererecollection of their discussion, "he wanted to convince me that it isevery honest man's duty to go against the government, and that theoath of allegiance and duty... I am sorry you weren't there. Theyall fell on me- Denisov and Natasha... Natasha is absurd. How sherules over him! And yet there need only be a discussion and she has nowords of her own but only repeats his sayings..." added Nicholas,yielding to that irresistible inclination which tempts us to judgethose nearest and dearest to us. He forgot that what he was sayingabout Natasha could have been applied word for word to himself inrelation to his wife.

　　"Yes, I have noticed that," said Countess Mary.

　　"When I told him that duty and the oath were above everything, hestarted proving goodness knows what! A pity you were not there- whatwould you have said?"

　　"As I see it you were quite right, and I told Natasha so. Pierresays everybody is suffering, tortured, and being corrupted, and thatit is our duty to help our neighbor. Of course he is right there,"said Countess Mary, "but he forgets that we have other duties nearerto us, duties indicated to us by God Himself, and that though we mightexpose 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 ownview: love of one's neighbor and Christianity- and all this in thepresence of young Nicholas, who had gone into my study and broke allmy things."

　　"Ah, Nicholas, do you know I am often troubled about littleNicholas," said Countess Mary. "He is such an exceptional boy. I amafraid I neglect him in favor of my own: we all have children andrelations while he has no one. He is constantly alone with histhoughts."

　　"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 aredoing for him, and of course I am glad of it. He is a fine lad, a finelad! This evening he listened to Pierre in a sort of trance, andfancy- as we were going in to supper I looked and he had brokeneverything on my table to bits, and he told me of it himself atonce! I never knew him to tell an untruth. A fine lad, a fine lad!"repeated Nicholas, who at heart was not fond of Nicholas Bolkonski butwas always anxious to recognize that he was a fine lad.

　　"Still, I am not the same as his own mother," said Countess Mary. "Ifeel I am not the same and it troubles me. A wonderful boy, but I amdreadfully afraid for him. It would be good for him to havecompanions."

　　"Well it won't be for long. Next summer I'll take him toPetersburg," said Nicholas. "Yes, Pierre always was a dreamer andalways will be," he continued, returning to the talk in the studywhich had evidently disturbed him. "Well, what business is it ofmine what goes on there- whether Arakcheev is bad, and all that?What business was it of mine when I married and was so deep in debtthat I was threatened with prison, and had a mother who could notsee or understand it? And then there are you and the children andour affairs. Is it for my own pleasure that I am at the farm or in theoffice from morning to night? No, but I know I must work to comfort mymother, to repay you, and not to leave the children such beggars asI was."

　　Countess Mary wanted to tell him that man does not live by breadalone and that he attached too much importance to these matters. Butshe knew she must not say this and that it would be useless to doso. She only took his hand and kissed it. He took this as a sign ofapproval and a confirmation of his thoughts, and after a fewminutes' reflection continued to think aloud.

　　"You know, Mary, today Elias Mitrofanych" (this was his overseer)"came back from the Tambov estate and told me they are alreadyoffering eighty thousand rubles for the forest."

　　And with an eager face Nicholas began to speak of the possibility ofrepurchasing Otradnoe before long, and added: "Another ten years oflife and I shall leave the children... in an excellent position."

　　Countess Mary listened to her husband and understood all that hetold her. She knew that when he thought aloud in this way he wouldsometimes ask her what he had been saying, and be vexed if henoticed that she had been thinking about something else. But she hadto force herself to attend, for what he was saying did not interesther at all. She looked at him and did not think, but felt, aboutsomething different. She felt a submissive tender love for this manwho would never understand all that she understood, and this seemed tomake her love for him still stronger and added a touch of passionatetenderness. Besides this feeling which absorbed her altogether andhindered her from following the details of her husband's plans,thoughts that had no connection with what he was saying flittedthrough her mind. She thought of her nephew. Her husband's accountof the boy's agitation while Pierre was speaking struck herforcibly, and various traits of his gentle, sensitive characterrecurred to her mind; and while thinking of her nephew she thoughtalso of her own children. She did not compare them with him, butcompared her feeling for them with her feeling for him, and feltwith regret that there was something lacking in her feeling foryoung Nicholas.

　　Sometimes it seemed to her that this difference arose from thedifference in their ages, but she felt herself to blame toward him andpromised in her heart to do better and to accomplish the impossible-in this life to love her husband, her children, little Nicholas, andall her neighbors, as Christ loved mankind. Countess Mary's soulalways strove toward the infinite, the eternal, and the absolute,and could therefore never be at peace. A stern expression of thelofty, secret suffering of a soul burdened by the body appeared on herface. Nicholas gazed at her. "O God! What will become of us if shedies, as I always fear when her face is like that?" thought he, andplacing himself before the icon he began to say his evening prayers.EP1|CH16

　　CHAPTER XVI

　　Natasha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk as only a husbandand wife can talk, that is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity,understanding and expressing each other's thoughts in ways contrary toall rules of logic, without premises, deductions, or conclusions,and in a quite peculiar way. Natasha was so used to this kind oftalk with her husband that for her it was the surest sign of somethingbeing wrong between them if Pierre followed a line of logicalreasoning. When he began proving anything, or talkingargumentatively and calmly and she, led on by his example, began to dothe same, she knew that they were on the verge of a quarrel.

　　From the moment they were alone and Natasha came up to him withwide-open happy eyes, and quickly seizing his head pressed it to herbosom, saying: "Now you are all mine, mine! You won't escape!"- fromthat moment this conversation began, contrary to all the laws of logicand contrary to them because quite different subjects were talkedabout at one and the same time. This simultaneous discussion of manytopics did not prevent a clear understanding but on the contrary wasthe surest sign that they fully understood one another.

　　Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, unreasoning, andcontradictory, except the feeling that guides the dream, so in thisintercourse contrary to all laws of reason, the words themselveswere not consecutive and clear but only the feeling that promptedthem.

　　Natasha spoke to Pierre about her brother's life and doings, ofhow she had suffered and lacked life during his own absence, and ofhow she was fonder than ever of Mary, and how Mary was in every waybetter than herself. In saying this Natasha was sincere inacknowledging Mary's superiority, but at the same time by saying itshe made a demand on Pierre that he should, all the same, prefer herto Mary and to all other women, and that now, especially afterhaving seen many women in Petersburg, he should tell her so afresh.

　　Pierre, answering Natasha's words, told her how intolerable it hadbeen for him to meet ladies at dinners and balls in Petersburg.

　　"I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies," he said. "It wassimply dull. Besides, I was very busy."

　　Natasha looked intently at him and went on:

　　"Mary is so splendid," she said. "How she understands children! Itis as if she saw straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance,Mitya was naughty..."

　　"How like his father he is," Pierre interjected.

　　Natasha knew why he mentioned Mitya's likeness to Nicholas: therecollection of his dispute with his brother-in-law was unpleasant andhe wanted to know what Natasha thought of it.

　　"Nicholas has the weakness of never agreeing with anything notgenerally accepted. But I understand that you value what opens up afresh line," said she, repeating words Pierre had once uttered.

　　"No, the chief point is that to Nicholas ideas and discussions arean amusement- almost a pastime," said Pierre. "For instance, he iscollecting a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book tillhe has read what he had already bought- Sismondi and Rousseau andMontesquieu," he added with a smile. "You know how much I..." he beganto soften down what he had said; but Natasha interrupted him to showthat this was unnecessary.

　　"So you say ideas are an amusement to him...."

　　"Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. All the time in PetersburgI saw everyone as in a dream. When I am taken up by a thought, allelse is mere amusement."

　　"Ah, I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you met the children," saidNatasha. "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 this to you) that the wholeaffair would go to pieces without me- everyone was pulling his ownway. But I succeeded in uniting them all; and then my idea is so clearand simple. You see, I don't say that we ought to oppose this andthat. We may be mistaken. What I say is: 'Join hands, you who love theright, and let there be but one banner- that of active virtue.' PrinceSergey is a fine fellow and clever."

　　Natasha would have had no doubt as to the greatness of Pierre'sidea, but one thing disconcerted her. "Can a man so important andnecessary to society be also my husband? How did this happen?" Shewished to express this doubt to him. "Now who could decide whetherhe is really cleverer than all the others?" she asked herself, andpassed in review all those whom Pierre most respected. Judging by whathe had said there was no one he had respected so highly as PlatonKarataev.

　　"Do you know what I am thinking about?" she asked. "About PlatonKarataev. Would he have approved of you now, do you think?"

　　Pierre was not at all surprised at this question. He understoodhis wife's line of thought.

　　"Platon Karataev?" he repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerelytrying to imagine Karataev's opinion on the subject. "He would nothave understood... yet perhaps he would."

　　"I love you awfully!" Natasha 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 soanxious to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, andI should have been proud to let him see us. There now- you talk ofmy absence, but you wouldn't believe what a special feeling I have foryou after a separation...."

　　"Yes, I should think..." Natasha began.

　　"No, it's not that. I never leave off loving you. And one couldn'tlove more, but this is something special.... Yes, of course-" he didnot finish because their eyes meeting said the rest.

　　"What nonsense it is," Natasha suddenly exclaimed, "abouthoneymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at first! On thecontrary, now is the best of all. If only you did not go away! Doyou remember how we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Alwaysmine. 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!" Natasha cried, and her eyesglittered coldly and vindictively. "Did you see her?" she added, aftera 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 waslooking at you," Natasha began, evidently anxious to disperse thecloud 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 tohim.... The milk's come.... But I'm sorry to leave you."

　　They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to oneanother at the same time they both began to speak. Pierre began withself-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natasha with a quiet, happy smile.Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the othercontinue.

　　"No. What did you say? Go on, go on."

　　"No, you go on, I was talking nonsense," said Natasha.

　　Pierre finished what he had begun. It was the sequel to hiscomplacent reflections on his success in Petersburg. At that moment itseemed to him that he was chosen to give a new direction to thewhole of Russian society and to the whole world.

　　"I only wished to say that ideas that have great results arealways simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people are unitedand constitute a power, then honest folk must do the same. Nowthat's simple enough."

　　"Yes."

　　"And what were you going to say?"

　　"I? Only nonsense."

　　"But all the same?"

　　"Oh nothing, only a trifle," said Natasha, smilingly still morebrightly. "I only wanted to tell you about Petya: today nurse wascoming to take him from me, and he laughed, shut his eyes, and clungto me. I'm sure he thought he was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, nowhe's crying. Well, good-by!" and she left the room.

　　Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas Bolkonski's bedroom alittle lamp was burning as usual. (The boy was afraid of the darkand they could not cure him of it.) Dessalles slept propped up on fourpillows and his Roman nose emitted sounds of rhythmic snoring.Little Nicholas, who had just waked up in a cold perspiration, satup in bed and gazed before him with wide-open eyes. He had awaked froma terrible dream. He had dreamed that he and Uncle Pierre, wearinghelmets such as were depicted in his Plutarch, were leading a hugearmy. The army was made up of white slanting lines that filled the airlike the cobwebs that float about in autumn and which Dessalles calledles fils de la Vierge. In front was Glory, which was similar tothose threads but rather thicker. He and Pierre were borne alonglightly and joyously, nearer and nearer to their goal. Suddenly thethreads that moved them began to slacken and become entangled and itgrew difficult to move. And Uncle Nicholas stood before them in astern and threatening attitude.

　　"Have you done this?" he said, pointing to some broken sealing waxand pens. "I loved you, but I have orders from Arakcheev and will killthe first of you who moves forward." Little Nicholas turned to look atPierre but Pierre was no longer there. In his place was his father-Prince Andrew- and his father had neither shape nor form, but heexisted, and when little Nicholas perceived him he grew faint withlove: he felt himself powerless, limp, and formless. His fathercaressed and pitied him. But Uncle Nicholas came nearer and nearerto them. Terror seized young Nicholas and he awoke.

　　"My father!" he thought. (Though there were two good portraits ofPrince Andrew in the house, Nicholas never imagined him in humanform.) "My father has been with me and caressed me. He approved ofme 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 thinghappen to me? I know they want me to learn. And I will learn. Butsomeday I shall have finished learning, and then I will dosomething. I only pray God that something may happen to me such ashappened to Plutarch's men, and I will act as they did. I will dobetter. 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 hewould 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.

　　EP2|CH2

　　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 Stael, 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 Stael, and the others,

　　evidently does not equal the resultant, namely the phenomenon of

　　millions of Frenchmen submitting to the Bourbons. That

　　Chateaubriand, Madame de Stael, 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.

　　EP2|CH3

　　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."

　　EP2|CH4

　　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 Pugachev 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 Ivan 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 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 Kazan and

　　Siberia expressed by details of the morbid character of Ivan the

　　Terrible and by his correspondence with Kurbski?

　　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.

　　EP2|CH5

　　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.

　　EP2|CH6

　　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

　　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, 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.

　　EP2|CH7

　　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 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.

　　EP2|CH8

　　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 and 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 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.

　　EP2|CH9

　　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.

　　EP2|CH10

　　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.

　　EP2|CH11

　　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 freewill, 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.

　　EP2|CH12

　　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.

　　-THE END-